Luis and the rest burst into applause. No other response seemed appropriate.
‘After all that I rather think some refreshment is called for,’ said Albert. One of the flunkeys at the back of the room melted away. ‘And as to your next mission, good Doctor,’ Albert continued, putting his arm around Hackett’s shoulders and walking with him, ‘after your very effective work among the Chartist rabble …’
Fraser Burdon nudged Luis’s elbow. ‘Albert may be keen, but it looks like his missus is less so.’ He pointed.
Luis turned, and saw through an open doorway a young woman in a white dress, book in hand, walking through an adjoining room. She struck Luis as quite pretty, though she was short and rather plump, her blue eyes a little too large, her chin a little weak. Still young, yet – if it was her – she had become Queen just a month after her eighteenth birthday, and had already borne six children. She glanced through the door at Albert’s party – Luis would have sworn she looked straight into his own eyes – and then turned away, evidently disapproving, and hurried on out of his sight.
Fraser grinned. ‘She looks just like she does on the stamps.’
As the Prince and Hackett talked, as more servants arrived with trays of drinks and rather stodgy-looking snacks, Luis was aware that Radcliffe stood stock still in the middle of the room, eyeing each of the ‘Knights’ in turn, as if memorizing every freckle on their faces.
19
BEN SHRIEKED, ‘GO away!’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ben,’ Lobsang said calmly.
Agnes, sitting with her sewing basket, suppressed a sigh, and steeled herself not to intervene.
Lobsang was standing over Ben and the cat-litter box. ‘You’ve done a good job with the litter, Ben. Shi-mi will appreciate it. But now you have to get washed because it will be time for supper soon, and I’m making mushroom soup. Look, there’s the pan on the hearth. You like mushroom soup.’
‘I hate ’shroom soup!’
‘That’s not what you said yesterday.’
‘You’re stupid.’
Lobsang laughed, as if the boy – now five years old, two years after their arrival here at New Springfield – had made a witty debating point. ‘That’s arguable.’
‘You’re also ugly. Ugly an’ stupid.’
‘That is a question of taste.’
‘You’re not my real Dad, you stupid!’
‘Well, now, Ben, we’ve been through that—’
‘Hate you, hate you!’ Ben tipped up the plastic box so the litter spilled over the kitchen floor. Then he ran out into the stockaded yard, banging the screen door behind him.
Lobsang stood and stared after him, arms folded. Then he turned to Agnes. ‘You could have helped.’
‘I’m helping by not helping.’
‘You’re the one with experience of these creatures.’
‘Children, Lobsang. They’re called children.’
‘Anybody who could raise Joshua Valienté to fully functioning adulthood – well, reasonably fully functioning – knows what they’re doing. So, then – if my prosthetic limb was faulty, I’d call in a prosthetics expert. My relationship with Ben is evidently faulty. You’re the expert.’
‘And you’re the one who wanted to be a father. Well, now’s your chance.’ She made shooing motions with her arms. ‘Go ahead – father!’
He shook his head and spread his hands, the way she remembered he used to when she had made him sweep the leaves in his troll reserve back in the Low Earths, and she’d said he’d done a shoddy job and made him start over. ‘But I don’t know where to begin. He hates me.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘He said so!’
‘He’s five years old. He’s trying to jab at you. He barely knows what he’s saying.’ She sighed. ‘Look, Lobsang. Try to find out what’s really bothering him. That’s all the advice I’m going to give you.’
‘But—’
She held up a finger. ‘And if you try to drag me into this I’ll leave the room. Might even have one of my naps.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said bitterly, ‘your strategic naps.’
‘This is what you wanted,’ she repeated. ‘This is why we’re here.’
Lobsang heaved a sigh. ‘Well, I’d better get a broom to pick up this litter. At least I’m good at that.’
‘Leave some for Ben to clean up. Just to make the point …’