When Col turned back to look at them, her face was all innocence. “You don’t like it?”
Hamish glared at Old Col and said, “Out of all the places in Brugel, ye had tae bring me here, din’t ye?”
With a sinking feeling Ondine looked from Hamish to her great-aunt and then back again. “What is this place?”
“It’s the Duke’s autumn palace.” Col laughed and winked. The woman was having far too much fun at Hamish and Ondine’s expense.
“You’ve been here before,” Ondine said, “both of you.”
Old Col shrugged. “Why, you’re right! We have been here, many years ago.” Then she turned and set off towards the gatehouse.
“A great many,” Hamish said, shaking his head. “Only it wasnae called Bellreeve then. If I’d known, I wouldnae come.”[94]
Figuratively, the twig snapped. Ondine rolled her eyes. “This is where the debutante ball took place, isn’t it?”[95]
“Aye. You’re a smart lass.” He gave her a smile but it looked tight and strained and his nostrils were flared.
“I didn’t realise it was here. I guess I never thought about where it happened,” Ondine said, taking slower steps to create distance between themselves and Old Col, who walked towards the imposing building, giggling to herself.
Ondine whispered to Hamish, “Do you think she knew all along?”
“Aye, I do.”
Ondine didn’t ask more, because she knew it would upset Hamish very much to speak of those horrible events. She wound her arm around his waist and gave him a hug. He returned it but without the intensity she needed. Despite the picture-postcard scene, her happy mood evaporated. Somewhere in this vast palace was a ballroom, where, decades ago, Great-Auntie Col had lost her dental-floss-thin grip on her temper and cast Hamish into ferret form. And in that form he’d stayed for years and years, until he’d met Ondine. The only good to come from his being trapped as a member of the weasel family was that his human physical form had not changed since that day.[96]
They walked to the gatehouse and Ondine let Col do all the talking. The guard looked at the three of them and asked for identification.
Oh dear, Ondine had none, neither did Hamish. “They are with me,” Old Col said, “The Duke is expecting us.”
“Wait one moment,” the guard said, picking up an intercom and pressing a button.
“By the time you do that, we could be inside already. Come children,” Col said, breezing past him.
Eeek, that felt a bit naughty. Hamish took Ondine’s hand and they followed Col.
Click clack went her feet on the cobble stones, which had fleur-de-lis carved on them.
Wind suddenly howled through the trees. Ondine’s dark hair whipped across her face and stung her eyes. A gust pushed her from behind and she lost her footing.
“Steady, lass.” Hamish held her hand as the trees around them twisted and thrashed. His lips kept moving, but the wind stole the rest of his words.
Old Col staggered, then turned and pointed.
Ondine looked behind them to see a tornado sucking up everything in its path – buildings, plants and earth. It was heading right for them! The guard fled his post, just before the twister ripped up the gatehouse.
“Run!” Hamish yelled, grabbing her and racing towards the safety of the palace.
The wind clawed at them. Ondine screamed as something exploded beside her and slate tiles flew through the sky.
Bang!
The twister sucked the doors off the stables and half a dozen terrified horses bolted out. The next second Col had Ondine by the other hand. The three of them ran towards the palace portico.
Just as someone slammed the enormous doors in their faces.
Chapter Four
“Let us in!” Ondine banged her fists on the timber door.
“Stand back,” Old Col commanded. She drew her hands up to the sky and then pushed them towards the door handle.
Nothing happened.
I wonder if Old Col’s as magic as she used to b–
The doors burst open to reveal half a dozen terrified staff huddling against the wall.
The wind was howling. Ondine turned to see if the twister was following them in. To her enormous relief it changed course at the last second and zig-zagged down the hill towards the lake.
“Phew, that was close.”
The tornado kept vacuuming up everything in its path, becoming a waterspout as it crossed the lake. Then, just as fast as it had sprung up, it lost its power and vanished into the dark clouds.
All was still.
