by K. E. Mills
“Blimey,” Reg muttered. “Madam’s getting really good at this.”
Watching Melissande’s excruciatingly manipulative performance, Gerald could only agree. Heartfelt sincerity was practically oozing from her pores. She was wasted being plain Miss Cadwallader: Rupert should get her onto New Ottosland’s diplomatic merry-go-round without delay. He glanced at Monk, who was staring at Melissande with such a fatuous look on his face…
Blimey. Smitten doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Eudora,” said Melissande, her green eyes terrifyingly intent behind her glasses. “I know it feels like you’d be betraying a confidence. I know what it’s like to care so much for someone that you’d do practically anything to keep them safe… even when that little voice in your head is trying to tell you that might not be what’s best for them. Listen to that little voice, Eudora. You and I both know it always speaks the truth.”
Silly Eudora Telford blinked, her plump face softly undecided. And then it settled into firmer lines. Something approaching determination pressed her plump lips together. Melissande, seeing the change, released the woman’s hand and sat back.
“Do excuse me for a moment, Your Highness,” said Eudora Telford with a kind of crumpled dignity. “I think I have something in my room that might assist you.”
“Good work, Melissande,” said Gerald softly, as soon as Eudora Telford had left the parlour. “You’ve got her, I think.”
“And I think I need a bath,” said Melissande, just as softly, with a shiver of distaste. “ Honestly. That poor, silly, gullible woman! I’m as bad as Permelia Wycliffe, taking advantage of her like that.”
“Oh, give it a rest, ducky,” said Reg. “You’re only doing what needs to be done.”
“She’s right, Mel,” said Monk. “You don’t have a choice. And you’re being as kind as you can. So don’t-”
“Shut up everyone,” hissed Bibbie, who’d leapt up to keep watch at the half-closed parlour door. “She’s coming back.”
A moment later Eudora Telford returned, a small black pouch in one hand and a piece of folded paper in the other. Resuming her seat, she clutched them in her lap.
“Permelia called me,” she said, her voice unsteady. “She begged me to help her. She said I was the only person in the world whom she could trust.”
“And of course you said yes,” said Melissande, her voice gently encouraging. “You said you’d love to help.”
Eudora Telford nodded. “I always help Permelia. We’ve been friends since childhood. That’s what friendship is, isn’t it? Relying on each other. Knowing there’ll always be someone there to help you.”
“Ha,” Reg muttered. “ She calls it friendship. I call it being a dogsbody at the beck and call of a domestic tyrant.”
Gerald agreed, but twitched his shoulder again. The last thing they needed was for Eudora Telford to hear Reg’s sarcastic running commentary.
“That’s certainly how I always think of friendship, yes,” said Melissande. “So, Eudora, when Permelia called you… what exactly did she say?”
Eudora cleared her throat. “She-she told me Ambrose had done something very foolish, and that if anyone found out about it he’d get into terrible trouble. She wouldn’t tell me what it was that he’d done, and naturally I didn’t ask. I just promised to do whatever I could to help him.” She blushed. “There was a time once, many years ago now, when Ambrose and I-but alas. It was not to be. Ambrose had a higher calling.”
“The family company,” said Melissande, nodding. “Of course. How noble of you, Eudora, to give Ambrose his freedom like that. Few women would be so self-sacrificing.”
Fresh tears glimmered in Eudora Telford’s eyes. “I loved him,” she whispered. “What else could I do?”
Melissande cleared her throat. “Nothing, of course,” she said, her voice husky. “All right. So Permelia called you. What happened next?”
“I went to see her,” said Eudora. “She gave me this pouch and these instructions and swore me to secrecy. Oh dear…”
“And then you went all the way to South Ott,” Melissande said quickly, before Eudora Telford changed her mind. “To meet with someone on Permelia’s behalf. Is that right?”
Eudora Telford nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“South Ott’s not a very nice part of town, Eudora,” said Bibbie. “Even I was a bit nervous going there, and I’m a witch.”
Eudora Telford nodded. “Yes, it was rather frightening,” she said unhappily. “But Permelia was so worried she’d be recognised, which would cause more trouble for Ambrose, and-and-she asked me. Friends do things for friends. How could I say no?”
