Book 1 - 'A Very Unusual Headmistress'
PROLOGUE
The pup ran. The passage was long and dark. Shadowy doorways and misty windows flashed past on all sides, but the pup ran on.
The fort was huge. Passage after passage whirled by, and the walls loomed fearsomely over the tiny pup. There was nobody else about. On all sides echoes rumbled, and menacing spaces gaped. The night was deserted and she flew along like a speck of dust in a sleeping valley, but she didn't care. This was an emergency.Finally she came to a staircase. It was a tower of rickety steps leading to a single dark door. It seemed almost too steep to scale, but the pup would not be beaten. She streaked up the stairs, burst onto the landing and bashed on the door.
“Hello hello hello!” she gabbled, “Oh please is there anyone in?”
There was a pause, then somebody groaned inside. “Oh goodness gracious!” stammered a voice, “Who... Who is it?”
“It's Heidi!” squeaked the pup, “Come out immediately!”
“What time is it? What on earth is wrong, child?”
“It's an emergency!”
“An emergency?” There was a frenzied scuffling. It sounded like clothes being wrenched on and vases knocked over, then the door flew open. A middle-aged Border Terrier burst out onto the landing. She wore a dishevelled crinoline dress, and all her fur was standing on end. “What is it?” she demanded, “Why are you knocking Heidi, What's wrong?”i
“Thank goodness you're awake, Miss Pringle!” gasped Heidi, “Over here!” She dragged Miss Pringle across to the landing window, and pointed. “Look!” she announced, “It's morning!”
Miss Pringle squinted out of the window. It was shrouded in a faint mist, and a cold dawn light. There did seem to be something out there in the general murkiness, but it didn't look much like a morning yet. “Hm!” she sniffed, “Not very good, is it? What is your excuse for such eccentric behaviour, child?” She turned angrily round, but Heidi had gone. Miss Pringle searched all around the landing, but there was no sign of her. She hurried into her room, and found Heidi in bed with her head poking out from under the quilt. “What on earth do you think you're doing?” snapped Miss Pringle.
“I like the warm bit,” beamed Heidi.
Miss Pringle scooped her up and carried her out by the scruff of her neck. On the door there was a large sign. “Tell me, Heidi,” she said sarcastically, “Has it ever occurred to you to read this?” Heidi leaned forwards and peered at the sign.
IF YOU ARE COLD, EXTRA BLANKETS ARE IN THE AIRING CUPBOARD.
IF YOU HAVE HAD A BAD DREAM, TRY TO FORGET ABOUT IT.
IF YOU ARE KNOCKING FOR ANY OTHER REASON, GO AWAY.
SIGNED, MISS PRINGLE
“Exactly!” fumed Miss Pringle, “Heidi this is quite preposterous. Morning arrives every day and there is really no need to come and point it out to me!”
Heidi blinked at her with her wide brown eyes. Then she burst into tears. “I am so sorry!” she shrieked, “I got confused! I forgot about yesterday and all the other days, and now you don't love me any more!” And she fell sobbing into Miss Pringle's skirt.
Miss Pringle hugged her warmly. “There there,” she said comfortingly, “Of course I still love you. We all do, but you really must try not to get so confused. Only last week you wished our neighbour Mrs Postlethwaite bon voyage on her birthday.”
Heidi looked bashfully up at her. “I know,” she sniffed, “Perhaps it is because I am so small.”
“Well I suppose it might be,” said Miss Pringle benevolently,“It's true that you are somewhat smaller than average. However, you are doing very well here at the school and I'm sure you'll get the hang of things in time.”
“Thank you, Miss Pringle,” said Heidi seriously, “I will try.” She blinked, and her last tear dried. Then she smiled pertly. “Can I ride downstairs in your dress?” she said.
“Oh all right,” groaned Miss Pringle, “Just don't let anyone see you.”
“Yippee!” cheered Heidi. She leapt into the folds of Miss Pringle's skirt. She wriggled down, and Miss Pringle arranged the folds of material across her. Then she shuffled furtively downstairs with a smug little smile poking out of her crinoline.
As I say, there isn't very much of Pringleton. There are a few cottages. There is a high street with a grocers, a library, and a tea room. On the outskirts there is a grand old mansion house. In fact as English villages go Pringleton is fairly typical, except for two things. First, no people live there. Instead Pringleton is a community of Border Terriers. This is a local breed of dog: small but long-legged, trim but hard-working, reserved yet faithful. And secondly, on a hill at the village's northern edge stands a fort.
Or rather it was once a fort. It hasn't been used as one for many years. It still has stone walls, grey battlements and stern turrets, but now there is a brass nameplate on the gatepost.
HEADMISTRESS: MISS JESSICA PRINGLE B.ED (YORK)
DEPUTY HEADMISTRESS: MISS AGNES POTTER B.ED MA
FIREWOOD DELIVERIES OCTOBER-MAY
TOP QUALITY FUEL, FULLY TRAINED DELIVERY PUPS
APPLY WITHIN
“It certainly is,” said Agnes, pouring out a cup of tea, "Would you like a toasted muffin with this for breakfast?”
“Thank you, that would lovely.” Agnes speared a muffin on her toasting fork, and Miss Pringle looked out of the window.
They were huddled in one corner of the school's Ceremonial Hall. The window was in the other one, and there still wasn't much to be seen out there. An icy haze filled the glass. In winter the mornings came late to Pringleton, but the hall itself looked as imposing as ever. In fact it was quite magnificent in a reserved, Border Terrier-ish kind of way. The wood-panelled walls were hung with oil portraits. The furniture was solid oak. There was an impressive trophy cabinets, but it was tucked modestly beside a dignified grandfather clock. In fact the hall's only showy feature was its staircase. It was a grand, sweeping affair, and well earned its name of the Great Staircase. Above on the landing hung the school's coat of arms. It showed a book, a wood cart, and a Border Terrier in profile, and it was emblazoned with the school motto: 'Forge Ahead'. Miss Pringle smiled. All in all the hall was a very inspiring sight, but for how much longer?
She drew her chair closer to the fire. “Hurry up with that muffin, Agnes,” she said uneasily, “I have a feeling 32 pups are about to burst in and forge ahead demanding porridge.”
“Relax,” said Agnes, “You're safe for a while yet. I told them to make their baskets before breakfast today, so you could recover from your early start.”
“You are a treasure, Agnes. I don't know what I'd do without you.”
“Well what exactly would you do without me today? How would you spend the day if there was no school to run?”
“Oh I don't know,” said Miss Pringle reflectively, “Morning by the fire in The Spires Tea Room with a slice of fruit cake or two. Afternoon by the fire in the public library with a favourite Jane Austen. Evening by the fire at home, listening to the wind...”
“Well I can't help you there, but how does double Latin, triple wood-gathering and bathtime for 32 sound?”
“Tiring,” smiled Miss Pringle, “Clearly one must make the most of these last moments of peace!” She took her tea cup and sipped indulgently. On a side table lay that day's copy of The Northumbrian Herald. She picked it up and looked at the headlines, but then she froze.
On the front page there was a large hole. “Agnes,” she frowned, “What's this hole in The Northumbrian Herald?"
“Oh I cut something out,” said Agnes lightly, “I didn't want to worry you.”
“Oh dear. My sister again?”
“I'm afraid so. Butter or jam?”
“Both, thank you. I appreciate your concern, but what's she been up to now?”
Agnes felt in her apron pocket, and handed Miss Pringle a crumpled ball of paper. She flattened it out, and read.
SCANDAL GRIPS RESORT AS HEIRESS FLIES IN
Top model Octavia de Beauvoir stunned St Tropez society yesterday when she stepped out with her new boyfriend Count Olivier de Laurissante. It is barely a week since Miss de Beauvoir shook Monte Carlo society when she publicly dumped her last boyfriend Wolfgang, Earl of Glausenpharben. On that occasion the couple were seen arguing at an exclusive reception. The cause was unknown but the exchanges became heated, before Miss de Beauvoir pushed him off a cliff.
Yesterday though it was all smiles again. "Everything feels so different this time,” she told our reporter, "Olivier and I are soul mates, and I really feel I have found true happiness at last. Loving your tail by the way!”
"Hm!" sniffed Miss Pringle, “Disgusting, isn't it? Hold the muffin Agnes, while I dispose of this filth.”
“But you have the fire,” said Agnes, “Why not just burn it if you don't want the pups to see...”But Miss Pringle had disappeared in a puff of crumbs.
As she slipped from the back door, the sky was finally starting to grow light. A pale winter's sun hung over the battlements. She was glad to catch a glimpse of it, but it was shackled in an icy wind and she hastily fastened her top coat button. Then she set off through the bilberry orchard.
A word of explanation. The hillside at the back of the fort was covered with a large orchard of bilberry bushes. (The Northumbrian bilberry, that is. Normal bilberry bushes are low-lying and hardly warrant the word orchard. However the tall Northumbrian variety was specially propagated by Miss Pringle's ancestors to provide a heavy crop, strength against northern winds, and ample shade for snoozing headmistresses on hot summer afternoons.) Rather unusual for a fort. Even more unusual for a school, but then St Pringle's was a very unusual school. Like all Border Terriers, Miss Pringle was of solid, industrious character. She valued sobriety and hard work, and her curriculum reflected this. They studied Science, and Latin. They studied Woodwork and History, and a lot of Jane Austen. It was an approach which had certainly paid off. Exam results were always good, and overall St Pringle's was a beacon of academic excellence. At least that was in the mornings.
Afternoons varied with the seasons. In spring, the bilberry orchard was full of pearly white blossom. In summer it was laden with plump purple bilberries, and from April to July this was where the pups came after lunch. Here they hoed and clipped and watered, and eventually picked. The bilberries were carried to the kitchen in large baskets, and then cooked into a variety of delicious products. The school's 'Old Mother Pringle' range included jams, biscuits and chutneys, and their Supreme Bilberry Cordial was a bestseller right across the county. And rightly so, reflected Miss Pringle as she emerged shivering from the other side of the orchard.
She hurried through the back gate. She carefully fastened it, then she pressed on across an expanse of rough heath. Now she was entering a different world. Ahead a broad river surged through the tangled grass, and beyond rose Bodger's Wood.
It was an old copse high above the village. The trees were gnarled and densely packed, and on winter afternoons they were full of pups collecting firewood in small carts. Here they foraged and scraped and shovelled, and carefully stacked. Back at the fort the wood was bound into bundles, and then it was delivered to homes all over Pringleton. That was in the winter. And today was very much winter.
Finally Miss Pringle reached the river bank. It was icy. Thick frost flecked the grass, and wind and water seemed locked in a race from the North Pole. She pulled her scarf tighter. This was no place to linger, so she took the scrap of newspaper from her pocket. She screwed it up and was about to throw it into the river, when she noticed another scrap of newspaper at her feet. She picked it up, and peered.
CHAOS GRIPS AIRPORT AS HEIRESS FLIES OUT
“Disgusting!” muttered Miss Pringle, “You would think it would have floated by now. I must complain to the Northumbrian Water Company.” She screwed up both papers together, and hurled them as far as she could into the river. Then she bustled back up the hill.
As she neared the fort, a pup's head appeared over the battlements. It was Hetty Henderson. She was a chubby little pup with a cheeky grin, and the naughtiest girl in the school.
“Hey Big Chief!” she called, “Sister been on the razzle again?”
“Kindly call me by my correct name,” said Miss Pringle sternly, “I am Miss Pringle to you, and you should be busy preparing your books for your first lesson. By the way, who are you standing on?”
“Molly and Polly.”
“Did you ask their permission?”
“Don't worry, Miss Pringle,” said a voice, “It doesn't...”
“...hurt at all,” said another, “Well to be fair perhaps just a...”
“...bit,” concluded the first.
“Hm!” snorted Miss Pringle, “Not very good, is it?” And she swept haughtily into the fort, wondering vaguely if her sister was as cold as her.
Which she wasn't.
At that moment Octavia de Beauvoir was taking breakfast in her elegant townhouse just off the King's Road in London. It was a fine, bright morning. The drawing room was awash with sunlight, and Octavia too was looking her very best. She wore a yellow silk designer dress. The look was modern yet romantic, and finished with stilettos and a scattering of diamonds. It was unusually glamorous for so early in the day, but then Octavia de Beauvoir was a top supermodel. Or superdogel to use the correct term. She was a regular on the cover of Dogue magazine, and in the shows of couture house Diog. That was only natural, given her dazzling good looks. She had a long black nose. She had long brown legs, and she had a long black tail with a brown stripe up it. She was particularly proud of her stripe. Her side of the family weren't Border Terriers at all, but Lusharian Desert Hounds. The stripe was the distinctive mark of the Desert Hound, and more importantly it drove the boys wild. In fact it was hard to believe she had any Border Terrier in her at all. The only bit she could see was the little tuft of white hair on her chest, and she didn't mind that. Actually it was quite sweet.
