"That's not true," Gavin said sharply, his face turning crimson.

"Don't tell me what's true and what's not, Gavin," she snapped, a small, tight and cold smile meeting his challenge. "We're both Longchamps. I know what's in our blood. Anyway," she said, relaxing, "you don't have to worry. I'm not about to tell Philip anything. Unless," she said, nodding, "you make me."

"Then he doesn't know we're here?" I said, breathing relief.

"No. And I don't think he's smart enough to figure it out," she added. "So," she said, looking around. "This is quite a hideaway. Auntie Charlotte has been telling me about her redecorating," she added and laughed. Her boyfriend laughed too. "Who knows, Morty. This might take off and become the "Yes, art nouveau," he said.

"I want you two to meet Morton Findly Atwood. What do you want them to call you around here, Morty? Mr. Atwood? Or just sir?"

"Mr. Atwood would be fine. Sir's a bit too much," he said, smiling. He flicked his cigarette ash on the floor.

"Mr. Atwood's family is a highly respected one.

They're what we call old money . . . dwindling, but old," Fern said and laughed. Morton Atwood laughed too. What kind of respect did he have for his own family, I wondered, if he could let Aunt Fern make fun of them like this?

"Anyway, now we're here," she said, gazing around again, "we've decided to take a minivacation on our way to our vacation, right Morty?"

"If you'd like. One thing I have plenty of," he said, "is time."

"What do you mean, Aunt Fern?" I asked. De-spair heavied my legs, making them feel nailed to the floor and my heart started to pound in antic.i.p.ation of her reply.

"What do you mean, Aunt Fern?" she mimicked. "What do you think it means? We're hanging out a while. I'm sure there's plenty of room.

Auntie Charlotte was just about to show us the rooms so we could pick out one that suits us, weren't you, Auntie Charlotte?"

"Oh sure, sure," Charlotte said, not really understanding what was happening. Luther glared furiously.

"After all, we're all family," Aunt Fern said.

"All except Luther, that is," she added, turning to him.

Luther reddened with subdued anger. "Which room have you two taken?" she asked.

"We have two rooms," I said quickly. "One for Jefferson and Gavin and one for me. Next to each other," I added.

"How convenient," she said. "Morton, shall we inspect the facilities?"

"Whatever you say, my dear," he replied, standing. He was a little over six feet tall with narrow shoulders and a very narrow waist for a man.

"Morty happens to be an excellent tennis play-er," Aunt Fern said. "He might go pro. There aren't any tennis courts on the grounds, are there, Luther?"

Luther's reply resembled one of his grunts more than a no.

"I didn't think there was, but we'll make due.

I'm sure there's plenty to occupy us around here. Look at how occupied the princess has been," she said nodding toward me. "Auntie Charlotte, can you re-show us around now?" she said. Charlotte stood up.

"Oh sure."

"Then do it," Aunt Fern said sharply.

Charlotte's eyes flashed toward me as though she were pleading for help. I felt sorry for her, but I didn't know what to do. I couldn't toss them out, although I wouldn't have hesitated to do so if I could.

"And Luther," Aunt Fern said, turning to him, "would you get our suitcases out of the trunk and bring them upstairs."

Luther stared at her for a moment and then turned and left to do her bidding. Aunt Fern laughed.

"I told you this would be interesting and fun, Morty. All my relatives are quite amusing." She scooped her arm under his and they walked after Charlotte.

"Oh," she said, turning back to Gavin and me.

"Don't let us interrupt you. Go right on and do what you usually do." She threw her head back and laughed.

Gavin turned to me. He didn't have to say it.

We both knew: as quickly as we had found this wonderful and magical world, it was gone.

The Bubble Bursts .

OUT OF SPITE, AUNT FERN DECIDED.

THAT THE ONLY bedroom suite good enough for her and Morton was Charlotte's parents' suite. I thought Aunt Fern was malicious and gleeful about it because she didn't change her mind when she saw how much her decision had disturbed poor Charlotte.

The idea of someone else sleeping in that bedroom obviously terrified Charlotte. It was as if her father could still punish her for permitting it. Not that she had much choice. Aunt Fern was adamant, even though the room needed a thorough cleaning.

"No one's slept in here for years and years,"

Charlotte emphasized. "It ain't been used since . . .

since my daddy pa.s.sed away."

"Well, then it's time it was," Aunt Fern replied undaunted. She found the light switch and turned on the overhead fixture, which revealed even more dust, grime, and cobwebs. "Princess," Aunt Fern said, turning to me, her hands on her hips, "go get some clean rags, a pail of hot soapy water, and wash down all the windows and clean all the furniture."

"That's a lot of work to start doing this late, Aunt Fern," I said. "Why don't you just choose a room that's not so dirty tonight."

"That's a good idea," Gavin added.

Aunt Fern flicked him a scathing glance and then turned to me, smiling scornfully, cruelly.

"First, I doubt that any room is any cleaner anyway, and second, I like this room. Why should it have been so neglected all this time?" she asked as if she really cared. "And why are they using these old oil lamps and candles if the electricity works?"

