The Autumn Palace

by Ebony McKenna

  The Duchess looked angry enough to shoot darts out of her eyes. ‘You have no right.’

  A lesser person would have withered under the Duchess’s glare. Everyone stared at Hamish, most of them probably wondering who he was and how he had the nerve to say such things to the Duchess.

  ‘He has every right.’ The Infanta stepped forward, and if Ondine didn’t know better, she could have sworn Anathea was smiling. ‘If your drunken behaviour has put the Duke’s health at risk, then this man is doing the right thing.’

  ‘You would shay that,’ the Duchess said.

  Ondine cast a quick look around the room. She caught Old Col’s glance and noticed her great aunt staring daggers at the Duchess. ‘You will speak the truth!’ Old Col commanded.

  The Duchess made a strange sound in the back of her throat and clamped her teeth together, refusing to speak. In the crowd behind Old Col, Ondine saw a lot of the witchy women huddling together, discussing things in murmured tones. She suddenly wondered if they were not pretending to be witches, but were real witches in real life.

  ‘I don’t feel so well,’ the Duke said, turning pale.

  Everyone gasped.

  Ondine thought they were all being pathetic and cowardly. ‘Well, don’t just stand around. Someone get a doctor!’

  The Duke slumped into Ondine’s arms. He was so heavy, she couldn’t hold him up. They fell to the floor in a flumph of green cabbage skirts.

  Luckily for the Duke, there were three doctors in attendance at the Harvest Ball, one dressed as a ballerina, one as a lizard monster and the third as another witch. They laid him on a chaise longue in one of the libraries.

  ‘It’s kidney stones,’ the doctor dressed as a witch said. She was the one who’d treated Old Col and the Duke earlier. She made the Duke swallow a tablet the size of his thumb. ‘If what you say is true, and he’s been eating rhubarb leaves, then he’s lucky to be alive.’

  Ondine breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Oh, my dear darling,’ the Duchess said, smothering her husband’s forehead with kisses.

  The Duchess’s words didn’t ring true to Ondine. She looked at Hamish and he looked at her. While everyone else fussed over the Duke, Ondine and Hamish snuck out of the room.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  Ondine knew that voice. Oh, why did Vincent have to turn up now? He stood right in front of them, blocking their path.

  Squee! ‘It’s you!’ cried another voice that Ondine knew.

  Brilliant! It was Hetty, and she’d just walked around the corner in her shimmery moon costume.

  ‘Sorry, Hetty, you have tae take one for Brugel,’ Hamish said. Quick as a flash, he grabbed her and threw her in Vincent’s path. There were grunts of frustration (from Vincent) and shrieks of glee (from Hetty) as she smothered her idol in kisses.

  ‘Nice one!’ Ondine said as she and Hamish charged the rest of the way to the Duchess’s rooms.

  Her cabbage costume was so wide she knocked things over. They had to stop for a moment as Hamish helped pull the material over her head. She felt stupid standing there in a green polo neck and tights, but it was agility she required, not the latest fashion. Together they negotiated all the polished breakables. In the bedroom freshly arranged ginger lilies filled the air with such a cloying smell Ondine sneezed.

  The ledger was still there in its hiding place. The hand-written balance sheet too.

  ‘We need them both, otherwise the Duke won’t believe us,’ Ondine said.

  ‘I know.’ Hamish unscrewed a bottle of white wine. ‘We have tae sell this right. We have tae stand absolutely firm.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ondine asked.

  ‘Drinking some courage.’ Hamish necked the bottle and took a good swig. A strange expression came over his face.

  ‘Bad vintage?’ Ondine thought the wine had turned.

  Hamish stared at the bottle. ‘It’s . . . it’s nawt wine at all. It’s apple juice!’

  91 Except she probably would have said, ‘You will be let down by Hamish,’ because of her penchant for the passive voice.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ‘Apple juice? That makes no sense.’ Ondine reached for the bottle and took a deep sniff. The sweet tang of apples filled her nostrils. She took a swig anyway and tasted the truth.

  Hamish had already moved on to a bottle of red wine. The label may have boasted a harvest from the previous decade, but, judging by his face, it might have been bottled last week.

