The Jack Hansard Series: Season Two

Episode 3.5

Ang barged past me, furious. 'What did you jus' say?'

'I means hallo, my bewty!' Goron replied, jumping down from his chair. 'A right good sight, you are, lass. Knew you'd come, I did.'

'We was in the area,' Ang said sharply. 'Wouldna bothered otherwise.'

My gaze slid sideways. Tempting though it was to contradict Ang – and despite how entertaining it was to watch her embarrassment deepen – my attention was fixed on our tweed-clad host.

She'd stepped back to watch this reunion with a simpering expression which was entirely at odds with her otherwise haughty bearing. Her clothes, though a little creased, were in no way shabby. A quality herringbone weave, lacking in frayed edges or scuffs, but with a certain faded quality to suggest the material had been well-used for a long time. A gold brooch with a sapphire was pinned at her collar. My salesman's nose told me it was probably as genuine as the air of privilege about her.

I'm hardly unaccustomed to individuals pretending to be more than they seem (and sometimes pretending to be less than they are) but there's something about a gentrified heritage which is difficult to fake and easy to spot. It might be the intrinsic self-assuredness that comes with owning several hundred acres of land, or the unshakeable confidence of knowing there are few people in the world who can order you about. And possibly it was in the way she suddenly grasped my hand and emphatically shook it while I stood nonplussed in the doorway.

'Name's Bernice!' she shouted jovially into my ear. 'Call me Bernie! Come in, please do. Oh, I am so glad to have such special visitors.'

We shuffled in, awkwardly. A fake fireplace flickered merrily at one end of the cosy room. The rest of it was taken up with a pair of armchairs and numerous end tables, leaving very little space for three knockers, a coblyn, myself and . . . 'Bernie'.

'Whassis then?' Branok and Merouda clustered at the fireplace, tapping the glass front and making appreciative remarks about mechanisms. Ang was still giving Goron a heated dressing down, though he seemed quite happy about it. Bernice, meanwhile, had picked up a large leatherbound journal and was eagerly scribbling away.

'Excuse me,' I said faintly, 'but is Goron your guest?'

She dropped the journal and clapped her hands to her face. 'Oh, goodness, excuse me! Where are my manners? Would you like some tea?'

'No,' I said, over the top of the loud 'Yes!' from the knockers.

'I'll be right back with the teapot!' she said brightly and bustled off into the next room. I turned helplessly to Goron.

'Who is she? Why are you having a tea party?'

Goron grinned. 'Just some old bird, in't she? 'Armless. But makes a good brew.'

'And what about the bluecaps she was supposedly carrying?'

'Did somebody say bluecaps?' Bernice re-entered with a large pink china teapot and a tray of floral cups. 'Well, my good man, you might say I'm something of an enthusiast.'

'A bluecap enthusiast?'

She chortled, though I didn't see what was funny. 'No, dear boy. I'm something of a fae aficionado. That is to say, I study faeries.'

I could hear the unnecessary 'ae' she put into the word. It's the archaic (and, frankly, poncy) way of saying 'fairies' – or, more accurately, 'those savage little winged bastards that don't deserve to be in pleasant children's stories'.

'I certainly hoped to discover some bluecaps on my travels here. They are such an elusive sprite.' Bernice delicately put down her tray. 'But I must say that I never dreamed that a gentleman like Goron would actually knock on my door!'