“Oh, Your Highness!” cried Eudora, snatching up Melissande’s hand and hanging onto it like a life preserver. “Oh, please, please, you have to help us! Please. It’s ever so important! In fact it’s a matter of life and death!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Life and death?” said Melissande, discreetly attempting to retrieve her hand from Eudora Telford’s fervent clutches. “Really? How very alarming. Well, of course we’ll help you, if we can. And for a very reasonable fee.”
“Oh thank you, thank you,” the woman said, breathless all over again. “I knew we were right to come to you, I knew-”
“Eudora Telford,” said her disapproving friend. “Do stop fawning. It’s most unattractive in a woman of your age. Especially as you and the princess have not been formally introduced.”
Eudora Telford blushed bright red. “Oh-oh, how awful of me!” she choked. “How embarrassing. Such a social solecism. I’m quite beyond the pale.”
Finally released from the poor woman’s desperate adoration, Melissande cleared her throat, uncomfortable. “Oh no, truly, it’s-”
“Eudora being Eudora,” said Permelia Wycliffe bitingly. “Alas.” Lips pinched in additional, silent criticism, she advanced like a warship under full sail. “Allow me to introduce myself, Your Highness. Miss Permelia Wycliffe. Of the Ravenscroft Wycliffes. Not to be confused with the Lormley Wycliffes, who now find themselves genealogically extinct.” There was no “alas” this time. The addendum And serve them right wasn’t spoken aloud but nevertheless, the words hovered in the air.
Melissande looked at Permelia Wycliffe’s gloved and outstretched hand.
I could be wrong, but I thought I was the one meant to make the first move. And isn’t she supposed to be curtseying or something? I am a princess, after all…
Except Ottosland had long since shrugged off the oppressive shackles of monarchy-Monk’s words, not hers-and now took a positive delight in putting visiting royalty in its place. Although apparently no-one had thought to mention that to Eudora Telford. Banished to the back seat of this encounter, she was bobbing up and down like a cork in a stream.
The part of Melissande that was related to Lional prickled in the face of Permelia Wycliffe’s overbearing condescension. But with penury looming this was no time to indulge offended feelings.
“Miss Wycliffe, it’s a pleasure,” she said, decorously shaking the woman’s hand.
“Likewise,” said Permelia Wycliffe. “Doubtless you have heard of my brother, Mister Ambrose Wycliffe. He heads the Wycliffe family firm. The Wycliffe Airship Company, established fifty-two years ago by my distinguished, world-famous late father Mister Orville Wycliffe.” Her disciplined eyebrows lifted, inviting a response.
“The Wycliffe Airship Company,” Melissande murmured, playing for time. No, she’d never heard of it. Her acquaintance with airships was severely limited, since New Ottosland had never gone in for newfangled contraptions. Installing their own portal had practically caused a revolution. “Ah-”
“Her Highness hasn’t long been among us in Ottosland, Permelia,” said Eudora, as her daunting companion’s thin face froze with disapproval. “And when at home in New Ottosland she travels by royal carriage, of course. But now that she’s here among us, living incognito — so romantic! — doubtless she wishes to maintain her anonymity, which she couldn’t do if she travelled with the best of the best on a Wycliffe airship.”
“Ah,” said Permelia Wycliffe, barely thawing. “Incognito. Yes. Although there is the matter of that photograph in the Times…”
“A mistake,” said Melissande grimly. “Believe me.”
“Incognito,” Permelia Wycliffe repeated. “I see. Doubtless that accounts for Your Highness’s… unorthodox… attire. Unless… perhaps you dress yourself in the costume of your native land? New Ottosland is a colony, after all. I believe colonials can be… eccentric.”
On her ram skull, Reg was wheezing with half-strangled laughter. And Bibbie was clearly biting the insides of her cheeks. They were far too easily amused, both of them.
Melissande fought to keep her expression welcoming. Eccentric? Trousers aren’t eccentric, you silly woman. Eccentric is my brother turning himself into a dragon.
“Actually, I prefer the term ‘practical’. You should give trousers a try, Miss Wycliffe. They might give you a whole new outlook on life.”
Permelia Wycliffe’s haughty expression congealed. “Indeed. What a quaint suggestion.”
“Oh yes, that’s our Mel,” said Bibbie cheerfully. “Quaint as anything.”
Melissande shot her a quelling look, then returned her attention to Permelia. “And your charming associate, Miss Wycliffe? Since we seem to be making our formal introductions?”
“Yes. Of course,” said Permelia Wycliffe, reluctantly co-operative. “This is Miss Eudora Telford. My secretary.”
“And bosom friend,” Eudora Telford added, bobbing up and down some more. “Such an honour. Such a pleasure. So regal. So distinguished.”
“Regal and distinguished, exactly!” said Bibbie, outrageously beaming. “That’s our Princess Melissande to a T. Just like her brother King Rupert the First! Of course you must’ve heard of him.” She snatched the Times from Melissande’s hand and waved the front page under Permelia Wycliffe’s nose. “He’s regal and distinguished, too. And handsome. Don’t you agree he’s a handsome king?”
“Oh yes,” breathed Eudora, before Permelia could speak. “Terribly handsome and distinguished! A positive jewel of a monarch. I’ve read all about him in the Times and the Ladies’ Almanac.”
Melissande frowned. While she unashamedly adored Rupert, only a woman with a bag over her head could honestly call him handsome. So this appeared to be yet another case of unrequited adoration from afar. Poor Rupert. Ever since ascending New Ottosland’s throne he’d been inundated by passionate expressions of affection from all over the world. It seemed a crown was the most potent yet indiscriminate aphrodisiac ever discovered.
“I’m sure he’d be moved by such beautiful compliments, Miss Telford,” she said. “Now, you mentioned something about a matter of life and death…?”
Eudora rallied. “Oh yes, Your Highness. Of course. Please, do forgive me. Such a rattletrap, I am, and a regular fusty gossip. So sorry. So very sorry.”
Really, she was the most horribly damp woman. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that overbearing Permelia Wycliffe squashed her at every opportunity. Perhaps it was even understandable. Anyone spending any length of time in Eudora Telford’s company must surely end up wringing wet.
“Oh, there’s no need to apologise, Miss Telford. I appreciate it’s not always easy to discuss personal problems.”
“We have not come here to discuss Eudora’s personal problems,” said Permelia. “We have come in response to a disgraceful situation in the Guild. A situation that must be remedied before untold damage is done to the sterling international reputation I have worked so long and hard to build.”
Guild? International reputation? What was the dreadful woman going on about? But before she could betray her woeful ignorance Bibbie stepped forward, her expression suspiciously earnest.
“Then you must tell us all about it, Miss Wycliffe,” she said, her voice hushed. “We can’t have trouble in Ottosland’s world famous Baking and Pastry Guild. Indeed, Witches Inc. is honoured that its president would bring the Guild’s problems to us.”
Baking and Pastry Guild? President? What? How did Bibbie know that? Melissande looked at Reg, who seemed just as surprised, then back at Permelia Wycliffe. The woman was perilously close to letting her jaw drop in shock.
“So you are familiar with the Baking and Pastry Guild, Miss Markham?” she said, eyebrows raised disbelievingly. “I must confess to some surprise. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of seeing you at one of our… at our… at… oh.” She cleared her throat. “ Markham? Surely you’re not-am I correct in surmising-do you mean to tell me that you are-”