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‘What?’
‘Tuning, Ma’am. I tune pianos, I do not play them.’
My aunt gave him a look that suggested where he could stick his well-tuned pianos. ‘As I was saying, to give her to this nobody of a nincompoop would be beyond ridiculous. It would be the height of folly!’
‘B-but Aunt!’ Ella stepped forward, wet her lips and, with a blush taken straight out of a gothic romance, whispered, ‘I love him.’
My aunt stared at her. My uncle stared at her. I stared at her. For Ella, this was rebellion. For Ella, this was dancing naked on the rooftop while the house burned down. She had actually voiced her own opinion—and not while hiding in a broom closet. Just goes to show: wonders never cease.
Uncle Bufford sent me a grumpy glare. I knew what that glare meant.
You’ve lured me into this under false pretences, young lady! You said we would be talking about money. And now I have to deal with marriage, and love, and other kinds of mushy female matters that make me want to hurl. Just you wait. This will have consequences.
I gave him a bright smile.
Oh yes, it will. Just you wait, you old buzzard.
‘Well?’ Aunt Brank demanded. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
‘Why would I?’ her loving husband replied. ‘You talk enough for both of us.’
But he turned once more towards Edmund and scrutinised him from under his bushy eyebrows. The young Romeo paled under the old man’s scrutiny, but didn’t back down.
‘So, you want to marry my niece Ella, young man?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘How long have you known her?’
‘What does it matter?’ Aunt Brank cut in. ‘He’s obviously unsuitable—’
Uncle Bufford raised a finger—and Aunt Brank shut up. I blinked at my uncle, flabbergasted. How had he been able to keep this secret from me all the while? My uncle had superhuman powers in his index finger!
Uncle Bufford returned his attention to Edmund. ‘Well? How long?’
‘I’ve known her casually ever since we moved in. But we’ve…grown closer over the last three years, Sir.’
Turning to Ella, Uncle Bufford lifted an eyebrow. She nodded, quickly.
‘It’s true, Sir. We’ve had an attachment for quite some time.’
‘I see.’ Leaning forward, my uncle focused on Edmund again, and his face grew serious. ‘Are you serious in your wish to marry my niece, young man? Have you thought about what it would mean? Can you support her?’
‘Support her? I, well…um…’
There was a moment of silence. Then…
‘I don’t know, Sir.’
‘Let me put it this way, young man—do you have an income of your own?’
‘Not yet, but—’
‘Do you have steady work? Some occupation that could support my niece? Or, if it comes to that, a family?’
Edmund opened his mouth—then hung his head. ‘No.’
Uncle Bufford closed his eyes for a moment, and nodded. ‘Then there’s your answer.’
