But now Pembrake was beginning to come to his senses. As far as this being the worst possible time to materialise in Bridgestock's history – it was the very best. The Witch Ban, amongst other things, marked the Colonel's meteoric rise to the top. After he was seen by the population as their powerful liberator who rescued them from the clutches of the crones, the Colonel rapidly began to cement his hold on rule. By Pembrake's time, 28 years from now, the Colonel would be about to make the final move, climb the final rung on the ladder and assume the role of Bridgestock's King.
If you can cut off a weed before it comes to flower, then you can stop the epidemic before it begins. While the Colonel was untouchable in the future, he was still just a man in the past. And Pembrake knew just the tool for attacking this pest.
Being in the past was changing him, Pembrake had to admit that. Being with Abby also, it was as if overnight his perspectives and attitudes had morphed into a shape he'd never thought possible. While he certainly considered himself capable in the future, there had always been an undercurrent of bitter apathy. He knew he could not change the way Bridgestock worked, and in the face of this certainty he had abandoned his power.
But now he saw an opportunity, the familiar whiff of decisiveness was on the wind. In the face of oppression and dictatorship, the only solution was to gain enough power to overthrow the vile lord. And Pembrake could taste the opportunity, smell the correct action, and see the future clear as day.
Enough thinking, Pembrake thought finally as he pulled at the edges of his jacket. Surely he could fit in a stroll through the grounds before he had to assume his loyal position at the elbow of Annabelle.
By the time Pembrake had made it to the damp grass outside, dusk was already settling in. He walked for a distance over the lawn, hands in his pockets, still unable to think of anything other than his list of things to tell Abby. How would she react, after all? What would she do once she knew what section of history they'd wander into and, more importantly, once he told her his plan?
Pembrake found himself walking off the lawn and around the back of the castle, half thinking he might talk to Martha; after all, he'd have to organise to come back with her to meet up with Abby. But at one of the many back entrances to the kitchens, Pembrake found Martha talking to the huge robust Governor that had been there after the attempt on the Princess' life.
The Governor looked up at Pembrake's approach and tilted his head slightly.
Pembrake cleared his throat, unsure of what the Governor's movement was meant to intone. Aggression? Pembrake doubted this; the Governor seemed to be capable of a much more direct display of antagonism.
'Look who just walked in then, ay? The Governor sounded like a barman bemoaning the entry of a trouble maker. 'And what do you have to say for yourself, son?'
'Not much,' Pembrake said carefully.
The Governor nodded. 'I guess that's so. Been busy lately gadding with our Princess?'
Pembrake was starting to grow defensive. He could feel the skin on his neck itch with tension, not least because Martha was standing by nodding in agreement with the Governor. 'Nothing.'
'So I've heard. Pretty distraction the two of you make though.' The Governor nodded at Martha.
'Fairytale,' Martha said.
Pembrake's jaw stiffened, but he tried to smile amiably. 'I doubt that.'
'What with you dressed like a prince,' Martha gave him the lingering once over, 'and what with her a Princess.'
'And you a hero,' the Governor didn't bother to hide his sarcasm.
'That's fairytale, that is,' Martha finished.
'This is not a fairytale,' Pembrake said hotly, 'and I assure you, I have no interest in the Princess.'
The Governor shared another conspiratorial look with Martha. 'Sure has a roundabout way of showing he's not interested in someone.'
'I did not have the luxury of ignoring the Princess' wishes. She invited me to this Ball, and I could hardly say no, could I?' It was a lie, he could have said no, could have weaselled out of it somehow. But at the time it had seemed so innocent, he hadn't really been thinking of history, and the Princess' infatuation had been charming.
The Governor was looking straight at Pembrake, no doubt trying to read his mind. 'I reckon you had many options, son, not least of all not to leave that young witch of yours alone.'
'You know she's a witch?'
'I'm not blind. And there's no need for that tone of voice, son; you sound like the Colonel. Witches ain't a dirty word, I think you'll find bigot to be much worse.'
Both the Governor and Martha were now sharing a wary look, as if they were Pembrake's parents and were disappointed in their wayward son's views.