She nibbled her croissant, and sipped her black coffee. She dabbed her lips on a napkin, but then she yawned. She was feeling rather tired today. She couldn't think why, but then she remembered she had had to fly back unexpectedly from St Tropez in the middle of the night. Yesterday evening she had been on a date with her close personal friend Count Olivier de Laurissante. He was a handsome Basset Hound, and he had taken her to a romantic old-time dance. They waltzed and joyfully dog-trotted to the band. The music was seductive. The moon was full and she was about to finally yield to his embrace, when she suddenly noticed every other man in the place was also a close personal friend of her's. So instead she pecked him on the cheek and ran all the way to the airport.
It wasn't very romantic at all really. A bit dangerous, in fact. There was a price to pay for being a famous style icon, but now she was home and luckily she had a fun day ahead of her. First she was going shopping. This afternoon she was making a personal appearance at Harrods, and then she was going dancing again. And she was doing all these things with her wonderful friends. She had lots of friends. There was Claudia de Vouvray, and Victoria de Ponti, and so on, and there were lots of men too. She couldn't quite remember their names now, but they were all rich and handsome and very nice persons. Yeeaaah!
Just then there was a toot outside. She looked out of the window, and saw Victoria de Ponti had stopped in her pink sportscar. Octavia leapt up. She grabbed her handbag, and clip-clipped out of the house on her silver stilettos.
On the doorstep she met Claudia de Vouvray. She lived just next door, and as well as Octavia's friend she was her agent too.
“'ello Claudia,” said Octavia, “Yeeaaah!”
"Hi darling," said Claudia, "Are we all set for your big day?"
"Sure am. So we're heading for Bond Street first, then it's on to the press launch?"
"That's right. It's an important event, but I know you're going to be a huge hit." And she clapped a brown nylon lead on Octavia.
“Excuse me Claudiaar!” flounced Octavia, “What on earth do you think you're doing?”
“I might ask you the same question,” glowered Claudia, “I was just reading the news, and I see you've been up to your old tricks again.”
"I can't see that's any of your business," said Octavia indignantly, "I am entitled to some private life, and anyway nylon is so last year.” And she wriggled out of the lead.
“Well, OK,” allowed Claudia, “But I'm bringing the lead with me anyway. I don't mind a bit of fun, but as your agent I have to ensure you behave professionally."
"Which is just what I was doing in France,” said Octavia defiantly, "My fans are hardly going to desert me over this. The public loves to share in the eventful lives of celebrities, and I am a very bootiful person!”
"Forget I ever mentioned it!" sighed Claudia. They clip-clipped down their front steps together, and jumped into the sportscar.
“Hey guys!” shrieked Victoria, “The Fabulous Ladies Gang is back in town! Let's hit it!” She pumped the accelerator, and they roared off down the road.
Straight away Octavia forgot all about Olivier. Claudia and Victoria were her best friends. The Fabulous Ladies Gang was a nickname they had coined, and soon they were chattering happily away. In fact the atmosphere was so bubbly and exciting, it made Octavia feel rather naughty. They were just whizzing round Hyde Park Corner, when suddenly she had an urge to play a joke on someone. Her sister, for example. She whipped out her phone, and dialled the fort.
“Pringleton 612?” said a voice.
“'ello sister,” said Octavia, “Yeeaaah!”
“Good morning, Octavia,” said Miss Pringle politely, “Could you hold on a moment? There's rather a lot of noise going on behind me.”
She glared angrily over her shoulder. The telephone was in the passage just outside the dining room, and inside breakfast was in full flow. A long oak table stretched across the floor. Down either side pups sat clustered in their dressing gowns, and the noise of gabbling and munching was tremendous. At the far end Agnes stood ladling bowlfuls of porridge from a tureen. Miss Pringle eyed her critically. In her smart blue pinafore she certainly looked the part, but she seemed dangerously close to losing control of the situation. Miss Pringle took a deep breath.
“SHUT UP!” she shrieked, “I CANNOT HEAR MYSELF THINK!"
The pups babbled on regardless, but Agnes looked up. “Yes, girls,”
she said calmly, “Keep the noise down a bit.”
At once the uproar shrank to a murmur.
'Hm!' thought Miss Pringle, 'Very good, isn't it? I'll make a headmistress of that girl yet!' She turned back to the telephone. “Sorry, Octavia,” she said, “I had some important school business to attend to. How are you?”
“I'm really good, thanks,” said Octavia, “How's the pups?”
“Healthy and high-spirited, and so in need of regular firm discipline."
“Aaaaah! Innit bootiful?”
“Well, in part. Octavia it's good to hear from you, but I'm shortly going to take a Latin class so did you want anything in particular?”
“Ah well now yes I did," said Octavia brightly, "I'm just whizzing round Hyde Park Corner in a sportscar. Claudia and Victoria are with me, and we're crashing up to town for some serious retail therapy. Yeeaaah!”
“I'm sorry Octavia but I don't quite follow you,” said Miss Pringle stiffly, "Quite apart from anything else, what does all this Yeah stuff mean?”
"Well I don't know really. I just say it when I'm feeling perky and full of the joy of life. Stop waving that lead at me, Claudia."
"Well I'm glad you're in a good mood. However as I've told you before, you need to ensure your own high spirits don't get out of hand. I mean can't you even talk properly?”
“Yes but I'm not very good with words. I never went to school. Well I did go to the St Moritz Finishing School for Rich Pups, but then I met the headmaster's son and I had to leave again.”
“Which is exactly the point I'm making. If you had more self-discipline, such upheavals need not happen.”
“True!” simpered Octavia. And she added a throaty cackle.
"This conversation doesn't seem to be going anywhere," said Miss Pringle briskly, "Now I really must get on, so how can I help?"
“I apologise for getting distracted,” said Octavia modestly, "I know you're busy, but since I'm going shopping would you like your regular order?"
"Order?"
"Yes, from Harrods. So that's a box of their Highland Oatcakes, six parsnips, and a gallon of Chanel No. 5. YEEEEEAAAAAAAAH!”
“Goodbye,” said Miss Pringle. She put the phone down, and disapprovingly shook her head. Then she beetled over to the porridge tureen.
The smell was irresistible. The pups were still too busy eating and chattering to notice her, so she hung greedily over the edge. The porridge itself had almost all gone now. It was always a popular dish, but if Miss Pringle had one weakness it was scraping out a dried-up porridge tureen with her teeth. Yum!
"Oh you're back,” said Agnes, “Who was that on the telephone?”
“Just Octavia,” said Miss Pringle, “Yum!”
“Er, quite. What did she want?”
“Oh goodness knows. She just wanted to say she's on one of her disreputable shopping jaunts."
“You are biased. I don't suppose all shops in London are disreputable.”
"I doubt there is a village shop in the whole place. And I must say your porridge smells ve-e-ery creamy!”
“Thank you. Would you like the last helping?”
“No, but I wouldn't mind...” She winked meaningfully.
“I'm sorry?” frowned Agnes.
“Honestly Agnes, do pay attention,” sighed Miss Pringle, “I said if you...” She winked again. “...then later on, I'd be very glad to...” And again.
“How revolting!” laughed Agnes, “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
“Now now!” whispered Miss Pringle, “Not in front of the pups!”
“Oh all right,” said Agnes, “I'll leave it to dry out in the kitchen, hidden behind your wellies.”
“Very much obliged,” said Miss Pringle, “I'll do the same for you one day.”
“I sincerely hope not!”
“So do I!” And she beetled away to her private quarters to put on her mortar board.
Miss Pringle's private quarters were situated high in the West Turret. In fact it was one of the smallest rooms in the fort. It certainly had the steepest climb, but she liked the privacy up here, and there was room for all her things. Her snugly quilted bed. Her mortar board on its mortar board stand. Her bookcase full of rare Jane Austen editions, and, on the mantelpiece half-hidden behind an antique clock which had belonged to her grandmother, her signed photograph of Octavia de Beauvoir.
Miss Pringle paused in the doorway, and looked at the picture. Octavia leered toothily back at her. Miss Pringle sighed and bustled inside. She had no objection to the picture itself. It was good to have a keepsake, but she failed to see why Octavia had had to recline on a chaise-longue like that. Let alone sign the inscription in bright pink ink.
'To J,' it said, 'Love from O. Yeeaaah!'
“Hm!” said Miss Pringle, “Not very good, is it?” She hurried inside and straight across to her mortar board stand. She took down the mortar board, and lowered it carefully onto her head. Then she looked at herself in the mirror. She was a fine sight. the Such a garment gave one authority, and she was the very image of a noble, decent, hard-working Border Terrier. Or almost, anyway.
She glanced at the picture of Octavia again, and sighed again. The Pringles were Border Terriers through and through. There was no more distinguished clan, but the de Beauvoirs were Lusharian Desert Hounds. In fact it was rumoured that Octavia was related to the Lusharian royal family itself. Her full name was La Grande Contessa Octavia Consuella Natalia de Beauvoir. She was also heiress to the mysterious de Valois diamonds, but Miss Pringle didn't care about any of that.* A Desert Hound was a Desert Hound however you dressed it up, and nothing to be proud of. A strange, slippery, big-nosed breed. In fact Miss Pringle was far from convinced it was a real breed at all. It certainly wasn't recognized by the Kennel Club, but fortunately nobody looking at her would guess she was anything other than a pure Border. Unless they had read Volume 6 of 'Burke's Directory of Central Lusharian Aristocracy'. Which wasn't very likely.
So she pulled on her gown and strode away to face another day...
* But, you might say, if Octavia is related to the Lusharian royal family, then why isn't Miss Pringle too? When she is asked about this, Octavia says: “Ah well now you see it's all to do with the stripe up the tail. If you have one, you're a Desert Hound. And if you don't, you're perpetually knee deep in bilberries or icicles.” This explanation has always seemed to Miss Pringle not only illogical and insulting, but perhaps even scientifically impossible. However if it keeps her away from the lewd de Valois diamonds she is more than happy to go along with it.
Latin was taught in Classroom 1A. The fort only had one classroom, but Miss Pringle felt the name gave it a certain ambience. As she entered, the pups were already seated at their desks. Each girl was dressed in the school uniform of dark blue skirt, pale blue blouse, and dark blue blazer with a yellow bilberry on the pocket. Miss Pringle strode down the aisle, and mounted the dais. Then she turned to the class.
“Good morning, girls,” she said.“Good morning, Miss Pringle!” chorused the pups.
“We will begin today with some simple sentences. Open your exercise books, and translate the following into accurate classical Latin.” She turned to the blackboard, and wrote:
THE BILBERRY IS ON THE BUSH.
“Excuse me, Miss Pringle,” said Heidi, “I cannot see over your mortar board.”
“Well I am certainly not removing it,” frowned Miss Pringle, “Is this better for you?” She moved slightly to one side, and Heidi peered at her.
“Not very much I'm afraid," she said, “Can I stand on Molly and Polly?”
“Oh all right,” sighed Miss Pringle, “They seem to like it, at least.”
Heidi leapt from her chair, and landed with one foot each on Molly and Polly's heads. Miss Pringle turned briskly back to the board. She disliked interruptions, so to restore the seriousness of the lesson she wrote:
WHOSE STALK IS IN THE BASKET?
“Pardon me, Miss Pringle,” said Elspeth, “Heidi is now too tall for me to see over her head.”
Patiently Miss Pringle turned round again. “Heidi, dear,” she said, “Can you bend your knees?”
“Which ones?” said Heidi.
“All of them.”
“In the same direction?”
“Yes.”
“I will try.” Heidi knotted her brow with concentration. Her eyes bulged and she trembled all over, then she fell backwards with a crash.
Miss Pringle irritably threw down her chalk. This really was an unwanted complication. She would not risk her authority by removing her mortar board in class, so instead she climbed on her desk. “There you are!” she said, “Is everyone quite satisfied now?”
“Hey Big Chief!” said Hetty, “Kiss the bats for me while you're up there!”
Miss Pringle squeaked with dismay and leapt down again. “Yes well I think that's enough sentences,” she said, glancing warily at the lamp shade, “Text books out now, girls." The pups rummaged in their desks. "Turn to page 68,” she said, “I want you to write 100 words describing the scene in the picture.” The pups pulled out their text books and opened them, but then a general groan went up.
“Oh no!” said Hetty, “It's pups picking bilberries again!”
“It certainly is,” said Miss Pringle sternly, “What is wrong with that, my girl?”
“All we get in this place is bilberries bilberries bilberries!”
“And very wholesome too. In fact, it's bilberries which made me what I am today. And since you are about to say something offensive you are now Casserole Scrubbing Monitor for a month!”
“Oh no!” moaned Hetty, “Not the casserole. It all gets stuck on!”
“Indeed!" snapped Miss Pringle, "Well you'll just have to scrape it off then, won't you?”
A chastened silence fell. The pups began to write, and Miss Pringle sat down at her desk. She took out her detention book, pointedly opened it, and contentedly began to read the copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' hidden inside. Order had been restored. It was a responsible and challenging job being a headmistress, but satisfying too. And certainly a lot better than being a Fabulous Lady.
She winced. Her sister had a nasty habit of popping up in even her most tranquil thoughts. How cruel, she reflected, that she had ended up with a sister like Octavia de Beauvoir. The Pringles were a distinguished local family. By the turn of the twentieth century, they had 300 years of respectable bilberry farming behind them. All seemed set fair for the dynasty, but then a regrettable dalliance by Great Aunt Henrietta on her grand tour in Venice had linked them with the degenerate de Beauvoirs. And there the family had been ever since. Farming away, forging ahead, and furtively surpressing the shameful surname of Pringle-de Beauvoir.
