A Very Unusual Headmistress

                                                                PROLOGUE

 

 

            The pup ran. The passage was long and dark. Shadowy doorways and misty windows flashed past on all sides, but the pup ran on.

            The fort was huge. Passage after passage whirled by, and the walls loomed fearsomely over the tiny pup. There was nobody else about. On all sides echoes rumbled, and menacing spaces gaped. The night was deserted and she flew along like a speck of dust in a sleeping valley, but she didn't care. This was an emergency.

            Finally she came to a staircase. It was a tower of rickety steps leading to a single dark door. It seemed almost too steep to climb, but the pup would not be beaten. She streaked up the stairs, burst onto the landing and bashed on the door.

            “Hello hello hello!” she gabbled, “Oh please is there anyone in?”

            There was a pause, then somebody groaned. “Oh goodness gracious!” stammered a voice, “Who... Who is it?”

            “It's Heidi!” squeaked the pup, “Come out immediately!”

            “What time is it? What on earth is wrong, child?”

            “It's an emergency!”

            “An emergency?” There was a frenzied scuffling inside. It sounded like clothes being wrenched on and vases knocked over, then the door flew open. A middle-aged Border Terrier burst out onto the landing. She wore a dishevelled crinoline dress, and all her fur was standing on end. “What is it?” she demanded, “Why are you knocking Heidi, what's wrong?”

            “Thank goodness you're awake, Miss Pringle!” gasped Heidi, “Over here!” She dragged Miss Pringle across to the landing window, and pointed. “Look!” she announced, “It's morning!”

            Miss Pringle squinted out of the window. It was shrouded in faint mist, and a cold dawn light. There did seem to be something out there in the general murkiness, but it didn't look much like a morning yet. “Hm!” she sniffed, “Not very good, is it? What is your excuse for such eccentric behaviour, child?” She turned angrily round, but Heidi had gone. Miss Pringle looked all around the landing, but there was no sign of her. She hurried into her room, and Heidi was in bed with her head poking out from under the quilt. “What on earth do you think you're doing?” snapped Miss Pringle.

            “I like the warm bit!" beamed Heidi.

            Miss Pringle scooped her up and carried her out by the scruff of her neck. On the door there was a large sign. “Tell me, Heidi,” she said pointedly, “Has it ever occurred to you to read this?” Heidi leaned forwards and peered at the sign.

 

                           FOR THE ATTENTION OF ALL PUPS

         IF YOU ARE COLD, EXTRA BLANKETS ARE IN THE AIRING CUPBOARD.

              IF YOU HAVE HAD A BAD DREAM, TRY TO FORGET ABOUT IT.        

              IF YOU ARE KNOCKING FOR ANY OTHER REASON, GO AWAY.

                               SIGNED, MISS PRINGLE

 

            “Oh dear,” said Heidi.

            “Exactly!” fumed Miss Pringle, “Heidi this is quite preposterous. Morning arrives every day and there is really no need to come and point it out to me!”

            Heidi blinked at her with her wide brown eyes. Then she burst into tears. “I am so sorry!” she shrieked, “I got confused! I forgot about yesterday and all the other days, and now you don't love me any more!” And she fell sobbing into Miss Pringle's skirt.

            Miss Pringle hugged her warmly. “There there,” she said comfortingly, “Of course I still love you. We all do, but you really must try not to get so confused. Only last week you wished our neighbour Mrs Postlethwaite bon voyage on her birthday.”

            Heidi looked bashfully up at her. “I know,” she sniffed, “Perhaps it is because I am so small.”

            “Well I suppose it might be,” said Miss Pringle benevolently,“It's true that you are somewhat smaller than average. However, you are doing very well here at the school and I'm sure you'll get the hang of things in time.”

            “Thank you, Miss Pringle,” said Heidi seriously, “I will try.” She blinked, and her last tear dried. Then she smiled pertly. “Can I ride downstairs in your dress?” she said.

            “Oh all right,” groaned Miss Pringle, “Just don't let anyone see you.”

            “Yippee!” cheered Heidi. She leapt into the folds of Miss Pringle's skirt. She wriggled down, and Miss Pringle arranged the folds across her. Then she shuffled furtively downstairs with a smug little smile poking out of her crinoline. 

 

 

 

 

                                                                    CHAPTER 1

 

 

            At the very top of England is a county called Northumberland. It is a wild, empty, mysterious place. This is the least populated part of the country, and hidden away at its heart is a village. Pringleton is a very small village. It's so small you won't even find it on the map, but a lot of things go on in that wild, empty, mysterious county that nobody has ever noticed. So don't be fooled by all those gaps on the map.

            As I say, there isn't very much of Pringleton. There are a few cottages. There is a high street with a grocers, a library, and a tea room. On the outskirts there is a grand old mansion house. In fact as English villages go Pringleton is fairly typical, except for two things. First, no people live there. Instead Pringleton is a community of Border Terriers. This is a regional breed of dog: small but long-legged, trim but hard-working, reserved yet faithful. And secondly, on a hill at the village's northern edge stands a fort.

            Or rather it was once a fort. It hasn't been used as one for many years. It still has stone walls, grey battlements and stern turrets, but now there is a brass nameplate on the gatepost.

 

                                  ST PRINGLE'S ACADEMY FOR YOUNG PUPS

                        HEADMISTRESS: MISS JESSICA PRINGLE B.ED (YORK)

                    DEPUTY HEADMISTRESS: MISS AGNES POTTER B.ED MA

                   ADMISSION BY EXAMINATION AND FORMAL INTERVIEW

                                     FIREWOOD DELIVERIES OCTOBER-MAY

                      TOP QUALITY FUEL, FULLY TRAINED DELIVERY PUPS.

                                                               

 

 

            “Good morning, Agnes,” said Miss Pringle, hurrying into her armchair by the fire, “A cold day.”

            “It certainly is,” said Agnes, handing her a cup of tea, “I’m just toasting some muffins for breakfast, so would you like one?”

            “Thank you, that would lovely.” Agnes speared a muffin on her toasting fork, and Miss Pringle looked out of the window.

            They were huddled in one corner of the school's huge Ceremonial Hall. The window was in the other one, and there still wasn't much to be seen out there. An icy haze filled thPe glass. Mornings came late to Pringleton in winter, but the hall itself was as beautiful as ever. In fact it was quite magnificent in a reserved, Border Terriers-ish sort of way.  The wood-panelled walls were hung with oil portraits of local dignatories. The furniture was solid oak. There was an impressive trophy cabinet, but that was tucked modestly beside a sober grandfather clock. In fact the hall's only showy feature was its staircase. It was a grand, sweeping affair, and well earned its traditional name of the Great Staircase. On the landing hung the school's coat of arms. The crest showed a book, a wood cart, and a Border Terrier in profile, emblazoned with the school motto: 'Forge Ahead'. Miss Pringle smiled approvingly. All in all the hall was an inspiring sight, but for how much longer?

            She edgily drew her chair closer to the fire. “Hurry up with that muffin, Agnes,” she said, “I have a feeling 32 pups are about to burst in and forge ahead demanding porridge.”

            “Relax,” said Agnes, “You're safe for a while yet. I told them to make their baskets before breakfast today, so that you could recover from your early start.”

            “You are a treasure, Agnes. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

            “Well what exactly would you do without me today? How would you spend the day if there was no school to run?”

