Chapter 22
PRUNELLA HAD ONCE thought life in London would be all flirting and balls and dresses, hitting attentive suitors on the shoulder with a fan, and breakfasting late upon bowls of chocolate.
She sighed now for her na?veté. Little had she known life in London was in fact all hexes and murder and thaumaturgical politics, and she would always be rising early for some reason or other!
She could not help feeling a twinge of guilt as the latch clicked shut behind her. The orb that had flooded them out sat in her reticule, along with the familiars, shrunk for ease of transport.
Yet why ought she to feel guilty? She had left a note to explain her purpose.
Zacharias would likely be unhappy that she had gone by herself, but he could scarcely accompany her.
He had been overtaken by another of his paroxysms the evening before, and had retired, grey with suffering, at Lady Wythe’s insistence.
Prunella had recognised the strange orb at once.
It was identical to the one she had seen at the Midsomers’.
She thought it must be the same, but she knew so little of singing orbs that she could not be certain.
There could be no harm in going quietly to Mr. Midsomer’s house, however, and seeing if the orb she had noticed before was still there.
If it was not, that was a piece of the evidence Zacharias needed to be able to accuse Mr. Midsomer of his crime.
Prunella had a mission of her own as well.
She had examined her singing orb the night before, in the solitude of her bedchamber, and it was clear to her now that what she had thought to be mere ornamental carvings—the loops and swirls engraved upon the surface of her orb—were writing, though in a script so unfamiliar that she had not recognised it as such.
As for what script it was, she had her guide in the name of Seringapatam, which Mr. Hsiang had mentioned. The spectacular fall of Tipu Sultan’s court at Seringapatam had been such a victory as no one would soon forget—a victory that had secured his vast kingdom of Mysore for Britain.
It all fit together. Her father had returned to England from India, and her mother .
. . But Prunella would soon know more of her mother.
She might discover something useful about her own singing orb while she investigated the Midsomers’.
Perhaps she might even have an opportunity to interrogate the sibyl, whose mysterious reference to the Grand Sorceress Prunella now understood.
When Prunella approached the Midsomers’ house, an air of stillness hung over the building. Its facade looked like a solemn white face: “Of someone rather unhappy, I think,” said Prunella to her familiars.
It was not too difficult to locate a window looking into the room where the sibyl’s painting was hung.
It was on the first floor, as Prunella recalled, but this proved no obstacle.
Murmuring the formula she had learnt the day before, she summoned a wisp of cloud, clambered atop it, and floated up to the window, Nidget under her arm.
A brief examination of the room through the window satisfied Prunella that no one was there. Another minute’s spellcasting opened the window, and Prunella scrambled into the house, Nidget following her.
“Why, that was simple enough,” she said, dusting herself off. “I declare I do not know why more thaumaturges are not burglars. If I cannot find a wealthy gentleman to marry, Nidget, we could always resort to burglary for our livelihood—though I suppose Zacharias would disapprove.”
“I cannot say I disagree with him,” said a voice that was decidedly not Nidget’s.
Prunella jumped and clutched Nidget, staring. A woman rose from a sofa at the other end of the room. It was placed at such an angle that her person had been blocked from Prunella’s view when she had surveyed the room through the window.
“So you are a sorceress,” said Mrs. Midsomer sourly. “Midsomer swore there were none in England.”
Prunella straightened. It was an awkward position in which to be detected, but there was nothing for it. Denial was fruitless. She could only put a bold face on the matter, and be grateful that Tjandra and Youko had not come in with her.
“I am the first, and have not chosen to reveal my powers to the Society,” she said. She could not resist adding, “Though it is no surprise Mr. Midsomer should be mistaken. He is wrongheaded in every respect!”
“There, too, I must agree,” said Mrs. Midsomer, taking the wind out of Prunella’s sails.
“If I had known he was so remarkably stupid, I would never have come away with him. However, I am sworn to his service, and since we are now bound together, I suppose I am obliged to take offence at your insult.”
“There is no insult I can fling at Mr. Midsomer which he would not deserve,” said Prunella. “He shall hear them all, and defend himself, if he can! Where is he?”
“Do not you know?” said Mrs. Midsomer, with a curious half-smile. “And Geoffrey was so worried when he heard you had been at our party! I told him you were of no account, and he ought to focus his attention on the Sorcerer Royal. Geoffrey has a silly habit of seeing enemies wherever he looks.”