Still, thought Miss Pringle as she turned the page, there are worse fates. And it was never too late to hope. Perhaps like Elizabeth Bennet in the book, she too would eventually win through. Perhaps one day she would reveal to Octavia the error of her ways, and win her back to a more respectable way of life...
At that moment the pink sportscar was whizzing down Piccadily in a cloud of designer perfume. It was stuffed with glamorous shopping bags, and Octavia and her friends were singing 'The Fabulous Ladies Song'. This was a song which Octavia written herself. It didn't rhyme, because she never went to school. It didn't have much of a tune either, but it was really good for singing when you were cruising the town with your friends.
The gang burst into the chorus:
“Whizzing round town in a sportscar,
Snapping up lots of shoes!
Whizzing round town in a sportscar,
Posing with lots of bags!
Laugh laugh laugh!
Lunch lunch lunch!
Spend spend spend!
LAY-DEEZ! With a
Whizzy whizzy...”
If you're not familiar with the palace, it is a majestic building. It has imposing walls, ornate towers, and lofty turrets. There is security to match, and outside the gates stood a burly Alsatian. He was dressed in full guard's uniform, and staring ahead as stern as a rock face.
The pink sportscar streaked towards him. Octavia wound down the window, and stuck her head out. “Hey big boy!” she shouted, “Going my way?”
The guard didn't move, but the corner of his eye twitched.
Claudia chuckled. “Poor bloke!” she said, “He's supposed to keep still, and you shouldn't tease him like that.”
“Oh it's only old Roger,” said Octavia, “He's a close personal friend of mine. Turn round, Victoria, and let's have another go.”
“Sure thing!” yelled Victoria. She span the wheel, and the car screeched round in a circle. Then she pressed a button on the dashboard. The sunroof rolled back, and Octavia leapt to her feet.
“HEY BIG BOY!” she screamed, “CARE FOR A QUICK SNIFF?"
And the guard fell over backwards in a heap of crumpled regalia.
“OOOOO!” taunted Octavia, "LIKE THAT, IS IT? WELL I'M SORRY BUT I'M WASHING MY FUR TONIGHT!”
The girls roared with laughter. Victoria tugged at the gearstickh, and they shot off up The Mall singing at the tops of their voices:
“Whizzing round town in a sportscar,
Laughing with lots of friends!Whizzing round town in a sportscar,
Shouting at lots of men!
Whip off your roof!
Flutter your lashes!
Drive the boys crazy! We are
LAY-DEEZ! With a
Giggle giggle giggle and
Boogie boogie boogie and a
Shimmy shimmy shimmy we are
LAY-DEEEEEZ! YEEEEEEAAAAAAAH!”
She was leading the pups in a long crocodile down Pringleton High Street on their morning walk. This was a regular part of the school routine. Exercise was important for young children, and she ensured that everyone took a brisk walk each day. She had once experimented with 32 leads, but only once. Discipline was the key, and although cold weather tended to set the pups grumbling, today she had placated them by suggesting they go to The Spires Tea Room for elevenses. Anyway after that Latin lesson she felt in need of a tea cake.
The walk had begun smoothly enough. Heidi just fell over twice on the hill. The only protesting sound was that of chattering teeth, but then as they approached The Spires their elderly neighbour Mrs Postlethwaite appeared round the corner.
Miss Pringle's whiskers twitched. She was very fond of Mrs Postlethwaite. She was a good friend and a loyal supporter of the school, but she also owned some very strange hats. Today she wore on her head something quite bizarre. It looked like a large tweed dumpling, and what was more she was heading straight towards them. A tricky moment with Hetty Henderson in tow.
“Now watch me closely, girls," said Miss Pringle discreetly, “When I give the secret signal, offer your greeting.”
Mrs Postlethwaite bustled up to the pups. Miss Pringle lifted the tip of one ear, and 32 tails wagged vigorously.
“Good morning, girls,” said Mrs Postlethwaite, "And a very good morning to you, Miss Pringle.”
“Hello, Gertrude,” said Miss Pringle, “How are you?”
“I'm fine, thank you. Rather chilly for the time of year, is it not?”
“It is. In fact, I heard on the wireless the cold weather will continue right into next week.”
“Well I had better get my winter woollies out then!”
“I think that would a good idea!” They laughed merrily, and Hetty Henderson's tail kinked in the middle.
Miss Pringle reached over and hastily straightened it out. Things had been going well until that point, but luckily Mrs Postlethwaite didn't seem to have noticed. She turned to the pups.
“And how are you all today, girls?” she said, “Aren't you lucky your headmistress takes you on such enjoyable walks?"
Miss Pringle clapped a paw over Hetty's mouth and ushered Elspeth forwards. “Yes we are, Mrs Postlethwaite,” she said politely, “This morning, Miss Pringle is taking us to The Spires for elevenses.”
“How kind,” said Mrs Postlethwaite, “Well perhaps if I give her a little extra money, she will let you have fizzy orange as a treat.” She felt in her purse and pulled out a silver half crown. (Old money is still legal tender in Pringleton.)
Miss Pringle took the coin and deftly switched Elspeth for Heidi. “Hello hello Mrs Postlethwaite,” she nattered, “Hello I love you I really love you and three cheers for Mrs Postlethwaite. Hip hip!”
“Hooray!” cheered the pups.
“Hip hip!”
“Hooray!”
There was an awkward pause. “Come along, Heidi,” said Miss Pringle encouragingly, “Don't you have something else to say?”
“No,” said Heidi, “No I don't think so.”
“Please don't worry dear Heidi,” said Mrs Postlethwaite, “I know she gets rather confused sometimes, but it really isn't important. Well I must be on my way. Enjoy your elevenses, girls, and I'll see you later on for my wood delivery.”
Miss Pringle lifted the tip of her other ear. “Goodbye, Mrs Postlethwaite!” chorused the pups. Then she led them swiftly on towards The Spires.
“Well I think that went rather well,” she said, pocketing the half crown and deciding to have a strawberry tart instead, “Apart from the kink of course, Hetty."
"Chill, Big Chief," said Hetty, "It was just a joke on my part."
"Well I thought it was very insolent. Mrs Postlethwaite is one of the school's staunchest supporters, and you rely on the likes of her to give you a good start in life. By the way how do you do it?”
“It's easy. You just think about Sunday tea and...” Hetty's tail kinked in the middle again.
“How dare you!” snapped Miss Pringle, “I'll have you know there is nothing wrong with bread and butter!”
“Oh no?” said Hetty, “So watch this.” She turned to the other pups. “All together now, girls!" she said, “Sunday tea!”
And 32 tails kinked in the middle.
“Hmm,” said Miss Pringle, “Well on reflection perhaps it is time to review the menu. Now in we go, girls, and no kinks!” She pushed open the door, and there was a loud ping.
She smiled. A ping was important when entering a tea room. It was a homely sound, and there was always a warm welcome waiting here. As the pups swarmed inside, Lizzie the manageress was clearing tables. She was a pretty young Border Terrier, with a white apron and a blue ribbon in her hair. She looked round, and smiled.
“Hello, Miss Pringle,” she said, “Hello, girls. Great to see you all again.”
“And you too, Lizzie,” said Miss Pringle, “A table for 33 please.”
“Of course.” Lizzie led them over to a large table in the corner. The pups sat down round the edge, and Miss Pringle positioned herself at the head. Then Lizzie took out her notepad. “Now then,” she said, “What would we all like?”
Hetty banged her fist on the table. “THE CREAM BUNS ARE ON ME!” she shrieked. The pups giggled, and Miss Pringle flicked her ear.
“The usual please, Lizzie,” she said, “One tea, 32 currant buns, 32 glasses of orange squash...”
“Fizzy orange!” said Heidi pointedly.
“Oh, yes,” said Miss Pringle reluctantly, “32 glasses of fizzy orange, and a tea cake.”
"Certainly,” said Lizzie, “We do have crisps though, girls, if you fancy something more modern."
“Pringles?” enquired Hetty. The pups giggled again, and Miss Pringle flicked her other ear.
“Excuse me, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “Sorry to be...”
“...a nuisance,” said Polly, “but can Molly and me have a big glass with two straws because we like to...”
“...share,” said Molly.
“Er, quite,” said Miss Pringle, “Lizzie, would you oblige?”
“Of course,” said Lizzie, “Nothing is too much trouble for our best customers!" And she hurried away to the kitchen.
Miss Pringle sat back in her chair, and looked contentedly around her. She loved The Spires. In fact, she always thought of it as a kind of home from home. It was a snug, oak-panelled room, decorated with old prints of Pringleton. There was a counter full of delicious cakes. There was a grand fireplace. There was a blackboard of specials and a hatstand, and somehow on a cold day like this with the fire glowing it made you feel all funny...
Lizzie returned with a laden tray. “Here we are, girls,” she said, “Help yourselves.” She lowered it onto the table, and the pups sprang greedily forwards. Miss Pringle hastily grabbed her cup and teacake. “Very much obliged, Lizzie,” she said, "I must say your teacakes look temptingly tasty!"
“Glad you approve,” said Lizzie, “Well, tuck in everyone!” She bustled away again, and Miss Pringle rapped the table with one claw.
“Right then,” she said, “Let's see how good we can all be. I have some school work to do, so just talk quietly among yourselves.” She reached in her bag, and whipped out the new edition of 'The Headmistress's Gazette'. It was always a highlight of her month. A headmistress had to keep up with the latest developments in education. The 'Gazette' was the leading voice in its field, so she flipped through to see if they had published her letter on 'The Discipline Implications of the Yo-Yo Craze'.
The pups slurped their drinks and munched their buns. Then Hetty leaned across to Ruby. “I say, Rubers old bean,” she said, “I've got a spiffing wheeze!”
“No you haven't,” glowered Miss Pringle, “I know your wheezes, Hetty. They usually end up with me getting wet so let's hear no more about it.”
“I spy,” said Heidi suddenly, “with my little eye something beginning with F.”
“Fizzy orange,” said Harriet.
“Stop guessing!” fumed Heidi, “Stop guessing them straight away, you cheat!”
“Yes, give her a chance,” said Miss Pringle, “Remember she's a lot younger than most of you. Have another go, Heidi.”
“Thank you thank you,” said Heidi, “I spy with my little eye something beginning with C.”
There was a pause while the other pups counted to five. “Currant bun,” said Lucy.
“Stop it stop it stop it!” raged Heidi, “You cheats! You're not even trying to get them wrong, you nasty beasts!”
“Do we have to have all this silly chatter, girls?” said Miss Pringle irritably, “Somebody think of a sensible topic of conversation so we can all join in.”
The pups stared thoughtfully into space. “Miss Pringle,” said Tasmin finally, “is it true we have big hairy bats in the belfry?”
“OOOOOOOO!” squealed the pups. And their ears flew up in the air.
“No of course it isn't!” snorted Miss Pringle, “Whoever told you such rubbish? As if I need to ask!” She glared at Hetty, who smirked proudly.
“I read it in my library book,” she said, “'The Bumper Book of Bats'. It says bats are big and hairy and they live in belfries.”
“OOOOOOOO!” squealed the pups again. And their ears flew up in the air again.
“Does it indeed?” frowned Miss Pringle, “Well did it not occur to you that we can't have bats in the belfry...”
“OOOOOOOO!”
“...because we don't have a belfry.”
“Oh.”
The pups looked at each other. Then they all fell on Hetty.
“You fibber!” they shrieked, kicking and punching.
“You miserable creep!”
“Scaring us and frightening us, you horrible little rotter!”
Miss Pringle leapt up and pulled them all off. “Girls girls!” she cried, “What on earth do you think you're doing? This is most unseemly behaviour!”
Just then Lizzie appeared by the table again. “Excuse me, Miss Pringle,” she said, “I heard the pups were a bit restless, so I thought they might like to play with this.” And she held out a board game.
Miss Pringle sighed with relief. “Oh yes Lizzie!” she said, “You really are a treasure!”
"Well it's quite an easy game,” said Lizzie, “They just have to put down cards to spell out different words, and they get a point for each letter.”
“It sounds most educational. Thank you very much indeed.” She took the game, and Lizzie trotted back to the kitchen.
Miss Pringle opened the box. Inside was a game board, and a pack of cards with letters of the alphabet. She spread out the board, and dealt the cards into 8 piles. “Form teams of four, girls," she said, "And since you're the best at English, Elspeth, you can go first.”
Elspeth chose five cards from her pile. She put them on the board, and spelt out:
“Very good,” said Miss Pringle, “I think we'll have you next, Harriet.”
Harriet picked up four cards from her pile. She arranged them on the board, and, using the first P in PUPPY, spelt out:
PRANKS
"Excellent," said Miss Pringle, "So now it's your go, Hetty.”
Hetty chose two cards from her pile. She lay them on the board, and, using the A in PRANKS, spelt out:
BAT
BET
The pups stopped quivering. Hetty peered at her cards. She chose one, and changed the word to:
HET
The pups giggled. Miss Pringle scowled at them. Sadly the pups had a very limited sense of humour, but she would not be beaten now. She picked up another card, and changed the word to:
HOT
Hetty narrowed her eyes at Miss Pringle. Miss Pringle narrowed her eyes at Hetty. The pups held their breath. Hetty hunched her shoulders, and broodingly considered her cards.