            “Oh I don't know,” said Miss Pringle reflectively, “Morning by the fire in The Spires Tea Room with a slice of cake or two. Afternoon by the fire in the public library with a favourite Jane Austen. Evening by the fire at home, listening to the wind...”

            "I see. Well I can't help you there, but how does double Latin, triple Wood-gathering and bathtime for 32 pups sound?”

            “Tiring,” said Miss Pringle ruefully, “Clearly one must make the most of these last moments of peace!” She sipped her tea indulgently. On a side table lay that day's copy of The Northumbrian Herald. She picked it up and looked at the headlines, but then she froze.

            On the front page there was a large hole. “Agnes,” she frowned, “What's this hole in The Northumbrian Herald?"

            “Oh I cut something out,” said Agnes, buttering a muffin, “I didn't want to worry you.”

            “Oh dear! My sister again?”  

            “I'm afraid so. Jam?”

            “I think I’d better have an extra thick layer. I do appreciate your concern, but what's she been up to now?”

            Agnes felt in her apron pocket, and handed Miss Pringle a crumpled ball of newspaper. She flattened it out, and read.

 

                 SCANDAL GRIPS RESORT AS HEIRESS FLIES IN

       Top model Octavia de Beauvoir stunned St Tropez society yesterday when she stepped out with her new boyfriend Count Olivier de Laurissante. It is barely a week since Miss de Beauvoir shook Monte Carlo society when she publicly ditched her last boyfriend Wolfgang, 12th Earl of Glausenpharben. On that occasion the couple were seen arguing at an exclusive reception. The cause was unknown but the altercation became heated, before Miss de Beauvoir pushed him off the cliff.

     Yesterday though it was all smiles again. "Everything feels so different this time,” Miss de Beauvoir told our reporter, "Olivier and I are soulmates, and I really feel I have found true happiness at last. Loving your tail by the way!”

 

            "Hm!" sniffed Miss Pringle, “Disgusting, isn't it? Keep the muffin warm, Agnes, while I dispose of this filth.”

            “But you have the fire,” said Agnes, “Why not just burn it if you don't want the pups to see...”

            But Miss Pringle had disappeared in a puff of crumbs.

 

 

            As she slipped from the back door, the sky was finally starting to grow light. A pale winter's sun hung over the battlements. She was glad to catch a glimpse of it, but it was shackled in an icy wind and she hastily fastened her top coat button. Then she set off through the bilberry orchard.

            A word of explanation. The hillside at the back of the fort was covered with a large  orchard of bilberry bushes. (The Northumbrian bilberry, of course. Normal

bilberry bushes are low-lying, but the tall Northumbrian variety was propagated by Miss Pringle's ancestors to provide a large crop, strength against northern winds, and shade for snoozing headmistresses on hot summer afternoons.) It was an unusual feature for a school, but then St Pringle's was a very unusual school. Like all Border Terriers Miss Pringle was of solid, industrious character. She valued seriousness and hard work, and her curriculum reflected this. They studied Science, and Latin. They studied Woodwork, Mathematics and History, and a lot of Jane Austen. Or at least that was in the mornings.                                                                  

            Afternoons varied with the seasons. In spring, the bilberry orchard was full of pearly white blossom. In summer it was laden with plump purple bilberries, and at both times of year this was where the pups came after lunch. Here they hoed and clipped and watered, and eventually picked. The bilberries were then carried to the kitchen in large baskets, and cooked into a variety of delicious products. The school's 'Old Mother Pringle' range included jams, biscuits and chutneys, and over the years it had won many prestigious awards. And rightly so, reflected Miss Pringle as she emerged shivering from the other side of the orchard.

            She hurried through the back gate. She fastened it, then she pressed on across an expanse of rough heath. Now she was entering a different world. Ahead a broad river surged through the tangled grass, and beyond that rose Bodger's Wood.

            It was an old copse high above the village. The trees were tall and densely packed, and on winter afternoons the copse was full of pups collecting firewood in small carts. Here they foraged and scraped and shoveled, and finally stacked. Back at the fort the wood was bound into bundles, and then it was delivered to homes all over Pringleton. That was in the winter. And today was very much winter.

            Finally Miss Pringle reached the river bank. It was icy. Frost still flecked the grass, and wind and water seemed locked in a race from the North Pole. This was no place to linger, so she took the scrap of newspaper from her pocket. She screwed it up and was about to throw it into the river, when she noticed another scrap of newspaper at her feet. She picked it up, and peered.

 

                                       CHAOS GRIPS AIRPORT AS HEIRESS FLIES OUT

 

            “Disgusting!” muttered Miss Pringle, “You would think it would have floated by now. I must complain to the Northumbrian Water Company!” She screwed up both the scraps of paper together, and hurled them as far as she could into the river. Then she bustled back up the hill.

            As she neared the fort, a pup's head appeared over the battlements. It was Hetty Henderson. She was a chubby little pup with a cheeky grin, and the naughtiest girl in the school.

            “Hey Big Chief!” she rasped, “Sister been on the razzle again?”

            “Kindly call me by my correct name!” said Miss Pringle sternly, “I am Miss Pringle to you, and you should be preparing your books for your first lesson. By the way who are you standing on?”

            “Molly and Polly.”

            “Did you ask their permission?”

            “Don't worry, Miss Pringle,” said a voice, “It doesn't...”

            “...hurt at all,” said another, “Well perhaps just a little...”

            “...bit,” concluded the first.

            “Hm!” sniffed Miss Pringle, “Not very good, is it?” And she swept imperiously                                 into the fort, wondering vaguely if her sister was as cold as her.

 

            Which she wasn't.

            At that moment Octavia de Beauvoir was taking breakfast in her elegant townhouse just off the King's Road in London. It was a fine bright morning. The drawing room was full of sunlight, and Octavia was looking her very best. She wore a beautiful yellow silk designer dress. The style was modern yet romantic, and she had paired it with stilettos and a scattering of diamonds. Rather glamorous for breakfast you might think, but then Octavia de Beauvoir was a top supermodel. Or superdogel to use the correct term. In fact she was probably the most famous superdogel in the world. That was understandable, given her vivacious personality and her dazzling good looks. She had a long black nose. She had long brown legs, and she had a long black tail with a brown stripe up it. Yeeaaah!

            She was particularly proud of her stripe. Her side of the family weren't Border Terriers at all, but Plusharian Desert Hounds. The stripe was the distinctive mark of the Desert Hound, and more importantly it drove the boys wild. In fact it was hard to believe she had any Border Terrier in her at all. The only bit she could see was the characteristic tuft of white hair on her chest, and she didn't mind that. Actually it was quite sweet.

            She nibbled her croissant, and sipped her cappuccino. She dabbed her lips on a napkin, but then she yawned deeply. She was feeling rather tired today. She couldn't think why, but then she remembered she had had to fly back unexpectedly from St Tropez in the middle of the night. Yesterday evening she had been on a date with her close personal friend Count Olivier de Laurissante. He was a handsome aristocratic basset hound, and he had taken her to an old-time dance at a top hotel. They waltzed and happily dog-trotted to the band. The ambience was romantic. The moon was full and she was just about to finally yield to his embrace, when she suddenly realised every other man in the place was also a close personal friend of hers. So instead she pecked him on the cheek and ran all the way to the airport.

