In Which Miranda Chant Throws a Fit

Mrs. Miranda Chant was extremely peeved.

She wriggled dissatisfiedly in the armchair in her sitting room, looking for a comfortable position. Rain came down in torrents outside. The book she was trying to read was boring. Her husband sitting next to her was boring. Her life was boring.

“What an awful day,” she said aloud, turning to her boring husband. He grunted.

“Quite so, my dear, quite so,” he agreed absentmindedly, absorbed in that day’s mail. If Miranda had been less mannerly and well-groomed, she might have thrown something at him. She settled for a long-suffering sigh instead.

She was about to start telling the young Japanese woman who was dusting the china about the Tragedies of Her Life when Cosimo made a disapproving noise next to her and put a letter angrily down on the coffee table. Her mood immediately changed. Eager for gossip, she leaned forward.

“What is it dear? What happened?” Miranda asked excitedly, eyes glowing. Cosimo shook his head.

“It’s disgusting. Simply disgusting,” he began, carefully wiping his reading glasses on a piece of cloth. “And in my family, too. Absolutely disgraceful.”

Miranda was practically salivating. Disgraceful things were her forte. “Go on, darling, go on,” she prompted.

“Well,” he sighed, “Christopher’s cousins Caroline and Francis are getting married.”

“Well, good for them,” Miranda said, wondering what on earth was wrong with that. “To who?”

Cosimo dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “To each other,” he admitted ruefully.

Miranda’s mouth opened in shock. She nearly giggled.

“Scandalous,” she breathed out, enjoying the news immensely. “Absolutely shocking.”

Mentally she began planning who she would tell first. She would write her sister, and that wonderful lady with the fruit stand simply had to know, and Christopher –

Wait . . .

“Cosimo!” Miranda cried, grabbing hold of her husband’s arm. He looked up at her with surprise.

“Yes, darling?” he asked, a trifle hesitantly. “Is anything the matter?”

“How old are Caroline and Francis?” his wife demanded, digging her nails into his forearm. “I must know!”

Cosimo tried to pry Miranda’s fingers off his sleeve. “Francis is the same age as Christopher and Caroline is three years younger,” he said, finally succeeding in removing her vice-like grip from his wrist. “Why does it matter?”

No longer holding on to her husband, Miranda sunk back into her armchair. “How awful,” she murmured, with real feeling this time. “Utterly dreadful.”

Cosimo looked worriedly at his wife. “My dear, what is wrong with their ages? Most people are married around that time.”

“What about Christopher?” Miranda wailed. “Christopher’s not married. He doesn’t even have a girlfriend. I feel so ashamed!”

“Darling, it’s not all bad,” Cosimo said, trying to appease her. “At least he’s not marrying his first cousin.”

“No, he’s not! He’s not marrying anyone!”

Cosimo reached out and took Miranda’s hand, stroking it gently. “Isn’t he seeing that girl, though? The enchantress? That’s good, isn’t it?”

Miranda ripped her hand away from him and stood up. “No! That’s not good at all! She’s entirely unsuitable.”

“But my dear, she’s an enchantress. How is that unsuitable?”

“She has no background!” Miranda cried, pacing around the room. “She’s nothing! She doesn’t even have a last name!”

Cosimo leaned back in his chair and dabbed at his forehead again. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said reproachfully. “She seemed quite sweet to me.”

“Christopher wasn’t born a nine-lived enchanter because I was sweet,” Miranda snapped, arms akimbo. Cosimo raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not quite sure I follow you,” he said, eyeing his irritable wife. She threw her hands up in the air at his confusion.

“Christopher is as talented as he is because of our breeding, Cosimo,our lineage. Do you think without my pedigree and your background he would have been anything as great as he is? No! If Christopher has children with that nobody, all they’ll turn out to be are no-talent hacks with weight problems!”

“My dear!” Cosimo said, appalled. “There’s no need to be so harsh. I’m sure they’ll have perfectly wonderful children.”

“They won’t because they’re not getting married!” Miranda finally erupted, throwing her book across the room and breaking an expensive vase. Cosimo retreated to behind his chair as Miranda turned her shrieking on the poor maid. “Where is Hideki? Get me Hideki!”

The young man who acted as Cosimo’s secretary rushed in and bowed low before Miranda. Breathing heavily, her temper somewhat under control, she smoothed her dress and fixed her hair. “Bring me files on all the young people residing at Chrestomanci Castle, Hideki,” she ordered. Hideki scuttled quickly away.

After a moment, perceiving that the danger had passed, Cosimo crept out from behind his chair and led his wife, exhausted from her tantrum, to a chaise lounge.

“There, there, my dear, lie down,” he murmured soothingly. “Hideki will bring the files soon, and you can choose a suitable wife for Christopher.”

Miranda draped herself artistically on the chaise and sighed delicately. “It’s just all so distressing,” she said, passing a lily-white hand over her forehead. “I only want what’s best for my son.”

“Of course you do, darling, of course,” Cosimo said, brushing her brown curls out of her face. “Here’s Hideki now with the files.”

Hideki lay a few manila folders labelled with names of the different adolescents living at Chrestomanci Castle respectfully on the table beside the chaise and exited noiselessly. Cosimo watched as his wife flipped through them.

For a few minutes there was silence, broken only by the sound of Miranda tossing unsatisfying candidates for her son’s hand behind her. Suddenly, however, she gasped and sat up.

Cosimo craned over his wife’s shoulder and tried to read what in the folder had caused her reaction. Miranda turned to him, eyes sparkling.

“Look, Cosimo,” she breathed. “Royalty.”

Cosimo took the folder, thicker than the rest, from his wife’s ecstatically shaking hands and perused the documents carefully. She was correct; this young person (whoever it was) was directly descended from a king of Germany and a count of England, and had other magnificent origins beside. Cosimo nodded.

“Their ancestry is very impressive,” he admitted grudgingly. “What’s the name? Tesdinic?”

“Conrad Tesdinic,” Miranda said, voice full of delight. “Isn’t that just a wonderful name?”

Cosimo nearly dropped the file. “C-conrad?” he sputtered. “What do mean –” Cutting himself short, he flipped to the front of the folder. “My dear, Conrad is a boy!”

Miranda clasped her hands and leapt up, twirling around the room. “He’s perfect!” she cried. “They must get married at once!”