"They don't mind and it's expensive to run electricity through such a big house," I explained. She smirked.

"They're living rent free," Fern said. "They have no real expenses."

She continued to parade through the suite, deliberately turning on every lamp. She stopped at the vanity table to examine the jars of dried creams and makeup, the old brushes and combs.

"What's all this junk doing here?" she asked. "It should have been thrown out long, long ago. Bring a garbage bag_ up here," she ordered.

"Oh no," Charlotte said, shaking her head and smiling as if the idea was ridiculous. "That's all my mother's things."

"So?" Fern replied with indifference. "Your mother's dead, isn't she? She isn't going to need makeup and combs anymore." She ran her finger over the mirror, drawing a thick line through the dust.

"Don't forget this mirror, Princess. Get it shining."

"Who do you think Christie is . . . your slave?"

Gavin demanded. Aunt Fern peered at both of us through her dark, angry slits.

"Oh, I'm sure Christie doesn't mind pleasing her favorite aunt," she replied. "I'm her favorite aunt because I always keep her little secrets," she added, smiling. "Right, princess?"

Gavin and I exchanged looks of frustration while Aunt Fern continued to examine the suite, her eyes settling on the bathroom. She marched to it and inspected the sink and tub.

"Bring up a pail full of disinfectant, too. I expect these fixtures to shine when you're finished,"

she told me. "You'll have to get down on your hands and knees and scrub this floor. I won't permit my bare feet on such a dirty surface."

"That'll take hours!" I cried.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Charlotte whimpered.

"I'm really surprised no one's done this room before," Aunt Fern complained and turned back to Charlotte. "Why my sister-in-law and my brother let you run down this place and do all these stupid things to it is beyond me. It's still a piece of property with some value to it, isn't it? Morton?"

"It has a certain residual value," Morton said with disinterest. "Land's always worth something, even though the buildings are in disrepair."

"I just love this bed though," Aunt Fern said, going to it and stroking the post. "It's quite an elegant piece. And look at the work in this dresser and this armoire," she said indicating the carvings.

"Yes, the furniture is worth something," Morton agreed.

"Christie," Aunt Fern said, turning on me.

"Why haven't you gone for the pail of soap and water and the rags? We don't have all night, you know."

"I don't think you realize how much work is involved here," Gavin said more calmly.

"Yes I do," Fern replied, smiling. "But if you're so worried about your precious princess doing too much and getting her precious fingers too soiled, why don't you help her?" she said icily. Then she spun on Charlotte. The poor dear gasped and her hands flew up to her throat like two terrified birds seeking the safety of a branch. "Aunt Charlotte, do you want to get us some clean linens, please, and towels, lots of clean towels. Do you own a vacuum cleaner?" she demanded.

Charlotte shook her head, overwhelmed.

"All they have is the old-fashioned push-thing that picks up surface dirt," I said quickly. Aunt Fern smirked.

"Well, I suppose it will have to do. Come on, everyone, get cracking," Fern said, enjoying her role as supervisor.

"You really can't sleep in here," Charlotte said, her eyes wide. "The spirits still come to this room at night, even during the day sometimes."

"Spirits? Oh, you mean like ghosts? Well, that's all right. Morton and I are used to spirits, but spirits of another kind. Which reminds me, what's to drink around here?"

"We have water and milk and juice," Aunt Charlotte listed proudly.

"I'm talking about whiskey," Aunt Fern snapped. - - "Whiskey?" Charlotte thought a moment. "In my daddy's office in the cabinet. But it's old," she said, and Aunt Fern and Morton laughed.

"The older it is, the better it is," Aunt Fern said.

"Show us the office and we'll have a few drinks and wait for you to get our room ready," she commanded.

"The office is not an office anymore," I said.

"It's where Charlotte does her arts and crafts."

"So we'll have our drinks somewhere else.

Come on," she said, clapping her hands. "Everyone get moving."

Luther stopped in the doorway with their suitcases and looked in at us.

"You ain't fixing to stay in this room, are you?"

he asked.

"It's all been decided, Luther. Put the bags in here," Aunt Fern said.

Luther looked at Charlotte, saw her pained expression, and shook his head.

"This room's not to be used," he insisted firmly.

"Really? Who are you, the general manager or something?" Aunt Fern said and turned to Morton.

They both laughed.

"No one uses this room," Luther simply stated.

Fern's eyes grew small and hateful.

"Now look here," she said, stepping boldly up to him. "I happen to know more about you than you think. My brother told me about this place and you,"

she said sharply. "You're an employee who's been given permission to stay on, but that can change any time." Luther's face grew so hot and red, I thought he might explode.

"Aunt Fern, I'm the one who will change or not change anything," I said. "I'm the one who owns this now."

She smiled coldly at my challenge.

"Doesn't Philip have a part of the estate, too?

Not a majority ownership, but still something? Why don't we call him and ask his opinion?" she said, her eyes dancing with glee.

"Don't you threaten her," Gavin said, stepping up beside me. Fern's face flamed red. She whipped her eyes to him and flared them with fury.

"How dare you speak to me like that, Gavin?