For our third Pinkorama, the sister team of Candace and Cassandra bring us “The Slaughter of the Peepocents” from The Mark of the Midnight Manzanilla!

Candace and Cassandra write: In this scene from Chapter 9 of The Mark of the Midnight Manzanilla, while Lucien Caldicott , the Duke of Belliston, is trying to figure out Miss Sally Fitzhugh he makes the acquaintance of Miss Parsnip Fitzhugh, the Great Raspberry Jam Tart Hunter of Peep Street.  The little hunter has just burst upon the scene covered in the carnage of her latest kills.

A full view:

The left side featuring Lucien, the Maid, and Parsnip:

(Check out those amazing paintings on the walls!)

The right side featuring Parsnip, Arabella, and Sally (and Fitzhugh Family Portrait):

(Notice how Sally is, of course, in the first stare of fashion.)

A close-up of the Great Jam Hunter of Peep Street:

Oh, Parsnip!  I predict great things for that child.  Or at least very sticky things.  So many thanks to Candace and Cassandra for bringing this charming domestic scene to life– if you’re like me, and love Turnip, it was such joy to get to look in on Turnip and Arabella and their offspring, even through the slightly horrified eyes of Lucien.  (Poor man, he had no idea what he was getting into.)

And doesn’t Turnip and Arabella’s parlor look exactly as you imagined it?  Only slightly more edible.

Head back here tomorrow for the fourth and final Pinkorama of 2021!

For your amusement, here’s the relevant scene from The Mark of the Midnight Manzanilla:

“Lucien’s mouth began to water. It had been rather awhile since breakfast. He caught himself before he could be diverted by the smell of cinnamon. “No, thank you. I –“

He was balked by a ululating cry that filled the hall, followed by the sound of pounding feet. The door banged against the wall. Lucien whirled, looking for danger.

Instead, he saw a very chubby infant moving at an alarming speed on short and unsteady legs, its face and hands smeared with a viscous red substance.

The child was rapidly followed by a nursemaid, her cap askew, her white apron streaked with gore. The nursemaid came to a stop, breathless, resting her hands against her knees as she panted, “Mistress! Mistress, I tried to stop her, but –“

“I know.” Mrs. Fitzhugh swept the gory infant into her arms, transferring a great deal of the red and sticky substance to the front of her dress.

Miss Fitzhugh prudently moved her muslin skirts out of the way.

It looked like the slaughter of the innocents but for the fact that the innocent was awake, and clapping her chubby hands with every appearance of delight.

In which case, that probably wasn’t blood. Lucien felt his breathing slowly return to normal.

Holding the infant out at arm’s length, Mrs. Fitzhugh surveyed the carnage with an experienced eye. ‘Has Parsnip got into the jam tarts again?”

Lucien inferred from the context that Parsnip was not, in fact, a root vegetable, but the angelic-looking infant chuckling and clucking in her mother’s arms.

“It was the raspberry,” said the nursemaid, in tones of doom.

“I don’t know how she does it,” murmured Mrs. Fitzhugh. She looked down at the baby, who appeared to have rubbed jam into her own ears, her hair, and, now, all along the front of her mother’s dress.

The child bared her tiny teeth in a delighted grin. There were raspberry seeds stuck between the two front teeth. Lucien detected a very strong resemblance to Miss Sally Fitzhugh. Particularly around the eyes, which were dancing with mischief.”