The Autumn Palace (14 page)

There were about twenty small tables here, all made from lace-iron.
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Ondine recognised the tablecloths from her time in the laundry. It didn't take a psychic to know most of them would be covered in wine and tea stains by the end of the day and she'd have to wash them again. Old Col and Shambles sat at a different table, closer to the Duchess. The Duchess, her glossy mahogany hair perfectly coiffed, sat at the head of a longer table in the centre of the room.

Nobody made any introductions to Ondine or
Hetty, but Ondine didn't mind. It was enough to be all dressed up, sitting in such lovely surroundings, eating delicate sandwiches and crisp, sweet biscuits, washed down with tea.

‘We're seat filling,' Hetty said in a soft voice. ‘It happens from time to time. The Duchess can't stand to have an empty table, so she lets us come as long as we behave ourselves.'

‘Why not move the empty tables and seats out?'

‘Because they are screwed to the floor.'

Ondine placed her hand on the edge of the table and tried to move it. Not even a slight budge. She tried the same with her chair, with the same result. ‘Who screws furniture to the floor?'

Hetty leant closer and kept her voice low. ‘A few years ago, some tables and chairs went missing. My parents helped search the farmhouses and barns to try and find them. They never showed up. The Duchess ordered the rest of the furniture to be bolted down. It's been that way ever since.'

‘Lucky us, then,' Ondine said as she helped herself to a cheese finger sandwich from the neat little display
tower in the middle of her table. Glancing across the room, Ondine saw Hamish-as-Shambles appearing to sleep on Col's lap. His ears strained back and forth like a radar dish, listening for morsels of information.

‘We don't get the fancy sandwiches either,' Hetty said, ‘just cheese or jam for us, but it's nice all the same to be here. It's a bit like playing dressing-up, don't you think?'

Ondine smiled. ‘Quite!' She took another cheese sandwich and pretended it was chicken and avocado. A tuft of white fluffy mould clung to the side of the cheese. Back at her family's pub, she'd eaten mouldy cheeses all the time – but they were proper mouldy, with a mottled blue coating. This was hard yellow cheese and all kinds of wrong.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a guest at another table slip a dessert fork into her handbag. Stealing cutlery? Ondine picked up one of the spoons at her place setting and turned it over. The maker's stamp indicated sterling silver. The good stuff.

As politely as she could, Ondine tried to get her great aunt's attention. She coughed a little into her
closed hand. That did nothing. So she made a ‘psst' sound, which also achieved nothing. Finally she threw caution to the wind and said, ‘Aunt Col, may I give your pet ferret some cheese?'

That got her attention. And Shambles's. Ondine quickly excused herself from Hetty, and took the slice of the expired cheese to Shambles. When she reached them, she murmured to him, ‘Show the mouldy bit to Col. Meanwhile, there's a nicked fork in the blue bag.'
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Ondine quickly made her way back to Hetty, whose eyes were as round as the saucers beneath their teacups. ‘The Duchess doesn't normally allow pets in here. Your great aunt must be very special.'

‘You have no idea,' Ondine said and added a giggle.

Across the room, Shambles disappeared under the tables. A few moments later, he appeared at Ondine's feet with a silver fork in his mouth. Ondine leant down and held out her hand as he deposited the cutlery in her palm. He disappeared again and a few
moments later reappeared with a teaspoon. Ondine cast a glance around the room, pretending to admire all the finery. What she really did was check nobody was looking her way, then she snuck the extra items beside her cake plate.

The side doors opened to announce a new arrival. Hetty gave a high-pitched shriek as Lord Vincent walked in.

Ondine hissed, ‘Calm down.'

Such was her excitement, Hetty sat there and silently vibrated in her chair. Try as she might, Ondine couldn't stop her eyes rolling towards the ceiling.

Looking relaxed and charming, Vincent made the rounds of the room, shaking hands with guests and making small talk. Between Hetty's gasps, Ondine made out a few words. Something along the lines of Vincent standing in for his father, who was unavailable.

More squeaking from Hetty. ‘He's coming over here,' and, ‘OhmygoshI'mgoingtodie.'

