Bad News from the Boys

To Adolphus’ great satisfaction, Rhodri would not tell his mother what happened to him. The von Hedwigs, without trying very hard, heard snatches of argument, accusations, and pleading questions, but at no point did Mr. Annuum come next door for words with Adolphus.

“Did you thrash him?” Annabelle demanded with envy. “I want to thrash him.”

“You can do it next time,” Adolphus said. “I think he felt bad about the servants at least. It was awful.” He drifted off, and for once his sisters waited quietly. “He told me…”
“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. I’m going to get a bath while they’re still at it.”

Mrs. Annuum checked on them at meals, and managed to intercept them in the hall nearly every time one of them left Lady Aubergine’s chambers, but left them alone otherwise. She wanted them to stay in chambers all the time, but Claire insisted that they play in the garden every afternoon. It was healthy, she argued, and they’d go stir crazy without. And besides, she hadn’t given up on finding a weak place in the hedge wall.

They fell into a melancholy routine, moping in chambers in the mornings, feeding the few finches that had not flown away when Eglantine released them. (Annabelle snuck into the Annuum’s  rooms and spread rice on their pillows so the birds would feed there, which cheered them all briefly.) In the afternoons they would go out and play accompanied by a subdued Rhodri who trailed them at a distance. Nothing happened for days.

One afternoon they split into teams to search for gaps in the hedge wall. Claire and Bettina drew Rhodri with them. After a couple of hours, the boys found Annabelle and Mirabelle in a sheltered nook in the hedge that they favored. It contained a bench and a burbling fountain fed by a cold spring. The fountain itself was carved of wood in the shape of a woman they supposed to be the Queen, standing in a basin with water pouring from her cupped hands. The twins had quite liked the fountain until Claire pointed out its resemblance to Her Lycopersic Majesty. They were put off the nook until Adolphus drew a mustache on the statue. Then it was all right.

Adolphus came running up on his longer legs with Gerhardt jogging behind. He threw himself on the bench.

“You’re never going to believe this!” he proclaimed.

“What?”

He made a show of wiping his brow and catching his breath while Gerhardt caught up.

Mirabelle folded her arms. “Well?”

“He has a-” Gerhardt began, but his brother cut him off.

“You know the Chief Guard, the nasty one who’s always with the queen?”

“Yes?”

“He has a-” Gerhardt tried again.

He’s in the gardens now, practicing maneuvers.”

“So?”

“He has-”

“He’s trying out a new weapon.” Adolphus paused for dramatic effect, inadvertently giving his brother the chance he’d been trying for.

“A knife!” Gerhardt burst.

Annabelle eyed her older brother. “Not a stone knife?”

Mirabelle answered for him “They wouldn’t make such a fuss if it were a stone knife. What kind of knife?”

“Not a very big one,” Adolphus admitted. “He’s cutting up a bunch of squash with it – slashing them. Making a big show.”

Gerhardt jumped up and down. “Where’d he get it? That’s the question!”

Annabelle gasped. “Did you drop yours?”

Both boys dipped hands into pockets, producing their pocketknives.

“We never had one. We’ve still got our screwdrivers and spanners.” Mirabelle pulled a bundle out of her pinafore pocket. Her tools were wrapped in rags to keep them from making noise, a precaution the twins had taken at the farmhouse. “Did Claire?”

Adolphus shook his head with great satisfaction. “You’re forgetting someone,” he said. “We all forgot him.”

Both girls gasped. Gerhardt vibrated with the excitement of the revelation.

“The Count!”