Staff & Crown

by W. R. Gingell

  “Oh, do you so?”

  “Yes. It makes it very difficult to know exactly how much you do know and aren’t sharing, and don’t know but want me to think you do. And I want to know why you’re pretending.”

  Melchior’s hazel eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, do you so, Nan?” he said again, his lips curved in a smile she hadn’t seen for some time. “Then I suggest you think about it a little more. Heaven knows, you might arrive at an answer, at this rate!”

  “I will,” Annabel said darkly. But since he had given her more information than she had had just a little while ago, she patted his head again. Instead of pulling away from it, Melchior leaned into it, and she thought he smiled a little more.

  “You said, Nan, that I’m pretending to know more than I know. Shouldn’t you ask me why?”

  “Yes, but that’s not an important question, right now,” said Annabel. “First, I want to know more about Lady Selma and who’s behind her.”

  “Lady Selma, as far as I can tell, is being heavily sponsored by more than one group in particular,” Melchior said. “Some of the families in her favour are Old Parrasian, and some of them are Royalists who seem to think she’s the real heir. There have even been a few murmurs from Black Velvet about taking her aboard.”

  “Rude!” said Annabel. “When they know I’m the real heir, I think that’s a bit much!”

  “Not myself, of course,” Melchior told her. “And not Mr. Pennicott either, so there’s nothing to worry about there.”

  “Is Mr. Pennicott that powerful?”

  Melchior’s mouth tipped up ruefully. “I would very much like to claim that distinction for myself; however, if I didn’t have Mr. Pennicott’s support, there would be nothing I could do to stop Black Velvet supporting Lady Selma.”

  “Rude!” Annabel said again. “Why would they—oh. I see. She’s someone who can be leveraged and moved in the right direction at the right time. They have no direct control over me.”

  “Exactly so, Nan.”

  “Oh. Then in that case, I think it’s lovely of Mr. Pennicott to support me when he hasn’t even met me.”

  “Why is it that I feel so disappointed to be passed over?” murmured Melchior. “I feel that my support should be acknowledged, Nan.”

  Annabel leaned a little further over the sofa back and kissed his nose. “I think you’re lovely, too,” she said.

  There was a brief silence, and it seemed as though Melchior had followed her as she drew back, because his nose was still where it had been when she was leaning over. It occurred to Annabel that she was about to be scolded, and she had to bite back a small sigh.

  Instead, Melchior cleared his throat. “Nan.”

  “What?”

  “As pleasant as this game might be, I believe it’s time for you to leave.”

  Annabel was conscious of disappointment and a little bit of indignation. Isabella had said that Melchior would be significantly more malleable—she had had to work very hard for every piece of information he had given her, and now she was being kicked out anyway. More than that, she had been really enjoying herself for the first time in quite a while when it came to Melchior. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed the closeness they had shared when he was a cat and she was a girl.

  Only, if it came to that, it wasn’t exactly the same kind of closeness.

  To hide the disappointment she felt, Annabel said, “Rude. You’re always kicking me out, these days.”

  “Believe me, Nan, it gives me absolutely no pleasure at all to kick you out,” said Melchior, and there was a shade to his hazel eyes that almost made Annabel believe him despite his previous, constant rebuffs. “However, I think that this has gone on for quite long enough. How could I face Mr. Pennicott if I gave away all of Black Velvet’s secrets, after all?”

  “You’ll have to give them to me anyway, when I’m queen,” Annabel reminded him.

  Melchior didn’t reply to that; he simply took the arms that were around his neck and lifted them away without effort. Annabel found herself led to the door by the hands, and gently but firmly pushed out of Melchior’s room.

  “Won’t I have a few words to say to Isabella!” Annabel said wrathfully. She wasn’t sure if she ought to be feeling embarrassed or annoyed—the feeling of which she was most conscious was still disappointment. “She said you’d tell me everything!”

  “Isabella was entirely correct,” Melchior told her. “Why else would I eject you from my room but if I wasn’t afraid I would tell you everything? Off with you, Nan! I won’t be tempted!”

