The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  It felt so strange to be sharing this moment of honesty with Anathea. Something shifted between them, Ondine could feel it. For the first time, she saw things from the Infanta’s point of view. Fate had taken her fiancé, the man she might have grown to love and spend the rest of her life with. Yet the moment she’d lost her title, he’d given her the flick.

  Steeling herself for some kind of rebuttal that would put her back in her place, Ondine asked the question that had nagged her for some time. “I know your first engagement fell through, but what about later on?” she ventured.

  An icy glare greeted Ondine. “He was no better. I do not even say his name. I was young. My head was lost. We had three beautiful daughters together, but it wasn’t enough.” The Infanta shook her head and ground out the next sentence: “He wanted a boy.”

  “History repeated itself,” Ondine said.

  “That would have been preferable.” Anathea drew breath and Ondine could only wait, and wait a bit more, to hear the rest of it.

  “There was a boy born, but it was not by me. A week later I was served with divorce papers. And that is all that will ever be said of it. If you bring this up again, you will be dismissed immediately. Is that clear?”

  Stricken with equal amounts of fear and sorrow, Ondine only nodded and hastily got back to work.

  Soon after, Pyotr arrived at the Infanta’s door. “Ondine, the Duke will see you now,” he said.

  The bottom dropped out of Ondine’s world. Not that she was feeling particularly psychic, but she knew being summoned to the Duke’s rooms couldn’t be good news. But then a little spark of hope surged – if the Duke had asked to see her, he must be feeling well enough to see people. That had to be good, surely?

  Feeling wretched for herself, Ondine followed Pyotr to the Duke’s office. The Duke looked a bit strange, as if he hadn’t completely recovered from whatever previously ailed him. Perspiration sprang from Ondine’s face, neck, armpits and elbows. Not from nerves but because of the temperature – it was roasting hot in here, with four heaters on full blast. As Ondine removed her scarf and fingerless gloves, she noticed Old Col looking calm but flushed in the face. Hamish was there too, in Shambles form, on her shoulder. Guilt spread through her at the sight of Shambles, because he looked so utterly pitiful. Oh, how she wished she could apologise to him and take back everything she had said. But this was not the place for domestic reconciliations. That’s if reconciliation was on offer. Judging by the way he kept his ferrety gaze away from her, there might not be. Which set off another fresh burst of guilt and sorrow.

  Ms Kyryl the teacher was also there, her face firm and set, like a ... well, like a disapproving teacher, really.

  Resentment towards Shambles sliced through Ondine. If she hadn’t cheated – if he hadn’t encouraged her to cheat by taking advantage of how tired she was – she wouldn’t have given Ms Kyryl enough ammunition to bring this situation to the Duke.

  “Ondine, thank you for joining us,” the Duke said.

  Pyotr fetched a chair for Ondine and put it beside Ms Kyryl. Ms Kyryl nodded as Ondine sat down and cast another of those disconcerted looks at Shambles, her soft Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  The Duke spoke in a thin, wavering voice, which indicated he had a fair bit of recovering to do. “Ms Kyryl, Colette and I have been discussing your scholastic performance and I have several concerns. All things considered . . . you might be better off returning home to live with your parents and attending your local school.”

  “But I . . . I’m working so hard, please don’t make me go.” It felt so stuffy in here Ondine thought she might gag. She loosened the top button of her shirt but it made no difference. Without being asked, Pyotr walked around the room and switched off the heaters.

  The room fell silent for a moment, except for the suddenly noticeable ticking of the wall clock. Tick, tick, tick, tick.

  Not only was Shambles not even looking at her, he said absolutely nothing to help her. Every tick of the clock counted down the moments until Ondine’s expulsion.

  The Duke got to the point: “Ondine, you have been here several weeks, but it’s not such a long time that your education would suffer if you returned to your previous school.”

  Tick, tick, tick, tick. Her mind raced. Naturally, they couldn’t talk about spying in front of Ms Kyryl, so she tried very hard to come up with some other way of explaining how she could still be useful here.