            It wasn’t very romantic at all really. A bit dangerous in fact, but now she was safely home and had a busy day ahead of her. First she was going on a shopping expedition. This afternoon she was making a personal appearance at Harrods, and then she was going dancing again. And she was doing all these things with her wonderful friends. She had lots of friends. She had Claudia de Vouvray, and Victoria de Ponti, and so on, and there were lots of men too. She couldn't quite remember their names now, but they were all rich and handsome and very nice persons. Yeeaaah!

            Just then there was a toot outside. She looked out of the window, and saw Victoria de Ponti had stopped in her pink sportscar. Octavia leapt up. She hurried out of the house, and on the doorstep she met Claudia de Vouvray. She lived just next door, and as well as Octavia's friend she was her agent too.

            “'ello Claudia,” said Octavia, “Yeeaaah!”

            "Hi darling," said Claudia, "Are you all set for your busy day?"

            "Sure am. So we're heading for Bond Street first, then after lunch it's on to the press launch?"

            "That's right. The world's fashion media will be there, and I just know you'll be a sensation." And she clapped a brown nylon lead on Octavia.

            “Excuse me Claudiaar!” flounced Octavia, “What on earth do you think you're doing?”

            “I might ask you the same question!” glowered Claudia, “I was just reading the news, and I see you've been up to your old tricks again.”

             "Well you're making a lot of fuss about a little friskiness," said Octavia indignantly, "I am entitled to a private life, and anyway nylon is so last year!” And she wriggled out of the lead.

            "OK I'll give you a chance,” said Claudia guardedly, "I am your agent though, and I need to ensure you behave professionally at all times."

            "Which is precisely what I was doing in France," said Octavia defiantly, "The public enjoys the colourful lives of celebrities, so why should I rein in my natural impetuosity?"  

            "Well look at it this way," said Claudia. And she did her scary face.

            "Ooo Claudia!" croaked Octavia, "You are scary!"

            "You noticed," growled Claudia, "Now follow me!" Octavia loped meekly after

her down the front steps and into the sportscar.

            “Hey guys!” shrieked Victoria, “The Perky Pooches Gang is back in town!"

            "'ello Victoria," said Octavia, instantly cheering up again, "Yeeaaah!"

            "You said it, so let's hit the town!" She pumped the accelerator and they roared off down the road. 

            Straight away Octavia forgot all about her little troubles. Claudia and Victoria were both terrific friends. The Perky Pooches Gang was a nickname Octavia had coined for the three of them, and soon they were all chattering excitedly away. In fact the atmosphere was so happy and bubbly, it made Octavia feel rather frisky again. They were just whizzing round Hyde Park Corner when suddenly she had an urge to play a joke on someone. Her sister, for example. She whipped out her phone, and dialled.

            “Pringleton 612?” said a voice.

            “'ello sister,” said Octavia, “Yeeaaah!”

            “Good morning, Octavia,” said Miss Pringle politely, “Could you hold on for just a moment? There's rather a lot of noise going on behind me.”

            She glared over her shoulder. The telephone was in the passage just outside the dining room, and inside breakfast was in full flow. Around a long table the pups sat clustered in their dressing gowns, and the noise of chattering asnd munching was tremendous. At the far end Agnes stood ladling bowlfuls of porridge from a tureen. Miss Pringle eyed her critically. In her smart blue pinafore she certainly looked efficient, but she seemed dangerously close to losing control of the situation. Miss Pringle took a deep breath.

            “SHUT UP!” she shrieked, “I CANNOT HEAR MYSELF THINK!"

            The pups babbled on regardless, but then Agnes looked round. “Yes, girls,” she said quietly, “Keep the noise down a bit.”

             The uproar shrank to a murmur.

            'Hm!' thought Miss Pringle, 'Very good, isn't it? I'll make a headmistress of that girl yet!' She turned back to the telephone. “Sorry, Octavia,” she said, “I had some pressing  school business to attend to. How are you?”

            “I'm really good, thanks,” said Octavia, “How's the pups?”

            “Healthy and energetic, and so in need of occasional firm discipline."

            “Aaaaah! Innit bootiful?”

            “Well, in part. Octavia it's good to hear from you but I'm about to take a Latin class, so did you want anything in particular?”

            "Yes actually I did. I'm just whizzing round Hyde Park Corner in a sportscar. Claudia and Victoria are with me, and we're crashing up to town for some serious retail therapy. Yeeaaah!”

            “I'm sorry Octavia but I don't quite follow you,” said Miss Pringle coolly, "What does this Yeeaaah stuff mean exactly?”

            "Well I don't know really. I just say it when I'm in a happy and frisky mood. Stop waving that lead at me, Claudia."

            "Of course I'm glad you're happy, but you must ensure your high spirits don't get out of hand. You could start by dropping this vulgar piece of slang."

            “Well I'm not very good with words. I never went to school. Well I did go to the St Moritz Finishing School for Rich Pups, but then I met the headmaster's son and I had to leave again.”

            “Which is exactly my point. If you had more restraint in general, these

constant upheavals wouldn't happen.”

            “True!” simpered Octavia. And she cackled throatily. 

            "This conversation doesn't seem to be getting anywhere," said Miss Pringle briskly, "Now I really must get on, so how can I help you?"

            “I'm sorry for getting sidetracked,” said Octavia modestly, "I do realise you're busy, but speaking of shopping I've just made your regular order."

            "Order?"

            "Yes, it's arriving from Harrods today. That's a box of highland oatcakes, six parsnips, and a gallon of Chanel No. 5. YEEEEEAAAAAAAAH!”

            “Goodbye,” said Miss Pringle. She put the phone down, and muttered "Disgusting!" Then she beetled over to the porridge tureen. 

            The smell was irresistible. The pups were still too busy eating and chatting to pay  her much attention, so she hung greedily over the edge.  The porridge itself had almost all gone. It was always a popular dish, but if Miss Pringle had one weakness it was scraping out a dried-up porridge tureen with her teeth. Yum!

            "Oh you're back,” said Agnes, “Who was that on the telephone?”

            “Just Octavia,” said Miss Pringle, “Yum!”

            “Er, quite. What did she want?”

            “Just to make one of her frequent childish jokes. She's going on one of her disreputable shopping jaunts."

            “You are biased. I don't suppose all shops in London are disreputable.”

            "I admire your tolerance, but frankly I doubt there's a village post office in the whole place. And I must say your porridge smells ve-e-ery creamy!”

            “Thank you. Would you like the last helping?”

            “No, but I wouldn't mind...” She winked meaningfully.

            “I'm sorry?” frowned Agnes.

            “Honestly Agnes, do pay attention,” sighed Miss Pringle, “I said if you...” She winked again. “...then later on, I'd be very glad to...” And again.

            “How revolting!” laughed Agnes, “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

            “Now now!” whispered Miss Pringle, “Not in front of the pups!”

            “Oh all right,” said Agnes, “I'll leave it to dry out in the kitchen, hidden behind your wellies.”

            “Very much obliged,” said Miss Pringle with relish, “I'll do the same for you one day.”

            “I sincerely hope not!”

            “So do I!” And she beetled away to her private quarters to put on her mortar board.

 

 

 

                                                                   CHAPTER 2

 

            Miss Pringle's private quarters were situated high in the West Turret. It was one of the smallest rooms in the fort. It certainly had the steepest climb, but she liked the privacy up here and there was room for all her possessions. Her snugly quilted bed. Her mortar board on its mortar board stand. Her bookcase with her Jane Austen collection and, on the mantlepiece beside an antique clock which had belonged to her grandmother, her signed photograph of Octavia de Beauvoir.

