I Shall Wear Midnight (44 page)

A SHADOW AND A WHISPER

I
T WAS, ON THE WHOLE
, a pretty good wedding in Tiffany’s opinion, a pretty good wedding. Pastor Egg, aware of the unusual number of witches in the audience, kept the religion to a minimum. The blushing bride walked up the hall, and Tiffany saw her blush a little more when she caught sight of Nanny Ogg, who gave her a cheerful thumbs-up as she passed. And then there was the throwing of the rice, followed of course by the careful sweeping up of the rice, because it was wicked to waste good food.

Then there was general cheering and congratulations and, to the surprise of some, a happy, beaming Duchess, who chatted merrily, even to the maids, and appeared to have a kind and reassuring word for everybody. And only Tiffany knew why the woman shot occasional nervous glances towards Mrs Proust.

Tiffany left then, to sneak away and help Preston in the King field, where he was digging a hole deep enough so that the plough would never find the charred remains that were collected and thrown down it. They washed their hands with vicious lye soap, because you could
never be too careful. It was not, strictly speaking, a very romantic occasion.

‘Do you think he will ever come back?’ said Preston as they leaned on their shovels.

Tiffany nodded. ‘The Cunning Man will, at least. Poison is always welcome somewhere.’

‘What will you do now he’s gone?’

‘Oh, you know, all the exciting stuff; somewhere there is always a leg that needs bandaging or a nose that needs blowing. It’s busy, busy all day long.’

‘It doesn’t sound very exciting.’

‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Tiffany, ‘but compared to yesterday that kind of day suddenly seems to be
a very good day
.’ They headed towards the hall, where the wedding breakfast was now being served as lunch. ‘You are a young man of considerable resourcefulness,’ Tiffany said to Preston, ‘and I thank you very much for your help.’

Preston nodded happily. ‘Thank you very much for that, miss, thank you very much indeed, but with just one little – how can I put it – correction. You are, after all, sixteen, more or less, and I am seventeen, so I think you will conclude that calling me young man … I will own up to a cheerful and youthful disposition, but I am older than you, my girl.’

There was a pause. Then Tiffany said carefully, ‘How do you know how old I am?’

‘I asked around,’ said Preston, his eager smile never leaving his face.

‘Why?’

Tiffany didn’t get an answer because the sergeant came out of the main door with confetti cascading off his helmet. ‘Oh,
there
you are, miss. The Baron’s been asking after you, and so has the Baroness.’ He paused to smile and said, ‘Nice to have one of them again.’ His gaze fell on Preston and the sergeant frowned. ‘Lollygagging again, as usual, Lance Private Preston?’

Preston saluted smartly, ‘You are correct in your surmise, Sergeant; you have voiced an absolute truth.’ This got Preston the puzzled glare he always got from the sergeant, and there was also a disapproving grunt, which meant: One day I’ll work out what it is you are saying, my lad, and then you’ll be in trouble.

Weddings can be rather similar to funerals in that, apart from the main players, when it’s all over, people are never quite sure what they should be doing next, which is why they see if there is any wine left. But Letitia was looking radiant, which is compulsory for brides, and the slightly frizzled bits of her hair had been neatly concealed by her brilliant, sparkly tiara. Roland had also scrubbed up quite well, and you had to be quite close to him to smell pig.

‘About last night …’ he began nervously. ‘Er, it did happen, didn’t it? I mean, I remember the pigsty, and we were all running, but …’ His voice faded away.

Tiffany looked at Letitia, who mouthed the words, ‘I remember
everything
!’

Yes, she really
is
a witch, Tiffany thought. That’s going to be interesting.

Roland coughed. Tiffany smiled. ‘Dear Miss Aching,’ he said, and for once Tiffany forgave him his ‘public meeting’ voice, ‘I am well aware that I have been party to a miscarriage of natural justice vis-à-vis your good self.’ He stopped to clear his throat again and Tiffany thought, I really hope that Letitia can wash some of the starch out of him. ‘With this in mind, I spoke to young Preston here, who talked to the kitchen girls in his cheery way and found out where the nurse had gone. She had spent some of the money, but most of it is here and it is, I am happy to say, yours.’

At this point somebody nudged Tiffany.

It was Preston, who hissed, ‘We’ve found this too.’

She looked down, and he pressed a worn leather folder into her
hand. She nodded in grateful thanks and looked at Roland. ‘Your father wanted you to have this,’ she said. ‘It may be worth more to you than all that money. I would wait until you are alone before you look at it.’

He turned it over in his hands. ‘What is it?’

‘Just a memory,’ said Tiffany. ‘Just a memory.’

The sergeant stepped forward then and tipped a heavy leather bag onto the table, among the glasses and flowers. There was a gasp from the guests.

I’m being watched like hawks by my sister witches, thought Tiffany, and I am also being watched by practically everyone I know, and who know me. I’ve got to do this right. And I’ve got to do this so that everybody remembers it.

‘I think you should keep it, sir,’ she said. Roland looked relieved, but Tiffany went on, ‘However, I have a few simple requests on behalf of other people.’

Letitia nudged her husband in the ribs and he spread out his hands. ‘This is my wedding day! How can I refuse any request?’

‘The girl Amber Petty needs a dowry which, incidentally, would allow her young man to buy his indenture to a master craftsman, and you might not be aware that he sewed the gown that is currently adorning your beautiful young wife. Have you ever seen anything finer?’