Suddenly she slammed down a letter on the board. The pups jumped. Hetty sat back, and then everyone leaned forwards to see the word in the middle of the table.
BOT
Miss Pringle hastily shuffled the cards together. “The bill please, Lizzie!” she cried, “Drink up, girls! I'd love to sit here playing all day, but Bodger's Wood awaits!”
And so another morning walk drew to a fairly successful close.As they all set off back up the hill and the fort loomed into view, Heidi's face suddenly lit up.
“I spy,” she said, “with my little eye something beginning with F.”
“Nobody say anything,” whispered Miss Pringle, “Let her have her fun.
“No guesses?” said Heidi proudly, “Do you all give up?”
“Yes!” muttered the other pup.
“Screwdriver!” beamed Heidi.
Miss Pringle groaned and reflected grimly that it would be three whole hours before she could next lie down.
CHAPTER 3
Laying down wasn't a problem Octavia de Beauvoir had in her job. As a top model, she lay down for much of the day. Laying on chaise-longues, laying on cars, laying on the floor. Variety was the spice of life, and today she was laying on top of a huge shampoo bottle in the beauty department at Harrods.
In front of her swarmed a hoard of photographers. They were all snapping feverishly away, and the air blazed with brilliant flashes. In fact the whole room was buzzing with excitement. Behind the stage, Octavia's beautiful face beamed down from huge billboards. In the wings, a pack of journalists jostled impatiently, and at the centre of it all Claudia was waving a clipboard and bossing everyone about. Yeeaaah!
Octavia flashed her teeth and stretched out all her legs.
“This way, Octavia!” called the photographers.
“Over here!”
“One more over here please, Miss de Beauvoir!”
Octavia turned vivaciously from lens to eager lens. She loved doing public appearances. It was really good fun. She was one of the world's top supermodels, and recently Claudia and she had set up a beauty merchandising business. It was a joint venture. Claudia was the chief executive, and Octavia looked beautiful on the billboards.
Today they were launching a new dog shampoo called 'Octavia Supreme'. 'For radiant, truly energized fur,' said the billboards, 'Let the real woman shine through.' Then there was a picture of Octavia laying on the floor. £29.99 a bottle. It wasn't really very good value, but it was very nice.
Suddenly Claudia stepped in front of the photographers. “Right that's your lot, boys!” she shouted, “Press conference time!”
The photographers retreated, and the journalists rushed forwards. Octavia hopped down off the bottle. Claudia and she perched on two chairs, and turned to the audience. “OK who's first?” said Claudia, “Let's have you in the pink!” She pointed, and a chic lady Pekinese stood up.
“Estelle de Columbona for 'Dogue',” she said, “Octavia, your new product is so now, so you, so absolutely vital. Can you tell us about its influences and the philosophy behind the creative concept?”
Octavia frowned. “Oh,” she said doubtfully, “Well. Well I don't know really...”
Claudia sat forwards. “Octavia thinks the product is just wonderful,” she said, “and she is absolutely thrilled to be working with us. Next!” She pointed again, and a glamorous Poodle stood up.
“Clara de Rhones-Signiorelle for 'Barkers and Queen',” she said, “Octavia, you are an icon for a whole generation. What is it you bring to this campaign which creates such a vibrant, innovative synergy?”
Octavia blinked. “Er,” she said awkwardly, “Hmm. Well I'm not sure really...”
“We think Octavia is just wonderful,” said Claudia briskly, “and we are absolutely thrilled to be working with her. OK, hit it!” She pointed once again, and a scruffy Jack Russell Terrier leapt up.
“Matt Brown from 'Phwooar!' magazine,” he said, “Octavia, our readers have just voted you Most Fanciable Dog in the Universe for the fifth year running. How do you do it?”
Octavia started to bounce excitedly up and down. “Ah well now it's my secret formula!” she simpered, “A sort of winning combination. I'm extremely bootiful, I'm a very nice person and I do have a long, silky nose so...”
Suddenly there was a faint rumble. Octavia hesitated, and looked at the ceiling. It was hard to be sure, but it sounded as if there was a thunderstorm brewing. And Octavia hated thunder. She was just about to throw back her head and give a forlorn howl, when Claudia leapt up.
“Thanks for sharing those fascinating thoughts, Octavia,” she said, “And thank you, everyone, for coming. Please join us now for the launch party, and Miss de Beauvoir will be circulating shortly.” She clapped the brown nylon lead on Octavia and whipped her behind the bottle.
“OOOOOOOOOOOO!” howled Octavia.
“Calm down, darling,” whispered Claudia, “There's no need to be frightened of thunder.”
“There certainly is,” whimpered Octavia, “Ooo Claudia, isn't it the nastiest thing you've heard in your entire life?”
"You do exaggerate. I mean, you can hardly let a little bad weather spoil your launch.”
“Fine by me,” whinged Octavia, “Nature is in turmoil and I'm gripped by a positively primeval dread!”
“Well really, I promise you're quite safe in here. Anyway this is the style event of the season and if you disappear now what will I tell the press?”
“Tell them to hide under the buffet until it stops!” grizzled Octavia. She jerked the lead out of Claudia's paw, slapped a photographer's face and bolted for the exit.
As she burst out of the front doors, heavy rain was lashing down. The storm was off to a ferocious start. The street was jet black and the sky flashing wildly, but luckily there was a commissionaire Beagle waiting outside with a limousine. She scuttled across, and he bowed.
“Ah Miss de Beauvoir,” he said, “I trust the launch went well?”
“Ooo no it was nasty!” said Octavia, swiveling her eyes at the sky, “Really horrible!”
“Oh, er, dear. Can I offer you a ride home with our complimentary limousine service?”
“Thank you, that would be very welcome.” She slapped his face and dived into the car, and they roared off into the storm.
As soon as they were on their way she pulled out her mobile phone. She didn't really care who she spoke to. She just needed someone to give her some emotional support, so she hit a button at random.
“Pringleton 612?” said a voice.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” wailed Octavia.
“Afternoon,” said Miss Pringle wearily, “Nice day.”
“Ooo no it isn't!” snivelled Octavia, “It was thundering in the beauty department at Harrods and everything's gone really yukky!”
“Oh dear. Well keep your chin up, eh?” Miss Pringle put the phone down, and beetled back to the dining table.
It was lunchtime at the fort. The dining table was thronged with pups again, and everyone was tucking into steaming bowls of carrot and kidney bean soup. Miss Pringle's favourite, as it happened. She sprang back into her chair nex to Agnes, who looked round.
“That was quick,” she said, “Who was it?”
“Just Octavia,” said Miss Pringle, slurping hungrily at her soup.
“Again? What did she want this time?”
“Oh I don't know. Whinging on about thunder or something. You know, I sometimes think a few years' hard bilberry farming wouldn't do that young lady any harm at all.”
“Well I see your point, but surely that's slightly unfair.”
“How do you mean?”
“To Octavia. You're always being rude about her lifestyle. I know it looks as if she just swans around all day having fun, but when you're as rich and glamorous as she is it must bring problems of its own.”
“I gave her a pair of nail scissors last Christmas. What more does she want?”
“A bit of sisterly support, by the sound of it."
“Huh! That's easy for you to say. It's all right for you with a sister called Clementine living quietly in Bunting-on-Sea. How would you like to read over breakfast that Clementine has been causing chaos at Monte Carlo airport?”
“Well I can't quite picture that,” allowed Agnes, “But yes, I suppose you're right.”
“I appreciate your support, Agnes,” sniffed Miss Pringle, “And Hetty, stop throwing croutons at Heidi.” She swallowed her last mouthful of soup, and Agnes gathered the empty bowls together.
“Well anyway that's enough about Octavia,” she said, “There's a wood-gathering trip and a delivery round to be done, so which do you fancy?”
“I'm not sure,” said Miss Pringle, “Who's on duty for the delivery round?”
“The new girls. Molly and Polly.”
“Oh dear. You know discretion is a virtue and I don't believe in speaking behind people's backs, but quite frankly those two are weird.”
“I don't think they're weird. They're just close, but I'll take them out if you like.”
“No, I'd better do the delivery round. As headmistress, it's important that I train the juniors myself. Anyway we're going to Pankhurst Hall and I want to impress on Lady Pankhurst.”
“Oh I see!” crowed Agnes, “Now I see why you want to go. You make me laugh, you're always trying to do Her Ladyship down.”
“I am not,” said Miss Pringle defensively, “I have great respect for the woman. Pankhurst Hall brings valuable tourism to Pringleton, and if she wants to buy her priceless family heirlooms at a car boot sale it's entirely her affair.”
“Oh I'm sure she doesn't!”
“She's a fraudulent snob, Agnes. I've said it before and I'll say it again.”
“I'm sure you will,” sighed Agnes, “I'm sure you will. Apple and mincemeat slice with custard all right for pudding?”
“Very much so,” smiled Miss Pringle, “And Heidi, stop throwing kidney beans at Hetty.”
Just before 2 o'clock, Miss Pringle was approaching the palatial gates of Pankhurst Hall. It was a bleak and blustery afternoon. The Hall stood on the edge of moorland just outside the village, and out here the wind could really run wild. Ahead stretched a long, tree-lined driveway. It swept through acres of pristeen parkland, before reaching a huge, elegant Georgian manor house. Miss Pringle stopped inside the gates, and surveyed the view. “Fraudulent snob,” she muttered, “I'll fix her!”
She looked impatiently over her shoulder. Some way down the lane, Molly and Polly were labouring along strapped to a small wood-cart. “Hurry up, girls!” called Miss Pringle, “We must keep to our schedule!” She set off briskly up the driveway. They still had some way to go, and personally she was glad she wasn't strapped to a wood-cart. She had done her share of hauling as a girl at the school herself. She was Chief Cart Monitor three years running, and anyway collecting and looking after the money was just as great a burden. Or almost, anyway.
Finally she reached the forecourt of the house. Since she was last here a new statue had appeared at the centre, so she wandered across. The figure was a sleek Dalmation in heroic posture. She walked slowly around it, and examined it closely. The statue looked like bronze skilfully cast and immaculately polished, but no doubt it was just plastic painted over. “Fraudulent snob,” she muttered, “I'll show her!”
Just then Molly and Polly staggered to a halt beside her. They fell back puffing against the cart, and Miss Pringle patted their heads. “Well done, ladies,” she said, “Most commendable for a first attempt. Now then, Lady Pankhurst is a very important customer so remember your manners and... Ah here she is!”
Lady Pankhurst was standing waiting to one side of the house. She was a trim, middle-aged Border Terrier, with a haughtily aristocratic air. Today she wore a smart tweed suit, and by her feet was an open wood-hole. Every house in the village had one of these. It was a large square hole, equipped with a metal cover and leading down to the wood store below. Lady Pankhurst's hole was no different to anyone else's, but one of her feet was tapping impatiently.
Miss Pringle led the pups across. “Ah Lady P,” she said, “A very good day to you.”
“And to you, Miss Pringle,” said Lady Pankhurst coolly, “Oh, and please don't call me Lady P.”
“I'll try to remember. Well, we're here with your firewood order.”
“So I see, and two whole minutes late. I trust all your deliveries are not going to be delayed this winter?”
“Well we try, but you know what it's like when you have to work for a living. Or perhaps you don't. Anyway if we're late you can always burn a few heirlooms!”
“I beg your...”
“Sorry to interrupt but we are rather busy,” sniffed Miss Pringle, “If you stand aside, my delivery staff here will dispense your order.” She turned to Molly and Polly. “Now then,” she said, “What do we say, girls?”
“Good afternoon madam,” said Molly, “Where would you like...”
“...your wood?” said Polly.
“In my wood-hole thank you, dear,” said Lady Pankhurst briskly, “And as quickly as you can.”
“Certainly,” said Molly, “Are you ready, Polly?”
“Ready!” said Polly.
“Right. Polly, pull the handle!” Polly tugged a small handle on the back of the cart, and they both disappeared under a huge pile of wood.
“Oh dear!” smirked Lady Pankhurst, “Tell me Miss Pringle, do I have to return the pups, or are they a free gift like one finds in cornflakes?”
“£26 please, Lady P,” growled Miss Pringle. And she angrily began to dig the pups out of the wood.
“Hm!” snorted Miss Pringle as they trundled back into the village, “Not very good, was it?”
“Sorry, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “We haven't done...”
“...this before,” said Polly, “Perhaps it would be better if we switched positions...”
“...now,” said Molly.
“Er, yes,” said Miss Pringle, “Well it's worth a try. We're going to The Spires next and this is a big order, so concentrate!”
As they turned in at The Spires' back yard, Lizzie was just coming out of the kitchen door. She carried a tall stack of old cake boxes, and she smiled round the side. “Hello, Miss Pringle,” she said, “Hello, girls. How's your first delivery round going?”
“Very well thank you, madam,” said Molly.