  ‘Grape juice,’ he said, offering it to Ondine.

  She sniffed and tasted this one too. Although there was no alcohol content, her head started spinning. ‘But . . . if the Duchess is always a bit soaked, why are these bottles full of juice instead of wine?’

  Hamish shook his head, then picked up another bottle and twisted the cap. ‘Hear that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Exactly. No crinkly sound, no seal breaking. These bottles have all been emptied and refilled.’

  ‘By who?’ In her head, Ondine heard her mother say, By whom, darling.

  ‘By the Duchess. She’s not a sad old drunk at all. She’s as sober as the day is lawng. She just wants everyone tae think she’s wasted so that nobody suspects anything.’

  Ondine felt her eyes grow wider at the thought. ‘No wonder she could put so much away, it was all an act.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Hamish grabbed two bottles and put them under his arm, then he picked up the ledger. ‘Ever notice how uncomfortable everyone is when she’s wobbling around, getting all shouty? Ye look the other way. Ye don’t want her tae target you, because she’s a raving drunk. Except in this case, we’re all looking away so that we won’t notice what she’s up tae.’

  ‘That’s so clever!’ Ondine blurted.

  ‘Ondi, me love, she was trying tae kill her husband!’ Hamish said, leading them back to the hallway.

  ‘She did it right in front of us. You were there in the kitchen and you watched her yelling at the staff, but you didn’t realise.’

  Hamish’s voice dripped with sarcasm: ‘Thanks fer yer vote of confidence.’

  They jogged back to the room where the doctors had taken the Duke.

  ‘Oh, Hamish, I’ve just realised,’ Ondine gasped. ‘You said the Duchess told Vincent, “One day all this will be yours.” She really wasn’t just saying that as a figure of speech.’

  ‘Aye: I only hope we’re not too late fer the Duke.’

  Laid out on the chaise longue, the Duke looked stricken. Perspiration ran in rivulets down his face. His hair stuck to his scalp in wet dregs.

  The Duchess sat weeping by his side while the three doctors discussed the situation amongst themselves in the corner. In a nearby chair sat the First Minister, and next to her, the Infanta.

  ‘I think we’ll need more than doctors,’ Ondine said.

  The Duchess turned around and looked daggers at them. ‘Get these intruders out of here,’ she commanded.

  ‘It’s over, Kerala,’ Hamish said, holding up the two bottles of not-wine. ‘We know yer dirty wee secret.’

  ‘I have no secrets!’ the Duchess said.

  ‘I think you do.’ Ondine’s mouth turned completely dry. ‘My Lord Duke, I am so very sorry you have to hear this, but your beloved wife has not only been poisoning you, she’s been stealing from you, too.’

  The Duke whimpered but said nothing.

  The Duchess screamed at them, ‘Are you trying to kill him?’

  ‘No, but you are,’ Ondine said, her heart hammering behind her ribs. ‘We know the wine is just for show. It’s only fruit juice. We have the ledger, and we have your secret bank account details.’

  ‘How dare you!’ the Duchess said between clenched teeth.

  The Duke whimpered some more, from the pain in his kidneys and probably the pain in his heart.

  Old Col stared at the Duchess as she muttered a dark spell under her breath, ending with the hideous threat, ‘speak truth not lies or the next Duke dies.’
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  Ondine noted that she cursed the next duke, not the current one. The Duchess didn’t care if the current duke died, but she cared very much about Vincent. No Vincent, no chance to rule on his behalf.

  The Duchess grunted and tried to clamp her mouth shut, but Old Col’s stare worked like a drill, digging through layers of obfuscation. The Duchess’s words came out as a strangled snarl: ‘I did it for Brugel.’ Exhausted, she collapsed on the floor in defeat and said nothing more.

  From his sickbed, Duke Pavla whimpered again.

  The First Minister spoke up: ‘I shall convene an urgent sitting of the Dentate first thing on Monday.’92

  ‘Does this mean Lord Vincent will still be the new Duke?’ Ondine said as she and Hamish returned to the ballroom. They’d grabbed some warm trousers and a coat so Ondine no longer looked like a green bean. In the ballroom, the party atmosphere had evaporated – as it should, considering the circumstances. People had stopped eating the food because of Ondine’s warning. However, the police wouldn’t let anyone leave, so the band kept playing, even though nobody was dancing.