‘Good afternoon, ladies,' he said, his face showing no sign of upset at the fact that Ondine had scored a seat in here. If anything, he seemed almost . . .
pleasant. It had to be an act, especially considering the way he'd treated her last time.

Hetty giggled.

Knowing all eyes were on them, Ondine played along. ‘Good afternoon, My Lord.'

‘I have a pony!' Hetty gushed.

Ondine slapped her palm to her forehead.

Vincent turned the charm on full blast. ‘Really now? Are you kindly taking care of one of my father's horses?'

‘Eeeee –' Hetty said, furiously nodding her head.

‘Then I thank you for your troubles. I hope we can have the stables repaired soon.'

Please pull yourself together
, Ondine silently begged. It reminded her of how she'd lost her head over Vincent way back when, but surely she hadn't acted quite as silly as Hetty.

Hetty grinned and made a weird sound in the back of her throat.

Vincent smiled again and said, ‘It was a pleasure meeting you,' then he moved on.

It was impossible to get anything coherent out of
Hetty while Vincent was in the room. After what felt like half an hour, but was probably only a few minutes, he finished his circuit of the room, spoke a few words to his mother and left.

‘Ahhhhh,' Hetty said with a too-loud sigh. ‘Isn't he amazing?'

Ondine coughed water into her nose and grabbed her napkin. By the time she finished, Hetty still wore a double-glazed expression.

‘Come on, snap out of it,' Ondine said.

As if her words had done the trick, Hetty suddenly remembered where she was and her hand came up to her mouth. ‘I have no idea what I just said then. Tell me I didn't say anything stupid.'

‘He seemed impressed you had a pony.'

Hetty buried her face in her hands. ‘I want to die.'

At that moment, the Infanta walked in with Biscuit tucked under her arm. Try as she might, Ondine couldn't see if the dog's teeth were growing back yet.

The Infanta wore a sky-blue tailored suit, several years out of date, and eye shadow to match. On her face she wore an imperious, you-started-without-me look.

The Duchess put down her glass of wine. ‘Anathea, you're not in the diary. To what do we owe thish unecshpected shurprise?'
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It was only mid-afternoon, but Ondine heard the slur in Duchess Kerala's words and wondered how much she'd had to drink.

The Infanta kissed the top of one of the female guests' heads and said, ‘Hello, dear.'

It must be one of her daughters
, Ondine thought. It also happened to be one of the women stealing cutlery. Then the Infanta looked at the Duchess. ‘Since when do I need an appointment to see my sister-in-law?'

Ondine had been thinking the same thing. Afternoon tea was a regular event, and they seemed to have spare tables – or at least enough spare seats to invite school children. So why was there no spare seat for Anathea?

Unless her distaste for Anathea ran so deep Kerala went to extraordinary lengths to make sure there were no spare seats?

An uncomfortable silence cloaked the room. Nobody wanted to say anything, probably because nobody knew what to say. The Duchess drained her wine glass and touched a hand to her hair, as if to set it in place. A stalling tactic – there was no way her dark lacquered hair had come the slightest bit loose. She turned to her social secretary, who handed over a leather-bound diary. The Duchess flicked a few pages forwards and backwards, pursed her lips and frowned.

‘I have shpace at three tomorrow afternoon. Can it wait until then?'

‘After midday? What's the point?' the Infanta said.
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The cold look between the Duchess and the Infanta dropped the temperature in the room by ten degrees. Biscuit wriggled in the Infanta's arms and made a ‘ru-ru-ru-ru' berserker bark, trying to get at Shambles.

Ondine feared for her beloved.

Shambles stood up on Old Col's lap and made his
own, ‘ru-ru-ru-ru' sound back at the dog.

Biscuit yelped and tried to burrow into the Infanta. Everyone, including Ondine and Hetty, laughed. The distraction helped break the icy tension in the room. The Duchess accepted another glass of wine from the waiter.

Old Col spoke up, ‘Did I mention, Your Grace, that I can read tea leaves? I'm very good.'

The Duchess smiled and appreciated the diversion for what it was. The Infanta still didn't have a seat and nobody offered her one. While the waiters brought out pots of freshly brewed tea, Anathea and her crazy dog took their leave.

Old Col poured tea and the conservatory regained the atmosphere of a garden party.