  The Duke continued, “Pyotr tells me you have been working in the laundry. I have heard no complaints and in fact Miss Matice sings your praises. You have been a credit to your great-aunt in that regard. However, a laundry position can easily be filled, so it would put the palechia at no disadvantage if you were to leave.”

  Ondine automatically nodded agreement, then blinked as she realised something important. “Um . . . Your Grace . . . I recently began butlering for the Infanta.”

  “Oh, really?” With an effort, the Duke sat a little straighter in his chair.

  Ding! went Ondine’s brain. The door of opportunity creaked open a fraction. Maybe that mad Infanta had saved her skin? “Yes, Your Grace. The Infanta requires me to prepare all her meals myself. She says I’m the only one she trusts.”

  “Does she now? How very interesting.” The Duke stroked the edges of his split moustache before turning his steely gaze to the teacher. “Ms Kyryl, thank you for your time.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Ms Kyryl bowed her head and walked out.

  A cool gust of air from the corridor wafted in, helping to clear Ondine’s head for just a moment.

  After the door clicked shut, the Duke looked at Old Col, then at Ondine.

  “Do go on,” he said.

  “Um.” Ondine knew she had to say something good. Her future at the palechia depended on it. But what had she seen or heard from the Infanta that might prove useful to the Duke? A dreadful thought took hold. Perhaps Shambles refused to say anything because he thought she should be going home?

  The Infanta’s words rang in her ears: You will be let down. Ondine couldn’t stand it. She didn’t want to credit Anathea with foresight, but Shambles’s silence seemed to confirm it.

  Maybe everyone would be better off if she went home? If only she had some kind of sign she hadn’t completely stuffed things up with Hamish and he would eventually return to her in Venzelemma.

  Duke Pavla locked eyes with Ondine and leant forward, which served to accentuate his widow’s peak. “You must tell me everything. Even the things you think might not be important. Little things that go unnoticed can sometimes turn out to be very important.”

  “Um,” Ondine said again, as her mind reeled back to her first meeting with the Infanta. “Well, I think Aunt Col told you about the dog soup.”

  “Yes, and thank you for the warning.”

  “My pleasure. Well, we got talking. Or rather, she kind of lectured me. She said she didn’t like so many new people being here in the palechia. I mean, all the new employees who don’t seem to have much training. Maybe they aren’t very good at handling food and that’s why we’re getting sick?”

  “Interesting theory. Anything else?”

  “She asked me to tell her everything. You know, if I saw or heard anything strange. So I said I would. And now I’m working for her and cooking all her meals.”

  “I see. Anything else?”

  The full intensity of the Duke’s attention gave Ondine an idea. She might be able to secure Draguta’s continued employment. And she would be able to tell Draguta she’d spoken up for her. Maybe then her friend might explain what all those expensive trinkets were doing stuffed inside her teddy bear.[166]

  “Your Grace, just before I tell you about Anathea, I have to ask about my friend Draguta Matice. She is due for long-service leave and I think the Duchess wants to sack her before the leave is due so she can save money.”

  She thought she’d been really clever, because she hadn’t said anything about the ledger or the secret bank account. Unfortun
ately, she’d hadn’t been clever at all, because Pavla’s face creased, like he’d just smelt something horrible.

  “Do not bring my wife into this, it will get you nowhere.” He turned to Col, “I heard about what happened with Vincent earlier today. Just between us, I was quite grateful for your intervention, but my dear wife was inconsolable. I’d be most grateful if you would do your best not to upset her any further.”

  “The Duchess objects to me using magic?” Col said.

  “That is putting it mildly. She was tremendously upset and would rather the three of you were gone. I made it clear you were here for a very important purpose, but I fear if she is upset again, I may have to ask you to leave.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Old Col said.

  Ondine’s mind creaked and snapped and whirred and clicked at this new piece of information. They would have to be extra-extra careful about saying anything to the Duke about his wife, because he’d most likely take her side. If they wanted to keep their jobs, they might have to keep stump.[167]

  A look of frustration crossed Duke Pavla’s face. “Do you have any useful information about my sister that might be linked to my declining health?”