'I don't hate… witches. But that's not the point,' Pembrake was having trouble keeping things straight in his mind, he could no longer remember what the point was… just that his dislike – no, caution - around witches had nothing to do with it.
'I reckon he's thinking hard about some of the things he's been doing,' Martha spoke to the Governor as if Pembrake was not in front of them, 'I reckon he's been doing a lot of thinking recently.'
The Governor snorted. 'Not nearly enough though.'
'Now see here. I have not done anything wrong.' Pembrake had no idea what these two were up to, but they were succeeding in making him red under the collar.
'You've not done anything right either. I reckon you should never have come here, you should have never left Abby alone, and you should never have gadded with the Princess like that,' the Governor wasn't angry, or didn't appear to be so; he was delivering his words with a thoughtful tilt to his head.
'Because you never know what you've missed, see,' Martha piped in.
'Missed? Missed? What are you talking about?' Pembrake was ashamed at the anger bubbling through his words, but the constant poking and prodding was enraging.
'You'll be wanting to see Abby, then, that's why you came over?' Martha's voice had returned to its usual sweet timbre, 'you must be looking forward to seeing her after tonight.'
Pembrake looked on warily at the sudden change. 'I guess I am.'
'Well you'll be seeing her a darn right sooner than you think,' Martha gave the Governor an annoyed look, 'and much sooner than I'd hoped.'
'What are you talking about? Is she here?' Pembrake's previous anger had shifted into confusion.
'She shouldn't be,' Martha tsked, 'but she is. But that's not the question you need to be asking, Pembrake; it's who she's with that might interest you.'
A twitch of cold passed over Pembrake's shoulders. 'What do you mean? Who's she with?' He knew the answer though, he knew….
'The Captain of the Guard,' Martha made a face. 'I told her it was a bad idea.'
'It's a terrible idea!' Pembrake spoke so quickly he almost spat. 'What's she doing here with him?'
'Well the Gov here thinks it was important for her to be at the Ball. He got it into her head that it was of uttermost magical importance for her to be in attendance tonight,' Martha jabbed at the Governor with her elbow.
'Historical, I said. And it is. It is of historical importance that you two be here together at this point in time. One of the Crones told me. She said, Harvey, you make sure both them travellers are in that Ball Room for the stroke of midnight. And I said I'd do it,' the Governor sniffed, 'and I ain't ashamed of following the orders of a witch, son.'
Pembrake's mouth had actually dropped open. 'A witch told you that we both needed to be in the Ball Room for the stroke of midnight? A witch?'
'Yep. And what with you having tossed Abby to the trash and left her all alone – I had to make sure she could get here by other means,' the Governor said.
'So he goes and puts it into her head that she should go and get an invitation as it were,' Martha winked disturbingly, 'from the Captain.'
'Abby, the Captain? You aren't serious?'
'Oh, you've gone all pale, Pembrake,' Martha said.
'Oh stop your fussing, you two; Abby's a level-headed girl
. I know the Captain's reputation, but Abby doesn't seem to be the kind of girl to fall into his trap.
Pembrake blinked slowly and shook his head. 'She's exactly the kind of girl to fall into his trap,' Pembrake gave a short, frustrated laugh, 'I can't believe this!'
'I told you he wouldn't be happy,' Martha twittered.'
'What the pleck were you thinking?' Pembrake didn't care he was shouting, this was so incredibly maddening he'd lost all sense of proportion.
'Calm down, son,' the Governor still wasn't angry, 'if you're so worried about Abby, then I suggest you go and find her.'
Pembrake breathed in sharply. 'And where the pleck is she?'
The Governor shrugged his shoulders.
'I imagine she's getting ready like everyone else, but she should be here as soon as the guests arrive.'
This was not the answer Pembrake wanted to hear. He wanted Abby to be right next to him so he could grab her by the wrist and lead her away from this stupid mess. They were supposed to be finding their way home, not messing at some Ball. What had he been thinking? How had he let it get to this stage? Why had he let her out of his sight? Why had he been such a pleck?