“Was that your doing, Col?” Hamish asked, his voice burning with anger.
“Most certainly not. But if you’ll pardon the pun, it sure put the wind up me. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The nervous staff broke their huddle. One of them stepped forward and held out his hand to Col.
“Pyotr Nillinskovic at your service. I am the seneschal.”[97]
“Colette Romano. Here at the Duke’s pleasure.”
Pyotr walked to the door and had a look outside at the damage. “The school roof’s gone and the stables are a mess.” He quickly issued orders to the rest of the staff. “Find the horses – and find new homes for them, then relocate the school to somewhere with a roof.”
Without missing a beat, or even checking if they had recovered from the shock, Old Col said, “This is Hamish McPhee, he is also here at the Duke’s invitation. And this is Ondine, my grand-niece.”
The ground slipped a little beneath Ondine’s feet. Not literally, for that would be an earth tremor and Brugel is not in a quake zone. The ground slipped figuratively, making her feel a bit wobbly on the inside. She shook Pyotr’s hand and with a shaky voice said, “Pleased to meet you.”
“And I you,” Pyotr said with a welcoming smile that made Ondine start to feel at ease.
Pyotr turned to Hamish and welcomed him calmly with a handshake. Ondine had an inkling she was going to like this man as the colour returned to his lined face. He had the most obvious comb-over she’d ever seen. The wide parting began just above his ear and stretched his slick brown hair right over to the other ear. She had to give herself a mental kick to stop staring at it.
“How old are you, Ondine?” Pyotr asked.
“Fifteen, sir.”
“I see. Then you can work in the afternoons, and attend the palechia school in the mornings. Once we find a new home for the school, of course. Please come with me.”
She couldn’t believe how quickly Pyotr had recovered his composure.
The moment Pyotr turned away, Hamish squeezed Ondine’s hand. Not to demonstrate his love – it was all about keeping a straight face while they gazed at that astonishing head of hair. Or not-hair. As much as she loved looking at Hamish, it took all her effort not to look at him right now, because if she did, she’d collapse in a fit of giggles.
Their feet clacking on the mosaic-tiled floor, the three of them followed Pyotr inside. Delicious aromas of roasting meat and vegetables wafted through the air. They must be somewhere near the kitchens.
“Do you have any work experience?” Pyotr asked Ondine.
“My parents run a pub and I help out a fair bit,” she said.
“You know your way around a kitchen, then?”
“Of course.”
Hamish squeezed her hand again. She kept her giggles in check as she answered more of Pyotr’s questions while politely looking him in the eye and trying very hard not to look at his hair. Odd that the seneschal wasn’t asking Old Col or Hamish any questions. Then another twig snapped – Hamish and Col already had jobs. She, however, was at a loose end and the kind man was trying to find her something to do.
“If the three of you would come this way, I’ll take you to your lodgings. Then I shall inform the Duke of your attendance.”
“He’s here already?” Ondine asked.
“Yes. A last-minute change of plans,” Pyotr said.
Aunt Col’s brows shot up in surpris
e. “A good thing we came directly, then, otherwise we would have been cooling our heels in Venzelemma.”
Ondine couldn’t help thinking her great-aunt knew a lot more than she was letting on. Pyotr’s acceptance of them was so fuss-free that Ondine began to wonder if something was afoot. Ondine might lack a lot of what might be called “life experience”, but she trusted her instincts, and those instincts were telling her to be very careful. Which meant no gasping at the priceless paintings, no ooh-ing and ah-ing at the intricate decorations and the luxurious furniture as they walked past open sitting rooms. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the middle of Pyotr’s back – not looking down in case he turned around and thought she was acting sullen. She dared not look up because of that tantalisingly bad hair.
“This will be your room, Ondine,” Pyotr said, as they stopped outside door 404.
It was smaller than her bedroom at home. There were two narrow, single beds, one made up with a well-loved teddy bear sitting on the pillow and a crocheted blanket on the top. The other bed – which would be Ondine’s – had plain white sheets and a beige quilt. Each bed had a matching white side table and a small white chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. The window looked out to a narrow, cobbled courtyard where washing flicked and flapped on the clotheslines.
