Emerald Green

“That’s in Islington,” said Mr. Bernard, looking at me anxiously. “It will mean that I’m out of the house for some time.”

“Yes, so it will.” Aunt Glenda frowned, slightly annoyed.

“On the way back, you could get some flowers, please, Mr. Bernard,” said Lady Arista. “A few springlike arrangements for the entrance hall, the dining table, and the music room. Nothing garish, not like those bright parrot tulips you got the other day. I suggest shades of white, pale yellow, and lilac.”

Mum kissed us all good-bye before setting off to go to work. “If you see any pots of forget-me-not, you could get me a couple, Mr. Bernard. Or lily of the valley if the florist has any.”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Bernard.

“And while you’re about it, we might as well have a few lilies too,” I groused. “They can be planted on my grave when I’m dead and gone because I was sent to school when I was sick.” But my mother was already out of the doorway.

“Don’t worry, “Xemerius tried to console me. “If that red-headed battle-ax stays at home, Charlotte can’t simply march into your room. Even if she does, she’d have to think of opening up the back of your wardrobe and crawling into the space behind it. And even if she did think of it, she’d never pluck up the courage to investigate the insides of the crocodile. Now are you glad I made you slit it open last night?”

I nodded, although inwardly I shuddered at the thought of crawling into that dark corner full of cobwebs, and of course I was still worried. If Charlotte really guessed or actually knew what she ought to be looking for, she wasn’t going to give up in a hurry. And I would be home even later than usual if I couldn’t manage to put off going to that ball. I’d be home too late, possibly. What would happen if the Guardians discovered that the stolen chronograph was here in our house? A chronograph needing only Gideon’s blood to close the Circle! I suddenly had goose bumps all over. They’d probably freak out when they suddenly realized how close they were to completing the mission of their lives. And who was I to keep something hidden from them, something that might turn out to be a cure for all the diseases in the world?

“And there’s always a chance that the poor girl really is sick,” said Xemerius.

“Yes, right, and the earth is flat,” I replied. Stupidly, I said it out loud. Everyone else at the table looked at me, taken aback.

“No, Gwenny, the earth is a globe,” Caroline kindly told me. “I couldn’t believe it at first, either. But apparently it flies through the universe at lightning speed.” She broke off a piece of her toast and held it in front of the crochet pig’s pink nose. “Still, that’s the way it is. Isn’t it, Margaret? Have another bit of toast and ham?”

Nick quietly went, “Oink!” and Lady Arista’s mouth twisted in disapproval. “Don’t we have a rule? No soft toys or dolls here at mealtimes, and no friends, real or imaginary.”

“But Margaret is being very good,” said Caroline. All the same, she obediently put the pig on the floor under the table.

Aunt Glenda sneezed reproachfully. These days she was obviously allergic to soft toys too.

* * *

ALTHOUGH XEMERIUS had promised to guard the chronograph with his life (at this point I laughed, if not very heartily) and tell me at once if Charlotte was trying to get into my room, I couldn’t stop wondering what would happen if the Guardians got their hands on the chronograph. But brooding was no use. I had to get through the day somehow and hope for the best. First on my to-do list: I got off the bus one stop early to find a cure for my weariness in Starbucks.

“Can you add three espressos to a caramel macchiato?” I asked the guy behind the counter.

“If you give me your mobile number,” he said, grinning.

I took a rather closer look at him and grinned back, feeling flattered. With his dark hair and long fringe, he reminded me of one of those good-looking guys from a French feature film. Of course he was good-looking only until I compared him with Gideon in my mind, which stupidly I did at once.

“She already has a boyfriend,” someone said behind me. It was Raphael; his green eyes were twinkling at me when I turned around, frowning. “Anyway she’s too young for you, as you can easily tell from her school uniform. A caffè latte and a cranberry muffin, please.”

I rolled my eyes and took my specially strong brew with an apologetic smile. “I don’t have a boyfriend, as it happens, but right now I do have … well, kind of a time problem. Ask me again in another two years.”

“I will,” said the guy.

“He won’t, you know,” said Raphael. “Bet you he asks every pretty girl for her phone number.”

I simply walked off, but Raphael caught up with me. “Hey, hang on! Sorry I disturbed your flirtation.” He looked suspiciously at his coffee. “Do you think he spat in this?”

I took a large sip from my paper cup and promptly burnt my lips, tongue, and the front of my palate. When I could think again, I wondered whether an intravenous coffee injection might not have been a better idea.

“I went to the cinema with that girl Celia from our class yesterday,” Raphael went on. “Terrific girl. Amazingly pretty and funny, don’t you think?”

“Uh?” I said with my nose in the milk foam. (The company of Xemerius was beginning to infect me.)

“We had a lot of fun together,” he went on. “Only don’t tell Lesley. She might feel jealous.”

I had to laugh. How sweet—he was trying to manipulate me. “Okay. I’ll be silent as the grave.”

