Page 43 of The Secret Christmas Library
‘01010011 . . . 01000101 . . . 01010110 . . . 01000101 . . . 01001110 . . . ’
‘S . . . E . . . V . . . Oh, bollocks,’ said Jamie.
‘It’s numbers? Is it all numbers? Give me that.’ Esme snatched the fragile swan from Theo’s fingers.
‘NO, DON’T!’ hollered Jamie. ‘It’sfragile!’
Just as he said this, the ancient, crumbling paper came apart in her long, pointed fingernails, the two halves of the swan dropping perilously close to the fire, the warm updrafts from the hot air refusing to let them come to land but instead drawing them dangerously close to the chimney . . .
It was Mirren who reached them first, hurling herself towards them and surprising even herself by grabbing at both pieces, desperately holding on to one, the other just beyond her grasp, if she could just . . .
BANG!
And, with an enormous crash of snow falling off the roof, there was a thud, a flash, a crackle, and every light went out.
25
The only light was the fire and the candles, but it took a moment for Mirren’s eyes to adjust; she could see the flare of the electrics behind her eyeballs and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, it was like a freeze-frame: nobody had moved, everyone straining, halfway through mid-air, trying to rescue the swan, or reach out, then finding themselves in the dark.
The corners of the room, anything not near the fire, vanished immediately. From deep in the castle there was the echo of a crash, almost certainly Bonnie and some plates, which shook Mirren from her reverie, the taut thrill of the four bodies, frozen there in the firelight.
‘Crap!’ shouted Jamie, with some feeling, as they all straightened up, Mirren breathless. ‘Oh, God. Did you get it? Did you get it?’
For a second, Mirren was so shocked and confused, she didn’t know what he meant. Then she checked her hand. To her total surprise, there was the other half of the swan; her hand must have closed on it automatically.
‘Yeah,’ she said quietly. ‘I got it.’
Esme blew air out. ‘Bloody electrics. Is it the weather or did you not pay the bill?’
‘It’ll be a fuse,’ said Jamie. ‘The solar pays the bills.’
‘Babe, it’s been cloudy since . . . ’ Esme shrugged. ‘2020?’
‘I’m glad we got to finish dinner,’ said Theo, lifting up the candelabra. ‘Should we go check Bonnie’s alright and not broken her neck anywhere?’ He opened the door, which led to the kitchen stairs. ‘Bonnie?’
The voice came from far away. ‘I’m here! I’m fine! But I think you might have to say goodbye to the last of the Royal Doulton.’
‘It’s horrible anyway,’ shouted back Esme.
Slowly, a glow appeared in the stairwell, followed by Bonnie’s cheerful face, candlelight flushing her a lovely pink. Mirren glanced at Jamie; she still couldn’t quite understand the relationship between them. She didn’t want to look at Theo, in case he had his wolfish expression on again.
‘It’s not the fuses,’ she said, coming in with an armful of extra candles under her elbow. She stuck them in various holders and in any saucer or plant pot she could get her hands on. By the time she’d finished, the room looked like a particularly incendiary place for a wedding proposal. ‘I checked them already.’
‘You’re so practical,’ said Mirren.
‘Uh-huh,’ said Bonnie, dismissively, as if the very idea of the laird of the manor checking his own fuses was a ridiculous thing to think, as indeed, to Bonnie, it was.
Jamie frowned. ‘Not the lines, surely? They told us last time . . . ’
‘What did they tell you?’ said Esme.
‘They said they’d reinforce the lines, so that the snow didn’t bring them down,’ said Jamie.
‘Yes, but they have places people actually live to do first,’ said Esme. ‘We’re at the very end of the line.’
Jamie nodded. ‘You’re right. It must be the lines. Okay. How are we for candles?’
Bonnie looked at him. ‘We’re fine,’ she said.