Drab-tastic!
Pyotr continued, “Your bags are yet to arrive. We’ll walk to the laundry, where I’ll introduce you to Miss Matice. She is the Master of Domestic Services, which is one of the most important jobs we have here.”
Nice that he tried to talk up the job description, but Ondine wasn’t fooled. As they walked away from the kitchens and headed towards the laundry, those lovely cooking aromas faded away, replaced by strong smells of bleach, floral detergent and something that might almost pass for green apples.
“I’m very happy to do laundry,” Ondine said, because she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. OK, laundry was a drudge, but Pyotr could have given her plenty of worse things to do, like scrub floors or toilets. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, how come you wanted to know about my kitchen experience?”
“Because, if you’ve worked in a kitchen, you’ll know all about wine and food stains, and how to get them out.” Pyotr gave her a big grin.
Old Col snickered into her hand.
Hamish looked despondent and slightly worried. “You’ll be OK.” He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek, which had the temporary effect of making her forget all about her imminent menial work. The drudgery would be worth it if she and Hamish could be together.
“Young love. Bless,” an unfamiliar voice said. Ondine felt heat rising in her face as she turned. Pyotr introduced her. “Miss Matice, this is Ondine, she will be starting here today. Would you be so kind as to take her under your wing?”
Miss Matice’s hair was pulled into a tight blonde ponytail that made her head look alarmingly thin, like the rest of her reed-thin body, which almost disappeared when she turned sideways.
“Delighted,” Miss Matice said, extending her bony hand to Ondine. “Please, call me Draguta, we friends now, yes?”
“Y-yes.” With a mental hiccup, Ondine shook hands and tried to keep a straight face. Honestly, what kind of parents burdened their kid with such a horrible name? An uncharitable thought arrived – maybe she’d been a really ugly baby.
“Bye, then,” Hamish said, giving Ondine a lopsided smile.
She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him silly, but that would not go down so well with her new employer. And she really needed to make a good impression so they would see how useful she was and allow her to stay.
With a small wave, she bid him farewell and made ready to face up to her new job.[98]
Pyotr, Old Col and Hamish turned and walked away.
“Start with baskets. Is about to rain, get washing off line,” Draguta said in her strangely clipped style of talking. Ondine wondered if perhaps Brugelish was her second language.
Through the open doorway, Ondine looked out at the courtyard and saw a small team of workers removing washing from the line. She walked out and reached up to the first peg.
Something wet and smelly slapped on her hand. Urgh! It was a fish! A woman next to Ondine screamed and came running inside, dropping her basket of laundry in the process. “It’s raining fish!”
Plop! Flop! Splat!
Like some bizarre dream, fish fell all around Ondine, landing with wet spluds on her head and shoulders and the ground. Some of them kept wriggling and flipping. And oh, the putrid smell!
Argh! Horrified, yet compelled to stay on task, Ondine grabbed the washing from the line and threw it into the basket. Wet projectiles kept hammering her. Ooof, her head. Ouch, her shoulder. Biff, her face.
All around people were screaming and crying and huddling under the eaves to get away from the hideous rain.
Ondine picked up her laundry basket and charged inside.
“Where is laundry?” Draguta demanded.
Looking down, Ondine gasped. Her basket was full of fish. “It must be underneath!”
“Is crazy! Crazy!” Draguta threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “Will have to wash all over again!”
“Or, looking on the bright side, I’ve caught us dinner,” Ondine said.
“Ha! I like you!” Draguta slapped her on the back. “Now, get rid of fish and get washing. Here, take basket and sort for colours.”
In the next breath, Draguta caught the attention of another laundry worker and told her to take all the fish to the kitchens.