  Isabella was still awake when Annabel got back to their suite, but since she was entirely unapologetic about Annabel being kicked out of Melchior’s suite at such an hour—was, in fact, entirely gleeful about it—Annabel didn’t waste time complaining about it. Instead, she gave Isabella a swift rendering of what little she had learned while she changed into her nightgown.

  “I suppose Alice was very useful as usual,” she added, as she climbed into her bed. She thought her voice sounded a little bit sour, but Isabella didn’t take exception to it.

  “Naturally!” she agreed. “She says she’ll liaise with Jess and Dannick with regards to the bicycle girls. If even Melchior doesn’t know who Lady Selma is really affiliated with, it’s necessary for us to do a little investigation on our own. We may have our suspicions, but we can’t be sure, after all. And if Melchior isn’t aware of the bicycle girls, well! So much the better. It’s no good frightening them away by too much investigation, after all!”

  “Yes,” said Annabel darkly. “I think Melchior is trying to be very clever, and I don’t know why, so I don’t see why we should share with him.”

  “That’s the spirit!” cheerfully said Isabella. “Take that spirit with you to the Deportment Lesson tomorrow, and you’ll surprise the Master by being the most majestic, untouchable young lady in the lesson!”

  15

  Unfortunately, the next day’s lesson in deportment was out in the gardens. The gardens might have been pleasant if it wasn’t for the sun, which waxed warmer and warmer as the morning went on. This made the Deportment Master beam more brightly, as if to match, while his students steadily grew pinker and more shiny. This lesson, as Annabel quickly found out, was to learn how to best avoid the appearance of strain in the sun, how to graciously suffer discomfort, and how to properly deport one’s parasol. Since the disposal of the parasol wasn’t taught until the latter quarter of the lesson, by the time it finished, Annabel was hot, sweaty, and possibly sunburned.

  Isabella didn’t seem to be suffering from any such ailments; she walked in an offensively sprightly manner beside Annabel as they re-entered the school, and once they had gained their own suite, she said cheerfully, “What a good thing that Trenthams has followed the trend and introduced Interim Activities to the school day!”

  “What now?” demanded Annabel. She was tired, hungry, and far too hot to be doing anything that involved walking, bending—or, in fact, movement of any kind. Instead, she flopped down on her bed, trying to ignore the way her dress stuck to her back. “The only Interim Activity I’m interested in is sipping iced beverages in the dining hall! Don’t try to make me do anything else!”

  “You can sip an iced beverage on the way,” Isabella said persuasively. “There’s no time to be hot and bothered, Nan. And if you slip into the outdoors frock I made you, I really think you’ll find yourself a lot cooler. Look! Isn’t it nice?”

  “I don’t want to slip into anything,” Annabel complained, but she sat up anyway. The back of her dress was still sticking to her lower back, and the frock Isabella held up for her inspection was a light, free thing with only the barest suggestion of a waist.

  “You’re such a wonderful, grumpy little thing,” said Isabella cheerfully. Annabel tried not to feel gratified, and didn’t quite manage. “It’s like having a small pet cactus.”

  Annabel, who had been unbuttoning those buttons she could reach, had to stop because she was la
ughing too much. “Oh, don’t make me laugh when it’s so hot!” she begged. “I’d just managed to stop sweating! Why don’t they let us use personal hygiene spells here, I’d like to know!”

  “Real ladies,” said Isabella, making her mouth prim, “do not sweat, Nan. Real ladies glow. Did you not hear the Deportment Master?”

  “If I have to put up with heat like this for much longer, the Awesome Aunts will be able to light the dining hall with me. Why aren’t you glowing, if it comes to that?”

  “That’s because I’ve graduated beyond being a real lady,” Isabella said; but she came over to help Annabel unbutton. “And also because I smuggled a few things in before term started. I should have mentioned it this morning, obviously.”

  “You smuggled them in before term?”

  “Of course! They have their magic sensors when term begins. I couldn’t very well smuggle them in then; the Awesome Aunts would have caught me, smuggling garters or no smuggling garters.”