‘My niece is proficient at reading palms,' Old Col said. ‘Ondine, would you be so kind as to share your gift?'

‘Really?' Hetty said. ‘Wow, you should have told me! I'll get you to read mine later.'

‘I'm not that good,' Ondine said.

‘You're too modest,' Old Col said.

With a flagging heart, Ondine approached the Duchess.

‘I will need both hands, Your Grace,' Ondine said. Inside, she trembled, but she did her best to control it.

The Duchess put down her glass of wine and gave her palms to Ondine. The nail on her left pinkie finger was so long it had started to curl inwards. It mildly grossed Ondine out to see the yellow stains underneath it. This close, she could see Duchess Kerala's blue eyes, but they didn't shine. If anything, they looked cold and calculating.

‘Thank you. You're right-handed.' Ondine had seen the Duchess make a note in her diary with her right hand, so it wasn't guess work. ‘That means your left is the life you were given, and the right is the one you've made for yourself.'

Then Ondine made the mistake of looking at those soft, pampered palms. Instantly she regretted it, because she didn't like what she saw. Clean, simple lines on the left hand, but a right hand filled with complicated scribbles, slashes and crossings out. As if her present life was trying to scratch out the past. The
words ‘secret', ‘deceit', and ‘danger' immediately came to mind.

Looking up, Ondine saw Old Col give her a satisfied nod.

Ondine summoned every ounce of diplomacy she possessed and began the reading. ‘You are so generous, Your Grace, and so concerned for the welfare of others it almost reduces you to tears.'

The Duchess smiled and said, ‘Go on.'

Complete mince, as Shambles might say, but it seemed Ondine's kind words met with approval. She really wanted to say, ‘I think you're as cunning as a sewer rat,' but that would do her no good at all. Meanwhile, others at the table drank their tea, swilled their cups and turned them upside down on their saucers. Old Col looked for omens in the mush.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ondine saw one of the guests offering Shambles the last piece of mortadella
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from her plate.

Ondine felt even more uncomfortable as she
continued with the reading. ‘I see your marriage continuing happily, for a great many years into the future.'

The Duchess gave Ondine an unreadable look, as if she'd told her something she hadn't wanted to hear. Her tone stayed deadpan. ‘A charming divershion, I'm shure.'

Ondine's stomach dropped to the floor. Old Col must have read the distress in her face because she made a timely interruption: ‘Some tea, Your Grace?'

Thank you, Aunt Col
, Ondine silently said. She looked about the room and saw Hetty serving tea to several women seated nearby. It seemed everyone here wanted to know their futures. From under the table, Shambles liberated a cake fork from another handbag. It was going to be a long afternoon.

The early evening chill teased Ondine's skin as she dashed towards the crepe myrtles. Her feet came loose in the pretty sandals, so she kicked them off on the grass and ran in bare feet, her skirts swishing and swooshing around her knees. The swirling wind blew leaves and
petals off the branches, making her feel like she was inside a snow-globe.

Joy burst through the gloom the moment she saw Hamish standing there. ‘Oh, sweetheart!' she cried and wrapped her arms around her beloved.

He felt stilted as he returned the hug. Worry wormed through her. This was not the warm welcome she'd expected.

‘It's g-good to s-see you.'

She was wearing a gorgeous dress, but Hamish's smart clothes felt damp and stuck to his skin. The twig snapped. ‘You're freezing!'

‘I'm a wee bit wet, lass.'

‘Oh, my stars, what happened?'

‘I left me clothes behind the trees fer next time, but they goat smothered in dew.'

‘Oh, you poor darling. I should have brought you a coat or something. Or a mug of soup.'

‘Not the d-dog soup, I hope,' Hamish said.

When Ondine kissed him, his lips felt so cold it shocked her. She trailed kisses over his cold cheeks, doing her level best to warm him up.

Old Col interrupted. ‘We'd best keep this brief, the Duke will be wanting information soon. Ondine, what news do you have?'

‘I've been thinking about how sick everyone was after eating the soup. It couldn't all be dog germs. If the Infanta is in the kitchens at night, maybe she's putting something else in the food, not just the dog spoon.'

‘Aye.' Hamish held Ondine close to him, as if she were a hot-water bottle. ‘The Infanta is bonkers.'