Auntie Mayhem by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online Page A

to them. Maybe.”
    RAVENSCROFT FAMILY TREE

    Judith couldn’t pin Natasha or Alexei Karamzin on the family tree. They were obviously related to Claire, not Charles. Ordinarily, Judith would have been forthright in asking about the relationship. But out of respect for British reserve, she said nothing.
    Renie, however, had no such qualms. “Those are Russian names,” she remarked. “How come?”
    Claire sighed as she led her guests back to the main staircase. “It’s rather complicated. My grandfather’s brother, Oakley, married a Frenchwoman. He was killed at Dunkerque. Two months later, his widow, Genevieve, gave birth. Genevieve spent the rest of her life at Ravenscroft House.” Claire paused halfway down the stairs, glancing back at Judith. “She had the room you’re using, as a matter of fact. She died nine years ago. A most charming woman was Great-Aunt Gen.” Claire gave the nickname a French pronunciation, as if had been “John.”
    The cousins followed Claire through the big hall. “Great-Uncle Oakley and Great-Aunt Gen’s daughter, Fleur, married Viktor Karamzin, a Russian emigre. They were killed in an auto accident in Switzerland three years ago.” Claire glanced at Renie. “You have what was their room. Alex and Nats are their children.”
    Judith recalled that Margaret had mentioned the deaths of Genevieve and the senior Karamzins in her letters. In Judith’s mind, more sprigs were added to the family tree.
    The dining room was paneled in handsome mahogany, but was more intimate than Judith had expected. The craftsmanship also seemed to date from a later period than the rest of the house. At the trestle table, Claire indicated chairs for the cousins.
    Anticipating the arrival of a savory meal, Renie watched the door with eager brown eyes. But when a figure entered the dining room, it wasn’t a servant carrying steaming covered dishes, but a middle-aged man wiping his brow. He stopped as soon as he saw the cousins, and turned very red.
    â€œMy word! Our guests! I say, I hope you haven’t waited for me!” Charles Marchmont hurried forward to shake hands, first with Judith, then with Renie. “I would have known you anywhere,” he insisted. “You haven’t changedone whit since I saw you in…ah, what was it?”
    Judith supplied the year of their previous trip. She and Renie both expressed appreciation for their host’s gallantry. The words weren’t true, of course, nor would the cousins return the compliment. Charles Marchmont was a far cry from the diffident, awkward adolescent they had met in 1964. Now that he was in his mid-forties, his light brown hair was beginning to recede, he was thickening around the waist, and his blunt features stopped just short of being coarse. But, Judith noted, he had no spots.
    Charles demanded to hear everything about the cousin’ trip thus far, their impressions of England, and what had happened with them during the thirty-year interval. But while he graciously posed questions, he never gave either Judith or Renie a chance to finish a sentence:
    â€œWe flew from home the Friday after Easter—” Judith began.
    â€œMy word!” Charles wagged a stubby finger. “I do hope you didn’t pay full price. Air fares are exorbitant. Knew a chap at Lloyd’s who spent two thousand quid on a flight to Toronto. Imagine!”
    â€œActually,” Renie said, one eye cast wistfully on the door that seemed to lead into the kitchen, “our bank cards allow us credits we can put toward airline—”
    â€œThese banks!” Charles exclaimed. “Shocking interest rates! Had a mind to buy a new Land Rover last winter. Thought it might be wise to pay for it on time. Nonsense! Much better to pay cash. Usury, that’s what I call it.” Again, Charles turned very red.
    Claire, however, turned not a hair. Apparently, she was