  ‘I hope not.’ Hamish shuddered at the thought.

  ‘So who will be the next Duke?’

  ‘I think the First Minister is checking the constitution right now.’

  Speaking of which, the woman herself walked into the ballroom. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said, making a beeline for the Infanta.

  Ondine and Hamish were close enough to overhear without having to strain their ears.

  ‘Your Grace, I have checked the constitution for the line of succession. It states that while the Duke is incapacitated for reasons of physical or mental ill health, the closest relative over the age of twenty-one shall rule in his stead, until such time as the Duke makes a full recovery or dies.’

  The Infanta’s jaw dropped in shock.

  ‘Do not be alarmed, the doctors expect Lord Pavla to make a full recovery in time,’ the First Minister said.

  Ondine leant closer to Hamish, an act that made her brain a bit fuzzy. ‘Does that mean Anathea will become Duchess of Brugel?’ she whispered.

  ‘It seems so.’

  Everyone in the ballroom stood and watched as the First Minister, dressed as a witch, made the Infanta, dressed as a silent film star, place her palm on a bound copy of the constitution and recite the pledge of Brugel.

  The Infanta recited the oath word perfect, with a steady voice.

  The First Minister shook the new Duchess’s hand, then made a deep curtsey. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

  A team of waiters appeared with flutes of champagne and began handing them out. Hamish grabbed two flutes and offered one to Ondine.

  The First Minister held her glass aloft. ‘I propose a toast. To Her Lordship Duchess Anathea the First of Brugel.’

  ‘Anathea the First,’ everyone said. Ondine and Hamish raised their glasses and took a sip.

  The bubbles tickled Ondine’s nose. Would anybody notice if she plonked in a sugar cube to improve the taste?

  ‘Your Grace,’ Ondine said, performing a quick curtsey as Anathea turned to her.

  The room fell silent again.

  Anathea gave a nod and the briefest of smiles in return. ‘My brother’s health is paramount. He is being well cared for, thanks in part to you. If anything is needed by you, you have only to ask.’

  Ondine’s heart leapt into her throat with gratitude. She seized her chance to repay a debt. ‘Actually, there is one thing. Could Draguta Matice have her job back, please? The previous duchess sacked her and . . .’

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people said, ‘rude girl’, ‘ungrateful’ and ‘pushing her luck’.

  Another small smile and Anathea nodded. ‘It will be done.’ She stepped forward, the ruling Duchess of Brugel, and shook Ondine’s hand to seal the deal. Then, in a low voice, she said to them, ‘You must be Hamish. When things calm down a bit, you must tell me exactly what kind of employment you performed for the Duke. Your skills will be in great demand in the coming months.’

  ‘Aye,’ Hamish said.

  Ondine reached for his hand, silently hoping he wasn’t about to accept another position to keep them in this strange place during the winter.

  The whole time, the First Minister hadn’t taken her eyes off Ondine, making her feel under suspicion for something. ‘You are a very clever girl. I am going to invite you to lunch at the Dentate very soon.’

  ‘I would be honoured,’ Ondine said hardly daring to believe it. The First Minister unnerved her, but maybe over lunch she might loosen up? Time would tell.

  Displaying his knack for being in the right place at the right time once more, Pyotr approached and made a low bow. ‘My Lord Duchess, to you and your household, I offer my services.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Anathea said, sounding guarded. ‘And what services would they be?’

  ‘In whichever way you see fit, Your Grace. I served at Duke Pavla’s pleasure. I now offer my services and loyalty to you.’

  Ondine couldn’t help thinking how quickly Pyotr had made his move. ‘I need some air,’ she whispered to Hamish.

  ‘Aye, I could use a clear head meself,’ he said, leading her to the rear gardens. They put their barely touched champagne glasses on a side table.

  ‘Where are you going?’ A police officer approached. ‘We will need your statements.’

  ‘We’re just going out to the bonfires,’ Ondine said.

  ‘As long as you don’t leave the grounds.’ This was said in a tone that made Ondine feel like they were in trouble.