            Miss Pringle paused in the doorway, and looked at the picture. Octavia leered toothily back at her. Miss Pringle sighed ruefully and bustled inside. It was good to have a family keepsake, but she couldn't see why Octavia had had to lie on a chaise-longue like that. Or sign the inscription in bright pink lipstick.

            'To J,' it said, 'Love from O. Yeeaaah!'

            “Hm!” said Miss Pringle, “Not very good, is it?” She strode straighter past and across to the mortar board stand. She took down her mortar board, and lowered it onto her head. Then she looked proudly herself in the mirror. Such a garment gave one dignity, and she was the very image of a noble, decent, hard-working Border Terrier. Or almost anyway.

            She looked at the picture of Octavia again, and sighed ruefully again. The Pringles were Border Terriers through and through. There was no more reputable clan, but the de Beauvoirs were Plusharian Desert Hounds. In fact it was rumoured that Octavia was related to the Plusharian royal family itself. Her full name was La Grande Contessa Octavia Consuella Natalia de Beauvoir. She was also heiress to the mysterious de Valois diamonds, but Miss Pringle wasn't impressed by any of that.* A Desert Hound was a Desert Hound no matter how you dressed it up. A strange, slippery, big-nosed breed. In fact Miss Pringle was far from convinced it was a real breed at all. It certainly wasn't recognized by the Kennel Club,  but fortunately nobody looking at her would guess she was anything other than a pure Border. Unless they had read 'Burke's Directory of Central Plusharian Aristocracy'. Which wasn't very likely.

            So she swept her gown round her shoulders and strode away to face another day.

 

* But, you might say, if Octavia is related to the Plusharian royal family, then why isn't Miss Pringle? When she is asked about this, Octavia says: “Ah well now you see it's all to do with the stripe up the tail. If you have one, you're a Desert Hound. And if you don't, you're perpetually knee deep in bilberries or icicles.” This explanation has always seemed to Miss Pringle not only illogical and insulting, but perhaps even scientifically impossible. However if it keeps her away from the lewd de Valois diamonds she's more than happy to go along with it.

 

            The Latin class was to take place Classroom 1A. The fort only had one classroom, but Miss Pringle felt the name gave it a certain ambience. As she entered, the pups were seated at their desks. Each girl was dressed in the school uniform of dark blue skirt, pale blue blouse, and dark blue blazer with a yellow bilberry on the pocket. Miss Pringle strode down the aisle, and mounted the dais. Then she turned to the class.

            “Good morning, girls,” she said.

            “Good morning, Miss Pringle!” chorused the pups.

            "Thank you for being prompt. We will begin today with some simple sentences. Open your exercise books, and translate the following into accurate classical Latin.” She turned to the blackboard and wrote:

 

                                                 THE BILBERRY IS ON THE BUSH.

 

            “Excuse me, Miss Pringle,” said Heidi, “I cannot see over your mortar board.”

            “Well I’m afraid I am not removing it,” said Miss Pringle, “Is this any better?” She moved slightly to one side, and Heidi peered.

            “Still too high," she said, “Can I stand on Molly and Polly?”

            “Oh all right!” sighed Miss Pringle, “They seem to like it, at least.”

            Heidi leapt from her chair and clambered up onto Molly and Polly’s shoulders. Miss Pringle turned firmly back to the board. It was an unwelcome interruption, so to restore the serious atmosphere she wrote:

 

                                              WHOSE STALK IS IN THE BASKET?

 

            “Pardon me, Miss Pringle,” said Elspeth, “Heidi is now too high for me to see over her head.”

            Patiently Miss Pringle turned round again. “Heidi, dear,” she said, “Can you bend your knees?”

            “Which ones?” said Heidi.

            “All of them.”

            “In the same direction?”

            “Yes.”

            “I will try.” Heidi frowned with concentration. Her eyes bulged and she trembled all over, then she fell backwards with a crash.

            Miss Pringle threw down her chalk. This was getting ridiculous. She could not compromise her authority by removing her mortar board in class, so instead she clambered onto her own desk. “There you are!” she said, “Is everyone quite satisfied now?”

            “Hey Big Chief!” said Hetty, “Kiss the bats for me while you're up there!”

            Miss Pringle squeaked with dismay and leapt down again. “Yes well I think that's enough sentences for now,” she said, nervously eyeing the lightshade, “Text books open please, girls." The pups rummaged in their desks, and pulled out their books. "Turn to page 68," she said, "I want you to write 100 words describing the scene in the picture.” The pups leafed through the books, then a general groan went up.

            “Oh no!” said Hetty, “It's pups picking bilberries again!”

            “It certainly is,” said Miss Pringle sternly, “What is wrong with that?”

            “All we get in this place is bilberries bilberries bilberries.”

            “And very wholesome too. In fact, it's bilberries which made me what I am today. And since you are about to say something offensive you are now Chief Casserole Scrubber for a month!”

            “Oh no!” moaned Hetty, “Not the casserole. It all gets stuck on!”

            “Indeed!" snapped Miss Pringle, "Well you'll just have to scrape it off then, won't you?” 

            A chastened silence fell. The pups began to write, and Miss Pringle sat down at her desk. She pointedly took out her detention book, and contentedly began to read the copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' hidden inside. Order had been restored. It was a responsible and challenging job being a headmistress, but satisfying too. And certainly a lot better than being a Perky Pooch.  

            She winced. Her sister had a nasty habit of popping up in even her most tranquil thoughts. How implausible, she reflected, that she had ended up with a sister like Octavia de Beauvoir. The Pringles were an eminent local family. By the turn of the twentieth century, they had 300 years of respectable bilberry farming behind them. The future looked set fair for the dynasty, but then an unaccountable dalliance by Lady Constance Pringle on her grand tour in Venice had linked them with the degenerate de Beauvoirs. And there the family had been ever since. Farming away, forging ahead, and furtively surpressing the shameful surname of Pringle-de Beauvoir.

            Still, thought Miss Pringle as she turned the page, there are worse fates. And it was never too late to hope. Perhaps like Elizabeth Bennet in the book, she too would eventually win through. Perhaps one day she would reveal to Octavia the error of her ways, and win her back to a more respectable way of life...

                       

            Perhaps. But not today.

            At that moment the pink sportscar was whizzing down Piccadily in a cloud of designer perfume. It was already full of smart shopping bags, and Octavia and her friends were singing 'The Perky Pooches Song'. This was a song which Octavia made up all by herself. It didn't rhyme, because she never went to school. It didn't have much of a tune either, but the words summed up her essential passion for life.

            The gang burst into the chorus:

           

            “Whizzing round town in a sportscar,

            Snapping up lots of shoes!

            Whizzing round town in a sportscar,

            Posing with lots of bags!

 

            Spend spend spend!

            Lunch lunch lunch!

            Laugh laugh laugh!

            LAY-DEEZ! With a

           

            Whizzy whizzy whizzy and a

            Perky perky perky and a

            Poochy poochy poochy and a..."

 

            “Hey hold on a sec," said Octavia, "I forgot to say, we should make a diversion round by St James's Palace."

            "Thanks for the tip, darling," said Claudia, "Did you read about some roadworks online?"

            "No. I want to play Taunt The Guard Dog.”

            "Oh honestly darling!" sighed Claudia.

