Preamble

John Ismay’s House, Kinspit

 

‘What harm do cobwebs do, exactly?’ asked John looking up from his desk.

Hardacre was standing on a chair, meticulously removing the tiny strands of silk from one corner of his master’s study. At first he didn’t answer.

‘Are you ignoring me, Laurence?’ asked John, without irritation

‘I’m trying to, sir, but I’m finding it quite difficult, sir. You keep talking to me....’

‘You’re ten feet in the air – how could anyone even see them up there?’  

One more flick of the brush and Hardacre was done. He stepped off the chair with the grace of a subtle, if somewhat ageing, ballerina. He nodded his head.

‘I saw them, clearly. Otherwise my actions would have been utterly nugatory’

‘I’m trying to write a letter...’

Hardacre raised his eyebrows a mote. He stifled a smile and converted it into his best poker face.

‘You normally seem to crave interruptions at such times, sir; I usually schedule your suit fittings on days when you have a heavy epistolary burden. You’re much easier to coax away...’

John turned back to his letter. He picked up his pen.

‘Your eagerness can only mean one thing, sir...’ Hardacre made this ellipsis hang in the air.

‘Which is...?’

‘You’re writing to Princess Lily’

 John scowled. He put his pen down for the second time.

‘Well, yes I am – she’s about to start at the University and I wanted to wish her luck’

‘Why, sir?’

John’s scowl got deeper and he shook his head.

‘I’m fond of her. You know that’

Hardacre allowed himself a single ‘tut’

‘Have we not discussed the potential folly of involving a princess in the council’s affairs?’

‘Yes, we have, but at no time have I agreed with you conclusions...’

‘Your prerogative, sir... you are president of the council, after all...

Hardacre stood in front of John, almost as if to attention, his cobwebber held pointing forward, almost like a sword. John knew what this meant – he needed to live up to his position.

‘I am being prudent, Laurence, despite what you think. I have appointed two mentors of the highest quality to look after her’

Hardacre lowered the cobwebber. He assumed a less martial stance, but his eyes remained sceptical.

‘And they are who, sir?’

‘Elizabeth and Myfanwy’

Hardacre considered this for a moment.

‘The two most mutually opposed members of the council’ He raised one eyebrow, ‘an interesting choice’

‘It will give her an idea of the range of possible options ...’

Hardacre allowed himself a small frown.

‘Options? I suppose it will. I know what you’re doing, sir’

John frowned back, wondering how transparent he really was.

‘You do, do you Laurence?’

‘I believe so...’

Hardacre’s expression changed. An unexpected flicker of concern troubled his face.

‘Don’t raise your hopes too high, sir... She’s only taken a few steps away from childhood. There are all too many opportunities to stumble in front of her’

John shook his head, irritated by Hardacre’s perception.

‘I’m just examining possibilities’

There was a beat.

‘May I be frank, sir?’

John nodded.

‘Why Princess Lily? There are many promising young witches out there.. Not that she might not become one of them, of course. But at the moment she’s just a rash young woman; highly intelligent and personable, of course, but... a long shot, perhaps for the sort of thing that you have in mind’

John shrugged, acknowledging his potential hubris.

‘I’m not at all sure – I just have this feeling and I have had it from when I first met her. It’s something in her eyes. Also... and I admit that this is very odd... it’s the same thing I saw in George’s eyes when Hannah introduced me to him twenty five years ago. It’s uncanny... ’

Hardacre stood silent, clearly unable to say any of the things that were in his head. John stood up and grasped his arm. He looked directly into his eyes.

‘I need your support in this, Laurence, even if you think that it’s utter nonsense. It means a lot to me...’

Hardacre breathed in. Duty called. He took a step backwards and John let go of his arm.

‘Of course, sir. On these matters I am always and entirely at your disposal’

John was momentarily at a loss. The first thing that came into his mind fell unbidden out of his lips.

‘One of my greatest regrets is that I’ll never have a...’

‘Sir...’ Hardacre cut across him, ‘...some things are best unsaid; particularly to staff...’

John smiled thinly. There was another moment of silence. John picked his jacket up from behind his chair.

‘Shall we get on with the day, Laurence? I have to go down to the University. I’ll finish the letter later.’

‘Very well, sir. Will you be back for lunch?’

John slipped the jacket on and made for the door. ‘I hope so...’

After John had left Hardacre waited for a moment in the study, briefly wondering whether there might indeed be more important things to do than clearing cobwebs from the corners of high ceilings. He nodded to himself – of course there were – the rugs needed beating. Where was Simkins?