  Ondine thought she might be sick with fear. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I haven’t noticed anything else. Yet.”

  “Then you’d better notice. Stay close to Anathea and tell me everything you see or hear. Is that understood?”

  His words filled Ondine with fear and hope. Fear that she’d better come up with something, and hope that she might be able to stay on a bit longer and repair things with Hamish.

  “And you, Shambles and Miss Romano, had better come up with something soon, other than my nieces stealing silverware, or I’ll reconsider your employment.”

  Gulp!

  As they left the Duke’s office with his threat ringing in their ears, Ondine felt completely overwhelmed by the task at hand. “We are really up against it, Col,” she said.

  “You don’t say,” Col replied.

  “What happened with Vincent, by the way?”

  “I shut him up.”

  “Nice one.” Ondine wanted to give her great-aunt a high five. Her feeling of quiet triumph soon evaporated as she waited for Shambles to say something to her. Anything would do. Despair wound itself through her system, growing more palpable with each passing minute of silence.

  By the time they reached Old Col’s room, Ondine’s nerves were strung out.

  Col placed Shambles on the end of her bed. Then she turned to Ondine. “So, what happened between you two? Did you have a fight?”

  “No,” Ondine lied.

  “Nnn,” Shambles mumbled.

  The first noise to come from his lips and it wasn’t even a proper word. To Ondine, he was completely out of sorts. When he started gesticulating with his paw in front of his face, she wondered if he was making a “go-away” gesture.

  Old Col put her hands on her hips. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet, Shambles. What gives?”

  “Ah oke eye aw.” He didn’t really speak, it was more a case of the words sliding out sideways.

  “Are you sick?” Ondine reached down to touch his furry face and he recoiled. Oh no! Now he doesn’t even want me touching him. “I’m so sorry about everything I said. I take it all back. Please talk to me again.”

  “You did have a fight,” Col said. “I knew it.”

  Feeling utterly wretched, Ondine’s vision went blurry with fresh tears. “Yes, we did.”

  “Ondine, you’d best be running along. The Infanta will be waiting,” Col said gently.

  “In a minute.” She dragged her sleeve over her eyes to dry them. If Shambles would just say something reassuring she would feel so much better.

  With a groan of pain, Shambles began transforming into a human. Blessed relief filled Ondine’s heart and she quickly grabbed a blanket to keep him warm. Then she ripped the cover off the bed to make another layer of warmth for him. In this part of the palechia, Hamish would freeze.

  Hamish looked like he might be sick as he finished transforming. “Aw, thanks hen,” he said, pulling the blanket around him. Despite the cold, beads of sweat dotted his brow. “I ken talk again, thank goodness fer that.” He tenderly rubbed his jaw, “Aww, that’s handy to know, eh, Col? I broke me jaw leaping awf the basin but it’s all fixed now.”

  “You broke your jaw?” It didn’t seem possible, but Ondine felt even worse than before. She and Hamish were supposed to have a connection. All this time, she thought he’d been ignoring her. Instead, he’d been in so much pain he couldn’t even talk. And she hadn’t even realised!

  “I’m so sorry, Hamish,” she said again. He still hadn’t said any of the soothing words she needed right now, like ‘It’s fine, I love you’, or ‘I’m sorry too, I hope you can forgive me’. Maybe he didn’t forgive her. Maybe he preferred being a ferret because it was becoming too painful to be a man? Then shouldn’t he avoid the pain by staying human all the time instead? There was so much demanded of them. And Ondine didn’t have the benefit of changing into an animal, yet she was still expected to work the espionage angle just as much as Hamish. It was exhausting.

  “The Infanta is not known for her patience, child,” Old Col said. “You two can make up some other time. Hamish, you need to keep an eye on Lord Vincent. He and Kerala are up to something, I can feel it in my waters.”

  Ondine didn’t want to leave, she’d much rather stay and talk things through with Hamish. But instead of asking her to stay, Hamish gave her a sad look and said, “Ye’d best be going then.”