            “Hey cool idea!” shrieked Victoria, "Hold onto your hats, guys!" She swerved down a side street, and St James's Palace loomed into view ahead.

            If you're not familiar with this part of London, the Palace is a majestic building. It has imposing walls, ornate towers, and lofty turrets. There is security to match too, and outside the gates stood a burly Alsatian. He was dressed in full guard's uniform, and staring ahead as stern as a rock face. The pink sportscar streaked towards him. Octavia wound down the window, and stuck her head out.

            “HEY BIG BOY!” she shouted, “LIKE THE BUSBY!”

            The guard dog didn't move, but the corner of his eye twitched. 

            Claudia tapped Octavia disapprovingly. "Watch what you're doing," she said, "That guard has an important job to do, and he needs to concentrate." 

            "Oh it's only old Roger," said Octavia casually, “He's a close personal friend of mine, so let's have another go, Victoria.”

            “You got it!” yelled Victoria. She span the wheel and the car screeched round in a circle. Then she pressed a button on the dashboard. The roof rolled back, and Octavia leapt to her feet.

          “HEY MR HUNKY!” she bawled, “FANCY A SNIFF?"

            And the guard dog fell over backwards in a heap of crumpled regalia.

            “OOOOO!” taunted Octavia, "LIKE THAT, IS IT? WELL I'M SORRY BUT I'M WASHING MY FUR TONIGHT!”

            The girls roared with laughter. Victoria tugged at the gearstick, and  they shot off up The Mall singing at the tops of their voices:

 

            “Whizzing round town in a sportscar,

            Laughing with lots of friends!

            Whizzing round town in a sportscar,

            Shouting at lots of men!

 

            Flutter your lashes!

            Whip off your roof!

            Drive the boys crazy! We are

            LAY-DEEZ! With a

 

            Boogie boogie boogie and a

            Shimmy shimmy shimmy

            Giggle giggle giggle we are

            LAY-DEEEEEZ! YEEEEEEAAAAAAAH!” 

           

 

            “Attention pups!” said Miss Pringle, “Mrs Postlethwaite approaching!”

            She was leading the pups in a long crocodile down Pringleton High Street on their morning walk. This was a regular part of the school routine. Exercise was important for children, and she ensured that everyone took a brisk walk each day. She once experimented with 32 leads, but only once. It was a cold morning, and she had promised to take the pups to The Spires Tea Room for elevenses. Anyway after that Latin lesson she felt badly in need of a teacake.

            The walk had begun smoothly enough. Heidi just fell over twice on the hill. It was too cold for anyone to drag behind, but then as they approached The Spires their elderly neighbour Mrs Postlethwaite appeared round the corner.

             Miss Pringle's whiskers twitched. She was very fond of Mrs Postlethwaite. She was a good friend and a loyal supporter of the school, but she was also the owner of some very strange hats. Today she wore on her head something quite bizarre. It looked like a large woollen dumpling, and what was more she was heading straight towards them. A worrying moment with Hetty Henderson in tow.

            “Watch closely, girls," ordered Miss Pringle, "You must be polite, so when I give the secret signal, offer a greeting.”

             Mrs Postlethwaite bustled up to the pups. Miss Pringle lifted the tip of one ear, and 32 tails wagged vigorously.

             Mrs Postlethwaite beamed. "Well it's lovely to see you too, girls!” she said, "Good morning, Miss Pringle.”

            “Good morning, Gertrude,” said Miss Pringle, “How are you?”

            “I'm fine, thank you. Rather chilly for the time of year, isn't it?”

            “It certainly is. In fact, I heard on the radio the cold weather will continue

right into next week.”

            “Well I had better get my winter woollies out then!”

            “I think that would a good idea!” They laughed merrily, and Hetty Henderson's tail kinked in the middle.

            Miss Pringle hastily straightened it out. Things had been going very well until that point, but luckily Mrs Postlethwaite didn't seem to have noticed. She turned brightly to the pups.

            “And how are you all today, girls?” she said, “Aren't you lucky your headmistress takes you on such exciting walks?"

            Miss Pringle clapped a paw over Hetty's mouth and ushered Elspeth forwards. “Yes we are, Mrs Postlethwaite,” she said, "It's very healthy for us, and today Miss Pringle is kindly taking us to The Spires for elevenses.”

            "Excellent,” said Mrs Postlethwaite, “Well perhaps if I give her a little extra money, she’ll let you have fizzy drinks as a treat.” She felt in her purse and pulled out a silver half crown. (Old money is still legal tender in Pringleton.)

            Miss Pringle took the coin and deftly switched Elspeth for Heidi. “Hello hello Mrs Postlethwaite,” she nattered, “Hello I love you I really love you and three cheers for Mrs Postlethwaite. Hip hip!”

            “Hooray!” cheered the pups.

            “Hip hip!”

            “Hooray!”

            There was an awkward pause. “Come along, Heidi,” said Miss Pringle encouragingly, “Don't you have something else to say?”

            “No,” said Heidi, “No, I don't think so.”

            “Please don't be cross with dear Heidi,” said Mrs Postlethwaite, “I know she does get rather confused, but I mustn't hold you up. Enjoy your elevenses, everybody, and I'll see you later with my wood delivery.”

            "Goodbye, Gertrude," said Miss Pringle, "We'll be with you at about the usual time." And she lifted the tip of her other ear.

            “Goodbye, Mrs Postlethwaite!” chorused the pups. Then she led them swiftly on towards The Spires.

            "Well done," she said, pocketing the half crown and deciding to have a slice of Victoria sponge instead, "I was very impressed by your courteous behaviour. Apart from the kink of course, Hetty."

            "Chill out, Big Chief," said Hetty, "It was just a joke."

            "Well it came over as very insolent. Mrs Postlethwaite is one of the school's staunchest supporters, and you rely on people like her to give you a good start in life. By the way how do you do it?”

            “It's easy. You just think about Sunday tea and...” Her tail kinked in the middle again.

            “How dare you!” snapped Miss Pringle, “I'll have you know there is nothing wrong with bread and butter!”

            “Oh no?” said Hetty, “"So watch this.” She turned to the other pups. “All together now, girls!" she announced, “Sunday tea!”

            And 32 tails kinked in the middle.

            "I, er, see,” said Miss Pringle guardedly, “Well on reflection perhaps it is time to review the menu. Now in we go, girls, and no kinks!” She pushed open the door and there was a loud ping.

            She smiled. A ping was a homely sound when entering a tea room, and there was certainly always a warm welcome waiting here. As the pups swarmed inside, Lizzie the manageress was clearing tables nearby. She was a pretty young Border Terrier, and wore a white apron and a blue ribbon in her hair. She looked round, and smiled.

            “Hello, Miss Pringle,” she said, “Hello, girls. Great to see you all again.”

            “And you too, Lizzie,” said Miss Pringle, “A table for 33 please.”

            "A pleasure.” Lizzie led them over to a large table in the corner. The pups sat down round the edge, and Miss Pringle positioned herself at the head. Then Lizzie took out her notepad. “Now then,” she said, “What would we all like?”

            Hetty banged her fist on the table. “THE CREAM BUNS ARE ON ME!” she shrieked. The pups giggled, and Miss Pringle flicked Hetty's ear.

            “The usual please, Lizzie,” she said, “One tea, 32 currant buns, 32 glasses of orange squash...”

            “Fizzy orange!” said Heidi pointedly.

