Feeling helpless, he stared at her. “Oh, Reg. What the hell are we doing to do?”
“What d’you think? Get the rest of those manky hexes out of him the minute he’s home.”
“If I can,” he said. “Reg-”
“Don’t you start that! You’re Monk Markham, raving lunatic and genius.” She chattered her beak. “Now why don’t you take yourself off to bed for a nice eight hours of shuteye. Your face is enough to frighten a sober woman to drink.”
“I can’t,” he groaned. “We’re testing the new and improved oscillating tetrathaumicle containment field this morning and if I leave Walthorpe and Dalrymple to their own devices they’ll blow up the lab. Or kill each other the old fashioned way, with their fists, because Dalrymple can’t mind his own business and Walthorpe won’t put up with being bossed.”
“Ha! And you call yourselves grown men.”
“Among other things.” Creakily, Monk got to his feet. “I’ll have a bath. That should help.”
But even as the watery heat soaked the ache from his muscles, the ache in his heart and mind, the briar- patch memories in his potentia, combined to rob him of relief.
Lord, I hope Gerald’s all right. I hope he and the girls are having better luck than me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Melissande!” cried Hartwig, practically shoving past her into the stateroom’s parlour. “My dear gel, are you all right?”
Rolling her eyes, Melissande tactfully closed her stateroom’s door. “Yes, Hartwig, of course. I didn’t fall into the Canal. That was Miss Slack.”
“Indeed it was, the clumsy creature,” said Hartwig. He pulled a large red silk handkerchief from his blue velvet coat pocket and dabbed the anxious sweat from his brow. “And I hope you’ve scolded her severely for giving you such a terrible fright.”
“Actually, I’ve been a bit more concerned with making sure she hasn’t contracted pneumonia, but-”
“And as for all those fools who jumped in the Canal after her!” Hartwig flapped his handkerchief to emphasise his distress. “Nine of them. Nine! Including my idiot of a brother. What the devil were they thinking?”
“Ah… that it would rather put a damper on the wedding celebrations if Miss Slack were to drown?”
“Yes, but she didn’t drown, did she?” said Hartwig, sounding almost aggrieved. “Wretched gel swims like a frog from what I saw. Didn’t need one man diving in after her, let alone nine.”
“And how is Prince Ludwig? I hope he’s not caught a chill as a reward for his heroics?”
“He’s fine,” said Hartwig, scowling. “They’re all fine. I’m the one who’s not fine. Because now we’re going to be late for the luncheon at Little Grande Splotze! I’ll never hear the end of it from that old hag Erminium. She’s complained at me for a whole hour without stopping to take a breath! And Brunelda just sits there, with gout, being no help at all!”
Oh, dear. “I am sorry, Hartwig. You’re right. Miss Slack deserves a good scolding.” And she’d been getting one, from Gerald, but that was another story entirely. “As for Little Grande Splotze, perhaps it’s not such a disaster. We can celebrate over dinner just as easily as lunch, can’t we?”
“That’s the new plan, yes,” Hartwig grumbled. “A message has been sent ahead to arrange it. But that’s not the point, my dear. The point is that this little kerfuffle gives the Dowager Queen of Borovnik an excuse to find fault with Splotze. Just like the crab puff disaster gave her an excuse. I tell you, Melly, the way that bloody woman’s carrying on you’d think she was having second thoughts about her daughter marrying Ludwig!”
Oh, for pity’s sake. Not another sabotage suspect, surely! Hiding her dismay, Melissande offered Hartwig a sympathetic smile. “Poor Twiggy. It sounds like you’ve had a terribly trying time. I’m mortified to be the cause of it.”
“No, no, no!” cried Hartwig, turning towards her with his arms outstretched. “My dear Melissande, no! Believe me when I say that you are my sole refuge in the storm!”
Short of running away, there was nothing she could do to avoid his embrace.
“Oh, well, Hartwig, I’m sure that’s not entirely true,” she said, wriggling to avoid the worst of his wandering hands. “I’m sure dear Brunelda is with you in spirit, even if her sad affliction means she can’t throw Erminium overboard as a gesture of support.”
Hartwig chuckled. “Minx. You shouldn’t say things like that. You’ll give me ideas.”
He already had ideas, drat him. Pushing his hand off her behind, she stepped back. “Honestly, Twiggy, why don’t you tell the Dowager Queen to direct her concerns to your Secretary of State? Let Leopold Gertz deal with her. I mean, you didn’t just bring him along for decoration, did you?”
“Oh, Leopold,” said Hartwig, in deep tones of despair. “That’s the worst thing about nepotism, Melly. It means you have to employ family.”
“He’s family?” she said, discreetly retreating to a safe distance. “I didn’t know.”
“My third cousin’s second husband. There was a gambling debt. And some monkeys. And an ostrich. All very sordid. I’d rather not talk of it, if you don’t mind.”
“No, no, of course not,” she said quickly. “In fact, Twiggy, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really should get back to Miss Slack.”
“Oh,” said Hartwig, disappointed. “Well. If you must, you must.”
“But it was lovely of you to come and make sure I was all right,” Melissande said, holding the cabin door open for him. “And please thank Prince Ludwig for me. He was very gallant.”
Hartwig cleared his throat. “Gallant. Yes. Well, of course y’know, Melly, I’d’ve dived in to save Miss Slack for you myself, only by the time I got there, well, nine men in the drink already, and I’ve got this old hunting injury, and-”
“Yes, yes,” she soothed. “I know, Hartwig. I know. Please, don’t give it another thought. I’ll see you for dinner. Lovely. Thank you!”
Heaving a sigh of relief she shut the cabin door behind him. Then, with a certain amount of dread, she returned to her bedchamber where Bibbie, bathed clean of Canal water and changed into dry clothes, sat wrapped in a blanket. Gerald, fuming, stood in a corner.
“-are making me very cross, Algernon!” Bibbie was saying, her cheeks pink with vexation. “Because I could tell you the story a hundred more times and nothing would change! I don’t remember what happened after I felt that tainted convulsion in the ether, and rushed off the promenade deck to find where it came from. It’s all gone.”
Gerald raised both hands in frustration. “Yes, Gladys, because there’s a good chance you’ve been hexed. So now we have to get the memory back.”
“Get it back?” Bibbie tugged her blanket more closely round her shoulders. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean I might know a way of jogging things along.”
Silence, as Bibbie stared at him. Then she shook her head. “No.”
He took a step towards her. “Bibbie-I mean Gladys-”
“No,” she said. “And don’t ask me why, Algernon. You know perfectly well why.”
“But I don’t,” said Melissande. “Would someone care to explain?”
Still looking at Bibbie, Gerald smiled, painfully. “She doesn’t trust me.”
Didn’t trust — oh. Of course. His grimoire magic. Damn.
“Don’t be stupid, Algernon,” Bibbie said. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “It’s not about trust, it’s about being prudent. You shouldn’t take it personally.”
He shrugged. “It’s a bit hard not to, Gladys.”
“Actually, Algernon, she’s got a point,” Melissande said, going to stand with Bibbie. “What if you tried something dubiously thaumaturgical on her and things went pear-shaped? She’d have to go home, which means I’d have to go home, which means you’d have to go home, and what would Sir Alec say then?”
She was right, and he knew it. A muscle leapt along his jaw. “Fine,” he said, turning. “So what do you suggest?”
He was asking her? Well. He must be feeling dire. “Obviously,” she said, “in my capacity as guest reporter for
