Witches Incorporated (53 page)

Bibbie was frowning at the sparkling diamonds, rubies and sapphires. “Actually…” She tipped the gemstones into her lap, stripped off one glove and plunged her bare fingers into the bounty. “Hmmm,” she murmured, wearing an expression like a chef tasting soup. “Let me see…”

Gerald half-closed his eyes and extended his thaumic senses. Damn. Bibbie was definitely onto something.

Monk returned with the glass of water for Eudora Telford. Catching his eye, Gerald nodded to the puddle of gemstones in Bibbie’s lap. Monk dropped one eyelid in a wink, gave Eudora the glass then clumsily turned and knocked into his sister, scattering the gemstones on the carpet.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, Miss, I’m sorry!” he cried in a dreadful parody of a working-class accent, dropping to his knees. “Let me get ’em for you, I’ll pick ’em up, let me!”

“Honestly,” said Bibbie. “Good factotums are
so
hard to find.”

Melissande was staring, eyebrows raised high. Gerald pulled a warning face at her then looked at Monk, who was tipping the last of the diamonds back into the pouch Bibbie held out for him. As he got off his knees he gave his head the smallest shake, then flicked his sister a meaningful look. Bibbie dropped one eyelid in an acknowledging wink.

“Actually, Eudora, these gemstones are fake,” she said. “Good enough to—ah—fool a lay-person,” she added, with an apologetic glance at Melissande. “But I’m afraid any wizard worth his salt would’ve immediately detected them as forgeries.”

“
Forgeries
?” said Eudora Telford and leapt to her feet. The glass of water slid through her fingers, splashing her skirt then rolling under the chair. “Oh, Your Highness,” she whispered, hands pressed to her breast. “Oh, Miss Markham! I hope you don’t think that—I would
never
—I wouldn’t know
how
to—” Overcome, she burst into tears.

Melissande stood and put an arm around the damp, distraught woman. “Now Eudora, don’t be silly. We know you wouldn’t exchange the real gem-stones for fakes. You’d
never
cheat Permelia like that. After all,
you’re
not a Millicent Grimwade.”

“Or a Permelia Wycliffe,” Reg muttered. “The hide of that woman, Gerald. Next time I see her I’ll bloody well pluck her bald, sending this—this
wet hen
into the wilds of South Ott to do her dirty work for her! She must’ve known what would happen if Rottlezinder got wind of the fake jewels!”

He nodded. It really was diabolical… or desperate.

As Melissande comforted her, Eudora Telford continued to tearfully deny any wrongdoing. “I know, I know, Eudora,” said Melissande, “but everything’s going to be all right, I promise. Eudora—
Eudora, put a sock in it! Carrying on like a watering can isn’t going to help!
”

Shocked tearless, Eudora Telford stared at her.

Melissande stepped back. “Sorry,” she said, very pink around her freckles. “But it was either shout at you or slap you. I thought you’d prefer the shouting.”

“I don’t understand,” said Eudora Telford, her voice quavering. “None of this makes any sense.”

“I know,” said Melissande. “And I’m so sorry you’re caught up in it. You’re a very sweet person, and none of this is fair.”

“Please, Your Highness,” said Eudora, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips trembling. “Am I in trouble?”

Melissande took her by the shoulders. “
No
, Eudora. You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact you’re halfway to being a heroine.”

“A heroine?” gasped Eudora. “Me? Oh, surely not.”

“Absolutely, Eudora,” said Bibbie. “In fact you’re crucial to an ongoing government investigation that—”

“That we can’t talk about,” said Melissande quickly, glaring at Bibbie. “Nevertheless, Eudora, it’s the truth. And we need you to help us help the government. The future of Ottosland could be at stake.”

Eudora Telford’s knees gave way, and she dropped back into her chair. “Gracious. I don’t—this is so
sudden
—are you
sure
I—”

“I’m certain,” said Melissande firmly. “Eudora, please, you need to trust me. It appears you’ve stumbled across a dangerous business, but you mustn’t worry—as a princess and the former prime minister of New Ottosland, I have—ah—access to government sources not available to most people.”

“Ha,” Reg snickered. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I’ll make sure you’re perfectly safe,” Melissande added. “But I shan’t lie to you, Eudora—doing your duty won’t be easy. You’ll have to talk about Permelia, and Ambrose, and everything you know about the Wycliffe Airship Company.”

