Hyacinth Bucket—pronounced Bouquet, as she never tired of reminding people—stood proudly in her drawing room holding an elegant ivory candle.
“Richard,” she announced, “nothing creates an atmosphere of cultured refinement quite like candlelight.”
Richard looked up from tightening a loose chair leg.
“It also creates melted wax.”
“Only in careless homes.”
She ignored his observation and carefully placed six expensive candles along the dining table.
“This evening,” she continued, “the members of the Arts Appreciation Circle shall enjoy what I have described as ‘An Authentic Victorian Candlelit Supper.’”
Richard sighed.
“Couldn’t we simply switch on the lights?”
Hyacinth stared at him as though he’d suggested serving tea in paper cups.
“Electricity lacks romance.”
The telephone rang.
“The Bouquet residence, lady of the house speaking.”
Elizabeth’s timid voice floated down the line.
“Hyacinth… I’m just checking whether you’d still like me to bring the dessert.”
“Of course, Elizabeth. And please, whatever you do, don’t become nervous.”
“I’ll try.”
Hyacinth smiled confidently.
“I’ve arranged everything to perfection.”
Richard quietly muttered, “That’s usually when things begin.”
An hour later, the dining room resembled something from a period drama. Crystal glasses sparkled. Silver cutlery gleamed. The candles stood perfectly straight in polished holders.
Hyacinth admired her reflection.
“Magnificent.”
The doorbell rang.
Elizabeth entered carefully carrying an enormous trifle.
“I walked very slowly.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
A second knock followed almost immediately.
It was Daisy, Rose and, inevitably, Onslow.
“We only popped in to wish you luck,” Daisy smiled.
“And maybe borrow a bit of sugar,” added Onslow.
Hyacinth folded her arms.
“This is hardly the moment.”
Onslow sniffed the air.
“Smells expensive.”
Rose wandered into the dining room.
“Ooh… how romantic.”
Hyacinth beamed.
“It is intended to recreate the elegance of nineteenth-century entertaining.”
Onslow examined one of the candles.
“So… no electricity?”
“We shall dine exactly as refined society once did.”
Onslow grinned.
“Hope they had torches.”
Richard coughed to hide a laugh.
Soon the Arts Appreciation Circle arrived, including the chairman, Mrs. Fortescue, who fancied herself an authority on Victorian customs.
“My dear Mrs. Bouquet,” she exclaimed. “How wonderfully authentic!”
Hyacinth almost floated across the room.
“I’ve spared no effort.”
Everyone took their seats.
The candles flickered beautifully.
The atmosphere was calm.
Sophisticated.
Almost magical.
Then…
The lights throughout the entire neighborhood suddenly went out.
Darkness swallowed the house.
There was a chorus of surprised gasps.
Hyacinth smiled triumphantly.
“You see? We hardly noticed.”
Then Onslow’s voice emerged from somewhere near the buffet.
“I’ve noticed.”
A loud crash echoed through the room.
Elizabeth squeaked.
Richard groaned.
Someone had clearly walked into something.
As Hyacinth reached for another candle, a strange shadow moved slowly across the dining room wall.
Mrs. Fortescue whispered nervously,
“Did… did anyone else see that?”
Every head turned toward the enormous moving silhouette.
Then came an unmistakable sound.
Miaaaoowww…
Hyacinth froze.
Richard blinked.
Onslow quietly said,
“I don’t think Victorian ghosts usually purr.”
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