“So you really do think she might be jealous?” asked Raphael eagerly.

“Oh, sure, green with jealousy. Seeing that there’s no one called Celia in our class.”

Raphael rubbed his nose, looking awkward. “That blonde? The one throwing the party?”

“Cynthia.”

“I really did go to the cinema with her, though,” said Raphael, unhappily. The school uniform, with its unfortunate combination of dismal yellow and navy blue, looked even worse on him than on us. And the way he ran his hand through his hair reminded me of Nick and appealed to my maternal feelings. I thought he’d earned a reward for not being as arrogant and high-handed as his big brother.

“I’ll break it to Lesley gently, okay?” I offered.

He smiled hesitantly. “But don’t tell her I got the names mixed up.… Oh, better not tell her anything … or maybe—”

“You just leave it to me.” As we parted, I gave his tie a little tug. “Hey, congratulations! You tied it properly today.”

“Cindy did it for me,” said Raphael with a wry grin. “Or whatever her name is.”

* * *

OUR FIRST CLASS that day was English with Mr. Whitman. He acknowledged my apologies on behalf of Charlotte with a nod, although I couldn’t resist drawing quotation marks in the air with my fingers around the word sick.

“You should have brought it with you,” Lesley whispered, as Mr. Whitman handed out our marked homework from last week.

“What, the chronograph? To school? Are you crazy? Suppose Mr. Whitman discovered it! Poor Mr. Squirrel, he’d have a heart attack. Quite apart from the fact that he’d tell his friends the other Guardians right away, and then they would hang, draw, and quarter me, or break me on the wheel, or do whatever else their stupid Golden Rules say is the penalty for a case like mine.” I handed Lesley the key to the chest. “Here you are, the key to your heart. I really wanted to give it to Raphael, but I suppose you wouldn’t like that.”

Lesley rolled her eyes and peered at the front row, where Raphael was sitting and being very careful not even to glance at her.

“Put it back on again at once,” I said. “And don’t let Charlotte take it away from you.”

“Krav Maga,” murmured Lesley. “Wasn’t there a film where Jennifer Lopez could do that? The one where she beat up her violent ex-husband at the end? I’d like to learn Krav Maga too.”

“Do you think Charlotte might just kick the wardrobe open? Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if she and Gideon had been taught how to open locks without a key. They probably had a workshop with an MI6 agent: No need for a sledgehammer—just try the elegant hairpin method.” I heaved a sigh.

“If Charlotte really knew what we’d found, she’d have told the Guardians by now. She thinks she’s going to discover something that will make her look important and you look bad.”

“Yes, and if she does find it—”

“I very much hope you two are talking about sonnet number 130.” Mr. Whitman was suddenly towering over us.

“We’ve talked of nothing else for days,” said Lesley.

Mr. Whitman raised an eyebrow. “I can’t help getting the impression that you girls have recently had your minds on things that are no help to your schoolwork. Maybe a letter to your parents would be a good idea. Considering the fees they pay for the privilege of having you educated here, I think they can expect a certain amount of commitment on your part in return.” He put our homework down on the table in front of us. “A little more attention to Shakespeare would have improved your essays. Only average marks, I’m afraid.”

“And why does he think that is?” I muttered crossly. The nerve of it! First I had to devote all my spare time to time travel, trying on costumes, and having dancing lessons, and now Mr. Whitman told me I was neglecting my schoolwork!

“Charlotte has shown you that it’s perfectly possible to combine the two, Gwyneth,” said Mr. Whitman, as if he had guessed my thoughts. “Her marks are excellent. And she never complained. You’d do well to follow her example and exercise a little self-discipline.”

I stared angrily after him as he walked away.

Lesley dug a friendly elbow in my ribs. “One of these days, we’ll tell horrible Mr. Squirrel what we think of him. When we’re about to leave school at the latest. But it would be a sheer waste of energy today.”

“Yes, you’re right. I need all my energy just to stay awake.” I promptly yawned. “I wish those three espressos I drank would hurry up and find their way into my bloodstream.”

Lesley nodded. “Okay, and once they have, we urgently need to think how you can get out of going to that ball.”

* * *

“BUT YOU CAN’T be sick!” said Mr. Marley, wringing his hands in desperation. “All the preparations have been made. I don’t know how I’m going to tell the others.”

“It’s not your fault that I’m sick,” I said in a weary voice, hauling myself out of the limousine with difficulty. “Or mine either. It’s an act of God, and there’s nothing to be done about those.”

“Oh, yes, there is! There must be!” Mr. Marley looked at me indignantly. “You don’t look as sick as all that,” he added, which was rather unfair, because I’d overcome my vanity and wiped Mum’s concealer off my face again. At first Lesley had thought of helping me out a little with some gray and lilac eye shadow, but after one look at my face, she put her makeup bag away again. The rings under my eyes could have featured in any vampire film just the way they were, and I was pale as a corpse into the bargain.