Feeling bewildered by the strange turn of events, Ondine could only shrug and get to work, sorting clothes. Draguta tended to an industrial-sized machine that had just finished spinning. Not for the first time, Ondine wondered whether she would ever get used to calling Draguta by that harsh name. Strong veins popped out on Draguta’s sinewy arms as she pulled wet bath sheets and towelling robes from the machine. At the same time, another laundress moved towards a small door set into the wall. Dirty clothes spilled on to the floor.
“A laundry chute! That’s cool,” Ondine said.
“Not nearly,” Draguta said. “They be lords and ladies, but live like slobs. They put down chutes in one day what regular people use in week. Get used to it.”
“Draguta, do you have a middle name?” Ondine asked as she separated the dirty clothes into their respective piles.
The laundry master’s face turned to a scowl. “Elena. Named after grandmother, may she rot in hell!” Draguta turned to her right and spat on the floor.
A slither of fear slid up Ondine’s spine and she mentally ruled out ever mentioning the name Elena again.
Should she try another tack? Why not. “Do you have a nickname?”
“No.”
Ondine gulped. “Well . . . most people call me Ondi for short, so feel free to call me that, I don’t mind.”
“My name is Draguta. Is strong name.” Draguta hefted a basket of wet washing on to where her hips would be if she had a gram of fat on her. A strong name for a strong woman.
It took two workers to heft each of the remaining baskets of washing out to the courtyard, where the rain had stopped just as fast as it began. Draguta managed a whole basket on her own. Ondine stayed inside, sorting the remaining dirty clothes.
“You need to go through pockets,” Draguta instructed, as she came back into the laundry. “They filthy, leave tissues behind. Lost count of times to rewash dark pants because of shredded tissue. Don’t be shy, shove hand in there. Ferret around.”
Ferret?
Panic surged through Ondine. She’d forgotten all about Hamish and what might happen if they were separated. “Jupiter’s moons! Ferret!”
Chapter Five
How far had Hamish gone? What if he transformed into a ferret in front of the seneschal?
“I have to go!” Ondine shot up, knocking over a pile of silk blouses. Charging down the hallway, she yelled out, “Hamish, wait!”
On she ran, hoping she
wasn’t too late. All that time on the train and they hadn’t spent one moment discussing how they were going to manage Hamish’s . . . issue. They had been together so much during summer, she’d become used to him being human whenever she was around. What if he’d lost the ability to control his transformations?
A familiar groan of pain and a filthy Celtic curse carried up the hall. Ondine’s vision blurred as tears threatened to leak out. Skittering around the corner, she saw Shambles the ferret lying on the floor. Clothes everywhere. Old Col cast Ondine a dark look, as if this were all her fault. Pyotr merely cocked one eyebrow and swallowed, waiting for an explanation. Ondine herself struggled to find a reason.
For a moment she opened and shut her mouth, but nothing came out. Pyotr had just witnessed a terrifying weather event and now a man turning into a ferret. She wondered if she should tell him about the fish rain? It would be a lot to take in. Dread crawled through her body. She didn’t have to be psychic to know they were in serious trouble if she didn’t think of something quickly.
The something she thought of was: “You’ve never seen a man turn into a ferret before?”
“Can’t say that I have.” Pyotr scratched his temple.
“You have now,” Ondine ploughed on. “You can see what a great asset he’ll be to the Duke. After all, Shambles is the one who foiled the assassination attempt against him. The Duke wouldn’t even be here if not for him. That’s why he offered him a job, because he saved his life. And if Duke Pavla goes under, Lord Vincent would take control, and who wants that?”
“Thank you, yes.” Pyotr nodded slowly, closing his eyes as he did so, indicating he’d heard – and possibly seen – quite enough.
“If ye could all turn around for a wee bit, I need tae straighten meself out,” Shambles said, wincing as he budged and fudged his way into a sitting position to become humanly Hamish again. Ondine felt a fresh pang of longing for him. He looked like he was in so much pain.
They turned their backs to give him privacy.
The Ondine Collection Page 18
