The haughty spokeswoman silenced her companion with a severe look then smiled at Bibbie, not at all dazzlingly. In fact her expression was positively unpleasant. “You have a bird for a colleague? How… quaint.” Her voice could have stripped paint.
“Actually, she’s more of a pet,” said Bibbie, doughtily undaunted. “But we like to humour her. It saves hurt feelings.”
As Reg made a noise like an exploding tea kettle, the disapproving woman looked Bibbie up and down. “I’m sure. However, as I said, we appear to have the wrong-”
“Oh please, Permelia, no!” said the other lady anxiously, plump fingers plucking at her friend’s leg-of-mutton sleeve. “Please, can’t we at least explain what we need? I mean, we can’t leave. We’ve nowhere else to turn and there’s no more time!”
“ Hush, Eudora,” her companion snapped. “Kindly restrain yourself. I hardly think we’re so desperate we must throw ourselves upon the mercy of these two hoydens.”
The chastened Eudora shrank. “Of course not, Permelia,” she whispered. “Only-”
“ No, Eudora. There is no ‘ only ’,” said Permelia, magnificently magisterial. “Obviously the Times has made a grave error. You can be assured I shall have Ambrose speak to its editor in the strongest possible terms. Now I suggest that we withdraw immediately and-”
“Excuse me,” said Melissande, heart sinking. Reg is never going to let me hear the end of this. “ I’m sorry, I don’t wish to be impolite, or-or unbecomingly forward, but by any chance are you referring to this morning’s edition of the Ottosland Times?”
Before the formidable Permelia could speak, her companion stepped forward with a puppyish eagerness. “That’s right, Miss Cadwallader! In the society pages. There was a photograph-and a mention of your agency-”
“Which is clearly a case of misrepresentation!” said icily unimpressed Permelia. “Now hold your tongue, Eudora Telford! I will not have the sterling reputation of our organisation tarnished by an unfortunate-”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Permelia!” Eudora Telford exclaimed, pinkly penitent. “It’s dreadful of me to contradict you, I know, but I simply can’t stay silent, not when such an injustice is being perpetrated upon you!”
“Forgive me, ladies,” said Melissande, very carefully not looking at Reg. “I really don’t mean to be rude, truly, but-” She picked up the agency’s copy of the Times from the rickety occasional table where she’d earlier dropped it, and opened it to the despised social gossip pages. “-did you mean this photograph?”
Courageously ignoring the irate Permelia, Eudora joined her. “Why, yes! That’s the one! Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande of New Ottosland, proprietor of Witches Inc., attending the opera.” She peered at the newspaper, then frowned sideways. “Oh. Dear. My gracious. I’m sorry, Miss Cadwallader, are you quite sure-I mean to say-”
“Of course,” said Bibbie, with a grin as lunatic as her mad brother’s, “when I introduce my esteemed colleague as Miss Cadwallader, really that’s just her name of convenience. Really she’s Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande of New Ottosland. Don’t let the tweed trousers fool you. Go on, Mel. Don’t be shy. Show ’em your tiara.”
It was almost worth Reg’s evil chuckling to see the look of unbearable snobbery congeal on the awful Permelia woman’s face.
“Her Royal Highness?” Permelia said in a strangled voice. “Princess Melissande?”
“Well, yes,” said Melissande. “I’m afraid so.”
“I see,” said Permelia faintly. “Of course. Well. Do forgive me, it appears I–I didn’t recognise you without your bustle.”
“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.”
