The Mask of Destiny by Richard Newsome Page A

back in the armchair with a look of quiet satisfaction on her face. She turned a page in her book and blew a smoke ring into the air.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ Gerald hissed at Ruby, trying to ignore the screeches coming from Octavia.
    Ruby had a glint of mischief in her eye. ‘Serves her right for calling me a princess,’ she said.
    Gerald looked back at his fuming cousin. Sam was doing his best to settle her.
    â€˜Look, I’m not enjoying this any more than you,’ Gerald said to Ruby. ‘But I can’t see any way out. Clea’s not going to let—’
    A soft ding cut him off. They both looked at the wood-panelled wall by the sideboard. There was a small red light next to a discreet silver button set into the mahogany. Gerald gave Ruby a quizzical look. He stretched out a finger and pressed the button. A section of the panelling about waist high slid up to reveal a cosy space behind.
    â€˜A dumb waiter!’ Ruby said.
    Gerald peered into the darkened box about a metre cubed. ‘What’s it for?’
    â€˜It’s like an elevator, to bring food up from the kitchen.’ Ruby reached inside and took out a folded piece of card that had been propped on the floor.
    There’s proper food in the kitchen , she read. ‘Mrs Rutherford has come to our rescue.’
    Gerald looked back to the card table. Octavia had her back to them, in a deep sulk. Zebedee had made a hat from the game box, and Wendell and Caroline soldiered on with the anagrams.
    â€˜Oh, that’s an easy one,’ Wendell said. ‘ Astronomer is a moon starer .’
    Clea remained in her chair with her head in her book and smoking like a blocked chimney.
    Gerald caught Sam’s eye and beckoned him over. He slipped across unobserved.
    â€˜Want to get some real food?’ Gerald said to him.
    Sam beamed. ‘Mrs Rutherford food?’
    Gerald slid backside first into the dumb waiter, tucking his knees under his chin. Ruby and Sam squeezed in after him. Gerald took an elbow to the eye and a head to the ribs in the crush. ‘Push a button, will you?’ he said. ‘Any button.’
    Ruby was closest to the front and she pressed at the keypad. The door slid back into place, casting them into darkness. The tiny elevator moved down with a lurch.
    â€˜We should have done this hours ago.’ Sam’s voice came out of the tangle of limbs. ‘I wonder what’s to eat?’
    The dumb waiter came to a halt. Nothing happened.
    â€˜Now what?’ Gerald said.
    Ruby pushed another button. The door slid up, and they stared out at a riot in progress.
    â€˜I don’t think this is the kitchen,’ Ruby said.
    The dumb waiter had stopped in the ballroom.
    Gerald had always considered adults incapable of enjoying themselves. Always griping about unmade beds and the washing up. They seemed programmed for misery. Which was why it was taking him so long to process the scene before him.
    The ballroom was going off.
    It was fancy-dress madness. There were streamers and lights of every colour and hue. A band played in the corner, the brass section struggling to make itself heard above the roar of the well-fuelled crowd. There was braying and screaming, shouts and hilarity. Clea would not approve.
    There were pirates dancing with harem girls; an astronaut was jiving on a table with a nun; a bishop was screaming ‘Louie Louie’ into the microphone on the bandstand. Gangsters, vampires, a bandage-wrapped mummy, kings and queens—all prancing and prowling in a melee of colour and sound.
    And in the middle of it all stood a stout penguin, a glass of champagne in one wing and the other whooping tight circles above her head. The man dressed as a French cavalry officer by her side was dancing as close as he could, the golden braid on his jacket catching the light from the giant mirror ball suspended from the ceiling.
    â€˜Is that Inspector Parrott over there?’ Ruby asked as