“And when it comes to duty,” Bibbie said, grinning, “the Thackerays think the Markhams are amateurs.”
Really? No wonder Monk was so driven to be the best Research and Development thaumaturgist in government history.
But even so…
“I think perhaps you’re underestimating the strength of parental feeling,” she said. “After all, Bibbie, you are their only daughter.”
“What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?”
“Well, it’s a bit late now for them to think of hatching a replacement, isn’t it?” she pointed out. “You know. If anything happened to you.”
Bibbie’s grin faded. “Oh yes, I see what you mean.”
“So maybe you shouldn’t set your heart on coming with us, just in case your mother and father-what?”
Staring into mid air, Bibbie was holding up one intimidating finger. “Melissande,” she said, dreamily thoughtful. She wound a curl of blonde hair around the finger. “Your brother. Rupert. By any chance is he still about?”
A little pang. “No. He had to portal home again before anyone realised he’d popped out.”
Bibbie pouted. “That’s a pity. I suppose, since you’re going to Splotze on his behalf-well, his and Sir Alec’s-he’ll be greeting you-us-upon our return? Congratulations on a job well done, and so on, and so forth?”
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to blink away the memory of Rupert’s worried, washy blue eyes as Sir Alec hustled him out of the office before they’d had the chance to talk properly, in private. “Probably. Why?”
Instead of answering, Bibbie yanked open her desk’s middle drawer and pulled out her small but exquisitely calibrated, very expensive personal crystal ball. Fingers dancing over its surface, she hummed a vibration address under her breath, then waited. A moment later, from her vantage point in the armchair, Melissande saw the back of someone’s head swim into focus out of the crystal ball’s clouded depths.
“Oh,” said Bibbie, staring at the someone’s face. “It’s you, Aylesbury. I don’t want you. I want Mother. What are you still doing there, anyway? I thought you were meant to be in Aframbigi on business.”
“I’ve been delayed,” said the deep, not unattractive voice of Monk’s older brother. “I’m going tomorrow, or the next day. Not that it’s any business of yours. Why do you want Mama?”
Although Bibbie smiled, her eyes remained scornful. “I’ve something to tell her. Not that it’s any business of yours. Now do stop being difficult and fetch her, would you?”
The back of Aylesbury’s head vanished, to be replaced a moment later by the back of a head covered in tight blonde curls. Sofilia Markham. Melissande felt herself shrink a little. She’d met Monk and Bibbie’s mother a number of times since she’d taken up residence in Ott, at this social event and that one. Their encounters had been perfectly polite. But even though Sofilia Markham knew that her younger son was paying attention to the king of New Ottosland’s only sister, there’d been no invitation issued to a dinner at the Markham mansion. No, not even to a piddling afternoon tea.
And even more telling, as far as she knew Monk had not once pushed for it.
Is it any wonder I lurch from one day to the next without any idea if he’s serious or not? I mean, if he can’t make up his mind, how am I supposed to make up mine?
A question it was best she didn’t dwell on. At least not at the moment. But sooner or later, she’d have to.
Sofilia Markham was going on about some important university dinner she and her genius husband were due to host. Bibbie sat stiff and straight in her chair, mouth opening and closing as she tried to get a word in edgeways.
In the end she gave up and shouted. “Mother! Please! There’s something I need to tell-I mean, ask you!”
Interrupted mid spate, Monk and Bibbie’s mother caught her breath. “What?”
Bibbie smiled, winningly. “Well, Mother, the thing is, Melissande-my friend the princess, remember? — well, her brother King Rupert has asked her to do a favour for him, but she can’t unless I do a favour for her. So I need you to say that I can. Do this favour for Melissande, I mean. Which, you know, is like me doing a favour for King Rupert.”
The back of Sofilia Markham’s head looked suddenly very interested. “Really, Emmerabiblia? How terribly fortunate. Wonderful timing! What kind of favour?”
“Well, she’s had a change of heart, and now she is attending the Splotze-Borovnik wedding for her brother, King Rupert, and she wants me to go too. As a companion. You know, royal protocol and so forth. Because she’s a princess. So can I go with her, Mother? Please?”
Melissande stared. How many times did Bibbie need to mention Rupert’s name? Or his title? Or her own, for that matter? Did Bibbie think her mother’s wits were wandering? And what did Sofilia Markham mean, this was terribly fortunate and wonderful timing? That was a very odd thing to Bibbie’s fresh squeal of delight shattered the thought.
“Oh, Mother, thank you! I knew you’d think it was an excellent idea. And you’ll smooth Father’s feathers if they get ruffled, won’t you? I mean, it’s funny how things turn out, isn’t it? Gosh. Only, y’know, I think this should be our little secret. Not a word to anyone but Father. Because you just know that nasty cat Honoria Diddlecombe and her crowd will turn grass green with envy when they hear, and then try and spoil things for me. And now I must dash, I’ve got so much to do. If I can’t come to dinner before we leave, I promise I’ll come as soon as we get back. Thank you, again. I’ll see you soon, I hope. Goodbye!”
As Bibbie disconnected the crystal ball vibration, Melissande pushed out of the client armchair. “Bibbie-”
Holding up that imperative finger, Bibbie tugged the office telephone towards her-in the interests of fair play, this month it took pride of place on her desk-and dialled.
“Yes, hello, this is Emmerabiblia Markham. I wish to speak to Sir Alec.”
With a roll of her eyes, Bibbie listened to the voice on the other end of the telephone.
“No-no-now, look, I’m sorry, I think you mustn’t be paying attention,” she said, interrupting. “This is Emmerabiblia Markham. Now stop being tiresome and fetch Sir Alec to the telephone, or transfer this call, or whatever it is that you do out there at Nettleworth.”
“Really, Bibbie,” Melissande murmured, not sure whether to be appalled or impressed. “Have you never heard the one about catching more flies with honey than vinegar?”
Bibbie huffed, impatient. “Yes, well, if I was there I’d just bat my eyelashes at him, wouldn’t I? But I’m not, so I have to be firm. If you knew-oh! Sir Alec! This is-oh. Good. Well, then, I’m just calling to let you know that my parents are perfectly fine with me going to Splotze with Gerald and Melissande, and they’ve said they’ll keep it secret, so there’s no need for you to speak to them, or send Uncle Ralph to do it, if that’s what you were thinking. In fact, it would be a good idea if you didn’t mention this to Uncle Ralph at all. Not until I’ve gone, anyway.-Why?” Bibbie rolled her eyes again. “Fancy you having to ask me that, seeing as he’s your friend.-Well, because Uncle Ralph is tediously old-fashioned about some things and-” More eye-rolling. A sigh. “Yes, Sir Alec. Yes, Sir Alec. Yes, I promise, Sir Alec.-Didn’t I just say I would? Yes. Goodbye.”
“What did you promise?” said Melissande, as Bibbie slapped the telephone receiver back in its cradle.
Bibbie groaned. “What d’you think? That I’d remember I’m not a janitor, that I’m going as a lady’s maid and nothing more, and that I won’t go looking for trouble or distract Gerald or give him away. Honestly.” She returned her crystal ball to its place and pushed the drawer sharply shut. “You’d think Sir Alec thinks I’m a nincompoop.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Melissande said, cautious. “A bit over-enthusiastic sometimes, perhaps.”
“Ha,” said Bibbie, scowling. “I’ll give him overenthusiastic.” Then her expression lightened. “But never mind boring, stuffy Sir Alec. What matters is that Mother’s agreed I can go, and she’ll make sure Father doesn’t get all twitty and mulish and difficult about it.”