“That's a matter of opinion,” said Miss Pringle tartly, “This way.” She led the pups across, then she faced sternly. “Now then,” she said, “Let's try this again. What do we say, girls?”
“Good afternoon, madam,” said Polly, “Where would you like...”
“...your wood?” said Molly.
“Just down in the store, thanks,” said Lizzie. She dropped the boxes in the dustbin, and pulled the cover off her wood-hole.
“Certainly,” said Polly, “Are you ready, Molly?”
“Ready!” said Molly.
“Right. Molly, pull the handle!” Molly gave the handle a sharp tug, and Miss Pringle disappeared under a huge pile of wood.
“Er, great,” said Lizzie tactfully, “That lot should keep us going nicely. Do I pay you, Miss Pringle?”
“My sales staff here will collect your remittance,” sighed Miss Pringle, “Only for goodness sake watch what they do with it!” And she gloomily began to dig herself out of the wood.
Meanwhile high in Bodger's Wood, the wood-gathering expedition was in full swing. The copse teemed with foraging pups. At the edge Agnes sat watchfully on an old log, sipping hot chocolate from a flask. It was a bitterly cold afternoon. In the treetops the last leaves were pale and shivering, but below all was hussle and bustle.
The pups worked in teams of two. One was strapped to a wood-cart, while the other held a shovel and a small silver whistle. The driver trundled over to a pile of wood. The shoveller shovelled, and when all the wood had been collected she blew her whistle. Then they trundled on to the next pile. It was a good system. Over the years it had proved one of Miss Pringle's most successful inventions, but Agnes was rather glad to be on her own today.
She had great affection and respect for her employer. Miss Pringle had established the school as one of the best in Northumbria, but she could be a bit irritating. She complicated things. Even with a simple job like wood-gathering, if Miss Pringle was involved something always seemed to happen. A pup got stuck in a rabbit hole. Or a whistle got stuck to a pup. One day Miss Pringle herself got stuck up a tree and had to be rescued by all the pups standing on each other in a pyramid formation. Not very good, as Miss Pringle herself had remarked at the time. It was beyond Agnes how such a thing was possible, but fortunately today all was going smoothly. Even Hetty was behaving herself. The air rang with squeaking wheels and peeping whistles, and the wood-carts steadily filled. Agnes poured herself some more hot chocolate. She looked out over the landscape of steaming cottages and beautiful winter's woodland, and smiled contentedly.
Just then Elspeth appeared by the log. “Excuse me, Agnes,” she said, “Harriet and I have filled our cart.”
“Oh well done,” said Agnes, “You two have worked hard today. Come and sit here by me, and I'll give you both some hot chocolate.”
“Yippee!” Elspeth and Harriet hopped up onto the log, and Agnes took two spare paper cups from her bag. She filled them with hot chocolate, and handed them to the pups.
“Thanks, Agnes,” said Harriet, “I love it when it's your turn to bring us up here.”
“Oh, really?” said Agnes, “Why is that?”
“Well when we come with Miss Pringle, something always seems to happen.”
“Oh I see!" said Agnes ruefully, “Such as?”
“Well, last week when we'd filled our cart Miss Pringle said she was just going to look for winter marigolds. Then she hid behind a tree with her flask. She poured out some hot chocolate, but then Hetty shouted 'Luxury Dark Belgian today, Big Chief?' and Miss Pringle spilt it all over her shoes.”
Agnes smothered a laugh. “Now now,” she said seriously, “You mustn't be rude about about your headmistress. Remember, she's out there working very hard to earn money for our hot chocolate.”
“Sorry, Agnes,” said Harriet, “Can we have some more?”
“Of course.” Agnes poured out two more helpings, then gave herself the last drop.
Elspeth lifted her snout and snuffled at the breeze. “This is a lovely view,” she said, “It's like having the whole village laid out at your feet.”
“Isn't it beautiful?” said Agnes, “Look, you can even see right through The Spires' window. The fire's roaring and there's a lady sitting beside it with a tea cup and a plate of...” She hesitated, and peered. “It's Miss Pringle!” she cried.
It was, too. Through the window, Miss Pringle could clearly be seen enjoying tea and a large plate of pikelets. “Huh!” snorted Agnes, “It's all right for some. She's supposed to be out training Molly and Polly!”
“Don't worry,” said Elspeth, squinting down the hill, “I can see her waving her claw at them and shouting things.”
"Well it's training of a kind, I suppose," sighed Agnes, “It looks like the delivery round isn't going well. In times of stress, Miss Pringle always needs a large injection of toasted bakery products."
“Now now, Agnes!” teased Elspeth, “You mustn't be rude about your headmistress!”
“Quite right,” smiled Agnes, “Girls, you're quite right!” And as they all laughed, three fraught figures stumbled from The Spires and struggled on up the road.
“Well, girls?” said Miss Pringle sarcastically, “Any more bright ideas?"
“Sorry, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “We were confused about...”
“...the new jobs,” said Polly, “Perhaps we could try something different and you give us the orders...”
“...henceforward,” said Molly.
“Oh all right!” snapped Miss Pringle, “But I'm warning you. If any wood lands on Mrs Postlethwaite you are in big trouble!”
Mrs Postlethwaite lived in an old flint cottage just below the fort. It was one of the prettiest houses in the village, and this afternoon the windows glowed with firelight. The garden was a haze of misty cobbles and yellow leaves, and the front door was adorned with a freshly polished brass knocker. Miss Pringle led the pups in through the gate. They set off up the path, but then she spotted Mrs Postlethwaite trimming a holly bush at the side.
“Yoo-hoo Mrs Postlethwaite!” called Miss Pringle, “Your fuel order is here!”
Mrs Postlethwaite looked round, and beamed. "Hello, Miss Pringle!" she said, “How lovely to see you again!” She put down her shears and bustled across. "Ah you have two new helpers today,” she said, “Good afternoon to you, girls. Oh aren't they sweet with their woolly hats and their charming little scarves!”
“You haven't seen them in action yet,” said Miss Pringle uneasily, “So then. Where would you like your wood, madam?”
“In the wood store as usual, thank you.”
"Allow me." Miss Pringle pulled the cover off Mrs Postlethwaite's wood-hole, then she turned to the pups. “Right well here we go," sh
e said reluctantly, “Are you ready, Molly and Polly?”
“Ready!” said Molly and Polly.
“Right. Molly and Polly, pull the handle!” The pups grasped the cart's handle together. They frowned with concentration and pulled hard, and the wood fell down the wood-hole.
“Oh well done!” exclaimed Miss Pringle, “You really have mastered the job at last!”
“Thank you, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “It was...”
“...nothing,” said Polly. And they both fell down the wood-hole too.
“OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE!” shrieked Miss Pringle, “CAN'T YOU TWO DO ANYTHING RIGHT?”
“Please don't be too harsh on the girls,” said Mrs Postlethwaite gently, “They're very young, and it is a step in the right direction.”
“Hm!” sniffed Miss Pringle, “Well I'd say it's a step in the wrong direction. Excuse me, Gertrude.” And she lowered herself into the wood-hole, reflecting ruefully on the improbability that her sister was at that moment grubbing about in a cellar.
Although as a matter of fact, she was.
When the limousine pulled up in Grosvenor Terrace, Octavia peered nervously from the window. Rain was still thrashing against the glass. She could hardly even see the houses outside, and the thunder was raging more wildly than ever. Horrible!
The chauffeur jumped out, and opened the door for her. “There we are, Miss de Beauvoir,” he said, “Grosvenor Terrace.”
"Thank you for your help," said Octavia, “It really is very good of you." She slapped his face, then she ran into the house and straight down to the cellar.
It was lucky she had a good, deep cellar. Once she was underground, she could hardly make out the drumming of rain. She didn't have to see the lightning at all, but there was no escape from the furious roar of thunder. Hideous!
She crawled behind the freezer, and sat down. She did feel quite a bit safer now. Apart from anything else it was good to be home again, but she quickly found there wasn't much to do down here. There was a pile of old magazines, so she looked through some of those. In the freezer there was also a large box of choc ices. She ate all of those, but she didn't enjoy them very much. Ooooo!
Finally she heard the front door open. “Hi darling!” called a voice, “I'm back from the launch party!”
“'Ello?” said Octavia suspiciously, “Who is it?"
“Claudia of course! Who do you think it is?”
“Well I never went to school.”
“Oh honestly darling!”
Footsteps bustled down the stairs. The light flashed on, but Octavia still dared not look out from behind the freezer. “OOOOOOOOOOO!” she howled.
“Oh you poor old thing!” said Claudia sympathetically, “Where are you?”
“I'm down here behind the freezer,” whimpered Octavia, “Ooo Claudia, isn't the storm absolutely awful?"
“But I've told you, it's nothing to worry about. Anyway you'll have to come out soon because you've got a date tonight.”
“Not going.”
“But you must. I mean, it's not fair to put him off at such short notice."
“That's true. You do it." And Octavia threw her Filofax over the freezer.
"Goodness darling this thing weighs a ton!" said Claudia, "I never understand why don't just put it all on your phone?"
"Because we're all too dominated by technology and this makes an aesthetically satisfying change," said Octavia, "Eeeek!"
"Yes well this is hardly the moment to debate that." There was the sound of ruffling pages. "Oh wow!" exclaimed Claudia, "This is quite some date you have. '6.30: Sir Rudolf Bebbington, Claridges. 8: Lord Cavendish, Burlington House. 9.30: Crown Prince Nicolai of Svorgensklikken, The Savoy'. How on earth do I contact the Crown Prince Nicolai of Svorgensklikken?”
“He's at the Icelandic Embassy,” grizzled Octavia, "OooooooooOOOOO!"
“OK OK," said Claudia briskly, "But are you absolutely sure about this? I mean, the weather forecast said it would clear up later.”
“No it won't!” said Octavia firmly, “The cosmos is gripped by an elemental turbulence and I'm not coming out all day!"
“Then fine. Let's get busy and blow out this party!” Claudia hurried back up the stairs, and silence fell.
Octavia stuck the tip of her nose out from behind the freezer. Actually the cellar almost was silents now. The hiss of rain had faded away altogether, but by straining her ears very hard she could just make out a faint rumbling in the distance. Vile! She pulled her nose back in, and flipped gloomily through a copy of 'The Terrier'.
Soon the footsteps trotted back down the stairs. “All done, darling,” said Claudia, “You are now guaranteed man-free for the night.”
“Thank you so much for helping out, Claudia,” said Octavia, “How did the boys take it?”
“Pretty well. They all said you're a poor angel. They all send their love, and they're all going to have a little gift sent over to cheer you up.”
“Don't want any stupid designer jewelery,” moped Octavia, “I'm shaking so hard, it would probably rattle and snap and diamonds would fly all over the...”
Suddenly a shaft of sunlight flooded down the stairs and across the floor. “There you are!” said Claudia, “I told you the storm would soon pass over.”
"Hmm," said Octavia suspiciously, "Are you sure it's not a particularly long flash of lightning?”
“Of course it isn't. Look, why don't you come upstairs and see for yourself?”
“Well, all right,” said Octavia guardedly, “But if anything goes boom I'm coming straight back again.”
She climbed stiffly to her feet. She brushed a cobweb off her tail, then she nervously followed Claudia up the stairs, along the hall, and into the drawing room.
Octavia's drawing room was full of light. It was always a beautiful room. It was airy and luxuriously furnished, but now it was also sparkling with golden sunbeams. They cascaded down the velvet curtains; wove through the elegant porcelain vases; and reclined on the sofa among the oriental silk cushions. The storm had vanished, and the whole day seemed born again.
“Huh!” flounced Octavia, “Well I say it's not very nice!” And she sulkily threw herself down on the cushions.
“But I don't understand, darling," said Claudia, sitting down beside her, "I thought you wanted the storm to go away?”
“I did,” grumbled Octavia, "But now we'll probably have a bootiful starry evening, and I'll be stuck here with no date.”
“Well I told you to be careful. Anyway, you don't have to give up yet. There are lots of other men in your Filofax, so why don't you see if one of them is free?”
“Ah yes!” said Octavia, brightening up again, “Good idea, Claudia!” She grabbed her Filofax from the coffee table, and flipped through to the 'Men' section. Carefully she studied the long list of names. “Hmm,” she said finally, “Yes, I think I'll call Baron Gustav von Liebenitz. I haven't seen him since Venice, but he won't have forgotten that in a hurry.” She grabbed her mobile phone, and dialled.
“Gustav,” said a voice.
“'Ello, big boy!” said Octavia coyly, “You'll never guess who's back in town. Twinkletail!”
“Octavia!” exclaimed Gustav, “I had no idea you were in London?”
“Luckily for you, yes. I finished my continental business earlier than planned, so I caught the overnight flight home. I thought you'd be pleased!”
“I am, and rather hopeful too,” he said, “Tell me, what is the purpose of this delightful surprise call?”
“Oh, it's just a thought. As I'm available, I was wondering if you would care to take me out this evening?”
“Tonight? Oh I'd love to, but unfortunately I have to work tonight.”
She stiffened. “Work?” she asked coldly.
“I'm afraid so," he said, “I'm setting up a real estate deal in Switzerland, and I have to entertain a delegation of St Bernards.”