Gerald found himself glancing at Reg, and then Monk, who raised an eyebrow in wry resignation. Eudora Telford was right. Friends did do things for friends. How could they criticise the silly woman after the risks they’d taken?
“Yes, well,” sighed Melissande. “It mightn’t have been terribly sensible of you to go off like that alone, Eudora, but I’m not going to fault you for your loyalty.” Reaching out, she touched her fingertips to the woman’s knee. “Have you any idea what’s in that pouch?”
Eudora Telford shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no. No. Permelia told me I mustn’t open it.”
“I understand. But I think I should open it, Eudora. I think I need to see what’s inside. And I need to know what she wrote in that note, too.” Melissande held out her hand. “May I?”
Gerald held his breath, and heard a little gasp as Reg held hers too. If Eudora Telford got cold feet… if she decided not to betray Permelia Wycliffe’s confidence…
Now they were all holding their breath, staring at poor Miss Eudora Telford-who should never have been put in this awful position.
“Oh dear,” she said, and handed over both note and small black pouch.
Melissande briefly closed her eyes. “Thank you, Eudora.” In silence she unfolded the note and pretended to be reading it for the very first time. When she was finished she looked at Eudora Telford, her face grave. “I don’t suppose you’ve listened to your wireless this morning?”
“No,” said Eudora Telford. “The knob’s broken and I can’t aff-that’s to say, I haven’t had time to get it fixed.”
“Then you wouldn’t have heard. Soon after we left South Ott last night there was an explosion, Eudora. In an old, abandoned boot factory. One man was killed. His name was Haf Rottlezinder.”
Eudora Telford turned parchment pale. “But-but-”
“Yes, Eudora,” said Bibbie. “That might’ve been you if we hadn’t convinced you to leave with us.”
For a moment it looked as though Eudora Telford might faint. “Oh-oh, I do feel unwell.”
Bibbie snapped her fingers at Monk. “You there. Factotum. Run to Miss Telford’s kitchen and bring her a glass of water. Well? What are you gaping at, you silly man? Go!”
Glaring at his impossible sister, Monk went.
Melissande was holding Eudora Telford’s hand again. “Deep breaths, Eudora. I know it’s an awful shock.”
“Give me the pouch, Your Highness,” said Bibbie. “Let’s see what Permelia-I mean, Miss Wycliffe-wanted you to give the late Haf Rottlezinder.”
Melissande handed over the pouch. Bibbie opened it… upended it… and a stream of gemstones poured into her cupped hand.
“ Mercy!” gasped Eudora Telford. “Do you mean to say I was carrying a fortune in precious stones on my person?”
Bibbie was frowning at the sparkling diamonds, rubies and sapphires. “Actually…” She tipped the gemstones into her lap, stripped off one glove and plunged her bare fingers into the bounty. “Hmmm,” she murmured, wearing an expression like a chef tasting soup. “Let me see…”
Gerald half-closed his eyes and extended his thaumic senses. Damn. Bibbie was definitely onto something.
Monk returned with the glass of water for Eudora Telford. Catching his eye, Gerald nodded to the puddle of gemstones in Bibbie’s lap. Monk dropped one eyelid in a wink
, gave Eudora the glass then clumsily turned and knocked into his sister, scattering the gemstones on the carpet.
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, Miss, I’m sorry!” he cried in a dreadful parody of a working-class accent, dropping to his knees. “Let me get ’em for you, I’ll pick ’em up, let me!”
“Honestly,” said Bibbie. “Good factotums are so hard to find.”
Melissande was staring, eyebrows raised high. Gerald pulled a warning face at her then looked at Monk, who was tipping the last of the diamonds back into the pouch Bibbie held out for him. As he got off his knees he gave his head the smallest shake, then flicked his sister a meaningful look. Bibbie dropped one eyelid in an acknowledging wink.
“Actually, Eudora, these gemstones are fake,” she said. “Good enough to-ah-fool a lay-person,” she added, with an apologetic glance at Melissande. “But I’m afraid any wizard worth his salt would’ve immediately detected them as forgeries.”
“ Forgeries?” said Eudora Telford and leapt to her feet. The glass of water slid through her fingers, splashing her skirt then rolling under the chair. “Oh, Your Highness,” she whispered, hands pressed to her breast. “Oh, Miss Markham! I hope you don’t think that-I would never — I wouldn’t know how to-” Overcome, she burst into tears.
