The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy

A freshly burning fire flung their shadows disrespectfully to and fro across the ceiling and over the walls where samples of their embroidery were hung. The room was a fair size, some thirty feet by twenty. Opposite the entrance from the corridor was a small door. This gave upon the Room of Roots, in the shape of a half circle. On either side of this smaller opening were two large windows with diamond panes of thick glass, and on the two end walls of the room, in one of which was the small fireplace, were narrow doorways, one leading to the kitchen and the rooms of the two servants, and the other to the dining-room and the dark yellow bedroom of the twins.

‘He said he would exalt us,’ said Clarice. ‘You heard him, didn’t you?’

‘I’m not deaf,’ said Cora.

‘He said we weren’t being honoured enough and we must remember who we are. We’re Lady Clarice and Cora Groan; that’s who we are.’

‘Cora and Clarice’, her sister corrected her, ‘of Gormenghast.’

‘But no one is awed when they see us. He said he’d make them be.’

‘Make them be what, dear?’ Cora had begun to unbend now that she found their thoughts had been identical.

‘Make them be awed,’ said Clarice. ‘That’s what they ought to be. Oughtn’t they, Cora?’

‘Yes; but they won’t do it,’

‘No. That’s what it is,’ said Clarice, ‘although I tried this morning.’

‘What, dear?’ said Cora.

‘I tried this morning, though,’ repeated Clarice.

‘Tried what?’ asked Cora in a rather patronizing voice.

‘You know when I said “I’ll go for a saunter”?’

‘Yes.’ Cora sat down and produced a minute but heavily scented handkerchief from her flat bosom. ‘What about it?’

‘I didn’t go to the bathroom at all.’ Clarice sat down suddenly and stiffly, ‘I took some ink instead – black ink.’

‘What for?’

‘I won’t tell you yet, for the time isn’t ripe,’ said Clarice importantly; and her nostrils quivered like a mustang’s. ‘I took the black ink, and I poured it into a jug. There was lots of it. Then I said to myself, what you tell me such a lot, and what I tell you as well, which is that Gertrude is no better than us – in fact, she’s not as good because she hasn’t got a speck of Groan blood in her veins like we have, but only the common sort that’s no use. So I took the ink and I knew what I would do. I didn’t tell you because you might have told me not to, and I don’t know why I’m telling you now because you may think I was wrong to do it; but it’s all over now so it doesn’t matter what you think, dear, does it?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Cora rather peevishly.

‘Well, I knew that Gertrude had to be in the Central Hall to receive the seven most hideous beggars of the Outer Dwellings and pour a lot of oil on them at nine o’clock, so I went through the door of the Central Hall at nine o’clock with my jug full of ink, and I walked up to her at nine o’clock, but it was not what I wanted because she had a black dress on.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Cora.

‘Well, I was going to pour the ink all over her dress.’

‘That would be good, very good,’ said Cora. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes,’ said Clarice, ‘but it didn’t show because her dress was black, and she didn’t see me pouring it, anyway, because she was talking to a starling.’

‘One of our birds,’ said Cora.

‘Yes,’ said Clarice. ‘One of the stolen birds. But the others saw me. They had their mouths open. They saw my decision. But Gertrude didn’t, so my decision was no use. I hadn’t anything else to do and I felt frightened, so I ran all the way back; and now I think I’ll wash out the jug.’

She got up to put her idea into operation when there was a discreet tapping at their door. Visitors were very few and far between and they were too excited for a moment to say ‘Come in.’

Cora was the first to open her mouth and her blank voice was raised more loudly than she had intended:

‘Come in.’

Clarice was at her side. Their shoulders touched. Their heads were thrust forward as though they were peering out of a window.

The door opened and Steerpike entered, an elegant stick with a shiny metal handle under his arm. Now that he had renovated and polished the pilfered swordstick to his satisfaction, he carried it about with him wherever he went. He was dressed in his habitual black and had acquired a gold chain which he wore about his neck. His meagre quota of sandy-coloured hair was darkened with grease, and had been brushed down over his pale forehead in a wide curve.

When he had closed the door behind him he tucked his stick smartly under his arm and bowed.

‘Your Ladyships,’ he said, ‘my unwarranted intrusion upon your privacy, with but the summary knock at the panels of your door as my mediator, must be considered the acme of impertinence were it not that I come upon a serious errand.’

‘Who’s died?’ said Cora.

‘Is it Gertrude?’ echoed Clarice.