Bunty remembered the advice she had been given by Pater on dealing with a mad dog, or was it a bear or a skittish horse? She stood up and made herself look very big and growled at Dorking/Uncle Silas-he threw the bowl of maggots over his head and squealed.
“Lola goes to classes on hating me!” he gibbered.
“Shut up you stupid man! She does not have to go to classes you’ve always been horrible to her! Now let me know which dungeon you’ve locked her in and give me the keys!” said Bunty.
Lola felt the chill of a night breeze and remembered with horror the nicotine patch experiment when she was a girl and wondered where Padraig had gotten to with his proletariat cigarettes-even a pipe of Bunty’s Salty Seaman’s Shag would have done but now it seemed she was to be taunted by someone with a limp.
“Hello Miss-I mean Lola.” said a familiar voice which couldn’t decide if it derived from Liverpool or Ireland and was therefore in the middle of the Irish Sea.
It was Padraig with a tall ladder and one foot stuck in a bucket.
Lola rolled her eyes; “Put your foot in it again Padraig?” she asked coolly, “If you don’t have any smokes then don’t bother with the ladder, in fact if you have smokes and nothing to light them with I’ll kill you.”
He paused with the ladder but when he saw her sardonic glare he knew that she was serious.
“I have both Miss, and your posh French ones at that.” he said.
“Well go on then, rescue me!” she snapped, “Hold the ladder and look away, I may be wearing a rather fetching night gown which suits me wonderfully but no-one thought to supply undergarments!”
Padraig muttered something about it not being anything he hadn’t seen before.
Bunty snatched the keys from Dorking which were on a ring and contained a set of keys to a Rolls Royce.
“Now sit in that chair!” she said pointing at him with a fish fork. He obeyed with a look of distraction on his grey aged face. Bunty took out her emergency ball of very strong parcel string from somewhere about her person.
“Right, let’s get you tied up once and for all!” she said meaningfully.
There was a cry as Lola stood on the hem of her nightgown and slid down the ladder falling onto Padraig who tried to catch her in his arms and dropped her.
“Honestly! Can’t you get anything right without an instruction manual?!” cried Lola, “Give me a cigarette now!”
Padraig took a Gitane from the pack, lit it and handed it to a prone Lola who inhaled deeply, went slightly blue and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Thank you.” she croaked and fainted.
Bunty admired her handy work; Dorking was bound like an Egyptian mummy with scant regard for his ability to breath.
“Right then, if Lola is right, then we should be able to use her Grimoire to change all realities and get rid of Dorking forever.” she thought to herself.