Chapter 9 #2
Zacharias had decided upon this course the night before, when he and Prunella had fabricated this tale of Sir Stephen’s connection with her father.
He could not inform a woman so opposed to women’s magic that he was removing her charge so that she could learn precisely that.
Besides, his plan to reform women’s magical education must remain secret for now, until his position was stronger, and he had marshalled support for his scheme among his colleagues.
As for what Lady Wythe would think of her part in the proceedings, that was a complication Zacharias left for the future.
“Lady Wythe!” cried Mrs. Daubeney. “But she is the daughter of a baronet!”
Though she herself had ascended rapidly in her fancy to the heights of intimacy with the current and former Sorcerers Royal, she could not so quickly adapt her view of Prunella.
After all, only the day before she had resolved to evict Prunella from her bedchamber in the east wing: some of the schoolgirls slept there, and Prunella would do better in the servants’ quarters.
It required a rapid readjustment of her notions for Mrs. Daubeney to absorb the idea of Prunella as the honoured guest of Lady Maria Wythe.
In justice to Mrs. Daubeney’s heart, however—a genuine living, beating article, even if it was on occasion shouted down by her head—not two minutes had passed before she had assimilated the idea, and began to think it an excellent thing for dear Prunella.
There was no doubt it was to Mrs. Daubeney’s credit that it had happened, and Prunella ought to be grateful to her for this sudden elevation.
Though Mrs. Daubeney did not admit it to herself, she was conscious of a sneaking sensation of relief, for it was certainly true that Prunella was growing too magical for the school.
It was not inconvenient for her to be removed at this juncture, and ideal that it should be done in such a manner as to enable Mrs. Daubeney henceforth to claim a connection with the Sorcerer Royal.
“She is that,” said Zacharias. “What is more, she is very kind, and will do her best to make Miss Gentleman comfortable.”
“Well, Prunella, it shall never be said that I stood in the way of your advancement,” said Mrs. Daubeney. “I always knew you were meant for better things. One does not often meet such men as your dear father.”
“I hope to leave today, ma’am, if that does not cause too much disruption in your arrangements,” said Zacharias. “I have been delayed longer than I should like, and need to get on as soon as I can.”
Mrs. Daubeney looked dazed. “Certainly—that is to say, Prunella will need time to pack.”
“I shall not need long,” said Prunella. “I have just enough as will fill a small valise.”
“I suppose you will have a maid to accompany you,” said Mrs. Daubeney, pulling herself together, and assuming the stern countenance of a guardian. “I am afraid I can spare no one at such short notice.”
Zacharias opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling foolish. Mrs. Daubeney had overestimated his worldliness: he had very little to do with women on the whole, and it had not occurred to him that Mrs. Daubeney might expect a chaperone for Prunella.
Prunella was not disconcerted, however. She sat up on her heels, brightening.
“Of course,” she said. “Lady Wythe sent her maid down. She is waiting outside the door, I think, Mr. Wythe?”
“Is she?” said Zacharias, thoroughly confused.
“Cawley,” said Prunella, raising her voice. “Pray come in.”
Into the room lurched a nightmarish vision wearing a human form, but neither human nor alive.
Zacharias blinked. No, it was only a woman of about forty. A solid, sensible-looking female, such as any anxious duenna might be reassured to have as her charge’s companion. Her hair was brown—no, grey—no, chintz—
“Good morning, ma’am,” said the woman, but she had no voice. The words simply appeared inside Zacharias’s head.
Zacharias shut his eyes deliberately. When he opened them again, his mind was focused on the effort of sight, and he observed what he had been missing.
Prunella had constructed a chaperone out of cloth. The body was made of linen sheets, rolled and bound together. The head was a yard of chintz, shaped into an approximate sphere. At the bottom of the swaying, bobbing figure was a pair of men’s shoes.
It was really very difficult to keep the image clear. Zacharias’s mind urgently desired to return to what it was sure was the truth: that before him stood a woman of flesh and blood, who was bobbing and answering Mrs. Daubeney’s questions in a voice that was her own, not Prunella’s.
This was leagues beyond the invisibility spell Prunella had wrought the evening before.
In its subtlety it was even more impressive than the ward she had thrown up against the fire.
