Nation

ancestors had once done something really horrible to the duke of Norfolk with a red-hot poker.
    Their Royal Society visits were banned on the grounds that the scientists were nothing but people who asked silly questions, and that was that. Her father came and apologized to her about it, which was horrible.
    But there were other ways to explore the universe….
    One of the things about being a quiet girl in a very big house is that you can, if you try, be invisible in plain view, and it is amazing what you can overhear when you are being a good little girl helping Cook in the kitchen by cutting out pastry shapes. There were always delivery boys or men from the estate wanting a cup of tea, or Cook’s old friends just dropping in for a chat. The secret was to wear ribbons in your hair and skip everywhere. It completely fooled people.
    Except her grandmother, unfortunately, who put a stop to the visits below stairs as soon as she took over the running of the household. “Children should be seen, but not be seen listening!” she said. “Off you go! Quickly, now!”
    And that was that. Ermi—Daphne spent most of her time doing embroidery in her room. Sewing, provided you weren’t doing it to make something useful, was one of the few things a girl “who was going to be a lady one day” was allowed to do, at least according to her grandmother.
    However, it wasn’t all she did. To begin with, she found the old dumbwaiter, a sort of elevator just for food, that hadn’t been used since the days when her great-great-aunt had lived in Daphne’s bedroom on the top floor and all her food had to be hauled up five floors from the kitchen. Daphne didn’t know much about the old woman, but apparently a young man had smiled at her on her twenty-first birthday and she’d gone straight to bed with an attack of the vapors and stayed there, still gently vaporizing, until she completely vaporized at the age of eighty-six, apparently because her body was fed up with having nothing to do.
    The dumbwaiter had never been officially used since then. Daphne, though, had found that with the removal of a few planks and the greasing of some wheels, she could haul it up and down by its pulleys and eavesdrop on several rooms. It became a sort of sound telescope to explore the indoor solar system that revolved around her grandmother.
    She gave it a bit of scrub, and then another because—yuck—if the maids weren’t going to carry a food tray up five floors, then they weren’t going to—yuck—carry down anything else, like the guzunder.
    It was an interesting education, listening to the big house when it was unaware, but getting it was like tipping out a jigsaw puzzle on the floor and trying to guess at the picture from looking at five pieces.
    And it was while listening to two of the maids talking about Albert the stable boy and how naughty he was (a state of affairs they didn’t entirely disapprove of, apparently, and that she was starting to suspect very strongly had nothing to do with how he looked after the horses) that she heard the argument in the dining room. Her grandmother’s voice cut through the ear like a diamond on glass, but her father was using the calm, flat voice he always used when he was very angry and didn’t dare show it. By the time she’d pulled up the dumbwaiter to get a better listen, the argument had been going on for some time:
    “…and you’ll end up in a cannibal’s cooking pot!” That was the unmistakable sound of her grandmother.
    “Cannibals usually roast their food, Mother, not boil it.”—And that was certainly the quiet voice of her father who, when he was talking to his mother, always sounded as though he was determined not to look up from his newspaper.
    “And is that any better, pray?”
    “I doubt it, Mother, but at least it is more accurate. In any case, the Rogation Sunday Islanders have never been known to cook anyone al fresco in any kind of utensil, as far as we know.”
    “I don’t see why you have to go to the other end of the world.”—And that was her grandmother changing her line of attack.
    “Somebody must. We have to keep the flag flying.”
    “Why, pray?”
    “Oh dear, Mother, I’m surprised at you. It’s our flag . It has to fly.”
    “Do remember that only one hundred and thirty-eight people have to die and you will be king!”
    “So you keep telling me, Mother, although Father always said that claim is rather weak when you consider what happened in 1421.