Chapter 19 #2
“What a tragic story!” said Prunella. She was wondering whether, if she could only distract Sophia for a moment, she could conceal the orb within her reticule.
It was wicked to steal, of course, and Zacharias would be cross if he discovered it, but surely there was no harm in borrowing the object for a time.
A comparison with her own orb might enable all sorts of instructive experiments.
“Yes, isn’t it? I adore a tragedy!” said Sophia.
“Kendle tells such gruesome tales of the attachments between mortals and fairies, and they are invariably tragical, for the fairies’ caprice is beyond anything.
You should hear how the Fairy Queen treats her mortal paramours when she tires of them!
They are turned into mantuas and half-boots, transformed into newts, and who knows what else besides.
I am sure her poor swain wished he had never taken it into his head to fall in love with a fairy! ” She gestured at the painting.
“Why do you say so?” said a new voice.
Prunella hastily returned the orb to the table, and turned to face the lady who had joined them.
“Mrs. Midsomer!” she said brightly. “Mrs. Kendle and I were admiring your lovely painting.”
“It is an ugly piece, but Geoffrey likes it,” said Mrs. Midsomer. Her strange eyes seemed almost to glow with their own light. “And the sibyl serves her purpose. You do not seem to admire her, ma’am?”
Sophia was crimson. It was awkward for her to have been overheard speaking of the Fairy Queen’s discarded beaux by the wife of one such.
“One feels sorry for the poor man, you know,” she stammered. “To have his confidence so betrayed!”
“But he died of old age, whereas she is doomed to pass the rest of her life trapped betwixt gilt frames,” said Mrs. Midsomer. She turned to Prunella. “I saw you were interested in my bauble, Miss Gentleman.”
Prunella preserved her composure. Mrs. Midsomer was a whimsical creature, it was clear, but she need not think she would intimidate Prunella Gentleman.
“It is a pretty thing!” said Prunella. “I was wondering, ma’am, what it is for?”
Mrs. Midsomer gave her such a penetrating look Prunella almost wondered whether she was able to discern Prunella’s own orb, concealed beneath the bodice of her dress. But instead of replying, Mrs Midsomer leaned over, and said to the painting:
“How are you keeping, sibyl?”
Her loud, harsh voice plucked at a memory in Prunella’s mind. Had not Zacharias said something about the voice one must use when casting spells?
“Magic hates a whisper,” he had said. “The forces of the supernatural respond best to a good strong bellow.”
The huddled figure in the painting rose, revealing a lined, weary face.
The sibyl had once been beautiful, but age and isolation had worn her down. The hair under the rough fabric of her hood was silver, the face seamed with lines of sorrow.
“What d’you want of me?” she snapped. Her voice issued from the canvas clear and curiously full-bodied, in contrast to her flattened form.
“When Ormsby locked me away I thought I should at least profit from some peace, but no—it’s pester, pester, pester, all the day long.
‘What’s my fate, sibyl? What’s to become of me?
’ Surely that’s clear enough—death and the ruin of all your hopes, the same for all mortals. ”
“Not me,” said Mrs. Midsomer.
The sibyl pursed her lips. “I would not be so cocksure if I were you. Death and despair are hardly the preserve of mortalkind, as you’ll find soon enough.”
“It is not my fortune I wish you to tell,” said Mrs. Midsomer. “I shall make my own. But tell me of this woman.” She gestured at Prunella. “Who is she? Have I anything to fear from her?”
The sibyl raised her great hollow eyes, and Prunella felt Sophia’s arm quiver in hers.
“The mortal woman has love, but she will lose it, and know the bitterness of despair,” said the sibyl. “Which is to say, she likes her husband now, but will soon stop when she knows better.”
“That,” said Sophia, trembling in indignation, “is exceedingly impertinent!”
But Mrs. Midsomer overrode her protest, snapping at the sibyl:
“It is the other mortal I meant! What do you see of her past and future?”
Prunella had been trying to make herself scarce, stepping sideways so that Sophia hid her from the sibyl’s view, but she did not move quickly enough. The sibyl’s gaze fixed upon Prunella, and her eyes widened. “You!”
It was a large, busy, noisy room, and the press of the crowd had been such that their curious interchange with the sibyl had gone unnoticed till now. At her cry heads turned in their direction, and conversations broke off in exclamations.
“I do not need my fortune told, thank you,” said Prunella hastily.