'I reckon you're busy regretting, son. But don't be too busy doing that, don't forget you need to be in the Ball room at 12 o'clock. Don't you forget that.'
'Oh that's very fairytale, that is,' Martha said with a far-off coo.
'Why?' Pembrake snapped.
'Because the Crone said so, and I thinks you'll be wanting to take her advice, don't you?'
'But why?' Pembrake spoke though his teeth.
'Because you got to trust in someone.'
It had taken Pembrake some time to calm down after the conversation, and then only so much that he was no longer walking with white-knuckled fists. Martha and the Governor had moved off, making excuses that they needed to attend to their respective duties. They'd left Pembrake at the back of the kitchens, incensed, confused, and disbelieving all at the same time. He was incensed at the stupidity of Abby, going after the Captain even after she'd been warned off him, and at the Governor for giving her such a ludicrous idea. He was confused at the Governor's order – that he and Abby had to be in the Ball Room at the stroke of 12. And he was disbelieving at his own feelings. There didn't seem to be any reason for him to be so incensed and confused. It seemed simple, but he couldn't seem to calm down enough to see that.
The remaining hour before the Ball was a slow one. Pembrake went back to his room to check that his suit sat properly, but lost all interest in the view in the mirror and took to pacing instead. At one point one of the maids had knocked at his door and had proceeded, through giggles, to say that he was expected to meet the Princess in the ball room in 20 minutes. But Pembrake couldn't take it anymore and soon headed for the door.
He made his way to the Ball Room with quick, efficient steps, not even bothering to return the smiles from several ladies that were floating around in their ball gowns. He came at the Ball Room from the side, descending the sweeping staircase in order to get to the pristine floor below that was already beginning to fill with guests. But foot on the last step he stopped.
There she was in the middle of the ball room, white gloved hands clasped before her. She was smiling cheekily at him, having probably seen his defiant entry. She was dressed in a delicate sky-blue dress with pearl-white trimming and matching gloves. Her usually messy hair was pulled into a bun set low against her neck and held by a gold clasp.
Abby.
She was okay, she was here, she was….
The way she cocked her head up slightly as he approached and let her smile spread all the way to her arched eyebrows. The way she rolled her eyes when Pembrake almost ran into a couple crossing before him. The way her nose crinkled when he rolled his eyes in turn. The way she laughed into her hand while patting one hand to her stomach as if she were worried all her good humour would escape. The way she looked up so expectantly when he finally reached her, the way those storm-grey eyes reminded him of the sea….
'Pembrake!' The Captain of the Guard walked up to them and slipped a hand behind Abby's back. He did not touch Abby, but his hand hovered so close to the blue satin fabric of her dress that it did not matter.
'Captain.'
'Pembrake!' Abby exclaimed.
'Abby-' both he and the Captain said at once.
The Captain cleared his throat officially. 'Sir, how have you been? For I believe you have not seen me for a week – is that right, has it been a whole week?'
Pembrake swivelled his eyes to the Captain. The man had that same hateful glint to his eye. He was like the bully at school, prodding and prodding, trying to make Pembrake snap with anger. 'I've been marvellously busy with the Princess,' he shot back, satisfied at the glint of frustration in the Captain's eyes.
Abby huffed. 'That's fantastic, Pembrake, congratulations. I can see you've been doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing then,' she sounded angry, her voice peaking bitterly.
'Yes, my dear,' the Captain drew closer to Abby, ‘why would Pembrake's escapades bother us, when we have been having a delightful time on our own?'
Abby looked sideways at the Captain. 'I don't know if I'd put it quite like that.'
'Come now, what fun we had picking you a dress yesterday? You simply looked dazzling, mouse, as you do now of course.'
Mouse? What a horrible, disturbing name. Pembrake wanted to wrap his hands around the Captain's throat to ensure he never let slip that word again.
'Now, shouldn't you be awaiting the Princess' arrival, sir? This ballroom is almost full, I'm sure she shouldn't be much longer.'
