Kinspit
By
nine o’clock the next morning Hardacre had dried and ironed Kathleen’s clothes,
prepared breakfast and packed a lunch for everyone.
‘I’m sorry that I won’t be here to prepare
any more meals today...’ he said as he served the morning tea to his three
guests, ’...as you all know, I am leaving for Oikonde for a day or two’
Kathleen looked up from her boiled egg and
smiled. She was feeling a lot better and seemed to have suffered no real harm
from her unplanned dunking.
‘That’s fine Laurence – I must get back as
soon as possible anyway – who knows how long those Outer Void substances will
remain in that still…’
Hardacre nodded politely and poured the tea
into her cup from his largest teapot.
‘And Laurence’ Kathleen continued, ‘we will
try to keep each other informed of anything that happens, shall we, by mail
paper? Anything that you find out may well be very useful for my studies’
‘Yes, madam – if you really feel that that
might be helpful to you… Certainly I will happily send you and Mr Ismay updates
concerning anything that I might discover’
Kathleen nodded, happy to have Hardacre’s
support.
Celia and Owen were tucking into a huge
mountain of toast, all of which, of course, Celia had prepared herself. The new
jar of blackberry jam had also been opened, despite that fact that the old,
already open jar, was staring them in the face on the worktop. Hardacre sighed
to himself and wondered if it was perhaps a good thing that he was leaving for
a while.
John was still in bed, which was vexing
because his master had expressly promised to accompany Kathleen to the
University. Hardacre planned to leave it until nine fifteen, when he would take
up a tray. That would still mean that they wouldn’t get out of the house until
just before ten and so he wouldn’t be able to teleport until a little while
after that. As usual, he felt the day’s plans slipping away. He stopped for a
second and allowed himself the indulgence of pouring himself a cup of tea.
There was clearly little point in hurrying.
‘How are your repairs progressing, Mr Floyd?’
he asked as he sipped his tea.
‘Passably well, Mr Hardacre’ said Owen, ‘it’s
just a tad fiddly. It’s secure but I’d really like to make the thing an
invisible mend’
Kathleen put down a toast soldier on to her
plate and looked up.
‘Do you mean from both sides, Owen?’
Owen nodded. He glanced up at Hardacre.
‘Does John have any plans to rebuild the
vault, Mr Hardacre?’
Hardacre frowned and looked noncommittal.
‘He hasn’t mentioned any and at the moment we
don’t have anything to put in it’
‘Nothing much yet’ agreed Celia, ‘but there
will be stuff soon enough’
‘Anyway’ said Owen, ‘he probably shouldn’t
reconstruct it here – I don’t think that the fabric will be strong enough to
take it any more’
Hardacre looked glum. He glanced across at
the Grandfather clock in the hall. It was ten past nine.
‘Perhaps you could mention it to Mr Ismay,
sir,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure that I want to be the bearer of that bad news’
Kathleen was finishing off the remains of her
egg with a spoon.
‘It’s
probably better with the twins, anyway’ she said, ‘easier for us all to have
access’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Councillor Mannings’
Hardacre said, finishing his tea.
They caught each other’s eyes. The only time
that Hardacre used the formal term ‘councillor’ was when he was annoyed or
worried.
Hardacre excused himself and then picked up
John’s tea tray and took it out. The others couldn’t help sharing a sly grin as
he left.
‘Is Laurence going to wake him up?’ asked
Kathleen
Celia was chewing a corner of her piece of
toast and waited until she had swallowed it before responding.
‘He’s always in bed at this time of the
morning’ she said
‘A bit of a night owl’ added Owen,
absentmindedly
It was Kathleen’s turn to look impatiently at
the clock.
‘A night owl…’ she repeated, slightly sourly,
‘so I’ve heard’
Celia began to feel Kathleen’s agitation. She
always disliked it intensely when that happened. Empathy was all well and good
but not at this time of the morning while trying to enjoy a hearty breakfast.
‘He’ll be down soon’ she said, trying to
sound reassuring. She tried to change the subject.
‘Did you ever find out who the old owner of
the reality still was, Katy?’
‘I have the scribbled instructions that she left
behind, with me’ said Kathleen, picking her now almost completely dry bag up
from the floor. She opened the bag and passed the three yellowing pages over to
Owen and Celia. She had had the foresight to put her papers into a waterproof
bag.
They stared at them for several minutes.
Owen’s Archaic Elven was excellent, but Celia had to read some of the more
tricky words several times.
‘And that’s all the instructions that came
with it, yes?’ asked Celia
‘And you still bought it’ said Owen. He
turned one of the sheets upside down and pretended to try to read it.
‘It’s been very useful’ Kathleen said,
defensively. Celia smiled and nodded very vigorously. There was no point making
things worse.
‘It’s only this one unexpected thing that’s
ever happened’ she said
Owen turned the last page round the right way
and looked at it with a less jaundiced and now more professional eye.
‘Fine hand’ he said, ‘a bit unsteady. It’s in
perfect archaic elven. Old school eastern elf, I’d say. I think you’re as
likely to find out something useful here as anywhere’
‘No signature though’ sighed Celia, ‘so a bit
of a needle in a haystack’
Owen thought about this.
‘Not really C. How many of these things could ever have been
made? Katy just needs to find the right clues’
‘What clues are those, Owen?’ said John as he
strolled in, looking tired but immaculately dressed. Hardacre had a rule that
the less sleep John had had the night before the better turned out he had to
be.
‘A clue to Katy’s missing manual’ Owen
explained patiently.
John smiled.
‘She’s come to the right place’ he said, but seemed
a little preoccupied.
‘Well, Katy’ he said, ploughing on, ‘are you
ready to go?’
Kathleen was tempted to say something about
how long she’d been waiting, but she realised that it probably wasn’t worth it.
She got up from the table and stuffed her papers back in her bag. John had
already gone to get his coat. She disappeared after him.
‘Is that all the toast?’ asked Owen
‘I can make some more…’ replied Celia
John’s head reappeared round the door.
‘We’ll have to eat out tonight’ he said,
wrapping a scarf round his neck, ‘did Laurence tell you?’
They both nodded.
‘I’ll take you somewhere really grand’ John
said.
‘That’ll be nice’ said Celia, blandly, ‘I
hope your meetings go well’
John was already out of the kitchen again and
heading to the front door with Kathleen in tow. He allowed himself a parting
shout.
‘I hope so too – I’m really keen to track
this Macrocephalos chap down’
The door closed behind them and then there
was silence again in the house. Celia looked intently at Owen.
‘Are you coping?’ she said, lines of worry
creasing her face.
‘It’s just tiring’ he replied, ‘you know
that’
‘And you still want me to hang around?’
He nodded and then looked away suddenly.
Celia wondered why.
‘I’m happy to stay…’ she said cautiously,
‘but only if it’s useful to you’
‘Well’ he said, slowly, ‘I’m happy for you to
stay so long as it isn’t interfering with anything important that you need to
do’
‘Do you think I shouldn’t stay?’ she
enquired, worrying momentarily that he thought she was wasting her time.
‘Do you want to stay?’ he asked, quietly.
‘Do you want me to stay?’ she responded, even
more softly.
They stared at each other for a moment and
ached for the ability to read each other’s minds. They groped for the right
words to say next.
Hardacre, who had reached the entrance to the
kitchen several seconds before and heard all of their conversation, timed his
entrance to exactly this moment. He made absolutely no indication that he had
heard anything; that was often the key to providing covert assistance.
He interrupted them with the tone of someone
who is speaking only because he really feels compelled to.
‘Councillor Franklyn’ he said, formally, ‘I
wonder if I could ask you to do me a rather large favour while I am away’
Celia was startled out of her difficult
conversation. She wondered what on earth he wanted her to do. She tensed
slightly, just in case it was something to do with Owen.
‘You may have noticed – in fact how could you
have failed to notice – that the combination of Mr Ismay and my assistant,
Simkins, does not amount to a an acceptably stable domestic set-up’
Celia made some little noises that could be
interpreted in any number of generally neutral ways.
‘Anyway -
I think that they need some, umm, oversight, by a more responsible adult
than either of them could aspire to be’
‘Yes, Laurence?’ Celia said, now rather
amused.
‘So’ Hardacre continued, ‘I was wondering
whether it might be possible for you to stay a few days more and ensure that
nothing goes terribly awry’
Celia smiled and was completely taken in.
‘Of course, Laurence, I’d be very happy to,
and I think Owen will need some more moral support anyway’
Owen nodded his head thankfully.
‘Yes, of course’ he said, ‘that sounds like a
splendid idea’
‘I’m sorry to have had to ask you, Madam’
Celia frowned.
‘Stop that! And now go and do your duty!
We’ll be fine’
‘We’ll have some more toast, for a start’
said Owen, grinning
‘I’ll go and pack then’
said Hardacre, bowing to them both. He turned on his heels and walked back down
the hall corridor. Anyone approaching him at this point would have wondered why
he had a very slight, quietly satisfied, smile.
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