            “Oh, yes,” said Miss Pringle reluctantly, “32 glasses of fizzy orange, and a teacake.”

            "Right,” said Lizzie, “We do have crisps though, girls, if you fancy something more modern."

            “Pringles?” enquired Hetty. The pups giggled again, and Miss Pringle flicked her other ear.

            “Excuse me, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “Sorry to be...”

            “...a nuisance,” said Polly, “Can Molly and me have a big glass with two straws because we like to...”

            “...share,” said Molly.

            “Er, quite,” said Miss Pringle, “Lizzie, would that be possible?”

            “Of course,” said Lizzie, “Coming right along." She hurried away to the kitchen, and Miss Pringle sat back contentedly. She loved The Spires. In fact she always thought of it as a kind of home from home. It was a snug, wood-panelled room, decorated with prints of old Pringleton. There was a counter full of delicious cakes. There was a grand brick fireplace and a hatstand and somehow on a cold day like this with the fire glowing it made you feel all funny...

            Lizzie returned with a laden tray. “Here we are, girls,” she said, “Help yourselves.” She lowered it onto the table and the pups sprang greedily forwards. Miss Pringle hastily grabbed her cup and teacake. “Very much obliged, Lizzie,” she said, "I must say your teacakes look temptingly tasty!"

            “Glad you approve,” said Lizzie, "Tuck in everyone!” She bustled away again, and Miss Pringle rapped the table with one claw.

            “Right then,” she said, “Let's see how good we can all be. I have some important school work to do, so talk quietly among yourselves.” She reached in her bag, and whipped out the new edition of  The Headmistress's Gazette. It was always a highlight of her month. She needed to keep up with the latest developments in education, so she flipped through to see if they had published her letter on 'The Implications for Discipline of Yo-Yos'.

            The pups slurped their drinks and munched their buns. Then Hetty leaned across to Ruby. “I say, Rubers old bean,” she said, “I've got a spiffing wheeze!”

            “No you haven't,” glowered Miss Pringle, “I know your wheezes, Hetty. They usually end up with me getting wet so let's hear no more about it.”

            “I spy,” said Heidi suddenly, “with my little eye something beginning with F.”

            “Fizzy orange,” said Harriet.

            “Stop guessing!” fumed Heidi, “Stop guessing them straight away, you cheat!”

            “Yes, give her a chance,” said Miss Pringle, “Remember she's a lot younger than most of you. Have another go, Heidi.”

            “Thank you thank you,” said Heidi, “I spy with my little eye something beginning with C.”

            There was a pause while the other pups counted to five. “Currant bun,” said Lucy.

            “Stop it stop it stop it!” raged Heidi, “You cheats! You're not even trying to get them wrong, you nasty beasts!”

            “Do we have to have all this silly chatter, girls?” said Miss Pringle irritably, “Somebody think of a sensible topic of conversation so we can all join in.”

            The pups stared thoughtfully into space. “Miss Pringle,” said Tasmin, “is it true we have big hairy bats in the belfry?”

            “OOOOOOOO!” squealed the pups. And their ears flew up in the air.

            “No of course it isn't,” snorted Miss Pringle, “Whoever told you such rubbish? As if I need to ask!” She glared at Hetty, who smirked proudly.

            “I read it in my library book,” she said, “'The Bumper Book of Bats'. It says bats are big and hairy and they live in belfries.”

            “OOOOOOOO!” squealed the pups again. And their ears flew up in the air again.

            “Does it indeed?”scowled Miss Pringle, “Well didn't occur to any of you that we can't have bats in the belfry...”

            “OOOOOOOO!”

            “...because we don't have a belfry.”

            "Oh," said the pups. They looked at each other, then they all fell on Hetty.

            “You fibber!” they shrieked, kicking and punching.

            “You miserable creep!”

            “Scaring us and frightening us, you horrible little rotter!”

            Miss Pringle leapt up and pulled them all off. “Girls girls!” she cried, “What on earth do you think you're doing? This is quite disgraceful behaviour!”

            Just then Lizzie appeared again. “Excuse me, Miss Pringle,” she said, “The pups seem a bit restless, so I thought they might like to play with this.” And she held out a board game.

            “Oh yes Lizzie!” said Miss Pringle with relief, “You really are a treasure!”

            "It's quite an easy game,” said Lizzie, “They just have to put down cards to spell out different words, and they get a point for each letter.”

            “It sounds very educational, thank you so much." Miss Pringle took the game, and Lizzie trotted back to the kitchen.

            Miss Pringle opened the box and took out the contents. There were a game board, and a pack of cards with letters of the alphabet. She lay out the board. "Now pay attention, girls," she said, “Form yourselves into teams of four." The pups shuffled around the table, while she dealt the cards into 8 piles. "Good," she said, "Here we go, and since Elspeth is best at English she can go first."

            Elspeth chose five cards from her team's pile. She lay them on the board, and spelt out:

                                                                   PUPPY

            “Very good,” said Miss Pringle, “I think we'll have you next, Harriet.”

            Harriet picked up four cards from her pile. She arranged them on the board and, using the first P in PUPPY, spelt out:                                                                      

                                                                  PRANKS

            "Excellent," said Miss Pringle, "Now it's your go, Hetty.”

            Hetty chose two cards from her pile. She placed them on the board and, using the A in PRANKS, spelt out:

                                                                     BAT

            The pups trembled. Miss Pringle glared at Hetty. She took a card from Phoebe's team's pile, and changed the word to:

                                                                     BET

            The pups stopped trembling. Hetty chose one of her cards, and changed the word to:

                                                                     HET

            The pups giggled. Miss Pringle scowled at them. Sadly they had a very limited sense of humour, but she would not be beaten. She picked up another card from Phoebe's pile, and changed the word to:

                                                                     HOT

            Hetty narrowed her eyes at Miss Pringle. Miss Pringle narrowed her eyes at Hetty. The pups held their breath. Hetty hunched her shoulders, and broodingly examined her cards.

            Suddenly she slammed down a letter on the board. Everyone jumped. Hetty sat back, and then they all leaned forwards to see the word in the middle of the table.

                                                                     BOT

            The pups collapsed in hysterics and the cards flew all over the room.

             Miss Pringle leapt to her feet. “The bill please, Lizzie!" she called, "That was delicious, and you'd better add a large tip for tidying up!” And she bundled the pups out of the door, reflecting that it would be three whole hours before she could next lie down.

 

 

 

 

                                                                   CHAPTER 3

 

 

            Laying down wasn't a problem Octavia de Beauvoir had in her job. As a top superdogel, she was often photographed in a reclining pose. She was shown laying on chaise-longues, on cars, and by swimming pools. Images of opulence and romance were her speciality, and today she was laying on a huge dog shampoo bottle at Harrods. Yeeaaah!

            Around her the beauty department swarmed with photographers. They were all snapping away, and the air blazed with brilliant flashes. Behind her billboards featured the product's smart livery. In the wings a pack of reporters waited keenly, while at the centre of it all Claudia was waving a clipboard and bossing everyone about. Yeah yeah!

            Octavia flashed her teeth and stretched out her back legs.

            “This way, Octavia!” called a photographer.

            “Over here!”

            “One more over here please, Miss de Beauvoir!”

            Octavia turned vivaciously from lens to lens. She enjoyed doing publicity appearances. Her career had many stimulating facets, and recently Claudia and she had set up a beauty company. It was a joint enterprise. Claudia was the chief executive, and Octavia lay down in the adverts.

