“Quite right, quite right,” the King replied. “Please be seated again. Everyone. And let’s have some tea.”
Everyone sat down, and a polite, courteous hum of conversation began, while Sim doddered around giving out cups of tea. Charmain felt a complete outsider. Feeling sure that she should not be here, she sat herself in the corner of the most distant sofa and tried to work out who the other people were. Waif meanwhile sat sedately on the sofa beside Charmain, looking demure. Her eyes keenly followed the gentleman who was handing round the crumpets. This gentleman was so quiet and colorless that Charmain forgot what he looked like as soon as she took her eyes off him and had to look at him again to remind herself. The other gentleman, the one whose mouth looked closed even when he was talking, she gathered was the King’s Chancellor. He seemed to have a lot of secretive things to say to Mrs. Pendragon, who kept nodding—and then blinking a bit, as if what the Chancellor said surprised her. The other lady, who was elderly, seemed to be Princess Hilda’s lady-in-waiting and very good at talking about the weather.
“And I shouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t rain again tonight,” she was saying, as the colorless gentleman arrived beside Charmain and offered her a crumpet. Waif’s nose swiveled yearningly to follow the plate.
“Oh, thanks,” Charmain said, pleased that he had not forgotten her.
“Take two,” suggested the colorless gentleman. “His Majesty will certainly eat any that are left over.” The King at that moment was eating two muffins, one squashed on top of the other, and watching the crumpets as eagerly as Waif was.
Charmain thanked the gentleman again and took two. They were the most buttery crumpets she had ever encountered. Waif’s nose swiveled to dab gently against Charmain’s hand. “All right, all right,” Charmain muttered, trying to break off a piece without dripping butter on the sofa. Butter ran down her fingers and threatened to trickle up her sleeves. She was trying to get rid of it on her handkerchief, when the lady-in-waiting finished saying all anyone could possibly say about the weather, and turned to Mrs. Pendragon.
“Princess Hilda tells me you have a charming little boy,” she said.
“Yes. Morgan,” Mrs. Pendragon said. She seemed to be having trouble with butter too and was mopping her fingers with her handkerchief and looking flustered.
“How old will Morgan be now, Sophie?” Princess H
ilda asked. “When I saw him he was just a baby.”
“Oh—nearly two,” Mrs. Pendragon replied, catching a big golden drip of butter before it fell on her skirt. “I left him with—”
The door of the parlor opened. Through it came a small, fat toddler in a grubby blue suit, with tears rolling down his face. “Mum-mum-mum!” he was wailing as he staggered into the room. But as soon as he saw Mrs. Pendragon, his face spread into a blinding smile. He stretched out both arms and rushed to her, where he buried his face in her skirt. “Mum!” he shouted.
Following him through the door came floating an agitated-looking blue creature shaped like a long teardrop with a face on the front of it. It seemed to be made of flames. It brought a gust of warmth with it and a gasp from everyone in the room. An even more agitated housemaid hurried in after it.
After the housemaid came a small boy, quite the most angelic child Charmain had ever seen. He had a mass of blond curls that clustered around his angelic pink and white face. His eyes were big and blue and bashful. His exquisite little chin rested on a frill of white, white lace, and the rest of his graceful little body was clothed in a pale blue velvet suit with big silver buttons. His pink rosebud mouth spread into a shy smile as he came in, showing a charming dimple in his delicate little cheek. Charmain could not think why Mrs. Pendragon was staring at him in such horror. He was surely a truly enchanting child. And what long, curly eyelashes!
“—with my husband and his fire demon,” Mrs. Pendragon finished. Her face had gone fiery red, and she glared at the little boy across the toddler’s head.
Chapter Eight
IN WHICH PETER HAS TROUBLE WITH THE PLUMBING
“Oh, ma’am, Sire!” the housemaid gasped. “I had to let them in. The little one was so upset!”
She said this into a room full of confusion. Everyone stood up and someone dropped a teacup. Sim plunged to rescue the cup and the King dived past him to pick up the plate of crumpets. Mrs. Pendragon stood up with Morgan in her arms, still looking daggers at the small boy, while the blue teardrop creature bobbed in front of her face. “It’s not my fault, Sophie!” it kept saying, in an agitated crackling voice. “I swear it’s not my fault! We couldn’t stop Morgan crying for you.”
Princess Hilda rose quellingly to her feet. “You may go,” she said to the housemaid. “There is no need for anyone to be upset. Sophie, dear, I had no idea that you didn’t employ a nursemaid.”
“No, I don’t. And I was hoping for a break,” Mrs. Pendragon said. “You would think,” she added, glowering at the angelic little boy, “that a wizard and a fire demon could manage one small toddler between them.”
“Men!” said the Princess. “I have no opinion of men’s ability to manage anything. Of course Morgan and the other little boy must be our guests too, now that they’re here. What sort of accommodation does a fire demon require?” she asked the colorless gentleman.
He looked completely blank.
“I’d appreciate a good log fire,” the fire demon crackled. “I see you have a nice one in this room. That’s all I need. I’m Calcifer, by the way, ma’am.”
The Princess and the colorless gentleman both looked relieved. The Princess said, “Yes, of course. I believe we met briefly in Ingary, two years ago.”
“And who is this other little fellow?” the King asked genially.
“Thophie’th my auntie,” the small boy answered in a sweet lisping voice, raising his angelic face and big blue eyes to the King’s.
Mrs. Pendragon looked outraged.
“Pleased to meet you,” the King said. “And what’s your name, my little man?”
“Twinkle,” the little boy whispered, coyly ducking his curly blond head.