“Oh,
no
—oh, I
couldn’t
,” said Eudora Telford, horrified.

Melissande held up a cautioning finger. “Eudora, you must. I know you want to protect Permelia—and Ambrose. But don’t you see? Telling the truth is the only way you can do that.”

“But I don’t know anything, not really,” Eudora whispered. “Oh, Your Highness, please, can’t you explain for me?”

“I wish I could,” said Melissande. “I know you’re frightened, Eudora. But you mustn’t be. Everything will work out for the best, you’ll see. Now, what I need you to do for me is change out of your wet skirt so that one of my factotums can escort you to see—to see—”

“Sir Ralph Markham,” said Bibbie. “My uncle. Antigone’s nephew, as it happens. Only don’t mention pastry to him. It’s a bit of a sore point. But he will want to hear everything else you’ve got to say.”

“Oh gracious,” said Eudora. “Are you
quite
sure this is the right thing to do?”

“
Positive
,” said Melissande and Bibbie together.

“Blimey!” said Reg, after Eudora Telford had tottered from the parlour. “If that woman was any wetter she’d be a registered weather system!”

“Don’t be horrible, Reg,” Melissande snapped. “Gerald, sorry, I didn’t mean to take over but—”

“
Ha
!” said Reg. “Pull the other one, ducky, it plays nursery rhymes!”

“Reg,” said Gerald, and twitched his shoulder again. Then he looked at Melissande. “It’s fine. You’re right, she does have to speak to the authorities. And Sir Ralph’s as good a place to start as any. If Sir Alec needs to get involved, Sir Ralph will bring him in.”

“Just make sure you remind her about the pastry thing,” said Bibbie. “I wasn’t kidding about that—was I, Monk?”

Monk was inspecting the occasional table under the parlour window, looking at the forest of framed photographs Eudora had planted there.

“Hmm? What?” he said absently. “No. It’s no joke. Antigone single-handedly gave Uncle Ralph a pastry phobia. Insisted on him helping her bake fairy-cakes. In an apron. With frills. When he was twenty.”

Reg shook her head, then looked at Melissande. “Do you remember our conversation about the children, ducky?”

“What?” said Melissande, frowning. “No.”

“Offspring,” said Reg. “Sprogs. Yours and his.”

Melissande blushed. “Oh. That. Reg—”

“Only the more I learn about this Markham boy’s family,” Reg continued, undaunted, “the more I start to wonder if paddling in his gene pool is really—”

“Reg,
shut up
!”

“Mind you,” said Reg, oblivious, staring around Eudora Telford’s fussy, frilly, knick-knack crowded parlour. “Things could be worse. You could end up living like this. All I can say is it’s a wonder the place isn’t crawling with cats.” She sniffed. “Unmarried women tend to break out in cats, I’ve noticed.” She gave Melissande a pointed look. “You’d best be careful, ducky. You’ve already got one toe in
that
manky pond.”

“And to think I
ever
wondered why your husband hexed you!” said Bibbie, very pink. “If you don’t mind, you deranged feather duster, that’s my brother and my family you’re—”

“Don’t, Bibbie,” said Melissande. “Really. You’ll only encourage her.” As Reg chortled and Bibbie spluttered she looked at Monk. “Can you see that Eudora gets to your uncle safely? Obviously Bibbie and I can’t be officially involved in any of this. Besides, with the portal sabotage case practically solved we really have to focus on
our
case now or Permelia Wycliffe is going to fire us
and
sue us for breach of contract.”

“Not necessarily,” said Reg. “It’s a bit hard to sue someone when you’re behind bars yourself. Don’t forget she’s up to her eyeballs in this portal business.”

“Good point,” said Melissande. “But I hope you’re wrong, because I’d like us to get paid the rest of our retainer and keep our growing reputation intact.”

“So what’s our next move?” said Bibbie.

“Well,” said Reg, “while that Markham boy’s taking the tropical depression in to see your Uncle Ralph, you and I and Princess Pushy and Gerald are going to—”

“Oh, Your Highness,” said Eudora Telford, returning to the parlour, dressed now in cheerful primrose-yellow silk. “So sorry to have kept you waiting, I—” She saw Monk at the occasional table and blushed. “Oh, I see you’ve noticed my—my—oh dear—” She cleared her throat. “My little bragging table.”