“What do I see?” cried the sibyl in a voice that to the unfortunate Prunella sounded like a foghorn.
“I see the Grand Sorceress, her palms embroidered like a bride’s in mortal blood!
I see the Keeper of the Seven Spirits, mistress of the four points of the realm.
I see the past and future of English magic, converging in one.
I see the Undersecretary of Wonder and the Queen of the Five Boroughs of Magic (the last merely an honorary title, of course).
Hail to thee, Lady, who brings such visions with her—hail and well met! ”
“Hail to thee, too, I am sure,” said Prunella.
“But you are talking nonsense!” said Mrs. Midsomer crossly. “What has she to do with my beloved?”
“She has nothing to do with your beloved,” retorted the sibyl. “No one cares for your beloved half as much as you do! This girl is a fine creature, for a mortal, and she will make their wicked Society so cross I am delighted to have seen her.”
“Oh, if that is all!” said Mrs. Midsomer, losing interest. “Then you may be quiet!” She walked off without a second look at any of them.
“Good gracious!” said Sophia. “What a very odd woman! As for that sibyl, well!” They looked at the sibyl, who had returned to her downtrodden pose, and looked like nothing more than an ordinary picture.
“I do not know what Kendle will say! And to have subjected you, my dear, to such a diatribe! I could not make out a word of her speech, could you?”
“Not a word,” echoed Prunella. “She must have been driven mad by her long imprisonment. I pity her, do not you?”
“I think she is too impudent to be pitied,” said Sophia, who was still pink with vexation. “I declare I was never so put out! How I wish Kendle were something sensible, like a Member of Parliament. I have said as much to him, but he will not contemplate giving up magic for a moment.”
To Prunella’s relief, Sophia was so taken up with the sibyl’s incivility to her that she said nothing of the creature’s speech about Prunella.
The sibyl had not spoken so very loudly, and the general hubbub had been such as almost to drown out her voice.
Prunella could not trust that Sophia or Mrs. Midsomer would not pass on enough of the sibyl’s speech to betray her, however, even if they did not understand the whole.
Prunella had hardly understood it herself, but it had all sounded decidedly magical, and was bound to cast suspicion on her.
Dared she conceal the incident from Zacharias?
He would be excessively vexed to hear of it.
But he might be able to explain the meaning of the sibyl’s speech.
The Seven Spirits were the treasures, of course, including the four unhatched eggs, but who was the Grand Sorceress, and what were the four points of the realm?
The Undersecretary of Wonder rather lacked elegance as a title, reflected Prunella, but the Queen of the Five Boroughs sounded well.
“Oh, what a bore!” exclaimed Sophia.
“What is it?” said Prunella.
The guests had gathered at the end of the room. She and Sophia were swept along with them, but there was nothing to see—only Mr. Midsomer standing at the centre of the crowd, looking about with an air of complacency.
“I believe he means to make a speech,” said Sophia. She pulled her mouth into a pretty moue. “I am sure these magicians are vastly clever, but do not you think, Prunella, that they do not know the first thing about a party? Fancy forgoing dancing for speeches!”
“Gentlemen, I am honoured by your presence here tonight,” said Midsomer in a carrying voice.
“Honoured by your support of my endeavours to restore dignity to our profession. Too long have we been compelled to silence—but soon we shall speak with one voice, and our words will decide the destiny of English thaumaturgy.”
“There is Kendle!” whispered Sophia.
Mr. Kendle stood with a group of other magicians close to Midsomer. Their countenances were grave, but their eyes were fixed on Midsomer with a fierce, bright look that made Prunella uneasy.
Midsomer held up a scroll.
“I have here that for which you have waited,” he said.
“Our amendment to the Charter of our honourable Society is approved. The Hallett procedure, which has so long been prohibited, has been restored. We have now a means by which the staff of the Sorcerer Royal may be removed from the unworthy. No longer need we abide by the dictates of a Committee that has acceded to the usurpation of our profession’s noblest office. No more are our hands tied!
“I have invited you here today as a sign of my gratitude—but also to remind you that our work has just begun. On Thursday I shall stand before the Society and propose a motion for the procedure to be undertaken to remove the pretender. I require your support, colleagues, for a vote that will alter the history of English magic!”
“Never fear, Midsomer, you have it!” and “Hear, hear!” cried his audience.
Midsomer swept a triumphant look over the crowd.