Kate eyes my notebook and pen, leaning over to Mathilde to whisper, “I don’t think she knows how to chill out.”
She might be right. I’ll book some chill out time into my schedule, I think I’ve got a free space next Tuesday. “I think I’ve done enough talking, can I hand over to you now, Mathilde?”
“Right, yes you can. Let me see, I was supposed to be investigating our book archives for information on the issue with our magic. I have made some progress… or maybe preparation for progress is a better way of putting it. I’ve put out a recall notice for books on loan to the college libraries.”
“Maybe this is a daft question, but won’t someone notice if you recall all the loaner books?” I ask.
“Ha! I’m not recalling all of them. I have a list of autobiographies by egotistical men throughout history that we call on in situations like this. They’re more than happy to let us know their theories on why things are going wrong. My predecessor put one book in each college a few months ago when Lillian was diagnosed.”
Kate and I crack up into our wine glasses. When we get ourselves back under control, Kate steps in with her report. “Better you than me, Mathilde. The artefacts and antiques in the museum don’t talk - well, mostly. As I mentioned earlier, I’ve started visiting the statues, but they’re all there and in good condition as far as I can tell. I’ve assigned one of my junior staff members to update our catalogues, but much like the library, I’ve got objects spread throughout half the rooms of all thirty-eight colleges in Oxford.”
I shudder at the thought. Suddenly my lack of a gala theme doesn’t seem like such a monstrous problem. “Right, it doesn’t seem like we will get to the bottom of the alignment issue as quickly as we’d hoped. Is there anything else we can do in the meantime?”
Mathilde and Kate both mull over my question as we sip the last of our wine. Finally, Kate breaks the silence. “I think we need to focus on boosting the magic that is here. You’ve got the gala coming up, Nat, that will bring in a large group of people. Mathilde, could you call in a favour at Cambridge and have them send some books your way?”
Mathilde nods, her smile a sure sign of her acceptance of the plan.
“Great, I’ve got a couple of mates from uni working at the National Portrait Gallery. I’m sure they’d be happy to support me by loaning some artwork for a special exhibition.”
I finish writing, tearing out two pages from my notepad and passing them over to my fellow prefects. “Excellent, I’ve documented our plan here and noted each of your next steps.”
Kate waves for the waitress as we gather our things, “This round is on me.”
“Oh Kate, you don’t have to do that!” I reply as I dig in my handbag for my bank card.
“Actually, I do. Mathilde bet me a round of drinks that you wouldn’t let us leave tonight without a written assignment.”
“I tried to tell you, Kate.” Mathilde snickers.
“Oh wait, that reminds me…” I fish my notepad and pen back out and scribble one last note before we leave.
“Would you like to share your note with the rest of the class?” asks Kate.
“I forgot to assign myself to chill out.”
❖
After a good night’s rest, H and I wait until the early morning rush ends before we pay a visit to Catherine Morgan. It’ll be my first time trying to strike up a conversation with a portrait. I’m crossing my fingers that I won’t embarrass myself.
“Oi, Cathy, ‘ow’s it ‘angin’?” H turns a flip in the air, laughing himself silly at his own joke.
Turns out I worried about the wrong person being an embarrassment.
Nudging him out of the way, I apologise to the woman in the painting. “I’m so sorry, Ms Morgan. Four hundred years of existence and apparently he never learned any manners.”
“It’s quite all right, Natalie. I’m well aware of H’s antics by now. Please call me Catherine. I’m happy to speak with you. It was so frustrating to have you stop here in front of me on your first day and to not even be able to wink a hello.”
“At that point, I’m not sure seeing a portrait wink at me would have been the best for my sanity. I was so nervous. First day jitters and all that. And then Dr Radcliffe and I found Chef Smythe…” my voice trails off.
“You poor dear, what a day. Every time I’ve seen you pass by, you’ve been distracted or frazzled. Am I correct in imagining that this isn’t a casual visit?”
“I wish it were, Catherine. I hate to start our relationship by asking for a favour, but I’m in rather desperate need of some help. I promise, as soon as this gala is over and murder solved, I’ll come by with a cup of tea and we can get to know one another better.”
Catherine bestows a gentle smile. “That sounds lovely, dear. I will hold you to that promise. Now, what can I do for you?”
I run through my mental list, weighing up whether it’s best to start with the search for the murderer, help identify suspects or suggestions for a gala theme. They’re all equally important, making it impossible for me to pick a place to start. “Um, the murder, potential suspects, the gala… everything? Because that’s what I need help with. Sorting out everything. Or a time machine so I can add more hours into my days.”
“Poor darling, it’s a shame that the magic doesn’t allow us to slip back in time. Life would be easier if we could see the murder as it happened. But let’s talk about the gala first. You need a theme, something
