Chapter 18 #2
“If I am remembered for nothing else, I shall die content,” he said to Zacharias.
“I should say Miss Gentleman was in a fair way to gaining a proper understanding of dress, save that her eye is not quite unerring. She has conceived an inexplicable affection for a wicked green bonnet in particular, that makes her look as though she were expiring of the yellow fever. I wish you would advise her to burn it.”
“If I had any belief that Miss Gentleman would attend to anything I said, I would not talk of hats,” said Zacharias. “She ought to pay less attention to frivolity, and more to her studies.”
Zacharias was far from pleased with the whole business.
Though he was busier than ever with his duties, he appointed a time every day when he visited Lady Wythe’s house, and sat with Prunella at her lessons.
She remembered everything he taught her, and he had no complaint to make of her practical ability.
Still, he could not help but take offence when she started nodding off over her books, and he was almost cross when this occurred a second time at one of their sessions.
“Though I should not presume to advise upon your conduct in society, I could wish you would not stay out so late,” he said. “Surely it would not injure your matrimonial prospects to leave a ball at ten, instead of half past one?”
Prunella started awake.
“Oh, I am sorry! Did I doze off again?” she said, stifling a yawn.
“How shockingly uncivil of me. But to leave a party so early would not be civil either, you know. It is likely to offend one’s hostess, and then one could not be sure that one had met all the eligible gentlemen, for some of them arrive quite late.
Mr. Damerell says he never arrives at a ball before eleven. ”
“I should not recommend modelling yourself upon Damerell,” said Zacharias, frowning.
“He is an excellent fellow, but I never knew a sorcerer that did less magic. Indeed, Prunella, neither your familiars nor your studies are receiving the attention they merit. There is a great deal for you to learn, to know how best to serve both your familiars and yourself, and what with all your distractions you are in danger of neglecting them.”
“I am sure they do not think so,” said Prunella indignantly.
“Do you, my darlings?” The familiars were slumbering in a pile at her feet, and showed no sign of hearing her.
“They are with me all the time, and they understand me perfectly. After all, there is little purpose in forgoing balls for books if I must conceal my abilities, and pretend I know nothing of magic, and was never taught the difference between a witch bottle and a hag stone. If I am only going to be married at the end of it, I may as well devote my energies to ensuring I dance the best quadrille at every ball.”
Zacharias felt the reproach in this, and said gravely:
“I can see that your education may seem purposeless to you, since it must be kept secret for now. That is not to say you shall never use it, however, and indeed it is my aim that you will use it, for your own benefit and others’.
Magicians are obstinate creatures, but they can be persuaded, and they esteem power above all things.
Three familiars are as effective an argument for feminine magic as they will ever have heard. ”
“You have the staff of the Sorcerer Royal, which is just as good an argument, and they still do not like you,” pointed out Prunella.
Zacharias felt suddenly weary. His complaint disrupted his sleep, and he was so busy with the duties of his office that he had scarcely had time to think of what was to be done about Midsomer’s schemes and Fairyland’s block on magic.
He had proposed to John Edgeworth a meeting to discuss the Janda Baik affair, but Edgeworth had supplied one excuse after another to avoid him.
Zacharias doubted the same excuses were offered to Geoffrey Midsomer.
Lady Wythe’s servants had built the fire conscientiously high, and the room was too close and hot for thought.
Zacharias rose to open a window and, looking out, saw London sharply delineated in a thin golden light.
It was a day of clear blue skies and crisp air, mingling winter and spring in equal parts.
“What do you say to a walk?” he said abruptly.
“We will have to practise certain spells outdoors, in time, and I have prepared a space in the Park for the purpose. It is hidden from view by an enchantment, which only I can unlock. Let us see if you are able to find it. That will be a useful test of my magic, and a practical lesson for you.”
Prunella brightened. “Certainly! Let me put away my familiars”—they had agreed the familiars should be hidden in her valise when she was out, to avoid their detection—“and I shall be with you directly.”
· · ·
IT was unfashionably early to be visiting Hyde Park, and there was no one to be seen. As Zacharias and Prunella trod along the path, it was as though they were the only two people in the world.