'And shouldn't you be on actual guard duty? Or do you leave that to the real guards?' Pembrake spat.
'Oh I leave that to the real guards. Now if you would be so kind as to leave us, Pembrake, my mouse and I are off to mingle,' the Captain spelled out mingle with wide movements of his lips.
Pembrake turned his hot gaze to Abby, but she just stood there with her arms crossed, staring at the floor with an annoyed look on her face. Was that the best she could do? Was that all she was going to offer in his defence? She wasn't even going to look at him? She was just going to let the Captain get away with this?
'Abby?' Pembrake tried to sniff back the wave of frustration boiling his stomach. 'Abby?'
'Pembrake,' she said through gritted teeth, a strand of unruly hair unravelling from her bun and dangling in front of her face like a hook, 'I'm sure the Princess is waiting for you. You have to be there to meet her when she comes down the stairs,' Abby was talking stiffly, 'then the King will make an official greeting to his foreign guests and all the officials will be there.'
'Are you alright, my mouse?' The Captain looked over-the-top concerned, 'there seems to be something wrong with you voice.'
'I need a drink,' Abby said with the determination of a drunkard.
'You don't seem the type!' the Captain said through a laugh.
'I just want to watch the liquid going round in the glass, I'm strange like that,' Abby hadn't taken her eyes off Pembrake.
'Well I shall call the waiter over,' the Captain turned to signal a waiter with an imperious wave of one gloved hand.
'Later' Abby mouthed quickly, 'balcony'.
Then the Captain had turned around and was fixing Pembrake with that same sanctimonious smile. 'You are needed elsewhere, sir, more than you are needed here.'
'Indeed,' Pembrake gave a short nod to both of them and turned on his heel.
He was frustrated, there was no denying that. He was angry and annoyed too. But she'd said later and she'd said balcony. So that's where he'd find her.
The Princess had gripped Pembrake so tightly by the arm after she'd made her impressive entrance, that he was sure he'd never get it back again. She'd pulled him around, bubbling with excitement as she'd met various dignitaries. At times he'd felt like he'd over balance and tip over when she'd pull excitedly at his sleeve. It was hard to describe exactly how it felt, but P
embrake had a strange connection with the plight of livestock being paraded in front of farmers. He felt like the prize bull about to receive the blue ribbon and about, judging by the unimpressed looks from most of the stiff-necked, fat male guests, to be taken to the abattoir.
But finally, just as Abby had predicted, the King began his official welcome. Pembrake was unceremoniously shoved to the back of the crowd despite the whimpers of the Princess. This suited him perfectly, and he headed for the balcony at the far end of the ball room. Fortunately he'd noted the Captain of the Guard dutifully at the side of the King, and had refrained from shooting him a triumphant look.
Finally he made it through the crowd, through the half-open door allowing a snippet of breeze in to cool the guests, and onto the waiting balcony.
She turned to see him, more hair popping out of her bun and jutting out at peculiar angles. She'd been staring at the full moon above, her hands delicately resting on the balcony edge, but now she rested them on her hips and she rolled her eyes slowly and dramatically. 'You shouldn't let him get to you so much.'
'And you shouldn't let him get to you at all,' Pembrake took another awkward step forward, not wanting their conversation to filter back into the ball room.
'You don't have to worry about me,' each word Abby spoke she seemed to slow down, like a spring gently uncoiling, 'but, thank you. I know you were only concerned. Only concerned?' she repeated slowly, her voice hazarding the question while her eyes flickered.
'Y-yes. I was worried the Captain would… ruin everything and the timeline would… I was just worried our future wouldn't be waiting for us when we got back.'
'And you and the Princess… the future's fine?' Abby's shoulders tightened, her loose hair brushing against the neckline of her dress.
'Of course it is… everything's fine I'm sure. I mean, I haven't done anything to ruin it, that is.'
Abby nodded. 'That's good.'
'And you haven't done anything to ruin the timeline either… have you?'
'Me?' she put one gloved hand against her neck, 'I'm a witch, we're not meant to ruin the future. So I haven't done anything either.'
Abby the Witch Page 21