“Well that's charming!” she spat, “That's absolutely charming, isn't it Gustav? Have you forgotten Venice already?”
“Of course I haven't but...”
“But you'd rather gossip about kennels with a bunch of hairy brutes than go on a date with me. What's the matter, don't you love me?”
“Of course I do but...”
“Then pick me up in an hour and take me somewhere glamorous or I'll never speak to you again!” She threw the phone over her shoulder. "That's another problem with mobile phones, Claudia,” she snarled, “You can't slam 'em down!”
“I wouldn't worry, darling,” said Claudia, “You made your point pretty well anyway." She jumped up and grabbed her briefcase. "I'll see you tomorrow, darling," she said, "I hope you enjoy your evening, but don't get too excited yet in case Gustav doesn't show." She swept out of the door, and Octavia smiled knowingly to herself.
“Oh he'll show,” she murmured, “He'll show.” And she scurried upstairs to get ready.
First, she went into the bathroom and ran a deep bubble bath. Then she took out her aromatherapy candles and her crystals. She arranged them alternately on a ley line around the edge of the bath, and lit the candles. The crystals glowed by the light of the dancing flames. Next, she switched on her audio system. She selected a new age composition of pan pipes and celestial choirs, and then she dived headfirst into the water.
She floated blissfully up and down. Octavia believed in crystal therapy. She believed in everything like that really. For her the secret of happiness was to cleanse your energy flows, and nurture your holistic star being. Or perhaps it was just that she had too much money and not enough to do. Anyway it smelt really good.
Soon she was feeling very relaxed. The steam swirled in golden clouds above her, and her holistic star being certainly seemed to like the pan pipes. In fact, somebody was lazily doodling strange shapes in the clouds now. Octavia floated round in a circle, and watched admiringly. It was a lovely effect. Suddenly the air was full of a collage of all her favourite things. There were diamonds, and oceans. There were orchids and peaches and stars, and through the steam she even thought she could see her sister...
Miss Pringle too was in a steam-filled room. She was bent double over a large tin bath, and water, bubbles and pups were whizzing in all directions. “Right!” she announced, “Who's next for a good scrub?”
Molly and Polly splashed across. “Oh Miss Pringle this is...” squeaked Molly.
“...super!” squealed Polly, “We're playing hide and seek in the...”
“...steam with Millicent!” concluded Molly.
“And you've just found her!” shrieked a voice. Millicent leapt out of a passing cloud. Molly and Polly screamed, and they all doggy-paddled off into the steam together.
“Come back here at once!” stormed Miss Pringle, “This is a bathtub, and not an amusement park!”
Gemma hopped up onto the side of the bath. “But Miss Pringle, it's all SO thrilling!” she chirped, “We just can't HELP ourselves!” She leapt off and did a back-flip in the air. Miss Pringle caught her, and began to scrub her vigorously with a large brush. Gemma squirmed and giggled. “Help, girls!” she squealed, “I'm being attacked by the Razorfinned Pringle Shark!”
“Everybody calm down,” ordered Miss Pringle, “I can see no reason to get over- excited. Hygene is important, and bathtime should be a serious affair.”
Just then a small galleon sailed past manned by three pups. “WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” shrieked Miss Pringle, “THE TOYS ARE FOR DECORATIVE PURPOSES ONLY!”
Harriet span the ship's wheel. “Sorry Miss Pringle, can't stop!” she called, “We're off to battle the Pirate Queen of Skull Island!”
“Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Miss Pringle, “There are no islands in this bath, and there are certainly no pirates.”
Suddenly Hetty leapt out from under Miss Pringle's mob cap. She wore a pirate hat and an eye patch, and waved a tiny plastic sword. “Ahoy me hearties!” she roared, “Ye'll never capture Skull Island from old Hetty the Horrible! Yo ho ho and a bottle of bilberry cordial!”
Miss Pringle made a furious grab for her, but it was too late. Harriet docked the boat on the hot tap. The three crew leapt out, scrambled up Miss Pringle's crinoline, and began to fence wildly with Hetty on her head.
Just then Agnes looked round the door. “How's it going, Miss Pringle?” she asked tactfully, “Could you do with any help?”
“I've heard some silly questions in my time,” sighed Miss Pringle, watching the furious battle raging on her head, “but I think that was the silliest.”
“Right then,” snarled Agnes, “Let's show these pirates show really rules the waves!” She grabbed a loofah and advanced determinedly on Skull Island...
Aaaaah! thought Octavia. Sweet. She loved the dear little puppies. She sometimes went up to stay with them at the fort, and at home she always kept a picture of them by her bed. Gustav had once irritably asked why it wasn't a picture of him, but she just laughed and playfully pecked him on the cheek. The jealous old big boy. Which reminded her, he would be here any minute and she really should be getting on. She floated round the bath one last time, then she leapt out and scuttled through to the bedroom.
From the wardrobe, she chose a glamorous midnight blue evening gown. She put it on, then she sat down at her dressing table and opened her jewellery box. Inside there was a dazzling array of brooches, rings and necklaces. She wished she had the mysterious de Valois diamonds, but apparently some woman in Lusharia had to die before she would get those. The cow. Still, she did have some very pretty amethyst earrings Olivier had given her last night. She slipped them on, and looked at herself in the mirror. The finished effect was breathtaking. She was a true vision of feminine loveliness, so then she hurried downstairs to wait for Gustav.
It was dark by now. When she reached the drawing room, a pale crescent moon hung in the window. She stole inside, but still she did not switch on any lights. The moon was too beautiful for that. Quietly she straightened the cushions. She tidied away a few magazines and she was just checking her evening bag, when a Rolls-Royce drew up outside. She swept a purple pashmina around her bare shoulders. Then she floated out of the house, into the car, and straight into the arms of Gustav.
“My mistress!” he growled.
“My very world!” she breathed. She offered her cheek and he kissed it lingeringly, then he looked seriously at her.
“I have come,” he said, “to beg your forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness?” she said modestly, “Forgiveness for what, Gustav?”
“For insulting you. I was very rude this afternoon. I should not have even thought of putting work before you, and I intend to make amends. I can take you to the opera at Covent Garden. I can offer my private box and supper at the Savoy, and I only hope these tokens will excuse my disloyalty.”
“Lovely,” said Octavia. Gustav snapped his claws at the chauffeur, and they glided on into the night.
Half an hour later, Octavia and Gustav were sipping cocktails in the Floral Hall at the Royal Dogpera House Covent Garden. It was one of Octavia's favourite nightspots. The hall was a huge, wonderfully romantic conservatory. Ornate windows and glittering galleries rose to the roof. Tonight the theatre was hosting a gala opera performance, and the beautiful dogs were out in force. There were seductive Setters, and hunky Huskies. Pert Pekes, and muscular Mastiffs. There were coy Collies and burly Boxers and delectable Dalmations, but Octavia was the only Lusharian Desert Hound. And she was astoundingly adorable.
“Goodness gracious!” said a seductive Setter behind her menu card, “Over there, that lovely girl with Baron Gustav von Liebenitz. Surely it's la Grande Contessa Octavia de Beauvoir, mistress of Lusharia and heiress to the mysterious de Valois diamonds?”
"You're right," whispered a pert Peke, “The Baron is a naughty boy. Why, I read only this morning Octavia is dating his arch rival.”
“Shocking. Still, you can't blame the man. Octavia is looking ravishing even by her own standards."
“That really is the only word for it. I simply must find out who does her tail!”
That was what Octavia thought they were saying anyway. And she
was probably right.
Suddenly she felt a paw on her hip. She span round, and found herself face to face with her ex-close personal friend Wolfgang, 12th Earl of Glausepharbenn.“Wolfie!” she gasped, “I had no idea you were in the audience?”
“I see by the fact you have a gentleman companion that you did not,” he said pointedly, “Good evening, my dear.”
“And a very good evening to you,” she said graciously, “This is a pleasant coincidence. I haven't seen you since Monte Carlo, so I trust you are well?”
“As well as can be expected in the circumstances. You may be surprised to see me, but I hoped I would find you here.”
“Oh, really? Then this is not a chance encounter after all?”
“No. You have been avoiding me since you so humiliatingly jilted me, Octavia. I needed to speak to you, and I knew your friend here is keen on opera. Among other pleasures.” He scowled at Gustav, add Octavia laughed lightly.
“Sweet old Wolfie!” she said, “You always were rather highly strung, but let's not spoil this special evening. Tell me Gustav, do you know the Earl?”
“Only from the 'News in Brief' columns on the financial pages,” said Gustav acidly, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“I have no wish to bandy words with you, sir!” spat Wolfgang, “Let's go outside now and settle this thing like gentlemen!”
“Oh Wolfgang please!” said Octavia emotionally, “Why can't you just let go of the past?”
“The past is one thing,” said Wolfgang curtly, “However, romantic vows are quite another.”
“But romance can be fleeting. We were both just swept away, but now I deserve to move on with my life in peace.”
“Is that your final word on the matter?”
“It is,” said Octavia haughtily.
“Very well,” declared the Earl, “You have made your feelings clear, but I warn you, Octavia. If I cannot have you, then nobody shall!” And he swept into the night with his cloak billowing vengefully behind him.
“I must say, Agnes,” said Miss Pringle, “You bake a ve-e-ery flaky mushroom cobbler!”
“Thank you,” said Agnes, “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”
“And the vegetables were first rate. I must compliment you on some particularly piquant parsnips.”
“Er, right. Would you like an after-dinner mint?”
“Don't mind if I do!”
Miss Pringle sank down into her armchair by the fire, and sighed contentedly. This was always her favourite moment of the day. Lessons had been taught, and the firewood dutifully gathered. The pups were fed and bathed, and with a delicious dinner behind her her sense of repletion was almost complete.
Agnes sat down in her chair and handed her a box of mints. Miss Pringle took one, and nibbled reflectively. “But of course that is not the sum of the matter,” she continued, “There remains to be considered the dessert.”
"Yes, I suppose there does,” frowned Agnes, “Was there some problem with it?”
"Oh absolutely not. The syrup sponge was excellent. I've long been a champion of our traditional English puddings, but I don't think even I have snaffled such a succulent syrup sponge!”
“Yes well jolly good," said Agnes briskly, "You're a pleasure to cook for, but before you lose all grip on reality can I remind you it's almost time for 'Doreen the Daredevil'?”
“Oh no!" groaned Miss Pringle.
She glowered at the wireless. It stood to one side of the fireplace: a big old-fashioned set with a wooden case and an illuminated dial. The pups were sitting in a semi-circle round the base, and staring expectantly at the dial. Miss Pringle sighed. 'Doreen the Daredevil' was the pups' favourite programme. It was a weekly children's serial, featuring the adventures of a Border Terrier pup in a flying helmet.
"Do we need to listen to this every week, Agnes?" said Miss Pringle restlessly, "I was thinking it might be healthy to try out some different activities on alternate weeks. I mean, it's so moronic.”
“That would be rather unfair," said Agnes, “The pups have been following the programme for 69 episodes, so what exactly do you have against it?”
"Well for one thing the plot's so predictable. Doreen escapes from a blazing cave with the aid of her trusty umbrella. Then she hurries back to her boss at the Colonial Office. 'Well done, Doreen,' he says, 'You really came up trumps that time, but now the whole British Empire is in your paws.' Then he gives her a mission to find some secret plans. She hikes over a mountain range, to a lonely old castle. She finds the plans. A guard finds her. They chase each other round and round the castle and before you know it she's tied to a crumbling cliff till next week. Sometimes I wish the mettlesome little pest would just settle down!”
“I suppose you could have a point," said Agnes, “However, I just don't think everyone agrees with you.” She pointed at the pups, who were glaring impatiently at Miss Pringle.
She heaved herself out of her chair and shuffled across. “All right, ladies?” she said brightly, “Anyone for Scrabble?”
“But Miss Pringle it's Doreen night!” said Heidi excitedly, “We can't wait to see how she escapes from the flooded mineshaft. Can I sit on your lap?”
“Oh very well," said Miss Pringle reluctantly, “But only on the condition you try to stay calm, Heidi. You got very carried away last week and pulled the fringe off my shawl!”
She turned the knob on the wireless. The dial glowed into life, and she hurried back to her chair. Heidi flew through the air and landed on her knee.
“Calling all pups!” declared the announcer, “The time is now 6 o'clock. Once again we invite you to join us for another adventure with...” A trumpet blew an urgent fanfare. “Doreen the Daredevil!” An orchestra struck up a sinister gallop, and Heidi began to shake all over.
“Now just remember what I told you, Heidi,” said Miss Pringle, “Stay calm.”
“All right, Miss Pringle,” said Heidi, “I will try.” The gallop faded away, and was replaced by the sound of frantically sloshing water.
Straight away Miss Pringle's thoughts began to wander. The serial was the same old tedious routine. The villain cackled, Doreen got busy with her trusty umbrella, and empires were saved all over the place. It was harmless enough for children, but as headmistress she had more important things to worry about. The recent wave of protests over Sunday tea was most unsettling. Obviously the menu of bread and butter would have to be updated. It was good to be adaptable and she was just wondering if the pups would accept bread and jam instead, when an urgent gasp cut through her musings.
