Olivia Hitler moved into the Crew mansion at nine the next morning, with one small suitcase, a cane, and a canary in a cage.
"I'm not leaving Percy," she announced to Benson, who stood on the front steps looking at the canary with the expression of a man who had not been trained for this. "He's very sensitive. He'll die of a draft."
"Madam," said Benson, bowing gravely, "I shall personally see that he is not exposed to any."
"Good." She marched past him into the hall and stopped to peer at the chandelier. "Goodness. It's very grand. Do you dust it yourselves?"
"Twice a week, madam."
"Hm. Once is plenty."
Silveria, who had been waiting on the stairs, came down laughing and wiping her eyes. She hugged the tiny woman carefully, as though she might break. "You came."
"I told you I'd be a nuisance." Olivia patted her cheek. "I'll sleep wherever you put me. I'm used to attics."
"You'll sleep in the blue room. It has a south window."
"For Percy?"
"For Percy."
