Postamble

Kinspit

‘How is he?’ asked Bronwyn

Hardacre looked down at his sleeping master. John looked blissfully unaware of the concern he was causing.

‘Drained’ he said, ‘completely drained. He will need a lot of sleep; perhaps even weeks of it’

Bronwyn frowned.

‘And in the mean time?’

‘We keep it within the council. And your sister will assume the position of “acting president”’

Bronwyn looked even more concerned. For a moment Hardacre even thought that he saw her shoot an irritated glance at his master.

‘Is that in Elizabeth’s rule book, though?’

Hardacre shook his head.

‘I have no idea, but that cannot be my prime concern at present’

Bronwyn nodded her agreement bur her thoughts came out spoken anyway.

‘But it may become mine…’

Hardacre waited for a moment and then wetted a flannel with some water from a jug. He held it gently to John’s lips and was satisfied when john sucked up a little of the moisture.

‘If we must have this conversation’ Hardacre murmured, ‘then perhaps we should have it somewhere where the words have no opportunity to trouble Mr Ismay’s sleep…’

Bronwyn looked down at the ground. Her face, normally so pale, coloured several hues redder.

‘I’m sorry’ she muttered

Hardacre gestured to the door and then opened it for her.

‘There’s no reason to apologise, madam, he probably cannot hear us anyway. We should retreat to the dining room and I will prepare some breakfast’

Bronwyn accepted this suggestion gratefully. She made for the open door. She stopped for a moment, struck by a thought

‘John and you are very brave’

Hardacre stared at her.

‘Mr Ismay is a flawed but courageous man’

‘And we expect you to do so much’

Hardacre ignored this.

‘Breakfast, madam’ was all he said

‘After breakfast I will sit with him for a while’ she suggested.

‘There’s no need for that, madam, it is Bentley’s turn to attend to him. I have some paperwork to do’

For some reason the colour lingered in Bronwyn’s cheeks.

‘Perhaps we can both look after him...’ she whispered

Hardacre smiled a tiny smile, far too small to be noticeable to anyone else. A number of responses occurred to him, but all he actually said was, ‘As you wish, madam’

 They left the sleeping witch to his contented slumbers.

They had braised kidney and bacon with rye bread toast; a rare treat in the household, but something that he knew Miss Preece particularly liked. Hosting council members had its responsibilities.

After breakfast Bronwyn seemed in rather a hurry to go back to her nursing role. Hardacre was happy to get to his letter writing as soon as he could and so she he didn’t hinder her. He had to write to all of the council members setting out what had happened and how he interpreted council practice. He made it clear that this was only his opinion, but he hoped that they would agree. He feared that they wouldn’t though – some councillors would want to call a full council meeting; something that he was trying to avoid.

He wrote to each of them individually, in his neat, sensible, hand. He wrote at greater length to Gwyneth, pointing out the problems that might lie ahead. When he had finished all eleven of the letters (he did not write to Huw) he sent them off one at a time, each one with its little puff of sulphur. After that he was mentally exhausted and the morning had almost gone.

His mind turned to lunch. He’d need to make a lot of broth; something that he could feed Mr Ismay when he awoke but was still confused.  Also, a stew – a big lamb stew, everyone appreciated that. He frowned as he sat at the desk – he really wished he could remember whether Miss Reece liked parsnips.