Zacharias could not have so deceived another magician until he had nearly completed his education, after years of study and practise.
“Thank you, Cawley,” said Mrs. Daubeney. When the woman had curtseyed and excused herself, she said:
“That is a good sort of woman. Lady Wythe possesses excellent judgment of character, I am sure. I shall feel quite comfortable leaving you in her care, Prunella. Perhaps”—her voice faltered—“perhaps it is all for the best. You will know what to do for her, Mr. Wythe, as I have never done.”
· · ·
ZACHARIAS,” hissed Sir Stephen in Zacharias’s ear, “that girl is a humbug!”
Only the strictest habits of self-discipline enabled Zacharias to continue walking towards the door as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Mrs. Daubeney and Prunella had vanished into the upper reaches of the building, to pack what little Prunella planned to bring with her, but it was approaching mid-day, and there was no saying that Zacharias might not meet a maidservant or schoolgirl on his way.
Sir Stephen usually exercised more discretion than this.
His importunate spectre continued to hover at Zacharias’s shoulder, however, so that Zacharias was compelled to duck into the kitchen garden, and hope anyone who saw him assumed he was addressing a zephyr.
“Sir, much as I am honoured by the privilege of your visits—”
“Call them visitations, rather! For that is what you think ’em, I know,” said Sir Stephen briskly.
“But I cannot hold back when a timely word might avert folly. I know better than anyone that when you have got a maggot in your head you will rush on regardless, but it ought to be obvious even to you, Zacharias, that that chit has no more idea of studying thaumaturgy than I have of being crowned the Queen of Fairyland.”
Zacharias stiffened. “Indeed, sir? And what do you say is her purpose in bearding a strange gentleman in his rooms, and abandoning everything she has known?”
“I do not deny she is a bold-faced hussy,” though Sir Stephen spoke more admiringly than not.
“I will not pretend to know her purpose. But it is not difficult to see that a pretty, artful baggage like that might desire to go to town for any number of reasons, none of which is likely to include becoming a thaumaturgess.”
“Miss Gentleman seems to me a pleasant, unaffected young lady,” said Zacharias with dignity. “In any case, whatever might be said of her manners or morals, it is impossible to fault her reflexes. I am in her debt, and I have agreed to instruct her. I cannot very well go back on my word now.”
“From the way you go on, no one would think your hearth-fire had attempted to murder you,” said Sir Stephen testily. “Have not you better things to be thinking of than the education of gentlewitches?”
“A Sorcerer Royal must take assassination attempts in his stride,” said Zacharias.
“I had thought something of the sort would happen ever since I succeeded you. We both knew what widespread displeasure my becoming Sorcerer Royal was likely to occasion. What is more natural than that someone should seek to curtail my term of service?”
This observation did not improve Sir Stephen’s spirits. He glared at an artichoke as though it had offended him personally. “Did Leofric say whether your enemy was a thaumaturge?”
“It is scarcely likely to be a strolling magician or a cunning man,” said Zacharias, evading the question. “What reason does anyone but a Fellow of the Society have to desire my extinction?”
“I should have thought your colleagues would at least submit to the constraints of the Charter of the Society.”
“Did you? I was not so sanguine,” said Zacharias. “It is just as well they have acted, though unfortunate that they should have struck when Miss Gentleman was present. Yet who knows? She reacted first, before I had even discerned the peril. We might not be speaking now if she had not been there.”
“That is another thing,” cried Sir Stephen. “That your complaint should have incapacitated you at the crucial moment is another shocking thing. How are you to defend yourself from assassins if you grow regularly faint and aguish? That is contrary to the very principle of the Exchange.”
Zacharias hated any reference to his illness, as Sir Stephen ought to have known. Sir Stephen had scarcely begun to say, “I beg you will tell Leofric he must restrain himself,” when Zacharias turned away.
“The chaise will be waiting,” he said. “I had best have a word with Turrill.”
“Zacharias!”
“It will not happen again,” said Zacharias, in a voice iced over with a thin layer of frost. “Of that you may be certain.”
· · ·
AS Zacharias approached his conveyance, the scope of the undertaking to which he had agreed began to dawn upon him.
The chaise that was to bear him and Prunella to Fobdown Purlieu was indeed waiting. It was doubtful whether it was capable of doing anything else.