  Which Ondine took to mean he didn’t want her with him. She turned to leave before she started a fresh bout of bawling.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I would like some biscuits made,” the Infanta said, as Ondine prepared her pot of tea and slices of lemon. The way the woman spoke made Ondine want to roll her eyes. Everything the Infanta said implied someone else had done it, or should do it. And whenever she spoke about something bad happening she had that knack of making it seem like someone else’s fault.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go down to the kitchen and do it.” The thought of spending a bit of time in the kitchen, away from the Infanta, held great appeal.

  “You know something? They could be made here.” Anathea raised her hand and pointed vaguely to the left. “I’ve been told there’s a kitchen next door.”

  “Next door? You’re kidding?” Ondine still found it hard to guess the Infanta’s mood, because her face remained so immobile. But from the woman’s tone, she sounded serious.

  “See for yourself. I think there is a connecting door somewhere – oh, look, if that table is moved, there’s a latch to be found. It’s either a kitchen or a storage room. It’s never been used.”

  How bizarre! Ondine grunted as she shifted the table and found the latch. It was easier to see the doorframe now, because she knew what to look for. But if you didn’t, you might think it was a shoddy join in the wallpaper.

  She turned the handle in the top of the dado and pulled the door towards her. It opened with a groan, as if waking from a hundred-year sleep. Beams of light streaked in through the dusty windows. Ondine found a light switch near the door. Sleepy fluorescent tubes buzzed and flickered into life. The air smelled musty and dry, as if the room had lain undisturbed for decades.

  “Mercury’s wings! What a great kitchen!” Ondine walked around, her footsteps stirring up dust motes on the terracotta tiles as she assessed the room. The old electric oven belonged in a museum. It looked like it had never been touched. When Ondine opened the refrigerator, she held her nose in anticipation of biohazard, but it was empty. The freezer door put up a fight. When it finally came free, Ondine discovered the inside was completely iced up. She leant down and switched it off at the power point.

  “Has anyone ever used it?” she called out to the Infanta.

  “Probably not. Certainly not by me.”

  Ondine would be able to prepare the Infanta’s meals h
ere instead of down in the kitchens. She set to wiping dust off the counters.

  The Infanta said, “About those biscuits?”

  Saturn’s rings, does she never let up? “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I was thinking. Perhaps the biscuits should be made by me?”

  Double-take time. “Um, have you ever made them before?”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  Oh dear! “OK, then. First thing, take all your rings off and wash your hands. I’ll find us some aprons.” Sure enough, the kitchen had several pantries. Inside one, Ondine found everything she needed except ingredients. Probably just as well, because any food remains would have been supporting new ecosystems by now.

  “I’ll head downstairs and get the food.”

  In the kitchens she very nearly collided with the Duchess.

  “Ondine? What in heavensh name are you doing here?”

  That’s right, the Duchess wanted her gone. In her peripheral vision, Ondine saw pale, trembling people who looked as if they’d just been thoroughly told off. Ooops, very bad time to arrive.

  “My Lady Duchess.” She made a quick bow of respect. “I came to collect ingredients so I can cook for the Infanta.”

  “Really? She’s not happy with the copioush free meals I shupply her?”

  Oh dear, the slurring was back and it wasn’t even that late in the day. Ondine didn’t know where to look, so she kept her eyes lowered. “Your Grace, I can come back later if you like.”

  “You’ve got one minute.”

  Ondine wasted the first ten seconds of that minute in mute shock, before she sprang into action and grabbed a tray. Despite the Duchess’s tight rein on food supplies, she at least found enough ingredients to make biscuits and pancakes. A small bag of flour, some butter, sugar, salt – they were easy to find but she needed more. Where was the chocolate and crystallised ginger? The pantry was so neat and ordered, with everything labelled – it was an obsessive-compulsive’s dream. She found the ginger but no sign of chocolate. The Duchess hadn’t kicked her out yet, so she reached for the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of milk and a couple of eggs.