“But Colonel von Wittenberg!” exclaimed Doreen, “Why are you tying me to a stake in the middle of this tropical lagoon?”
“Simple, my little von,” growled the Colonel, “In a few minutes ze crocodiles vill returns for zair dinner. Zay vill be ravenously hungry, and tonight you are ze main course! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAR!” The orchestra thundered out a menacing chord, and then it dived into the gallop again.
Heidi screamed. Miss Pringle made a desperate grab for her shawl, but it was too late. Heidi caught hold of the fringe, and they wrestled together. Miss Pringle clung on tightly. She simply would not tolerate this rowdy behaviour. It had gone on long enough, but then suddenly Heidi sprang from her lap. She slid down her skirt, gave a great roar, and ripped the pompoms off her slippers.
“OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE !” raged Miss Pringle, “NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU SILLY LITTLE PUP!”
Agnes stood up tactfully. “That was rather careless, Heidi,” she said, “Can I pass you your sewing basket, Miss Pringle?”
“Not quite yet, thank you,” said Miss Pringle tersely, “I have some correspondence to attend to. Take a letter please, Agnes.”
Agnes fetched a pen and writing pad from the dresser. She sat down again, and Miss Pringle sat back and pressed her claw-tips thoughtfully together.
“'Dear Sir,'” she dictated,
I am the headmistress of a renowned prep school in Northumbria. For some years my pupils and I have tuned in to your weekly serial 'Doreen the Daredevil'. I had understood this programme to be suitable for young audiences, but imagine my dismay this evening when the story so inflamed one of my pupils she ripped the pompoms off my slippers.
I enclose my cobbler's bill. I hope you will attend to this matter without delay. Thank you for your attention, and in closing I would just add that unless you restrain your scriptwriters in future we will dance to the gramophone instead.
Yours Sincerely,
Miss J. Pringle B.Ed (York)'
That should put the wind up them, eh Agnes?”
“I'm sure it will," said Agnes, “It's slightly over the top, but I must admit the pups seem very worked up.” She pointed at the rug, where a wild game had now broken out. Hetty was tying up Heidi with a piece of string, and ann imaginary lagoon seethed with small furry crocodiles.
“STOP IT IMMEDIATELY!” shrieked Miss Pringle, “UNLESS YOU ARE IN BED IN ONE MINUTE I WILL NOT READ YOU 'THE WATER BABIES'!”
Hetty twirled her imaginary moustache. “Zo I haff you at larst, my little von!” she cackled, “I am glad you could join us for dinner, but now ze pleasure vill be orl mine. Crocs, dig in!”
Heidi screamed. The crocodiles pounced, but then Agnes leapt up.“Time for bed, girls!” she said brightly, “Hurry along, and if you're quick I'll tell you about the time I saw a crocodile in the river!”
“YIPPEE!” cheered the pups. And they stampeded away up the Great Staircase.
“Excellent work, Agnes," said Miss Pringle, “I thought you handled that very well.”
“Glad you approve," said Agnes, “As you always say, there are times when one has to take the initiative.”
“It's true that distraction is often the best policy, although," she added doubtfully, "regarding this crocodile in the river business, you didn't really did you?”
“No,” smiled Agnes, “But I'll think of something!” And she hurried away after the pups.
Miss Pringle rummaged in the magazine rack and plucked out 'The Headmistress's Gazette'. “Thought not,” she murmured, leafing briskly through, “'Doreen the Daredevil' indeed! Not very good, is it? I mean things like that just don't happen. Things like that never happen in real life."
Or did they?
She looked up, and stared thoughtfully into the glittering flames. That was an unusual thought for her to have. She was a realist by nature, but then not everybody took that view. There was Octavia for a start. She had been reduced to a gibbering wreck by the thunderstorm, but now the skies had cleared, what would she be doing? The flames winked. Miss Pringle peered. No doubt her sister was out somewhere exotic, and a shimmering picture seemed to appear before her mind's eye...
CHAPTER 5
Suddenly she felt a paw on her hip. She looked at Gustav, but he was still gripping his opera glasses, so whose paw was this?
“Carlos!” she guessed, “I had no idea you were into opera?”
Suddenly a pair of arms grabbed her from behind. They dragged her backwards out of the box, and bundled her into a sack.
“All right, Alf?” said a coarse voice.
“Trussed up good and proper,” said another, “Let's scarper and get 'er back to the boss at the Manor.”
Ooo! thought Octavia.
It was very dark in the sack. It was very bumpy too, but then the bumping stopped and an engine started. That was intriguing, but slightly worrying too. She seemed to be in some kind of car, and she could only hope it was a model fit for a celebrity. Usually she refused to travel in anything less than a Bentley and she was about to demand a few details, when suddenly she felt dizzy.
She pressed a paw to her face with surprise. She didn't suffer from travel sickness, so what was happening now? Had she put her crystals on the wrong ley line and got her energy flows in a twist? It seemed possible, but then she remembered the waiter in the bar. The peculiar one in the long black cloak. She was just perusing the cocktails list, when suddenly he rushed across, thrust a glass at her, muttered “Drink this!” and then burst out of the door with a maniacal cackle. The drink hadn't been very pleasant either. It had purple smoke rising from the top, and when she tried it it tasted really funny. Standards had clearly slipped here, but it was too late to worry about that now.
A well of dizziness whirled below her. Her senses reeled. They struggled to keep a hold on the world, but it was no use. The darkness span faster and faster, then with a great roar it tore her from consciousness. So she just sank helplessly back into the black void...
She was sitting in the middle of a huge country house library. Around her stretched an ocean of plush burgundy carpet. The walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling, and the windows looked out onto darkened treetops. She stared with astonishment. She couldn't imagine where she was, but then she realised she was not alone. In one corner stood a large desk. It was made of mahogany and heavily carved, and behind it sat Wolfgang.
She gaped. “You!” she exclaimed.
“Indeed,” he said steelily.
“But...” she stammered, “But it can't be!”
“Of course, I quite understand your surprise. However unluckily for you, my merciless angel, it is.”
Octavia bristled indignantly. “How dare you!” she spat, “After everything you have put me through, you dare to call me merciless?”
“Oh I am sorry, Octavia,” he glowered, “Is that epithet too blunt for you? Then how do you prefer cruel, or coldly coquettish?”
“I have no time to play games with you. Why have you brought me here, you monster?”
“I cannot believe you really need to ask." He jumped to his feet, and prowled intently towards her. “We have unfinished business,” he said brusquely, “You made a fool of me once, but never let it be said I give up on a beautiful lady.”
“What can you know of true beauty?” she said fervently, “What can a beast like you know of virtue or passion or eternal love?”
“Very little, since you heartlessly thrust me aside. However, all that is in the past. If you will now agree to be my wife, we can forget the whole sordid episode and begin our relationship afresh.”
“And if I refuse you?”
“Then I will hold you here until you relent. The Baron cannot help you now, you know. Henchstone Manor is miles from anywhere. Nobody knows of my secret country hideaway, and you will remain my prisoner indefinitely!”
Octavia's blood ran cold. It seemed she had underestimated Wolfgang's tenacity, and also his cunning. Her predicament now was dire, but there had to be some way she could fight back...
She sighed and modestly shook her head. “Yes you're quite right, darling,” she said remorsefully, “I have a weakness for games of love, but I can see now I have treated you appallingly from the start.”
“Oh, really?” he said guardedly, “So you agree you pushed me beyond the limits of endurance?"
"To be honest I'm surprised you didn't crack sooner. However, the time for games is past now. Come over here, and I'll show you how I really feel about you.” She enticingly lifted one eyebrow. He hesitated, and his face darkened in a storm of suspicion and desire. Then he advanced towards her. She invitingly tossed back her head. She prepared a kiss on her lips, and the huge hound bore down on her.
Suddenly she lashed out with her stiletto. She struck him on the shoulder, and he reeled backwards across the room sending furniture flying in all directions. He stumbled to his feet, and his eyes flashed with fury.
“Very well, Octavia!” he snapped, "Continue your tormet of me if you must, but I warn you. Nobody mocks the Earl and gets away with it!” And he stormed broodingly out of the door.
Yeeeaaaaah!
So that was all really good. The evening had got off to rather a slow start, but now things had hotted up no end. She tried to stretch contentently, but then she felt the ropes twined around her again. She glanced uneasily at them. It was certainly exciting being tied up in a country house library, but it was also a bit uncomfortable. And lonely. And dangerous too. Octavia stopped being excited, and trembled. Actually she was in quite a mess now. A powerful and ruthless man like Wolfgang was not to be trifled with, but how could she ever escape? She was bound immovably to the chair. The desk and windows were beyond reach, and the door just a distant dream. In fact all she had to help was her evening bag. It was still hooked on one wrist, but for once she couldn't rely on her credit cards and make-up to rescue her.
Then suddenly she remembered the claw scissors. Of course! They had been a present last Christmas from her sister at the fort. They hadn't seemed very useful at the time. Octavia had her claws done by Pierre at 'Chez Pierre', but she always kept the scissors in her bag because they reminded her of the pups. Octavia loved children. Aaaaah!
She hastily clicked open the bag. It was full of designer accessories, but at the bottom nestled a small tweed pouch. With some difficulty she removed it. She squeezed out a neat pair of scissors, and carefully hooked them onto her claws. Then she snip-snapped away at the ropes until they broke. Yeah!
She leapt to her feet. The ropes fell away, and she darted to the window. She looked out, but then her heart sank. The library was on the second floor. A sheer wall of ivy fell away before her, but then again Lusharian Desert Hounds did have exceptionally long legs. Stealthily she opened the window. She climbed out, and silently closed it behind her. Then she wrapped her legs round the ivy and scrambled down to the ground. Yeah yeah!
She peered cautiously around her. She was standing on the house's forecourt at the top of a long gravel driveway. It swept through acres of shadowy parkland to a pair of tall gates, but luckily the gates were open. She sprinted gleefully down the drive. It was great fun getting the better of Wolfgang like this. pompous men were all bark and no bite and she was just about to burst to freedom, when a Rottweiler stepped out from behind the gatepost.
Octavia flinched away. The Rottweiler looked like some kind of bodyguard. He wore a tight dinner jacket over his muscular frame, and a scowl on his surly face.
“Good evening, madam,” he said steelily, “And who might you be?”
“Ooo!” said Octavia doubtfully, “Ooo well I'm... I'm the cleaning lady. I forgot my feather duster, so I just popped back to fetch it.”
“Really?” he said suspiciously, “You don't appear to be carrying a feather duster.”
“Er, no. No well I suppose I must have forgotten it again!”
“And if you don't mind my saying so you look a bit glamorous for a cleaning lady. Wait there, and we'll see what the boss says about this.” He pulled a mobile phone from his jacket, but then she caught his paw.
“One moment, young man,” she said coyly, “I know you're only doing your job, but did you just say glamorous?”
“I did,” he glowered, “You certainly fit that description.”
“Then forgive me, but do I take it that you find me attractive?”
“Well, yes,” he said hesitantly, “Yes I suppose I do...”
“I am flattered, young man,” she said flirtatiously, “Well then perhaps we can come to some arrangement. Perhaps I haven't told you quite the whole truth, but would you let me to go on my way in return for... a kiss?” She invitingly tilted her head, and the guard's eyes clouded with temptation.
“Well I don't know about that,” he murmured, “It's rather irregular, and of course it would have to be our little secret...”
“But of course,” she smiled, “Among other qualities, I happen to be quite impeccably discreet.”
“I see," he growled, "Well in that case, what are we waiting for?”
“What indeed?” she breathed. She ardently threw back her head, and his great form swooped hungrily down on her.
Suddenly she lashed out with her other foot. She struck him in the chest, and he fell backwards into the hedge with a crash. She rushed triumphantly through the gates. “SORRY BIG BOY!” she shrieked, "I'M DOING SOME DUSTING TONIGHT, BUT SOME OTHER TIME PERHAPS!” She roared with laughter and swerved down the road, but then she blinked.
Before her a deserted country lane stretched away into the night. It was barely a road at all, but just an unlit stony track. The guard was still thrashing hopelessly about in the hedge, so she skidded to a halt and peered into the distance. Far away the lights of a village could be seen sparkling faintly. It would be too obvious to head that way, but on the other side of the lane a wood began. It was dark and dense, so she decided to hide in there until thing had quietened down. She ran some way into the trees. They closed tightly behind her. She found a stout oak and slipped behind the trunk, and then she sat down.
The wood loomed huge and dark before her. She blinked nervously. On all sides trees surrounded her like a wall of grey ghosts. They reached up with their gaunt arms to salute the starless sky, and there was no sign of life anywhere.
Octavia felt very small indeed.
She felt in her evening bag, and pulled out the brown nylon lead. She was quite insulted when Claudia had clapped it on her this morning. She had intended to fling it out of the limousine window into the river on the way home, but the guard had been right about her looking incongruously glamorous. The lead would at least be some disguise to fool her pursuers, so she hastily clipped it on.
Just then she heard a distant roar. She looked up sharply, but the wood was empty. She rose warily to her feet. The noise had sounded very like the angry bodyguard, so she took a step back into the trees.
