Ondine (4 page)

‘Naw. I mean
I'm
goin' with Ondi and Josef. I'll tell them everything I heard as we go – it will save time,' Shambles said.

‘But what do we tell him?' Ondine asked. ‘How do we explain to royalty that a ferret told us about a murder plot?'

‘We'll tell him you overheard the plot, Ondi, while you were tending tables in the bar,' Shambles instructed.

‘But . . . but . . .' Confusion bubbled in her veins and sapped her brain. Never in her life had she felt so out of control, and that was saying something for a girl with two older sisters who lived in a pub.

‘Hurry lass, there's no time to lose. Do you want the Duke's blood on your hands?'

 

11
In case you're wondering, Ondine's mother was very good at doing several things at once, so she talked like that too. On a good day she could get five or even seven subjects into a single sentence.

12
Incredibly ugly person, with reference to the hollowed-out turnips with candles in them, used on Guy Fawkes Night. Imagine someone with a face like a turnip that's probably been smashed in a few times. And then run over.

H
ow they reached the Duke of Brugel's city domain that night isn't important, but what they said to him when they got there is, so we'll pick up the story from there.
¹³

‘It's so big,' Ondine said as they approached the gates of the Duke's domain.

Big didn't even come close. Humongous would be more apt.
¹⁴
Ondine let Josef do all the talking at the security gate, then a sentry walked them across the vast gravel expanse towards the side entry. The looming walls and dark shadows sucked all the
warmth from the summer's evening.

Ondine's breath came in short bursts and her feet ached. As they walked along the cavernous hallway, the echoes of their footsteps reverberated in her ears. No ordinary tiles on this floor. She marvelled at the intricate mosaic work and wondered how many years it had taken to make it. A cool chill settled in her neck, despite Shambles wrapping himself around her like a stole. For his part, Shambles remained as still as it was possible for a ferret to remain still, so the Duke wouldn't notice how alive he was.

They entered a large room and waited. The Duke cast an imposing figure as he arrived, dressed in a suit and tie, and took a seat at the other end of the room. Standing so far away from him, Ondine felt small and insignificant. The sentry put his hand out to let them know they were not allowed to step any closer.

From the distance, Ondine could see very little of the Duke, except his silvery white hair, which curled back in soft waves from a pronounced widow's peak. He had the classic Brugel split moustache, which is
shaved at the philtrum,
¹⁵
and a narrow goatee, which he stroked thoughtfully.

‘My Lord Duke,' Josef began with a steady and loud voice. He bowed his head and very nearly tugged at a forelock of hair while he was at it.

Ondine was impressed that her father knew the correct way to address a duke. But then Da loved his tradition, so perhaps it wasn't so surprising.

‘We apologise for the late hour and the interruption to your family, but time is against us. My name is Josef de Groot and my family owns the Station Hotel. Our clientele is well behaved and law-abiding, but tonight my daughter, Ondine, overheard people in our public bar plotting to do harm to your person. We came as quickly as we could. To warn you.'

‘Really?' The Duke's voice carried across the room. It was hard to tell from the distance, but he didn't seem that interested. He stroked his goatee again. ‘And why should I take your word for it? How do I know you're
not just scamming for money? You could be part of the plot, looking to be paid off.'

‘Yes, Your Grace, all good points. Your criticism does you credit. Perhaps my daughter could explain,' Josef said, giving Ondine a nudge of encouragement.

From behind her ear, she heard Shambles's reassuring whisper, ‘Tell him what I told you about the plot, that they plan tae do him in at the railway station tomorrow morning, at the opening of the new overpass.'

So Ondine did, trying to make her voice loud enough to be heard but not shouting, which would be rude.

Then Shambles gave Ondine a detailed description of the men's faces, and told her to tell that to the Duke as well.

‘One of them was also missing the top half of his index finger,' Ondine relayed with due diligence.

‘Aye, probably picking his nose when someone punched him in the face,' Shambles whispered.

That bit did not bear repeating. Ondine needed all her strength to bite her tongue and stop the bubbling
laugh in her throat from escaping. It didn't take Psychic Summercamp lessons to know the Duke would not appreciate comedy at this point. Not when people wanted to kill him in the morning. With an audience and everything.

‘Hmm,' the Duke said after thinking some more. ‘Step closer.'

The sentry allowed them to take six paces before stopping them once again. They were closer, but far from intimate.

‘You came upon this plot how?' the Duke asked.

Ondine repeated everything Shambles told her. ‘I was serving a table nearby, and overheard some of their conversation. I came back and cleared another table so I could keep listening.'

For a while the Duke stopped stroking his goatee and pondered the information, as was his right. He'd just been delivered a huge shock. He was entitled to paranoia. This time somebody really was out to get him. He was well within his rights to pause and think.

After a few more moments of thought, in which Ondine shifted her weight from her left leg to her right
and back again, the Duke motioned to the sentry to let them get even closer. Another six steps. They were about three metres apart.

‘How old are you, child?'

‘
Say you're eighteen, say you're eighteen
,' Shambles whispered furiously from behind her ear. The ferret was smart to remind her, because if she told the truth, the Duke might ask questions about underage girls serving alcohol. A fifteen-year-old serving in a pub? Not good at all.