“I see you have a new hat,” said Zacharias.
Even to Zacharias’s untutored eye Prunella’s dress was an improvement on the plain attire in which she had first appeared to him. This particular bonnet was curiously unbecoming, however: it was a bright pea green, and seemed to draw out from her dusky cheek some of its glow.
“It is my favourite hat,” said Prunella. “Damerell will have it that it is unbecoming, but one does grow curiously attached to such things sometimes, does not one?”
“Indeed,” said Zacharias. Now that he thought of it, had not Damerell said something to him about hats? There was something peculiar about this one, as well—something he did not at first identify, and then could scarcely believe when he saw it.
His hand flashed out, but he was just a second too late.
The bonnet lifted off Prunella’s head, morphing into a green-feathered bird with a wide-eyed face—the face of a human child, save for the golden beak in place of the nose and mouth.
The simurgh sought refuge on Prunella’s shoulder, chirping in alarm.
“Appear as you are not!” snapped Zacharias. As the glamour dropped over the simurgh, the child’s face vanished, replaced by an ordinary bird’s head. A vivid-hued parrot on the popular Miss Gentleman’s shoulder would draw attention, but not nearly so much as the simurgh would have done.
“How could you tell?” cried Prunella.
“Your reticule is the unicorn, and as for your pelisse—”
“It is I,” piped a tiny voice. The elvet was the only one of Prunella’s familiars that had learnt to speak in a human tongue. The unicorn and simurgh spoke only their own languages, and communicated with Prunella in thought.
“What are you doing?” said Zacharias. His spirits had begun to improve the moment they were out of doors, but now his voice sharpened, though he strove to keep it even. “Did not we agree upon the importance of keeping your familiars hidden?”
Prunella tried desperately to look solemn, but a smile would keep breaking through her gravity. The elvet’s high-pitched giggle could be heard in the vicinity of her pelisse.
“But that is the clever thing about it! They are completely hidden,” she said.
“They have been so longing to see the world, and I could not think of a way to contrive it, till Nidget hit upon the notion. Nidget is the one who understands shape-shifting, for unicorns and phoenixes do not as a rule, but it taught the others as a favour to me. They have learnt remarkably quickly, though the bonnet is not quite right. Tjandra refuses to be red, though it would be so much more becoming. He likes being a hat very well, however—it gives him an excellent vantage point for looking about himself.”
“Is it not possible to make you aware of the danger,” said Zacharias, “the terrible danger, of the familiars’ being detected?
I have explained what public outrage it would cause if it were to be discovered that you possessed these familiars.
Every effort would be made to separate you from them.
And if you will not consider yourself or your familiars, consider me.
My position would be untenable if it was revealed that I knew of your familiars, and did nothing to prevent their attachment to you. ”
Prunella’s face grew stormy. “As if you could prevent it!”
Zacharias held her gaze until the colour rose in her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes.
“I know I could not. That would not signify to the Society,” said Zacharias. “They would consider the responsibility for the disaster mine. And it would be a disaster, Prunella—a disaster for which I would be called to account.”
Prunella rolled her shoulders as though she sought to shrug off the burden he had placed upon them. She said ungraciously:
“I am sorry.”
Zacharias looked at the small head still held defiantly high. He was shaken by a pang of he knew not what emotion—whether it were pity or admiration, he could not tell. His anger dissipated.
“It is my first concern that you—all of you—should be safe,” he said gently.
Prunella nodded, though she refused to look at him. In a low voice shorn of bravado, sounding quite unlike herself, she said:
“I like to have them by me. One feels less out of place.”
This took Zacharias aback. “Do you feel out of place?”
“Why, of course,” said Prunella. She paused.
“I have never been among my own people, you know. At Mrs. Daubeney’s I did not quite belong with the girls, and the servants would not have me.
I was not even Mrs. D’s, though I was there on her sufferance.
Even now, when I am received with such cordiality, and scarcely go anywhere in London without meeting someone of my acquaintance .
. . it is strange to know you would be cast off by the people who greet you so warmly, if they knew the whole truth about you. ”