  ‘Aye, we’ll not go anywhere,’ Hamish said, putting a warm hand on Ondine’s back as they walked outside.

  The cool air helped clear Ondine’s head. She pulled her coat collar up to protect her neck. Hamish draped a protective arm over her shoulder as they approached the bonfire. The full moon had been two nights ago. They would have had a fat orb in the sky tonight if not for the cloud cover.

  There were several fires instead of one large one, spread over a vast area. People milled about each blaze, basking in the warmth of the orange and red glow. Those wearing especially flammable costumes stood back a little more.

  As is the custom, people were writing their regrets on slips of paper and casting them into the flames, as a way of saying goodbye to the past and cleansing the future.

  Ondine shook her head and said, ‘I think I’ve had about enough excitement for one night.’

  ‘Aye, lass, me too.’ Hamish gave her a devastating smile that turned her legs to noodles.

  ‘I haven’t written a note.’ Ondine reached into her pockets for a scrap of paper and came up empty.

  Hamish looked about and saw some more witches. Steam rose from their warm drinks. ‘Could I trouble ye fer a pen and paper?’

  He must have given them one of his trademark smiles, because the three witches giggled and gave him a pen and a whole pad of paper.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, then turned to Ondine.

  They found a quiet part of the garden, near one of the smaller fires, and sat down on the damp ground. Ondine pulled her coat around her tightly. The paper felt too small to fit all her regrets and bad habits.

  She wrote, ‘I don’t like telling lies.’ Below that she wrote, ‘I don’t like spying on people,’ and, ‘I don’t like getting other people into trouble.’ No sooner had she written that than she had another regret: ‘I wish I’d stayed at home.’

  When she read her note back, she squished her mouth up in thought. She and Hamish had just saved the Duke’s life and prevented Kerala from poisoning her way into power. If they’d stayed at home, the Duke might be dead by now.

  She crossed the last line out.

  ‘Ye writing an essay, lass?’ Hamish said, resting his chin on her shoulder to see what she’d written.

  The cold wind kissed Ondine’s cheeks and she angled her body so that Hamish became a windbreak.

  ‘What did you write, Hamish?’

  ‘Not much.’ He showed her the pap
er. On it he’d written, ‘I wish I’d spent more time with Ondine.’

  ‘Oh!’ She choked back a sob, then grabbed her paper, turned it over and quickly wrote, ‘I wish I’d spent more time with Hamish.’

  Hamish pulled Ondine into an embrace and kissed her. It warmed her body from the inside, while the cold air settled around them and prickled her skin.

  Ondine pulled away and breathed through her nose. ‘I think I can smell snow,’ she said.

  Hamish’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Ye can smell the weather? Ye sure yer not psychic?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Ondine grinned and said, ‘Close your eyes, breathe through your nose. Smell that clean, cold, ozone-y kind of smell.’

  ‘But it’s only the last of October.’

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  Hamish grinned, then shut his eyes and followed Ondine’s example. His nostrils flared. He ducked his head and sneezed.

  Ondine laughed and hugged Hamish again. ‘Come on, let’s warm up.’

  Hand in hand, they walked towards the edges of a fire. The cold air clung to their backs, the bonfire thawed out their faces. Ondine scrunched up her paper and threw it on to the burning heap. It dissolved in the flames, sending a plume of tiny sparks into the night sky.

  Hamish fashioned his paper into a dart and threw it lower down. It turned black, held its shape for half a second then dissolved into flaming vapour.

  It felt so lovely standing near the bonfire, Ondine didn’t want to leave. They stood together for a good ten minutes, balanced between the cold air and the blasting furnace. A step closer and they’d burn, a step back and they’d catch a chill. Hamish put his arms across her shoulders. She snuggled into him, feeling protected.

  ‘Well, I’ll be a –’ Hamish nudged Ondine to look at the sky. ‘Look, Ondi, it really is snowing.’

  Ondine blinked. Flurries of snow flitted through the sky, evaporating as they touched the bonfire. She looked back towards the palechia, to see soft flakes landing on windowsills and the tops of perfectly manicured hedges, dusting every surface like icing sugar.