‘I'm nineteen, Your Grace,' Ondine said, figuring if she had to lie, she might as well make it a good one. ‘And I think I'd like to stay nineteen for a long while to come.'

A smile split the Duke's face. ‘I understand. My dear wife has been thirty-four for many years now.'

Ondine dared not look at her father, in case he became confused and gave the game away. To his credit, he started making excuses about getting back to the hotel, lest the patrons take advantage of reduced staff numbers. The Duke had other ideas. He wanted more information, and it was clear from his expression
that he wouldn't let them cross back over the threshold until he had it.

The sound of footsteps caught their attention. It came from the top of the curved timber staircase to their right. The conversation stopped.

An embarrassing heat crept up Ondine's neck and face as she looked at the handsome owner of the footsteps, with his tousled dark blond hair and deep brown eyes.

‘Lord Vincent.' Josef gave a diplomatic nod of his head, while at the same time his hand reached towards Ondine's. ‘We will not trouble your father a moment longer. Come along, Ondine, good girl.'

‘On the contrary. You're no trouble,' the Duke said.

But Ondine's father had other concerns. Naturally, he'd know the name of the Duke's son – his paternal radar knew the identity of every bachelor in the immediate three counties. Despite what her mother had said earlier in her father's defence, Ondine found it really hard to see things through her da's eyes. OK, a lot of men were drunks, but not all the men who came to the pub got roaring drunk, and not every man in
the world spent time in pubs. Was he ever going to see things that way, or was he stuck in the Middle Ages?

Ondine wasn't looking at the master of the house any more, she could only look at the son, while her pulse started beating just that naughtily bit faster in her ears. He looked perhaps nineteen, maybe a little older, and his expression gave him an air of moneyed confidence. Like his father, he wore a suit and tie, but an updated version, the kind that looked effortlessly expensive. Lord Vincent descended the staircase and walked deliberately towards her, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. All of which gave Ondine the chance to appreciate his features.

‘Vincent, is there something you want, boy?' The Duke's voice sounded terse.

The young lord's buoyancy dimmed a fraction. Ondine could see an annoyed look cross his face.

A familiar pang took hold in Ondine. Despite their differences in social status, they shared something in common – parents who expected them to behave as adults, but treated them like children.

‘No, sir,' Vincent said. In the blink of an eye he reset
his features, giving him fresh confidence as if nothing could trouble him. ‘I was merely on my way out to an engagement.'

‘Right then. Be home by two, and don't bring any flotsam back with you this time,' the Duke said.

A nod was all that the Duke received in return. As Vincent walked past Ondine towards the door, she dared a glance and saw him roll his eyes. An inappropriate giggle formed, but she tamped it down.

‘I don't like him,' Shambles whispered.

If not for the Scottish accent, Ondine would have sworn the words had come straight from her father.

When the meeting with the Duke finally finished, Josef hustled them back to the hotel so they could resume work, all the while lecturing Ondine about the dangers of unruly boys.

‘Don't fall for the first boy who pays you attention. Keep yourself nice,' he said as they approached the family pub.

‘Da, give me a little credit,
please
, and stop treating me like a kid,' Ondine whined, betraying her maturity.

‘That's right, you're
nineteen
, aren't you? Trying to act all sophisticated to impress the little lord.'

‘I was not! I only lied about my age because the Duke asked how old I was, and if I'd told him the truth, then he'd wonder why an underage girl was serving alcohol. I was saving
your
skin.'

‘Hold your tongue,' Josef said as they walked through the gate to the rear garden, ‘we're home now. Time for you to get back to work.'

Just when Ondine thought she'd won the argument, Da had pulled the ‘I'm your father' routine, using it like a get-out-of-jail-free card. His timing, as always, was perfect, because he usually called an end to their debates just as Ondine thought of some great comeback lines. Like, ‘You were born old' and ‘You're just grumpy because it saves time being anything else.' Words that would, for now, remain unspoken.
¹⁶
But before Ondine could work up a full head of steam, she saw something that took her breath away.

It was a scene that made her appreciate her eldest sister more than cinnamon toast and marshmallows, because what they witnessed on that balmy summer evening made her father forget all about potential problems between Ondine and Lord Vincent.

There was her eldest sister Marguerite, in the darkened beer garden, all kissy-face with a young man.

‘Margi, what is going on?' her father spluttered.

For a fleeting moment, Ondine felt sorry for her sister. In some respects, she could understand why her da ragged on to her about boys, because she was the youngest. But Margi was positively ancient and old enough to do whatever she liked in Ondine's eyes.

‘This ought to be good!' Shambles said, positioning himself on Ondine's shoulder for a better view of the oncoming fireworks.

 

13
It should be noted that you can't just rock up to the Duke of Brugel's city estate and say hello. He's a very busy man. He has a whole country to run. In this case, because of the seriousness of Ondine and her da's claims, the Duke decided to make an exception.

14
The Duke's city residence is so big it has its own postcode.

15
The philtrum is the cute little indent just below your nose. It is also the trickiest part to shave and requires a steady hand and very narrow razor.

16
Every time this happened, she promised herself she'd use these great lines next time she and her da had a barney. But it never worked out like that.