Conrad's Fate by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

ladies sat. The teapot sat, too, steaming faintly.
    Christopher, who was staring ahead looking so totally blank that he seemed to have no brain at all, said that at this point he was thinking the tea in the pot would soon be cold. Or stewed. So was I, a bit. But mostly I was feeling really let down. I stared and stared at the Countess, hoping I would suddenly know that she was the person causing my Fate. I even looked at Lady Felice and wondered, but I could tell she was just a normal, happy kind of person who was having to behave politely in front of the Countess. The Countess was a sort of hidden dragon. That was why I thought she might be the one. She was very like a teacher we had in my third year. Mrs. Polak seemed very sweet, but she could really give you grief, and I could see the Countess was the same. But I didn’t get any knowing off her at all.
    It has to be Count Robert, then, I thought.
    â€œAmos,” the Countess said in a lovely, melodious voice, “Amos, perhaps you could tell my son, the Count, that we are waiting to have tea.”
    â€œCertainly, my lady.” Mr. Amos nodded at Andrew, and Andrew scudded out of the room.
    We waited some more, at least five minutes to judge from the way my feet ached. Then Andrew slithered back between the doors and whispered to Mr. Amos.
    Mr. Amos turned to the Countess. “I regret to tell you, my lady, that Count Robert left for Ludwich some twenty minutes ago.”
    â€œLudwich!” exclaimed the Countess. I wondered why she didn’t know. “What on earth does he need to go to Ludwich for? And did he give any indication of how long he proposed to be away?”
    Mr. Amos’s pear-shaped body bent in a bow. “I gather he intended a stay of about a week, my lady.”
    â€œThat’s what I was going to tell you, Mother,” Lady Felice put in.
    At this, something happened to the Countess’s face, a hard sort of movement under the delicate features. She gave a tinkly little laugh. “Well!” she said. “At least the tea has had time to brew. Please pour, Amos.”
    Ouch! I thought. The Count’s going to be in for it when he gets back!
    This was the signal for the church service to go on. Mr. Amos poured tea as if it were the water of life. It was steaming so healthily that Christopher said later that he was sure there was a keep-warm spell in the mat. Andrew offered cream. The Countess waved him away and got given lemon in transparent-thin slices by Mr. Amos instead. Then Andrew moved in with the sugar boat, and the Countess let him give her four lumps.
    While the show moved on to Lady Felice, the Countess said, as if she were covering up an awkward pause, “I see we have two new page boys, Amos.”
    â€œImprovers, my lady,” Mr. Amos said, “who will function as pages until they learn the work.” His head jerked sharply at Christopher. “Christopher, be good enough to hand the sandwiches.”
    Christopher jumped. I could see his mind had been miles away, but he pulled himself together and heaved the sandwiches up off the trolley. There were scores of them, tiny, thin things with no crusts and thick, savory-smelling fillings, heaped up on a vast oval silver plate. Christopher sniffed at them yearningly as he hoisted the plate up, but he went and held the plate out to the Countess very gallantly, with a flourishing bow that matched the way he looked. The Countess seemed startled, but she took six sandwiches. Mr. Amos frowned as Christopher brought the plate to Lady Felice and went on one knee to hold it out to her.
    Christopher had to go back and forth. It was amazing how much those two slim ladies ate. And all the while Mr. Amos stood back like a stuffed penguin and frowned. I could see he thought Christopher was too fancy.
    â€œLudwich!” the Countess complained after about her fifteenth sandwich. “Whatever does Robert mean by it? Without warning, too!”
    She went on