            Today they were launching a new shampoo called Octavia Supreme. 'For radiant, truly energized fur,' said the adverts, 'Let the real woman shine through.' Then there was a picture of Octavia laying on the floor. £29.99 a bottle. It wasn't really very good value, but it did smell very nice.

            Suddenly Claudia stepped in front of the photographers. “Right that's your lot, guys!” she shouted, “Press conference time!”

            The photographers retreated, and the reporters surged forwards. Octavia

hopped down off the bottle. Claudia and she perched on two stools, and turned vivaciously to the audience. “OK who's first?” said Claudia, “Let's have you in the pink.” She pointed, and a chic lady Pekinese stood up.

            “Estelle de Columbona for Dogue,” she said, “Octavia, can you tell us something about your new product's creative philosophy?”

            Octavia frowned. “Oh,” she said doubtfully, “Well. Well I don't know really...”

            Claudia sat forwards. “Octavia thinks the shampoo is just wonderful,” she said, “and she's thrilled to be working with us. Next!” She pointed again, and a glamorous Poodle stood up.

            “Clara de Rhones-Signiorelle for Barkers & Queen,” she said, “Octavia, how your beauty business is positioned in terms of commercial synergy?”

            Octavia blinked. “Er,” she said awkwardly, “Hmm. Well it's an interesting question, but apart from laying down in the adverts I'm afraid I don't really...”

            “We think Octavia is just wonderful,” interrupted Claudia, “and we're thrilled to be working with her. OK now you!” She pointed again, and a scruffy Jack Russell terrier leapt up.

            “Matt Brown for The Daily Wow,” he said, "Octavia, according to a new opinion poll your most popular feature is your long silky nose. How big is it exactly?"

            Octavia began to bounce excitedly up and down. "Well now that's more like it!" she simpered, "Five inches since you ask, but I've been lucky in my career in other ways. I had a good training, the public have been supportive and I also have a whopping great brown stripe up my tail so..."

            Suddenly there was a faint rumble. Octavia paused, and looked at the ceiling. It was hard to be sure, but it sounded as if there was a thunderstorm brewing outside. And like many dogs Octavia hated thunder! She was about to throw back her head and give a forlorn howl when Claudia leapt up.

            “Thanks for sharing those thoughts, Octavia,” she said, “And thank you, everyone, for coming. Please join us now for the party, and Miss de Beauvoir will be available to give personal interviews shortly.” She clapped the brown nylon lead on Octavia and whipped her behind the bottle.

            “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” howled Octavia.

            “Calm down, darling!” whispered Claudia, “There's no need to be frightened of  thunder.”

            “Ooo yes there certainly is!” whimpered Octavia, “Isn't it the nastiest thing you've heard in your entire life?”

            "But you can hardly let some bad weather spoil your big launch."

            “Fine by me,” whinged Octavia, "I may have a popular nose, but I also have an incurable phobia about thunder!" 

            “Well I promise you're quite safe in here. Anyway this is a huge media event and if you disappear now what will I tell the reporters?”

            “Tell them to hide under the buffet until it stops!” grizzled Octavia. She

jerked the lead out of Claudia's paw, slapped a reporter's face and bolted for the exit.

 

            As she burst from the shop heavy rain was lashing down. The street was jet black and the sky flashing wildly, but luckily there was a commissionaire beagle waiting nearby with a limousine. She hurried across, and he smiled politely.

            "Good afternoon, Miss de Beauvoir,” he said, “I hope the launch went well?”

            “Ooo no it was nasty!” she gasped, swiveling her eyes at the sky, “Really horrible!”

            “Oh, er, dear. Well the weather has taken a turn for the worse, so can I offer you a ride home with our complimentary limousine service?”

            “Thank you, that's very kind of you." She slapped his face and dived into the car and they roared off into the storm.

            As soon as they were on their way, she took out her mobile phone. She didn't really care who she spoke to. She just needed somebody to give her some moral support, so she pressed a button at random.

            “Pringleton 612?” said a voice.

            “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” wailed Octavia.

            “Afternoon,” said Miss Pringle wearily, “Nice day.”

            “Ooo sister no it isn't!" snivelled Octavia, "It was thundering outside my launch event and now everything's gone completely yucky!”

            “Oh dear. Well keep your chin up, eh?” Miss Pringle put the phone down and beetled back to the dining table.

            It was lunchtime at the fort. The dining room was full of pups again, and everyone was tucking into Agnes's delicious homemade carrot and chickpea soup. Miss Pringle sprang bac into her chair, and Agnes looked round.

            “That was quick,” she said, “Who was it?”

            “Just Octavia,” said Miss Pringle, slurping lustily at her soup.

            “Again? What did she want this time?”

            “Oh I don't know. She was whinging on about thunder or something. You know, I sometimes think a few years' hard bilberry farming wouldn't do that young lady any harm at all.”

            “Well I suppose I see your point, but you are rather unfair.”

            “In what way?"

            "You're always being rude about her lifestyle. It might look as if she just swans around having fun, but when you're as rich and famous as her it must bring problems of its own.”

            “I gave her a pair of claw scissors for Christmas. What more does she want?”

            “A bit of sisterly support by the sound of it!"

            “Huh! That's easy for you to say. It's all right for you with a sister called Clementine living quietly in Bunting-on-Sea. How would you like to read over breakfast that Clementine has been causing havoc at Monte Carlo airport?”

            “Well I can't quite picture that,” allowed Agnes, “But yes, I suppose it is rather  different for you."

            “I appreciate your support. And Hetty, stop throwing croutons at Heidi.” Miss Pringle gobbled down the last of her soup, then Agnes gathered their empty bowls together.

            “Well anyway that's enough about that,” she said, "There's a wood-gathering trip and a delivery round to do, so which do you fancy?”

            "I'm not sure,” said Miss Pringle, “Who's on duty for the delivery round?”

            “The new girls, Molly and Polly.”

            "I see. Well they seem to be settling in well so far, but frankly I'm not sure I could stand it."

            "That's very rude of you! In what way?"

            "Watch this." She leaned down the table towards Molly and Polly. "Excuse me, girls," she said, "You have remembered you're doing the delivery round later, haven't you?"

            "Yes, Miss Pringle," said Molly, "We haven't done..."

            "...one before," said Polly, "It's quite a challenge, but if there are any problems we

can help each other..."

            "...out," said Molly.

            "Er, quite," said Miss Pringle, "I'm sure it will be a great success." And she

raised her eyebrows at Agnes.

            "Ah," said Agnes, "That. Well yes I suppose they are unusually close, but I don't mind doing the delivery round.”

            “Thank you, but I really should go," said Miss Pringle, "As headmistress, it's important that I train the juniors personally. Anyway we're going to Pankhurst Hall and I want to be sure we impress Lady Pankhurst.”

            "Ah now I see why you want to go! You make me laugh, you're always trying to get one up on Her Ladyship.”

            “No I'm not. I have great respect for the woman. Pankhurst Hall brings valuable tourism to Pringleton, and if she wants to buy her priceless family heirlooms at a car boot sale it's entirely her affair.”

            “Oh I'm sure she doesn't!”

            “She's a fraudulent snob, Agnes," sniffed Miss Pringle, "I've said it before and I'll say it again.”

            “I'm sure you will,” sighed Agnes, “I'm sure you will. Apple and sultana tart with custard all right for pudding?”