“He is right to be worried about me,” declared Prunella. “I am his enemy, and I know what he is about. Tell him I have found this!”
She presented the orb with a flourish.
“Where did you get that?” said Mrs. Midsomer sharply. “It is not yours!”
“It certainly is not,” said Prunella, closing her hand around the orb. “I am not in the habit of trying to murder Sorcerers Royal. But Mr. Midsomer is—and he shall account for it!”
Mrs. Midsomer’s grey eyes widened, and she stepped forward, actually reaching out to clasp Prunella’s arm.
“It worked?” said Mrs. Midsomer. “Zacharias Wythe is dead?”
Prunella withdrew her arm in disgust. “I am not sorry to disappoint you, but no, he is not. He is a great deal more difficult to kill than your master seems to believe, and I must say your master is an absurdly ineffectual murderer!”
“My master!” sniffed Mrs. Midsomer. “He knows nothing of it!”
She snatched the orb from Prunella’s grasp, moving so quickly that Prunella had lost it before she knew what was happening.
“You ought not to take things that are not yours,” said Mrs. Midsomer.
She spoke always with a slight, charming accent of indefinable origin.
It was stronger now, and her voice itself seemed to change.
It had deep tones in it that were not altogether human, but recalled the clash of thunder and the deep-chested roar of the sea.
Mrs. Midsomer’s shadow grew, expanding so rapidly that it filled the room.
Prunella took a step back, and then another.
Nidget was taut in her arms, waiting to spring.
She could feel the presence of her two other familiars outside.
She had been striving to restrain them, but if she did not suppress her increasing fright, they would soon burst in.
She bumped into a table and looked around.
The painting of the sibyl was behind her.
“You have been remarkably foolish, chit!” said Mrs. Midsomer in a booming inhuman voice. “Zacharias Wythe may have escaped me again, but you need not think you will be so fortunate!”
“Sibyl,” said Prunella. She was glad to hear her voice ring out, hardly trembling at all. “Pray tell me, who is Mrs. Midsomer?”
“Lorelei,” said the sibyl behind her. “Monstress, siren and mermaid—murderess in desire if not in truth—and a paltry hussy if I ever knew one!”
“Be quiet!” snarled Mrs. Midsomer. She lobbed her orb at Prunella.
Light burst forth from the orb in an array of colours—green, purple, blue and red. Each ribbon of light was a curse, and they scythed through the air towards Prunella.
“Nidget! Youko! Tjandra!” cried Prunella. “To me!”
· · ·
ZACHARIAS’S temples throbbed as he hurried down the stairs. He had passed the night in Lady Wythe’s spare room, and overslept in consequence. This invariably happened when Lady Wythe was present to overrule his orders to be awoken at such and such a time:
“Nonsense!” she would say. “Zacharias ought to rest. It would be the height of wickedness to wake him. Do you but try it, Lucy, and you shall have to look for another place.”
Yet it had been Lucy who woke him in the end, at Lady Wythe’s behest. Lady Wythe rose when he entered the sitting room, wringing her hands. Damerell was there also, pacing a groove into the carpet while he muttered a formula under his breath.
“Oh Zacharias,” cried Lady Wythe. “The poor motherless girl! I feel culpable, truly. I ought never to have lent countenance to her pursuit of an establishment. I should have done more to bring home to her the folly in proceeding as she did. And this is the result!”
The note she thrust into Zacharias’s hand bore a few lines in Prunella’s round, ungainly handwriting.
Dear Lady Wythe,
By the time you read these words I shall be gone.
I beg you will not be alarmed—I shall be back before you know it—but pray tender my apologies to Mr. Wythe if I should miss our lesson today.
When I return I think I may promise a GREAT SURPRISE!
What I mean I cannot tell you now, only wait and you shall see.
You may tell Mr. Wythe I have taken my case, and plan to put to use my acquaintance with his friend Mr. Hsiang.
I am, your humble and affectionate servant, &c.
“Now what does this mean?” said Zacharias.
“Dash the girl, cannot she stay still?” exclaimed Damerell. “The enchantment will never get a fix on her if she keeps flitting about.”
When Zacharias looked at him, he said: