Abby the Witch (23 page)

'A little,'
she could elaborate, but didn't feel like it. This always happened
when she had a conversation with Pembrake; he'd end up irritating
her so much she'd no longer want to speak at all.

'Well what is
it?'

'I ran into
Martha and she returned the bracelet.' Abby sighed heavily as she
produced it from the only pocket in her dress. 'I think it might be
the clue we were looking for.'

'Bracelet? You
mean the one the witches were talking about?' Pembrake looked down
at the broken remains of the charm in Abby's hand. 'That
thing? Isn't that my mother's?'

Abby pressed
her lips together a little guiltily. It suddenly occurred to her
that she hadn't explained to Pembrake the mysterious happenings
surrounding this charm – how it had flickered with magic, licking
up her hands when she'd taken from Mrs Hunter, allowing her the
briefest glimpse into Pembrake's mind. The thing was powerful, too
powerful to be kept as a simple family heirloom. 'Umm… well, yes it
is. I think it is a very important clue as to why we are
here.…'

'How did you
get your hands on it?' Pembrake's voice had an undercurrent of
accusation: as if he believed that Abby, the treacherous little
window cleaner, had snuck into the fine home of Mrs Hunter and
snuffled it right out from under her nose.

What little
understanding she had begun to build of him, what little sympathy
she had for his world turning upside down in the past, was
slipping. He couldn't really believe she was capable of theft?

'I found your
mother on the night of the storm and she was… well, she was having
a vision. I think she was connected to your mind somehow, and I
think this,' Abby hefted the bracelet, 'is what was doing it,' her
words were sharp and defensive. She wasn't a thief: how could he
even entertain that as a possibility?

Pembrake
regarded the bracelet for a moment and sighed. 'There's no need to
get defensive, Abby; I'm not accusing you of anything. Plus, that
little thing is just a trinket. It looks like nothing more than a
child's bracelet sitting in your hand like that. Do you really
think it was capable of creating the storm?'

She clicked
her tongue onto the top of her mouth. 'Not the storm… but
something. Do you know anything about it?'

He shrugged
his broad shoulders, which shifted comfortably in the smart suit
that he was wearing. His new clothes suited him far more than the
tight outfit he had borrowed from Alfred. The line of the sleeves
sat just right on the tips of his shoulders, the collar of the
shirt sitting smartly against his trim neck.

'It's an
heirloom from my mother's side. Apparently it's given to the eldest
child when they marry, not that I'll be wanting a bracelet of
course.'

Abby tried to
sit on her conflicting emotions: her anger at his implied
accusation, her pity at the memories of discrimination. Being with
Pembrake was never a simple emotional journey for her; she always
had to find ways of hiding uncomfortable sides of her personality
that rose from unbidden and uncharted depths.

But right now
this seemed like a clue, so Abby needed to roll up her sleeves and
act like a professional, objective witch. 'Do you know where it
came from?'

He shrugged
his shoulders again. 'No. To be honest, I never really paid much
attention to it; it is just a bracelet, after all.'

'Well that's
not very helpful; it could be the key that we are looking for!'

'And it might
just be a bracelet.'

'Why do you
always have to second guess me? Do you think, as a witch, I don't
know what a magical talisman looks like?'

Pembrake was
momentarily withdrawn, as if thinking about something. 'Look, I'm
sorry. I'll concede this one. If you think it is important, then
it's a good idea to study it. I'll try and see what I can
remember.'

Silence.

He had just
conceded the point to her.

'Oh… thank
you.'

Silence.

'So what do we
do now?' Abby tried, bitting her lip for some annoying reason.

Pembrake
seemed to be coming around from whatever spell he had placed
himself under. Whatever momentary openness he had displayed, was
clearly returning to its ground state of repression.

'Only there's
a lot of stuff we need to do. We have to search for the Key for
one, and find out why the Palace is so important in all of
this-'

'It will all
have to wait, I'm afraid; I have to prepare to go and be presented
to the King,' Pembrake was back to smiling that roughish grin,
'then I shall spend the evening being introduced to the Princess'
friends,' as Pembrake spoke he stared at Abby intently waiting for
his words to make her explode.

Though,
strangely, the jibe seemed softer this time, more controlled.

'Very well
then, Pembrake. I shall spend the evening with the Captain of the
Guard-'

Now Pembrake's
smile froze.

'He said he
found me quite clever,' she couldn’t quite stop the smile from
tugging at her lips.

Pembrake now
looked alarmed as if 'clever' was the worst possible thing the
Captain of the Guard could think of Abby. 'I see. But I think, in
the interests of our keeping a low profile in this time, you should
have as little to do with the Guards as possible.'

'Okay, this
coming from the guy who's off to meet the King and gad with the
Princess. If anyone should be getting the "don't go destroying the
timeline speech", it's you Pembrake.'

'Just stay
away for him,' once again the Commander was giving orders.

Abby was so
flabbergasted at his tone she just stared at him. What was he going
to do next, order her to always walk one step behind him? Who
the pleck did he think he was? 'What? You can't be
serious?'

'Abby, I'm
taking us stuck 28 years in the past very seriously, I
think maybe it's time you do too. I'll talk to you after the
reception,' and with that he turned for the door, 'and go and get
some food from the kitchens.'

'I've already
eaten.'

'Then eat some
more. I have to go; the Princess will probably have sent out a
search squad by now.' Pembrake left without another word.

Abby picked up
the pillow and threw it at the door just as it closed and it
thudded against it dully. She opened her mouth and screamed
silently. She really had no idea what to think about that man.
Pembrake Hunter was driving her crazy.

Hot, cold,
wise, and immature – couldn't he be anywhere in between?

After she had
calmed down sufficiently, Abby did indeed get some rest. But not
before long Martha came into get her, fussing terribly over the
preparations for Pembrake's reception. She ran another brush
through Abby's hair, which had frizzed to its usual state as soon
as her head had hit the pillow. Martha was determined though, and
she kept on tutting which probably helped somehow.

After Martha
had finished with Abby, she'd led her to the hall where dignitaries
dressed in various different costumes were already milling about.
Abby was surprised to find that it was already six o'clock, she
must have slept quite steadily through the afternoon. Pembrake was
to be presented at seven and then retire to the dining hall to have
dinner with the Royal Family. Abby, apparently, wasn't invited,
which was fine by her because the prospect of sitting within
knife-throwing distance of Pembrake was not a healthy one.

She was led to
a seat right at the back of the Great Hall, virtually directly
behind a huge white marble pillar. Her view of the pillar was
fantastic, and she had a pretty good view of the toupee of the man
in front of her. Apart from that, she couldn't see a thing. Not
that she wanted to, she reminded herself over and over again. She
didn't want to see Pembrake, especially together with the Princess;
the whole sight would rot her teeth.

So Abby sat
mostly by herself, behind a pillar, grumpy at the world in general
until she felt a soft tap on her shoulder.

'What's my
mouse doing back here?' the Captain shifted forward till his face
was in line with Abby's shoulder as if to see whatever it was Abby
could be looking at, 'are you that fascinated by the pillar?
Because I can assure you that they are all alike.'

Abby didn't
laugh, but she did run her teeth over a grin. 'I'm sitting where I
was seated.'

The Captain
flicked his fringe and smiled conspiratorially, 'then you must be a
very lucky mouse to have such a good view of that man's toupee.
It's quite extraordinary.'

This time Abby
did giggle, though stifled it into a sniff. 'You shouldn't make fun
of those with less hair.'

The Captain
flicked his fringe deliberately. 'I think I should. It made my
mouse laugh, after all.'

'I'm not your
mouse,' Abby found herself looking sideways at him while trying to
tip her head haughtily.

'Perhaps.
Though if you were my mouse, I would be sure not to dress you in
gray; it doesn't suit your eyes. Maybe sky-blue or black.'

A shiver
crossed over Abby's spine at the look in the Captain's eyes. It
wasn't an unpleasant shiver, just a shiver.

'Are you cold,
little mouse? This hall is terribly draughty. Perhaps I should lend
you my coat?'

'Oh, wouldn't
people confuse me for you then?'

'Good point.
Perhaps I should take you somewhere warmer then.'

Abby swallowed
very slowly and suddenly felt very flushed indeed. 'Oh no, I'm
really not that cold.'

The Captain of
the Guard looked over his shoulder briefly and smiled again. 'You
look cold.'

'Really,' a
voice said from behind them, and she turned to see Pembrake,
'because she looks flushed to me.'

If Abby had
been flushed before, now she was burning red at Pembrake's
admission of it. He must have sneaked up behind them, and she'd
always expected he'd had good hearing.

The Captain of
the Guard cleared his throat slowly so it almost sounded like a
growl. 'Shouldn't you be waiting to be presented to the King, sir?
I wouldn't think a busy man like you would have time to lurk around
the back of the hall.'

'I could say
the same for you,' Pembrake was openly glaring, his neck straight
and stiff.

'I'm entertaining forgotten guests.'

Abby shuddered
at the terrible emphasis in the Captain's words. It was just like
the over-the-top tone Pembrake would take with her when he wanted
to annoy her, but something more.

'You are cold,
my mouse,' the Captain tapped her lightly on the shoulder. His hand
did not linger long, but long enough to cause Pembrake to clear his
throat. 'I simply insist that you come with me for a cup
of coffee.'

Pembrake
looked angrier than Abby had ever seen. He looked ready to skin the
Captain alive. The words 'come with me for a cup of coffee' had
been like a whack across the head with a steel pipe. The duel was
on.

'I don't
really drink coffee,' Abby said meekly, trapped between the
squeezing enmity emanating from both men.

'Really? Well
I could always te-'

'Don't say
it,' Pembrake hissed like a snake readying to attack.

The Captain
chuckled and stood up straight, tugging down on his jacket smartly.
'Your tone is quite defensive, sir, nay aggressive. Is there
something I can help you with?'

Pembrake
paused, clearly torn. He couldn't order the Captain to get the
pleck away from her – he wouldn't dare. The Captain was a Guard,
and in this time Pembrake was a nobody. A momentarily-famous
nobody, but a nobody nonetheless. And if Pembrake did risk inciting
the Captain, then he could wind up in a great big pile of temporal
trouble. 'Actually, yes. The Princess wants you.'

The Captain of
the Guard smiled stiffly. 'Really? Cannot some other Guard fulfil
–'

'No, she
specifically asked for you,' Pembrake was looking slightly pleased
for himself, though the threat was still present in his ramrod back
and wide squared jaw.

'And she sent
you to find me? How peculiar.'

'Aren't we all
loyal subjects to the Royal Family?'

'Indeed,' the
Captain said.

Abby was
shifting her eyes between both men as their verbal tit-for-tat drew
on. If she was Ms Crowthy, she would have separated both of them
with a bucket of ice-cold water to their faces. But as she was
Abby, all she could do was fidget with the hem of her dress and
smile nervously.

'Well you
really best be getting ready, sir; your reception will begin soon
enough. And then, of course, there is the dinner,' the Captain
shifted his eyes to Abby pointedly and then back to Pembrake, 'and
that will last well into the night.'

All sense of
triumph gone, Pembrake's shoulders deflated. 'The Princess is
waiting,' he shot one last time.

'Well, I shall
be going, for now. I will see you again, little mouse,' the Captain
actually winked then sauntered off, finally leaving her alone with
Pembrake, alone in a hall full of 100 people, that was.

'I thought I
told you to stay away from him, Abby?'

'No, you
ordered me. But he found me. I can't very well run away from him.
He's a Guard; he'll just give chase.'

'Oh he's
already doing that,' Pembrake mumbled with a shake of his head, 'so
for god's sake, Abby, stay out of his way.'

She wasn't
about to let Pembrake railroad her into a corner. Who was he to
dictate who she could spend her time with? Some man she'd saved
from a storm and had travelled 28 years into the past with?
Precisely, and she wasn't about to let him advise her like a wise
and trusted friend. Who was he to give advice on such matters,
anyway?

Pembrake was
obviously watching what was happening on Abby's face, and he took a
step closer, ducking his head in, his face serious but not angry.
'Trust me, Abby; I know what this guy is doing.'