the
multiple demands on his time would he undertake
first? He was tempted to try to find the Faculty of
Magic for himself, but duty suggested he take on his
father's requests first. Then again, locating Dr Romellier
for his mother might be straightforward. Or perhaps he
should approach the police officer, Inspector Paul,
about his grandmother's stolen letters? And while he
was there he could inquire about Monsieur Jordan's
progress . . .
No , he told himself, don't open another can of worms until you've eaten the last one .
So it was without great surprise that Aubrey found his
feet directing themselves toward the university just in
time for Professor Lavoisier's lecture on taxonomy. In
front of the lecture theatre, while George inspected the
gothic grandeur of the cloisters, they happened to bump
into Caroline Hepworth.
'Caroline,' Aubrey exclaimed with his best attempt at
astonishment, 'whatever are you doing here?'
She was wearing a small, stylish hat trimmed with navy
blue ribbon. Her blouse was white linen while her skirt
was a shade of soft lavender. Shifting her large notebook
from one arm to another, she studied him with an
expression that was not the outright delight he'd been
hoping for.
'Aubrey. How long did it take you to find out
Professor Lavoisier's lecture schedule?' She favoured
George with a smile. 'Hello, George. How's the cornet?'
'I'm making sure I don't over-practise. It's a nasty
problem for any brass player.'
Aubrey felt like putting up his hand to attract
Caroline's attention. 'What are the chances, eh? Our
bumping into each other like this?'
'I refuse to believe in chance where you're concerned,
Aubrey Fitzwilliam. I believe you'd try to manipulate the
Laws of Probability if you could.'
'I couldn't . . . I mean, wouldn't. I –'
'Exactly. Now, I have a lecture to attend.'
Aubrey desperately wanted not to appear a complete
idiot in front of Caroline. It was difficult, considering the
effect she had on him. Sometimes it felt as if his brain
were turning to soup whenever he saw her.
'Of course.' He fumbled for and found his pocket
watch. 'Good Lord, is that the time?'
Caroline rolled her eyes, but the transparent ploy gave
Aubrey a moment to think. Then his eye fell on a noticeboard
on the wall outside the lecture theatre. 'George, we
must go. We'll be late for the audition.'
George blinked, then rallied well. 'Can't be late. Sorry
to rush, Caroline. Best of luck with the taxation lecture.'
'Taxonomy. The science of classification.' She pursed
her lips and then smiled, briefly. 'You know, this lecture is
going to be repeated this afternoon. I'd rather attend
then, I think. Perhaps I'll spend the morning with you
two instead, it being such a lovely day. If you don't mind.'
'Mind?' Aubrey said. 'We'd be delighted.'
'Good. I haven't been to an audition for an age.'
Aubrey felt as if he'd dug a very deep hole and then
dived head first into it. 'Audition. Yes.'
'Where is Tontine Hall?' George asked, scratching his
head at the audition poster. It had been roughly and
boldly printed, black on red. 'I'm guessing that's where
the audition's being held. I mean, I remember that's
where we're going.'
'It's not far,' Caroline said. 'I'll show you the way.'
She strode off along the cloistered walkway, leaving
them to follow in her wake.
Aubrey thought frantically. An audition. Of all the
foolish things . . . At least it was an Albion-language
production – a gesture of solidarity with Gallia's allies,
organised by the university's Albion Friendship Society,
according to the poster. Ivey and Wetherall's The Buccaneers . A musical comedy from the finest Albionish
playmakers of the age. He closed his eyes and rubbed his
temples, remembering the school production of The Buccaneers . It could be worse, he supposed. He could be
starring in the first all-crocodile production of Hrolf, King of Scandia , for instance.
Aubrey loved the stage, but he knew his singing voice
was not first rate. Third rate,
multiple demands on his time would he undertake
first? He was tempted to try to find the Faculty of
Magic for himself, but duty suggested he take on his
father's requests first. Then again, locating Dr Romellier
for his mother might be straightforward. Or perhaps he
should approach the police officer, Inspector Paul,
about his grandmother's stolen letters? And while he
was there he could inquire about Monsieur Jordan's
progress . . .
No , he told himself, don't open another can of worms until you've eaten the last one .
So it was without great surprise that Aubrey found his
feet directing themselves toward the university just in
time for Professor Lavoisier's lecture on taxonomy. In
front of the lecture theatre, while George inspected the
gothic grandeur of the cloisters, they happened to bump
into Caroline Hepworth.
'Caroline,' Aubrey exclaimed with his best attempt at
astonishment, 'whatever are you doing here?'
She was wearing a small, stylish hat trimmed with navy
blue ribbon. Her blouse was white linen while her skirt
was a shade of soft lavender. Shifting her large notebook
from one arm to another, she studied him with an
expression that was not the outright delight he'd been
hoping for.
'Aubrey. How long did it take you to find out
Professor Lavoisier's lecture schedule?' She favoured
George with a smile. 'Hello, George. How's the cornet?'
'I'm making sure I don't over-practise. It's a nasty
problem for any brass player.'
Aubrey felt like putting up his hand to attract
Caroline's attention. 'What are the chances, eh? Our
bumping into each other like this?'
'I refuse to believe in chance where you're concerned,
Aubrey Fitzwilliam. I believe you'd try to manipulate the
Laws of Probability if you could.'
'I couldn't . . . I mean, wouldn't. I –'
'Exactly. Now, I have a lecture to attend.'
Aubrey desperately wanted not to appear a complete
idiot in front of Caroline. It was difficult, considering the
effect she had on him. Sometimes it felt as if his brain
were turning to soup whenever he saw her.
'Of course.' He fumbled for and found his pocket
watch. 'Good Lord, is that the time?'
Caroline rolled her eyes, but the transparent ploy gave
Aubrey a moment to think. Then his eye fell on a noticeboard
on the wall outside the lecture theatre. 'George, we
must go. We'll be late for the audition.'
George blinked, then rallied well. 'Can't be late. Sorry
to rush, Caroline. Best of luck with the taxation lecture.'
'Taxonomy. The science of classification.' She pursed
her lips and then smiled, briefly. 'You know, this lecture is
going to be repeated this afternoon. I'd rather attend
then, I think. Perhaps I'll spend the morning with you
two instead, it being such a lovely day. If you don't mind.'
'Mind?' Aubrey said. 'We'd be delighted.'
'Good. I haven't been to an audition for an age.'
Aubrey felt as if he'd dug a very deep hole and then
dived head first into it. 'Audition. Yes.'
'Where is Tontine Hall?' George asked, scratching his
head at the audition poster. It had been roughly and
boldly printed, black on red. 'I'm guessing that's where
the audition's being held. I mean, I remember that's
where we're going.'
'It's not far,' Caroline said. 'I'll show you the way.'
She strode off along the cloistered walkway, leaving
them to follow in her wake.
Aubrey thought frantically. An audition. Of all the
foolish things . . . At least it was an Albion-language
production – a gesture of solidarity with Gallia's allies,
organised by the university's Albion Friendship Society,
according to the poster. Ivey and Wetherall's The Buccaneers . A musical comedy from the finest Albionish
playmakers of the age. He closed his eyes and rubbed his
temples, remembering the school production of The Buccaneers . It could be worse, he supposed. He could be
starring in the first all-crocodile production of Hrolf, King of Scandia , for instance.
Aubrey loved the stage, but he knew his singing voice
was not first rate. Third rate,
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