Melissande stood and put an arm around the damp, distraught woman. “Now Eudora, don’t be silly. We know you wouldn’t exchange the real gem-stones for fakes. You’d never cheat Permelia like that. After all, you’re not a Millicent Grimwade.”
“Or a Permelia Wycliffe,” Reg muttered. “The hide of that woman, Gerald. Next time I see her I’ll bloody well pluck her bald, sending this-this wet hen into the wilds of South Ott to do her dirty work for her! She must’ve known what would happen if Rottlezinder got wind of the fake jewels!”
He nodded. It really was diabolical… or desperate.
As Melissande comforted her, Eudora Telford continued to tearfully deny any wrongdoing. “I know, I know, Eudora,” said Melissande, “but everything’s going to be all right, I promise. Eudora- Eudora, put a sock in it! Carrying on like a watering can isn’t going to help! ”
Shocked tearless, Eudora Telford stared at her.
Melissande stepped back. “Sorry,” she said, very pink around her freckles. “But it was either shout at you or slap you. I thought you’d prefer the shouting.”
“I don’t understand,” said Eudora Telford, her voice quavering. “None of this makes any sense.”
“I know,” said Melissande. “And I’m so sorry you’re caught up in it. You’re a very sweet person, and none of this is fair.”
“Please, Your Highness,” said Eudora, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips trembling. “Am I in trouble?”
Melissande took her by the shoulders. “ No, Eudora. You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact you’re halfway to being a heroine.”
“A heroine?” gasped Eudora. “Me? Oh, surely not.”
“Absolutely, Eudora,” said Bibbie. “In fact you’re crucial to an ongoing government investigation that-”
“That we can’t talk about,” said Melissande quickly, glaring at Bibbie. “Nevertheless, Eudora, it’s the truth. And we need you to help us help the government. The future of Ottosland could be at stake.”
Eudora Telford’s knees gave way, and she dropped back into her chair. “Gracious. I don’t-this is so sudden — are you sure I-”
“I’m certain,” said Melissande firmly. “Eudora, please, you need to trust me. It appears you’ve stumbled across a dangerous business, but you mustn’t worry-as a princess and the former prime minister of New Ottosland, I have-ah-access to government sources not available to most people.”
“Ha,” Reg snickered. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“I’ll make sure you’re perfectly safe,” Melissande added. “But I shan’t lie to you, Eudora-doing your duty won’t be easy. You’ll have to talk about Permelia, and Ambrose, and everything you know about the Wycliffe Airship Company.”
“Oh, no — oh, I couldn’t,” said Eudora Telford, horrified.
Melissande held up a cautioning finger. “Eudora, you must. I know you want to protect Permelia-and Ambrose. But don’t you see? Telling the truth is the only way you can do that.”
“But I don’t know anything, not really,” Eudora whispered. “Oh, Your Highness, please, can’t you explain for me?”
“I wish I could,” said Melissande. “I know you’re frightened, Eudora. But you mustn’t be. Everything will work out for the best, you’ll see. Now, what I need you to do for me is change out of your wet skirt so that one of my factotums can escort you to see-to see-”
“Sir Ralph Markham,” said Bibbie. “My uncle. Antigone’s nephew, as it happens. Only don’t mention pastry to him. It’s a bit of a sore point. But he will want to hear everything else you’ve got to say.”
“Oh gracious,” said Eudora. “Are you quite sure this is the right thing to do?”
“ Positive,” said Melissande and Bibbie together.
“Blimey!” said Reg, after Eudora Telford had tottered from the parlour. “If that woman was any wetter she’d be a registered weather system!”
“Don’t be horrible, Reg,” Melissande snapped. “Gerald, sorry, I didn’t mean to take over but-”
“ Ha!” said Reg. “Pull the other one, ducky, it plays nursery rhymes!”
“Reg,” said Gerald, and twitched his shoulder again. Then he looked at Melissande. “It’s fine. You’re right, she does have to speak to the authorities. And Sir Ralph’s as good a place to start as any. If Sir Alec needs to get involved, Sir Ralph will bring him in.”
“Just make sure you remind her about the pastry thing,” said Bibbie. “I wasn’t kidding about that-was I, Monk?”