  “Don’t they have the sensors working before term starts?”

  “They can’t have, or they would have caught me,” said Isabella. “It was in the way of an experiment, really; and what a convenient thing for us, Nan!”

  “What did you smuggle in?”

  “Some anti-perspiration spells, a few chairs, and some things I’ll need for my hat making.”

  Annabel said blankly, “You really did smuggle in the chairs! I told Melchior I thought you had, but I didn’t really believe it!”

  “Naturally, I did! You have no conception, Nan, of how dreadfully uncomfortable the chairs at Trenthams are! And don’t you think these are stylish?”

  “Yes, but how?”

  “I bribed some of the footmen,” said Isabella. “There are always a few of them hanging around the halls, hoping to be bribed.”

  “I don’t think that’s why they’re hanging around in the halls,” Annabel said, gazing around at the chairs. Chairs were not the first thing she would have thought of smuggling in if she had been trying to smuggle something into Trenthams. “It’s a pity you didn’t think to smuggle in a communication spell.”

  “Oh, I did think of it,” Isabella assured her. “It would be a waste of effort. Only think, Nan! No one replies when I try to contact them! I’m sure it must be because I’m sold defective communication spells. As it is, I vastly prefer to work face to face. I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  “No,” said Annabel, taking her face out of the pillow. “I was just laughing. Carry on.”

  “At any rate, I have enough anti-perspiration spells to last us through the term, so you can’t use that as an excuse to avoid the badminton court.”

  “I’m not,” Annabel said, flopping back on the pillow again. “I’m avoiding the badminton court because everyone is so wafty and ladylike, and it’s no fun playing badminton like that.”

  “They appear wafty and ladylike,” said Isabella, “but if you send them a few tricky shots you’ll see how very competitive Trenthams badminton girls can get. They’re very nearly as ruthless as the croquet girls, as a matter of fact. They begin in a ladylike manner, but by the time they’ve been cut to the soul a time or two about missing a shot, they become positively warlike. That aside, the badminton court is one of the best places to find really good allies.”

  “Are we looking for allies?”

  “Certainly we are! Now that another queen heir has appeared with Lady Caro, we’ll need all the allies we can reasonably get.”

  “I’d rather just have Alice and Jess,” Annabel said, but she got up and began to unbutton herself in spite of that. “They’re worth more than all the others combined. Except maybe Delysia.”

  “Yes, Delysia is a darling!” said Isabella promptly. “Here, Nan; try this.”

  Annabel accepted the spell, and it spread coolly over her from the top of her head to the toes of her overheated feet. She sighed in relief. “I know the coolness won’t last, but it feels lovely while it does!” she said. “And at least I won’t have to worry about sweating in front of Lady Selma, if she’s trying to make allies on the badminton field, too.”

  “Yes, that’s rather an annoying thing,” Isabella agreed. “She doesn’t seem to be flustered, or hot, or even worried by anything. I’m curious to know if she’s unflappable or merely stupid.”

  Annabel, who was inclined to be more concerned about the singular unflappability of Lady Caro, asked, “What about Lady Caro? Have you known her for a long time?”

  “We began at Trenthams in the same year,” Isabella said. “She was determined to be a leader in the school, and I was determined not to be nose-led by anyone other than my little Papa. Naturally, this caused something of a split in the class, and things have see-sawed very interestingly ever since. While I’ve been gone for the last couple of years to look after Papa, it seems that Lady Caro has been very busy.”

  “Not busy enough,” opined Annabel. She was no lover of intrigue or court politics, but she was sharp-eyed enough to be able to see them at work. Lady Caro might have worked very hard, but Isabella’s arrival back at Trenthams had precipitated a sweeping change in the atmosphere of the school that was as widespread as it was sudden. Annabel was quite well aware that although all of the girls who lined up at her door had done so firstly in order to see herself, fully three quarters of them were just as curious to confirm that Isabella—the Miss Farrah—had actually returned and was in residence. More, she was certain that there had been a great deal of discussion about whether the secret lessons would begin again.

  “Oh, yes,” she said now. “Your classes—do you think there will be less girls attending?”

