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6 Iggy and the Old Queen
As they moved back to the house, Iggy saw a flash of gold in an upper window. Someone was looking out. He was about to exclaim when Mac began to yawn. ‘Must be the air,’ he murmured, ‘or all this excitement. Gents, I feel the need for a powerful nap. Is that appropriate?’
Iggy looked at his brother thoughtfully, then he nodded, ‘Of course. I think, Mac,’ he continued, ‘it is not quite time for you to join in the action.’
‘Am I not worthy?’ asked Mac, stifling a gigantic yawn.
‘Of course,’ said Iggy with a nudge, ‘but there is a time for each of us.’ He stopped in the hallway and looked around. There was nothing to see or to hear but the house felt full of people. There was movement—unseen, unheard but there. He turned to Mac, ‘Do you feel anything, brother?’
Mac cocked his head, ‘Only sleepy,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll go and find Michael, shall I?’
Iggy nodded and looked at Walter. ‘And you, lad?’
‘Many people have come. I’d like to find my young girl. May I?’
Iggy nodded. ‘I think I’ll go and look upstairs. There are some rooms we haven’t seen.’ He didn’t mention that flash of gold.
Iggy mounted the stairs and turned into the corridor that led to the old wing. The air around him moved constantly as though people were walking to and fro. It was a measured tread as of many people intent on their specific errands. A skirt brushed past his face and, suddenly, he felt a thwack in the ribs. He gave a muffled cry and a voice sounded out imperiously, ‘Who is that?’
‘A little creature, ma’am, he just bumped into me’ came the courteous
reply.
‘Bring him to me.’
Iggy was swept up and brought into a grand room. A fire was blazing brightly and in a great chair warming her hands sat the woman in gold with the flaming hair. He was set down before her and, though her attendant was also visible, Iggy found her only a vague shadow; so he concentrated on the gold and red woman. He walked up to her, and, when he reached her skirt, bowed as deeply as he could, then looked up at her. He met her shrewd glance with his own mellow one and her haughtiness with his kindness. It seemed a long time before she broke the silence.
‘Who are you?’
Iggy had no doubt she would understand the pug language. ‘My name is Ignatius Oliver and I am the head of the clan of the Proud Pugs of Penzance.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘This house belongs to the family I serve. We’re here for our Christmas celebrations. And to visit our young cousin.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like you,’ said the woman, appraising him and seeming to approve.
‘Well, Majesty, we are unusual,’ he said with what he thought was suitable pride. And when she said nothing, he went on, ‘None of us lived at court in your time.’
The old queen’s eyes widened, ‘You come from another time?’
‘Yes, majesty.’
‘And you know who I am?’
‘Elizabeth by the grace of God, Queen of England, Ireland, the dominions beyond the oceans, and . . . er . . . even those places where dragons dwell. Etcetera.’
She nodded approvingly. ‘Your young cousin is being wooed by one of my courtiers.’ Iggy nodded slowly as she watched. Then, ‘Do you approve?’
‘No, ma’am. No I don’t.’
If possible, she sat up straighter, ‘And why not? Do you not think him honest?’
‘I think,’ said Iggy slowly, ‘that he would like to be but he lacks the strength, the understanding and the will.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Yes, forgive me, ma’am, but this is a family matter and I must set the family first.’
‘Above me?’
‘As you say, I am a creature—their creature.’
The queen opened her mouth then closed it again with a
slight snap. ‘I can stop the match. They cannot marry without my permission,’
she murmured as she toyed with a golden chain with some sort of sphere
attached. Then she cocked her head and eyed him, ‘Should I?’
‘Would you have done it if I’d not been here?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well, ma’am, I’m not really here, am I?’
‘Even if you are right about him?’
‘Especially then. It must all play itself out, I fear.’
‘Philosophical creature. Are there more like you?’
‘I have a brother and three sisters.’
‘And the little one who shadows your young cousin?’
‘My sister’s son.’
‘You’ve none of your own?’
Iggy was silent.
‘You must.’
‘Alas, madam, that is impossible. My beloved is dead.’
She looked surprised, then smiled slightly, ‘Would that some cavalier was so faithful to me.’
‘Is there no one?’
‘None I can trust.’
‘But,’ breathed Iggy with amazement, ‘you are a great queen.’
‘I am also,’ she replied with no little bitterness, ‘my father’s daughter. Have you heard of my father?’
Iggy remembered stories of a monumental king and many women and a
scaffold. ‘Yes,’ he said and was quiet.
He thought he understood. He said nothing but sat meditating on how
hard a life must be without fidelity when he felt a hesitant pressure on his
head. Very gently he laid his chin on the edge of her dress and the stiffness
of the fabric crinkled under him. Tentatively at first then with increasing
confidence, she scratched his head. Her hand was heavy with all the jewels and
he was reminded of Hortensia’s lady.
Without thinking, he gave her hand a big kiss and was rewarded with a
chuckle. Then an authoritative tap on his head made him look up.
‘You must go soon, my little creature,’ she said with some reluctance. ‘There is a dinner tonight and some dancing later. Perhaps,’ she added cautiously, ‘you would like to come.’
‘If I hear the music,’ he said firmly, ‘I shall be there.’ He stood up, stretched and bowed. The red curls inclined toward him and he hopped to the floor. By instinct, he backed toward the door, praying that he had a clear field. At the door, he bowed once again and saw her raise her hand. Then he passed out into the silent hall. There was no point in looking back, there would be nothing to see but an old, dark, empty room. Iggy made his way back into the main part of the house and, following the sound of the voices, came to the room where the family was assembled.
‘Great news,’ said Andrew as he entered.
‘Louisa has given us two puppies,’ chortled Mac; then he added proudly, ‘one of each. Isn’t she clever?’
Iggy smiled, ‘All are well?’
‘Indeed,’ said Michael, going to the sideboard to pour Iggy’s favourite libation, a little dry sherry.
Then they toasted the new arrivals and Louisa and the Count and anyone else they could think of.
While the pugs were lying companionably by the fire, the little one moved near to Iggy.
‘Uncle,’ said Walter quietly, ‘is there anything I should know?’
‘There’s to be a ball tonight,’ said Iggy. ‘Tell me if you hear music.’ Then he went to sleep hoping to dream of Louisa and the count.
CHAPTER 7 THE BALL AND THE WOMAN
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