She would have to come up with something a bit more direct, then.
He was quite close, from her present vantage-point. Close enough that she could clearly see the wan glitter of winter sun on his blazing crimson scales; so close she could hear the roar of flame, feel the searing heat on her own skin. Once, her hair had almost caught on fire.
To run such risks merely for the pleasure of shouting at an oblivious male was not the behaviour of a sensible woman, Gussie thought. But she had more at her disposal than words.
She had boiling oil.
It was perfectly possible that her aunt’s crisply-delivered instructions had not been intended seriously. She had likely spoken with a mixture of exasperation, weariness and withering jest as she had retreated up into the drawing-room and firmly shut th