  “Perhaps technically,” Isabella answered carelessly. “Essentially, no! The numbers will perhaps fluctuate for a little while as some of the girls try to decide whether to stay or leave.”

  “That’s all right,” Annabel said, slightly cheered. She couldn’t blame some of the girls for wanting to see which way things would settle before they became settled themselves, but it did make her appreciate Isabella, Delysia, and the bold-eyed Fern just that much more. “Belle, do I have to actually play badminton, or am I a haughty spectator?”

  “Haughty spectator,” said Isabella promptly. “Lady Caro will no doubt challenge me to a match as soon as we arrive, so there’s no need for you to be involved physically just yet. You’ll possibly trade verbal blows with Lady Selma instead—unless, of course, she’s refusing to acknowledge you again.”

  “Sort of like a bug on her plate,” agreed Annabel. “All right, but that might annoy me.”

  “Might it? Well, so long as you’re not shrill or stupid, there’s no reason for you to remain silent, after all. Do as you think best, Nan; I’ve no advice to offer.”

  Annabel gave the tiniest of sniffs. “That’s unusual.”

  “Isn’t it? It hurts a great deal to say so, but you’ve surprised me often enough. I feel all the confidence in the world that you’ll say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. I shall therefore put all my energies into the game.”

  “All right,” said Annabel. “But you’d better win, or I’ll get myself another advisor.”

  Isabella giggled. “That’s exactly what I mean! I shall certainly win; see if I don’t!”

  There was already a game of badminton ongoing when Annabel and Isabella arrived at the court, cool and comfortable in their fresh frocks. Annabel felt the touch of the sun on her face again, despite her hat, and was glad of the anti-perspiration spell she could feel still coolly lingering.

  “Ugh!” said someone as they arrived, over the swish and pop of the delicately plied badminton rackets against the shuttlecock. “Really! Some people fancy they’ll be welcome anywhere! It really is too bad!”

  “Isn’t it?” agreed Isabella at once, ostentatiously clearing a space for Annabel within easy sight and hearing of Lady Caro and Lady Selma. “I’m constantly astonished at the brass face of people in general. Even in Trenthams! Goodness me, the boldness of the soc
ial mushroom would be really admirable if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s so laughable.”

  Annabel saw, out of the corner of her eye, Lady Selma stiffening. Score one point to Isabella, then.

  Lady Caroline, looking bored and effortlessly bronzed in the sun, said lazily, “You’ve a lot of energy today, Miss Farrah. You ought to try a match against me, if you’ve that much energy.”

  “Certainly,” Isabella agreed. “However, do you think you should leave Lady Selma alone like that?”

  “Lady Selma is perfectly safe,” Lady Caroline said. “She has quite a few friends here at Trenthams, unlike some—what did you call them? Mushrooms?—I could mention.”

  “Do mushrooms grow on the badminton field?” Annabel asked of no one in particular. “I thought it was rolled out every week.”

  “Some mushrooms,” said Lady Selma, turning her large, blue eyes on Annabel, “are very persistent!”

  “It’s not much use being persistent against a stone roller,” said Annabel, “if we’re going to be dragging this metaphor out as long as humanly possible.”

  Someone giggled. On the badminton field, the two current players looked at each other, then abandoned the field. They obviously thought there was more sport to be had off the field than on it. Nothing loath, Isabella and Lady Caro took the field, Lady Caro spinning the handle of her racquet between her fingers with every appearance of aptitude, and Isabella swinging hers lightly by her skirts.

  As they did so, Annabel caught a flutter of blue between the bunches of greenery surrounding the badminton field. The badminton field was set at the base of a natural basin, and the surrounding trees were thick and well grown—enough to block an inconvenient breeze, and certainly enough to block approaching people from view. Enough, too, thought Annabel now, to hide the entire badminton field from view of the school windows.

  She narrowed her eyes at the trees that edged the badminton field closest to the school wall, and saw someone slip through the trees. No, not one—two, then three, then four, then enough to make her hand slip into her pocket by sheer habit and close around the pencil staff.