The Adventur of the Travertine Nose-- Part X

Castle Rackrent

The village of Bantry looks like a postcard. Now that the unnerving driver is in the front seat, and all you can see of him are his eyes in the rear view mirror, you’re feeling rather excited.
“Will we go out for a pint tonight?” you ask brightly. The site of all the easel boards propped on the cobbled lanes gives you the idea. You pass a woolens shop, a baker, a bookstore. “We will come into town, won’t we?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Basil says dully, deflating you.
“Why not?” you pout like a spoiled child.
“I mean we will, but maybe not tonight, love. We’ll probably be entertained by Lady Rackrent. You can impress me by wearing your best dress tonight.”
That also sounds quite good to you. You’re suddenly glad that Basil egged you on to get those frocks. This seems like just the sort of evening wherein you’ll be sitting around a long, awkward table, Lady Rackrent at one end, hollering witticisms to one another over the barricade of smoking platters. Maybe in Wodehouse style, someone will be bumping around at night, attempting to steal a family heirloom or a compromising diary page from someone else’s room. The whole thing will be botched and you’ll all end up standing around a polar bear rug, rumpled and wrinkled in your pajamas when the lights come on and the bungling burglar turns out to be the visiting cousin who’s tripped on the polar bear rug. How charming that would be—a little intrigue.
Castle Rackrent is a couple of miles from the village. It does seem rather like Castle Dracula as you make your approach. The sky is suddenly silver and ominous, casting long, threatening shadows over the verdant lawns. A narrow stone wall leads up to the castle, snaking over the moat, which is more like a lake than a moat. It is a tall, narrow building, heavily fortified, with crenelations all along the roof.
“Oh my paws,” Basil notes, “I hope they haven’t got a catapult up there or we’re finished.”
You don’t quite like the remark. And you’ve never seen a drawbridge in action. Instead of charming you with its antiquated mechanism, it makes you nervous. You duck while the car passes under the stone arch. The bridge snaps shut behind you like a trap door.
“I wonder if Captain Hook left any crocodiles in the moat,” you joke, trying to sounds as light as Basil, but your voice gives a telltale waver.
“It’s quite alright, my dear,” Basil assures. “You are a trusting soul.”
It’s nice of him to notice. After all, you were penned up in a museum crypt with this stranger-- only hours after you were robbed of all your earthly possessions. Maybe you are a little too trusting. Or maybe you’re just a great adventurer. That sounds better.
The ghoulish looking driver hurries to open the door for you. You stop out into a square courtyard flanked by four turrets. In your orange tweed jacket (Basil’s choice), you feel like the lady of the manor. Pairs of swans are noodling around the moat, and a darling collie comes to greet you. A plump woman (and that’s kind) appears in the gigantic doorway decorated with comic gargoyles. Her hair is knotted on top of her head like fresh mozzarella. She wails when she speaks, like an operatic diva.
“Here you are, doctor! It’s right here in my hand!”
The woman is obviously insane.
“This is Darby Hemming,” Basil says, gesturing to you.
Instead of shaking your hand, the woman uncurls the fingers of her fat fist and reveals a travertine nose. You’re not acting when you try to appear awed.
“Darby, this is Lady Rackrent.”
You curtsey stupidly, still staring at the nose. Your brain is already trying to attach it to the noses you sketched last night. When Basil drops the nose into his pocket, Lady Rackrent acknowledges you properly.
“My family is seven times removed from the Royal family, my dear. If it weren’t for those people in between, I would be Queen, you see.” You do see… Lady Rackrent is out of her mind. “Don’t fuss, my dear. You needn’t bow. Unless you’d like to.”
The ghoulish driver whispers into your ear. “You’d better my, lass.”
The entrance hall is astonishing. Chandeliers the size of Ferris wheels, with twice as many lights, hang from the ceiling. The ceiling is so far away, it might as well be the evening sky you’re looking at. A double staircase leads to a long gallery on the next landing. The gallery is lined with exotic potted plants, and it smells like a chapter out of Arabian Nights. A series of vases and alcoves house little nude statues, all of which have noses.
“Your room, my dear is to the left. And yours, my dear doctor, is to the right.” Lady Rackrent points to the opposite side of the staircase. “Dinner is in one hour and twenty-two minutes. We will talk about the nose over duck.” She turns and retreats downstairs.
“Do you want to cross-reference the nose with me now,” Basil asks?

Do you want to cross-reference the nose now?! You haven’t showered for two days. You have a delicious suite waiting for you and a bath that’s probably the size of the Titanic. You want to removed the debris of travel, and appear at dinner looking like a real lady. Choose ‘A’.

Bath? You’ve come this far smelling like a walking pigpen. You really couldn’t care less how you look for dinner. You’re going to look at the nose for the next hour and twenty-two minutes. Choose ‘B’.