Monk was inspecting the occasional table under the parlour window, looking at the forest of framed photographs Eudora had planted there.
“Hmm? What?” he said absently. “No. It’s no joke. Antigone single-handedly gave Uncle Ralph a pastry phobia. Insisted on him helping her bake fairy-cakes. In an apron. With frills. When he was twenty.”
Reg shook her head, then looked at Melissande. “Do you remember our conversation about the children, ducky?”
“What?” said Melissande, frowning. “No.”
“Offspring,” said Reg. “Sprogs. Yours and his.”
Melissande blushed. “Oh. That. Reg-”
“Only the more I learn about this Markham boy’s family,” Reg continued, undaunted, “the more I start to wonder if paddling in his gene pool is really-”
“Reg, shut up!”
“Mind you,” said Reg, oblivious, staring around Eudora Telford’s fussy, frilly, knick-knack crowded parlour. “Things could be worse. You could end up living like this. All I can say is it’s a wonder the place isn’t crawling with cats.” She sniffed. “Unmarried women tend to break out in cats, I’ve noticed.” She gave Melissande a pointed look. “You’d best be careful, ducky. You’ve already got one toe in that manky pond.”
“And to think I ever wondered why your husband hexed you!” said Bibbie, very pink. “If you don’t mind, you deranged feather duster, that’s my brother and my family you’re-”
“Don’t, Bibbie,” said Melissande. “Really. You’ll only encourage her.” As Reg chortled and Bibbie spluttered she looked at Monk. “Can you see that Eudora gets to your uncle safely? Obviously Bibbie and I can’t be officially involved in any of this. Besides, with the portal sabotage case practically solved we really have to focus on our case now or Permelia Wycliffe is going to fire us and sue us for breach of contract.”
“Not necessarily,” said Reg. “It’s a bit hard to sue someone when you’re behind bars yourself. Don’t forget she’s up to her eyeballs in this portal business.”
“Good point,” said Melissande. “But I hope you’re wrong, because I’d like us to get paid the rest of our retainer and keep our growing reputation intact.”
“So what’s our next move?” said Bibbie.
&nbs
p; “Well,” said Reg, “while that Markham boy’s taking the tropical depression in to see your Uncle Ralph, you and I and Princess Pushy and Gerald are going to-”
“Oh, Your Highness,” said Eudora Telford, returning to the parlour, dressed now in cheerful primrose-yellow silk. “So sorry to have kept you waiting, I-” She saw Monk at the occasional table and blushed. “Oh, I see you’ve noticed my-my-oh dear-” She cleared her throat. “My little bragging table.”
“I’m sorry. Your bragging table?” said Melissande, advancing on the collection of photos.
“Yes,” said Eudora, fluttering after her. “Mementos of my years in the Baking and Pastry Guild. Photographs of Permelia and myself with some of the illustrious women it’s been our pleasure to meet. Quite a few of them are terribly important, you know.”
Monk, playing his role of servile factotum to the hilt, tugged his forelock and backed off as Melissande and Eudora reached the table.
“Oh,” said Melissande. “Yes. I’ve seen these photos before, I think. On Permelia’s wall.” She frowned. “Did you say you’re in them, Eudora?”
“Oh yes,” said Eudora Telford, and snatched up the nearest framed photograph. “See?” She thrust it under Melissande’s nose. “This is me-and Permelia-with the wife of the Kalif of Ninifar. That was at the year-before-last’s Golden Whisk.”
Melissande considered the photo. “Well, I see Permelia and the Kalifa but-I’m sorry, I don’t quite-”
“There! That’s me!” said Eudora Telford, pointing. “That’s my elbow, and the edge of my purple silk dress.”
“Blimey,” Reg muttered. “Her elbow? I take it back, Gerald. She’s not a tropical depression, she’s a candidate for the asylum.”
“Hush,” he hissed at her under his breath.
“And this one-this one, you see?” said Eudora Telford. “Here I am with the Mogul of Fandawandi’s forty-third wife, and Permelia, at the opening of the Ott Homeland District’s annual fair. Four years ago.”
Melissande peered. “Ah. Yes. I take it this is your foot, Eudora?”
“That’s right,” said Eudora Telford. “I’m afraid I’m rather hopeless in photographs,” she confided. “Always moving at the wrong moment, or sneezing.”
