Page 28 of The Mad Marchams

“Mambles.”

“Sounds like something you eat.”

“It’s the home of an old school chum of mine from Eton.”

“Eton,” Mabel repeated.

Colin glanced over at her as he dexterously steered the car with one hand, and a confidence Mabel could only hope wasn’t misplaced.

“What about it?”

“Was it nice?”

“Not particularly.”

“Did they beat you?”

“Only if we did something really stupid like set a laboratory on fire or something.”

“You set a lab on fire? What were you doing? Cooking meth?”

He grinned. “Hardly. I think we were trying to make gold.”

“Alchemy.”

“That’s right. I wish I’d managed it.” Colin paused momentarily to glance across a narrow intersection and then shot across it at a speed Mabel could only consider ill-advised. She felt like they were in the middle of a confusing, green-hedged maze. “There should be a sign soon, so keep an eye out for it.”

“A sign for what?”

“The house. Bumpy said you can’t miss it.”

“The guy who owns the house is called Bumpy?”

“His last name is Haywicks.”

Mabel grabbed the roof handle as they veered to the left. “What does that have to do with it?”

Colin frowned. “I think it was some play on bumpy hayrides or something. I can’t quite remember.”

“Does everyone who lives in a big house and went to Eton have a stupid nickname?”

“Pretty much.”

“What was yours?” Mabel asked.

He grinned at her. “Not telling.”

“Is it embarrassing?”

He slowed momentarily to peer up at a faded white signpost with black lettering. “It says one mile to the village and the entrance to the house is before that, so keep your eyes peeled for the gatehouse fairly soon.”

As it turned out, Bumpy had been right and it was hard to miss the entranceway. A red brick gatehouse adorned with white painted hangings like icicles bore a large sign on the wall.

WELCOME TO MAMBLES.

OPEN TO THE PUBLIC APRIL-SEPTEMBER. 10 A.M. TO 5 P.M.

HOUSE TOURS, WEDDINGS, GIFT SHOP, CAFÉ AND EXTENSIVE GROUNDS.