“I’m sorry. Your bragging table?” said Melissande, advancing on the collection of photos.

“Yes,” said Eudora, fluttering after her. “Mementos of my years in the Baking and Pastry Guild. Photographs of Permelia and myself with some of the illustrious women it’s been our pleasure to meet. Quite a few of them are terribly important, you know.”

Monk, playing his role of servile factotum to the hilt, tugged his forelock and backed off as Melissande and Eudora reached the table.

“Oh,” said Melissande. “Yes. I’ve seen these photos before, I think. On Permelia’s wall.” She frowned. “Did you say you’re in them, Eudora?”

“Oh yes,” said Eudora Telford, and snatched up the nearest framed photograph. “See?” She thrust it under Melissande’s nose. “This is me—and Permelia—with the wife of the Kalif of Ninifar. That was at the year-before-last’s Golden Whisk.”

Melissande considered the photo. “Well, I see Permelia and the Kalifa but—I’m sorry, I don’t quite—”

“There! That’s me!” said Eudora Telford, pointing. “That’s my elbow, and the edge of my purple silk dress.”

“Blimey,” Reg muttered. “Her elbow? I take it back, Gerald. She’s not a tropical depression, she’s a candidate for the asylum.”

“Hush,” he hissed at her under his breath.

“And this one—this one, you see?” said Eudora Telford. “Here I am with the Mogul of Fandawandi’s forty-third wife, and Permelia, at the opening of the Ott Homeland District’s annual fair. Four years ago.”

Melissande peered. “Ah. Yes. I take it this is your foot, Eudora?”

“That’s right,” said Eudora Telford. “I’m afraid I’m rather hopeless in photographs,” she confided. “Always moving at the wrong moment, or sneezing.”

“Yes, having your photograph taken is terribly tedious I know,” said Melissande, staring fixedly at one framed photo in particular.

“Hello,” said Reg. “What’s madam seen now?”

Gerald couldn’t tell. But from the look on her face…

“This lady here,” said Melissande, picking up the photograph. “She looks familiar for some reason. Do you know who she is?”

Eudora looked. “Yes. Of course. That’s me—well, the back of my head—and Permelia with the Prime Minister of Jandria’s wife. Madam Manawa Tambotan.
That
one was taken not quite two months ago, at the Annual Baking and Pastry Guild Charity Ball. Madam Tambotan was this year’s charity patron. She and Permelia were great chums at school, you know. And of course
she’s
the president of Jandria’s Baking and Pastry Guild.”

“Bloody hell,” Reg muttered. “Gerald…”

But he didn’t need Reg’s alarm tickling in his ear. He didn’t need Melissande’s startled expression, or Bibbie’s wide-eyed stare, or the swiftly-extinguished flare in Monk’s etheretic aura.

Jandria
.

G
erald felt his heart hammering at his ribs.
Permelia
was the connection between Errol and Jandria? But how could that be? She never set foot in Ambrose’s jealously guarded lab.

He realised then that something was nudging him… a thought… a memory… something important…

“Um,” said Melissande. “So Permelia and the prime minister’s wife—you’re saying they’re still good friends?”

“Oh yes, indeed,” said Eudora. “They’re always exchanging letters. They even talk on the telephone, though the calls are so expensive.” Her expression dimmed a little. “Doubtless there are things only two presidents can discuss.”

Gerald felt the nudging, niggling thought sharpen into a jabbing realisation.
Permelia
.

“Oy!” Reg muttered. “What’s wrong?”

Ignoring Reg, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, excuse me, Your Highness.”

Melissande gave him her snootiest look. “What?”

“We should—ah—the jalopy, Your Highness. We should warm it up before you and the ladies get into it. Me and—um—him.” He jerked his thumb at Monk, who was staring at him as though he’d gone mad. “Um. Can we? Please?”

Melissande heaved a sigh. “I suppose so. If you must. But don’t take all day. We’ll be joining you shortly.”

“What the hell are you going on about, Gerald?” said Monk, once they’d escaped Eudora Telford’s bungalow. “The jalopy doesn’t need warming up.”