Suddenly something grabbed at her sleeve. She gasped, but it was just a branch. She pulled free and hurried on into the wood. Then there was another roar. The guard sounded closer and even angrier now, and so she broke into a run.
It wasn't easy running in stilettos. Her legs twisted and buckled like a puppet, so she stopped and tore off the shoes. Not that she could afford to just drop them. She mustn't leave any trace of her route, so she shoved them under a pile of old leaves. Then she ran on.
She ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Luckily that was fast because she had long legs, but behind her the roars grew ever louder. In fact it sounded like not just one guard now, but a whole pack of them. She ran and ran until it hurt. Time and again she thought she glimpsed a road beyond the trees. She burst through, but on the other side there were just more trees. They waved and grotesquely gesticulated as if showing the guards where she was, so she ran on again.
Finally her path was blocked by a row of huge trees. She looked frantically round, but there was no way out of the clearing. Behind her the roars were closing in, and ahead was a dead end. She was cornered. She dived into a bush and crawled underneath, and lay still.
Great roars rained down all around. The guards sounded almost on top of her now, and their voices were wild and vengeful. She pressed herself desperately to the ground. The noise made her shake all over, but there was nowhere else to hide.
Suddenly the bush ripped open. Noise and light and raging breath broke over her. She cried out, but then she gaped.
Hovering high over the wood was a huge black helicopter. The propellors roared deafeningly, and beneath hung a pair of piercing searchlights. She stared in shock. So that was how her pursuers had tracked her down. Wolfgang was nothing if not ingenious, and suddenly a long steel prong extended from the helicopter. On the end was a gleaming hook. It closed determinedly on her, but she just stood still and watched defeatedly. She knew she was beaten, and now she could only await her fate.
The hook grabbed the end of her lead. It yanked her into the air, and she dangled and writhed like an impaled fish. It seemed to be toying with her before finally reeling her in, but then she noticed something. In the cockpit she could see the pilot clearly now. He was a huge and formidable figure, yet he wasn't Wolfgang. He wasn't even one of the Rottweiler guards, but a swarthy German Shepherd in a sternly monogrammed flying suit. And suddenly she realised what was happening.
"Gunther!” she gasped, “I had no idea you were always in the right place at the right time?"
“But of course, my love!” called Gunther, “Whenever you are in need, I will be there. Come aboard!”
"Ooo I will!" she cheered.
He pulled a handle on his control panel. A hatch opened in the side of the helicopter, and then the prong began to retract again. Octavia sighed with relief and joy. Count Gunther von Heldenlieben the 18th was a close personal friend of her's. He was the master of a Bavarian mountain province, and what's more he was a very punctual person. He carefully manoeuvred her towards the craft. It was frightening being suspended high over the trees, but she revolved winsomely on the lead so he could admire her hips. He guided her smoothly into the cockpit. The hatch closed, and she slipped free of the prong. Then she fell into the arms of Gunther.
“My hero!” she sighed.
“My dearest angel!” he growled.
“Oh Gunther it's so marvellous to see you!” she exclaimed, “Thank goodness you arrived in time!”
“Calm yourself, Octavia,” he said, “I heard of your kidnapping on the radio, and I knew at once who was responsible.”
“But how did you know where I was? Wolfgang said nobody would ever find me here.”
“That was just a cruel bluff. A monster like that would stop at nothing, but he will trouble you no more now. See.” He pointed out of the window, and Octavia looked.
Far below, Henchstone Manor was teeming with life now. Flashing police cars lined the forecourt, and Wolfgang was being led away in pawcuffs by two policedogs. As they bundled him into a van, he glanced up at the helicopter. He saw Octavia, and his whole face darkened with a cold, brooding fury. But then Gunther pulled the joystick and the helicopter turned away.
“Oh how horrible!” exclaimed Octavia, “What would have happened to me if you hadn't come to my aid?”
“You must not dwell on the past, darling,” said Gunther comfortingly, “You are safe, and that is all that matters to me."
“How lucky I am to have you,” she said emotionally, “Chivalry is still the hallmark of a gentleman, and you have shown all the devotion a woman could ask for. Have you got a pen?”
“A pen?” he frowned, “Why?”
“Oh, just an idea,” she said lightly, “I thought I might flash Wolfgang a saucy little sign saying 'BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, MR HUNKY!'”
“In that case definitely not,” glowered Gunther, “Honestly Octavia, I come literally flying to your aid and this is all the thanks I get!”
“Aaah don't you worry, big boy!” she simpered, “I'm only having a little joke. To London if you please, and if you're lucky a quick goodnight kiss isn't out of the question!”
“Now that's more like it!” he beamed, “The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, here we come!” He urged the helicopter higher. Octavia snuggled up next to him, and as they turned for the horizon the blaze of police lights was erased by the gentle glow of the stars.
“Tea, Miss Pringle?”
She
jumped. The voice has seemed to come from nowhere. For a moment she couldn't
work out where she was, but then she realised. She was sitting in her armchair
in the Great Hall. The fire was blazing, 'The Headmistress's Gazette' lay at
her feet, and Agnes was standing over her with a tray of tea and pikelets. “Oh...” stammered Miss Pringle, “Oh, hello!”
“Hi,” said Agnes gently, “I'm sorry, did I wake you up?”
“I... I don't know. Yes, I think you probably must have done.”
“Well you just come round slowly, and I'll fix us some supper.” She put the tray down on the table, and poured out two cups of tea.
Miss Pringle stared groggily at her. In a sense this was the most familiar scene in the world. Agnes and she shared supper together every night, but it was quite a shock after all the opera houses and forests and sinister helicopters. Of course it was quite obvious what had happened. Musing on what her sister would be up to, she had dropped off by the fire and then dreamt up the whole thing. It had certainly been very convincing, but that was the price of a vivid imagination.
If imagination was quite the word for it...
She hastily snatched up her magazine from the floor. “I do apologise, Agnes,” she said, “I was miles away just then."
“Well that's understandable,” said Agnes, “After all, you've had a very busy day. Pikelet?”
“Thank you. I can cope with busy days, but I was having the most extraordinary dream about Octavia.”
“Really? What were you both doing?”
“Well, I wasn't really doing anything. Somehow I could just see what she was doing. She was on a date at the opera, when suddenly a pair of arms grabbed her from behind and...” She paused, then she laughed bashfully. “Forget it,” she said modestly, “You know what I'm like with my outlandish dreams, and I don't want to put you off your supper!”
“Shame,” said Agnes, “It sounded like it would spice up the pikelets no end!”
“I'll stick with butter, personally. Anyway I'm rather surprised I dropped off at all. I was just reading a fascinating report in 'The Headmistress's Gazette', about the Hot Water Bottle Controversy.”
“The what?” frowned Agnes.
“Agnes honestly!” said Miss Pringle briskly, “The issue has been widely discussed in the press recently. If a pup's hot water bottle bursts in the night, is it the headmistress's duty to lend the girl her own?"
“I, er, see. Well that certainly is an interesting question."
“And a very contentious one too. It comes up every winter, so now the Headmistress's Association has had a vote, and apparently we've decided that it is incumbent on the headmistress to surrender her facility.”
"Ah, right. Well it's good of the Association to take such a selfless position.”
“You're only saying that because you're a deputy headmistress,” glowered Miss Pringle, "Anyway it’s all right. We've also passed an amendment to the effect that if it's a particularly cold night you can stuff her in a bedsock instead.”
Agnes pulled a novel off the shelf and tossed it in her lap. "I think you might find that rather more soothing," she sighed, “What a feast of vibrant intellectual debate we deputy headmistresses miss out on.”
“You apparently do,” smiled Miss Pringle, “but don't take it too hard. Your turn will come.”
Agnes blinked with surprise. “Oh...” she said, “Oh, do you really think so?”
“Definitely,” said Miss Pringle wisely, "I know I have my funny ways. Sometimes you must wonder what you did to deserve such an unusual mentor, but you and I always seem to get there in the end."
"Well yes, we certainly do. And I appreciate your faith in me."
"You're welcome."The two friends looked at each other, and smiled affectionately.
Then Agnes stood up. “Well the pups seem quiet,” she said, “I think I'll take my tea up to bed.”
“A cold night,” said Miss Pringle, “Bedcaps are in the airing cupboard.”
“Er thanks, but as I've mentioned before I don't wear one.”
“You do worry me, Agnes. If you caught a chill I'd have to run this place on my own.”
“And you worry me too. It's quite unnerving going into my room every night to find a bedcap draped suggestively over the pillow.”
“You should give it a try. I wear two.”
“Don't tell me. One on your tail, yes?”
“It makes you feel a-a-all funny!”
“I'm sure it does!”
“Good night, Agnes,” said Miss Pringle, “Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Miss Pringle,” said Agnes, “See you in the morning.”
She trotted away up the Great Staircase, and Miss Pringle lay back her head. Suddenly the whole hall seemed to be singing with serenity. The walls glowed. Her tea cup steamed. The fire crackled, and in her lap Jane Austen awaited. Yeeaaah!
She jumped with surprise. 'Hm!' she thought, 'Not very expected, was it? I obviously have some Lusharian Desert Hound in me after all!' She chuckled, and snuggled contentedly down into her chair.
As the helicopter swooped down on Grosvenor Terrace, Octavia threw open the door. Outside the engine was making a mighty roar. She whipped off her seatbelt, then she turned to Gunther. “Well thanks for the lift, big boy!” she shouted, “Don't bother to land, I'll take the prong!”
“As you wish, my love,” he called, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
“It is indeed. I will yearn with every breath for the day when we can be together again.” They fell into an emotional embrace, then he pulled a handle on his control panel. The steel prong extended from the helicopter. Octavia slung the brown nylon lead around it, and clung on tight to both ends. “CIAO BIG BOY!” she shrieked, “SEE YOU IN VIENNA!” And she leapt out into the night.
She slid wildly down the shaft towards her house. It was a very precarious manoeuvre in the circumstances. The gale was like a whirlpool in an ocean of blackness, but she swung saucily from side to side so he could admire the stripe up her tail. She landed with a crash on her balcony. She unhooked the lead, and waved gratefully. Gunther produced a large bouquet of roses and flung it from the cockpit. She caught it, and blew him a final lingering kiss. Then she clip-clipped into her bedroom and slammed the door.
She threw the roses on the dressing table and scuttled excitedly downstairs. She always loved being given flowers, but she couldn't wait to see what awaited her in the drawing room. Claudia often popped in when Octavia was going to be late home. She was a very good friend, and she always made the room cosy and comfortable for her. Octavia bustled inside, and smiledyt.
In the grate, a fire glowed welcomingly. The lights were tastefully dimmed, and on the dining table was a tidily arranged heap of bouquets. These were obviously the gifts from her other boyfriends, and beside them Claudia had even laid out a cold supper. Octavia hurried across and peered with interest. There was a quinoa vegetable salad, olive bread, and a dish of rich mixed berry mousse. The perfect end to a perfect evening. She pushed the bouquets aside and sat down. She would deal with them tomorrow, but then she noticed a card nestling among some lovely pink carnations. She plucked it out. It was inscribed with three anonymous kisses, but stamped with the crest of the Crown Prince Nicolai of Svorgensklikken. 'Aaaaah!' she thought. 'Good old Nicky. He's a very nice person, isn't he?' She threw the card on the fire. She hungrily scooped up a forkful of salads, but then she did something rather strange.
She put the fork down again. Then she stood up. She walked into the kitchen, found a large plate, and put on it a slice of bread, the butter dish, and a kebab skewer. Carefully she carried it all through to the fire. She sat down on the sofa, and speared the bread on the skewer. Then she began to make herself a piece of toast.
Even she couldn't understand quite what she was doing. She didn't usually eat much toast. She was more of a quinoa and cranberry girl, and if she did ever feel like a slice she usually went for ciabatta. That was the way smart London ladies did things, but she didn't feel like being smart now. Somehow she just felt like being homely.
She looked at the bread. It was crisp and golden, so she turned it over. She held it to the fire again, but then she noticed the skewer was shaking. She frowned in confusion. It certainly wasn't cold in here, and yet her paw was trembling faintly. And it was only then that she realised how scared she had been.
She sighed hopelessly. She told herself not to be so silly, but she was shaking all over now. In fact she could hardly even hold the skewer, let alone eat. It hadn't really been a perfect evening at all. It was very frightening being kidnapped and held prisoner in the country house, and then chased through the great dark woods. There was a price to pay for having such an exciting life. She was always getting into scrapes, and at moments like this she wished she was rather more like her sister.
Not that there was much chance of that. You were who you were, she reflected as she gazed at the shrinking fire, and you could always make the best of it. And anyway everything had ended up all right. Thanks to Gunther and Claudia, she was safely home again. The fire too was her friend. It was like a last glow of the day, and now all it wanted was make her toast, and see her peacefully upstairs to bed.
She stopped trembling, and smiled. That was a comforting thought, so she looked at the bread again. It was burnt.
'Hm!' she thought, 'Not very good, is it?'
She jumped. 'Ooo!' she thought, 'Fancy that. Perhaps I've got more Border Terrier in me than I thought after all!' She smothered the bread with butter, and took a large contented bite.
And
as the two sisters sat watching the last flames dance in the grate, another
happy day drew to a close.
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