“And did she take us shopping this morning?”
“Yes, she did,” confirmed Rue.
Percy, following at long last, said, “Werelioness? Of course. It fits perfectly. Do you think that’s what the Vanaras are? Hardly makes sense. That’s not how they are described in the text. Not cat-like at all. Do you think she’ll let me write a report for the Royal Society?”
Quesnel gave him a disgusted look. “Can’t you think about anything but your academic standing? This is a revelation of epic proportions! We now have proof that there are other shape-shifting creatures besides werewolves.”
“Exactly! The scientific community should know. I’m being altruistic. Selfish would be to keep this information secret.”
The two men stood – forgetting Primrose’s delicate state – the better to argue.
Quesnel said, “Our caller has obviously gone to great lengths to keep her condition out of the public arena. You should respect her wishes!”
“Oh, should I indeed? And your concern wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that she is an incredibly lovely female specimen? Would it?”
Rue decided to ignore them in favour of her friend. “Do you think you could manage a little restorative tea, Prim?”
Primrose said, “I think so. Thank you. I haven’t forgiven you though, Rue. You knew she was coming and did not warn me? And here I am not in a receiving gown.”
“Is that why you fainted?”
Prim ignored this dig to continue her lament. “What will she think of me?”
Rue rolled her eyes. “For your information, I didn’t know she was coming. And even if I had made the connection, I thought she was kidnapped. I’m trying to act debonair. I’m surprised to have fooled you. I didn’t put it all together until she leapt on board.” She let the wide grin she’d been suppressing sweep across her face. “Isn’t this the cat’s whiskers? Werelioness. Did you ever imagine? Do you think she’ll let me steal her soul for a bit? I would so love to be a cat.”
Prim raised a hand. “Rue, stop, too much excitement. It’s worse than you being all suave. Calm down. How did she get here, then?”
Rue shrugged. “I sent for the werewolves but I suppose they’ve gone hunting. She must have found Spoo, or Spoo her. And stop worrying. She will think very well of you – everyone does. You look lovely. You always do.”
Rue helped Prim to butter a muffin. Prim’s hands were still shaking, and Rue knew exactly how she liked her muffin buttered. She then foisted another cup of tea on Primrose. Though a touch cold, Prim drank it gratefully as she nibbled her well-buttered muffin.
Once revived, Prim gave Rue a suspicious look. “You’re being awfully nice. What are you plotting?”
“Nothing as yet.”
Prim was not convinced. “You’re wearing a tea-gown and no gloves” She stated the obvious. “And you sent for werewolves. Haven’t you had enough soul-stealing for one evening?”
Spoo returned, Miss Sekhmet following. The werelioness wore a robe of quilted velvet, opulent and flattering, if a little small. With her hair loose and flowing, free of all accessories, she was more beautiful than ever.
Rue decided, magnanimously, to forgive her for it. However, it did appear to rather drive all her companions, even Primrose, into a tongue-tied state.
“Please excuse the casual dress, ladies, gentlemen. I was going to follow the werewolves on their hunt and then I ran into your messenger and she had this.” Miss Sekhmet tossed Rue the monkey charm. “They have made contact with you directly in my absence?”
Rue took the necklace and, because she thought it might be the safest thing to do, put it on, grateful that she had rejected the massive hat that fashion dictated be pinned atop her head at all times. She gestured for the werecat to sit. Which she did, quite gracefully.
While Primrose poured more tea, Rue avoided the question by asking one of her own. “Is it really true that Mrs Featherstonehaugh went with them willingly?”
Miss Sekhmet nodded. “She is acting as surety for British cooperation. She has a childish faith in their being good and noble.”
Rue frowned. “And you are working for them as what?”
“Nothing any more. I said I would speak for them and I did. We expected your mother, not you. Her, I wanted to meet. An original, and I’m fond of originals. Not that you are not unique, skin-stalker.”
Quesnel pressed the question. “Then who do you work for?”
Miss Sekhmet looked insulted by his impertinence. If she’d had her whiskers, she would have twitched them.
“Milk?” asked Prim, raising the jug questioningly over the tea cup.
“The more the better, lovely child. The more the better,” responded the werecat with a look of avarice.
Prim blushed and poured. She handed over the cup.
They half expected Miss Sekhmet to begin lapping. But she was perfectly respectable about it, sipping with pleasure at the over-milked cold tea.
“They asked me to speak their case. So I spoke it. You did nothing. Now they wonder who is on whose side. They question my motives. They question yours. You have handled this badly, skin-stalker.”
Rue took offence at that. “I thought it was all about the tea.”
Miss Sekhmet smiled a very cat-with-cream smile. “They hold, how you British might say, all the cards.”
Rue was annoyed. “But what do they want? I must say, you haven’t done well in making their position clear.”
Miss Sekhmet paused so long the silence became awkward.
“Something fresher?” offered Prim nervously, signalling to one of the stewards with the intention of sending him to the meat locker.
The werecat shook her head. “No. Thank you for the thought. This will do well enough. Wait. Are those kippers? Marvellous. It’s been years since I had a kipper.”
Prim served their guest a generous helping of kippers in brown butter sauce and fried egg. All quite cold by now, but the werecat didn’t seem to mind congealed food.
“How did you know they were sending anyone?” Rue asked.
“Your father wrote a letter to the pack here. Asking them to keep an eye on his biggest treasure. Of course, I thought he meant his wife. We all did. She’s travelled without him before. Didn’t realise you were all grown up and floating about without them.”
Rue said, “Time moves differently for immortals.”
“Just so.” Miss Sekhmet nodded. “Nor did we think England would let you out of the country.”
“I am not a prisoner because I am metanatural!”
“No, but you are, as your father put it, a national treasure.”
Rue frowned darkly. Overprotective, interfering Paw!
The werecat laughed. “Child, you don’t have to explain to me a love of independence.”
Rue moved them on. “Let us be frank, Miss Sekhmet. These people you keep alluding to – the ones who have Mrs Featherstonehaugh and the taxes – are they indeed some form of weremonkey, or are we merely dealing with nationalist dissidents?”
Rue was reminded of that old saying: trying to get a straight answer out of a cat is like trying to find the soap in the bathtub.
Miss Sekhmet swallowed her mouthful of kipper and looked smug.
Percy said, “The agreement, SAD. Of course! Things could get messy, politically, if Vanaras do exist. The Rakshasas would have to share power.”
Miss Sekhmet tried hard to hide her surprise. “Your government would acknowledge them legally?”
Percy sat a little more upright. “My good woman! The British have always dealt fairly with the supernatural. It is tradition.”
Miss Sekhmet’s lip curled. “But not with the natives.”