This got an immediate round of applause, along with whistles from Roland’s chums, who whimsically called out things like, ‘Which one? The girl or the dress!’ When that was over, Tiffany said, ‘And furthermore, sir, and with your indulgence, I would like your pledge that any boy or girl from the Chalk with such a similar request will find you obliging. I think you will agree that I am asking for a lot less than I am returning to you?’

‘Tiffany, I believe you are correct,’ said Roland, ‘but I suspect you have more up your sleeve?’

‘How well you know me, sir,’ said Tiffany and Roland, just for a moment, went pink.

‘I want a school, sir. I want a school here on the Chalk. I‘ve been thinking about this for a long time – in fact for longer than I had worked out the name for what I wanted. There’s an old barn on Home Farm that isn’t being used right now and I think we could make it quite acceptable in a week or so.’

‘Well, the travelling teachers do come through every few months,’ said the Baron.

‘Yes, sir, I know, sir, and they’re useless, sir. They teach facts, not understanding. It’s like teaching people about forests by showing them a saw. I want a proper school, sir, to teach reading and writing, and most of all thinking, sir, so people can find what they’re good at, because someone doing what they really like is always an asset to any country, and too often people never find out until it’s too late.’ She deliberately looked away from the sergeant, but her words had caused a susurration around the room, Tiffany was glad to hear. She drowned it out with, ‘There have been times, lately, when I dearly wished that I could change the past. Well, I can’t, but I can change the present, so that when it becomes the past it will turn out to be a past worth having. And I’d like the boys to learn about girls and I’d like the girls to learn about boys. Learning is about finding out who you are, what you are, where you are and what you are standing on and what you are good at and what’s over the horizon and, well, everything. It’s about finding the place where you fit. I found the place where I fit, and I would like everybody else to find theirs. And may I please propose that Preston is the school’s first teacher? He pretty much knows everything there is to know as it is.’

Preston bowed low with his helmet off, which got a laugh.

Tiffany went on, ‘And his reward for a year’s teaching work for you will be, yes, enough money for him to buy the letters to go after his name so that he can become a doctor. Witches can’t
do
everything
and we could do with a doctor in these parts.’ All this got a big cheer, which is what generally happens when people have worked out that they are likely to get something that they won’t have to pay for. When that had died down, Roland looked the sergeant in the eye and said, ‘Do you think you can manage without Preston’s military prowess, Sergeant?’

This precipitated another laugh. That’s good, Tiffany thought; laughter helps things slide into the thinking.

Sergeant Brian tried to look solemn, but he was concealing a smile. ‘It would be a bit of a blow, sir, but I think we might just about manage, sir. Yes, I think I can say that the departure of Lance Private Preston will enhance the overall efficiency of the squad, sir.’

This caused more general applause from people who hadn’t worked it out and laughter from those that did.

The Baron clapped his hands together. ‘Well then, Miss Aching, it would appear that you have got everything you asked for, yes?’

‘Actually, sir, I haven’t finished asking yet. There is one more thing and it won’t cost you anything, so don’t worry about that.’ Tiffany took a deep breath, and tried to make herself look taller. ‘I require that you give to the peoples known as the Nac Mac Feegle all the downland above Home Farm, that it should be theirs for ever in law as well as in justice. A proper deed can be drawn up, and don’t worry about the cost – I know a toad that will do it for a handful of beetles – and it will say that for their part the Feegles will allow all shepherds and sheep untrammelled access to the downs but there will be – and this is important – no sharp metal beyond a knife. All this will cost you nothing, my lord Baron, but what you and your descendants, and I hope you are intending to have descendants—’ Tiffany had to stop there because of the gale of laughter, in which Nanny Ogg took a large part, and then she continued, ‘My lord Baron, I think you will assure yourself of a friendship that will never die. Gain all, lose nothing.’

To his credit, Roland hardly hesitated, and said, ‘I would be

honoured to present the Nac Mac Feegle with the deeds to their land and I regret, no, I apologize for any misunderstandings between us. As you say, they deserve their land by right and by justice.’

Tiffany was impressed by the short speech. The language was slightly stuffy, but his heart was in the right place, and slightly stuffy language suited the Feegles very well. To her joy there was yet another susurration in the beams high over the castle’s hall. And the Baron, looking a lot more like a real baron now, went on, ‘I only wish that I could tell them this personally right now.’

And from the darkness above came one mighty cry of:

The wind was silver and cold. Tiffany opened her eyes, with the cheer of the Feegles still ringing in her ears. It was replaced by the rattle of dried grass in the wind. She tried to sit up but got nowhere, and a voice behind her said, ‘Please don’t wriggle, this is very difficult.’

Tiffany tried to turn her head. ‘Eskarina?’

‘Yes. There is somebody here who wants to talk to you. You may
get up now; I have balanced the nodes. Don’t ask questions, because you would not understand the answers. You are in the travelling now, again. Now and again, you might say. I will leave you to your friend … and I am afraid you cannot have much time, for a given value of time. But I must protect my son …’

Tiffany said, ‘You mean you’ve got—’ She stopped because a figure was forming in front of Tiffany and became a witch, a classic witch with the black dress, black boots – rather nice ones, Tiffany noted – and, of course, the pointy hat. She had a necklace too. On the chain was a golden hare.

The woman herself was old, but it was hard to say how old. She stood proudly, like Granny Weatherwax, but like Nanny Ogg she seemed to suggest that old age, or something, wasn’t really being taken seriously.

But Tiffany concentrated on the necklace. People wore jewellery to show you something. It always had a meaning, if you concentrated.

‘All right, all right,’ she said, ‘I have just one question: I’m not here to bury you, am I?’