            "That sounds delicious," said Miss Pringle graciously, “And Heidi, stop throwing chickpeas at Hetty.”

           

            Just before 2 o'clock Miss Pringle was approaching the ornate gates of Pankhurst Hall. It was a bleak and blustery afternoon. The Hall stood on the edge of moorland just outside the village, and here the wind could really run wild. Ahead stretched a long tree-lined driveway. It swept through acres of parkland, before reaching an imposing Georgian manor house. Miss Pringle stopped inside the gates, and surveyed the view. “Fraudulent snob!” she muttered, “I'll fix her!”

            She peered over her shoulder. Further down the lane, Molly and Polly were labouring along strapped to a wood-cart. “Hurry up, girls!” called Miss Pringle, "It's important that we keep to our schedule!” She set off briskly up the driveway. They still had some way to go, and personally she was glad she wasn't strapped to a wood-cart. She had done her share of hauling as a girl at the school herself. She was Chief Cart Monitor three years running, and anyway collecting and looking after the money was just as great a burden. Or almost, anyway.

            Finally she reached the forecourt of the house. Since she had last visited a new statue had appeared at the centre. The figure was a Border Terrier in formal pose, with one paw raised and snout nobly in the air. She walked slowly around the statue. It looked like fine and skillfully cast bronze, but no doubt it was just plastic painted over. “Fraudulent snob!” she muttered, “I'll show her!”

            Just then Molly and Polly stumbled to a halt beside her. They fell back puffing against the cart, and Miss Pringle patted their heads. “Well done, ladies,” she said, "Very commendable for a first attempt. Now then, Lady Pankhurst is your first customer so remember your manners and... Ah there she is!”

            Lady Pankhurst was waiting to one side of the house. She was a middle-aged Border Terrier with a haughtily aristocratic air. She wore a smart tweed suit, and beside her was a wood-hole. Every house in the village had one of these. It was a square hole equipped with a metal cover, leading down to the wood store below. Lady Pankhurst's hole was naturally larger than anyone else's, but one of her feet was tapping impatiently.

            Miss Pringle led the pups across. “Ah Lady P,” she said, “A very good afternoon to you.”

            “And to you, Miss Pringle,” said Lady Pankhurst, “Oh, and please don't call me Lady P.”

            “I'll try to remember. Well, we're here with your firewood order.”

            "Thank you, but you are slightly late. I hope all your deliveries aren't going to be delayed this winter?”

            "I apologise, but the girls are making their first round today. Anyway if we're late you can always burn a few heirlooms!”

            “I beg your...”

            “Sorry to interrupt but we are rather busy," said Miss Pringle crisply, "If you'll remove the cover, we can dispense your order.” Lady Pankhurst bent down and pulled the cover off her wood-hole. Then Miss Pringle turned to Molly and Polly. “Now then,” she said, “What do we say, girls?”

            “Good afternoon, madam,” said Molly, “Where would you like...”

            “...your wood?” said Polly.

            “In my wood-hole thank you, dear,” said Lady Pankhurst, “And as quick as you can.”

            “Certainly,” said Molly, “Are you ready, Polly?”

            “Ready!” said Polly.

            “Right. Polly, pull the handle!” Polly pulled a handle on the cart, and they both disappeared under a huge pile of wood.

            Lady Pankhurst smothered a titter. “Oh dear!” she smirked, “Tell me, Miss Pringle, do I have to return the pups or are they a sort of free gift like one finds in cornflakes?”

            “£26.50 please, Lady P!” growled Miss Pringle. And she angrily began to dig the pups out of the wood.

 

            “Hm!” sniffed Miss Pringle as they trundled back into the village, “Not very good, was it?”

            “Sorry, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “We're new to...”

            “...the job,” said Polly, “Perhaps it would be better this time if we switched...”

            "...positions,” said Molly.

            "Er, yes,” said Miss Pringle, "Well it's worth a try. We're going to The Spires now and this is another important customer, so just concentrate!”

            As they turned in at The Spires' back yard, Lizzie was coming out of the kitchen door. She carried a pile of old cake boxes, and she peered round the side. “Hello, Miss Pringle,” she said, “Hello, girls. How's your first delivery round going?”

            "Very well..." said Molly.

            "...thank you, madams," said Polly.

            "That's a matter of opinion," said Miss Pringle tartly, “This way.” She led the

pups across, then she turned to face them. "So then let's give this another go," she said, "What do we say, girls?”

            “Good afternoon, madam,” said Polly, “Where would you like...”

            “...your wood?” said Molly.

            “Just here in the old store, thanks,” said Lizzie. She put the boxes down and pulled the cover off her wood-hole.

            “Certainly,” said Polly, “Are you ready, Molly?”

            “Ready!” said Molly.

            “Right. Molly, pull the handle!” Molly tugged on the handle, and Miss Pringle disappeared under a huge pile of wood.

            “Er, great,” said Lizzie tactfully, “That lot should keep us going. Do I pay you, Miss Pringle?”

            “My sales staff here will collect your remittance,” sighed Miss Pringle, “Only for goodness sake watch what they do with it!” And she gloomily began to dig herself out of the wood.

 

            Meanwhile high in Bodger's Wood, the wood-gathering expedition was in full swing. The copse teemed with foraging pups. Agnes was in charge today, watching closely and sipping hot chocolate from a flask. It was a bitter afternoon. In the treetops the last leaves were pale and shivering, but in the clearing all was vigorous activity. The pups worked in teams of two. One pulled a wood-cart, while the other had a shovel and a silver whistle. The driver trundled over to a pile of wood. The shoveller shovelled, then when all the wood had been collected she blew her whistle. Then they trundled on to the next pile. It was a good system. Over the years it had proved one of Miss Pringle's most successful inventions, but Agnes was rather glad to be on her own today.

            She had great respect and affection for her employer. However, she did complicate things. Even with a simple job like wood-gathering, if Miss Pringle was involved something always seemed to happen. A pup got stuck to a bush. Or a wheel fell off a cart. One day Miss Pringle herself thought she saw a wolf, scrambled up a tree and had to be rescued by all the pups standing on each other in a pyramid formation. 

            "I don't think," as she said afterwards, "I have ever been so humiliated in my life!"

             Agnes could see the point. It beggared belief how such a thing could happen, but fortunately today all was going smoothly. The air rang with squeaking wheels and peeping whistles. Agnes sat down on an old log, and poured herself some more hot chocolate. She looked out over the landscape of steaming cottages and beautiful winter woodland, and smiled.

            Just then Elspeth appeared beside her. “Excuse me, Agnes,” she said, “Harriet and I have filled our cart.”

            "Well done,” said Agnes, “You two have worked hard today. Come and sit up

here by me, and I'll give you both some hot chocolate.”

            "Ooo thank you!" Elspeth and Harriet hopped up onto the log. Agnes took two spare paper cups from her bag, and filled them with hot chocolate. Then she handed them to the pups.

            They both drank keenly. “Thanks, Agnes,” said Harriet, “I really love coming up to the woods with you.”

            “Good,” said Agnes, "I enjoy it too, but isn't it the same with Miss Pringle?"

            "Well, er, not always."

            "Oh, I see," said Agnes uneasily, "Such as when?"

            “Well, last week when we'd filled our cart she said she was going to look for winter marigolds. Then she hid behind a tree with her flask. She poured out some hot chocolate, but then Hetty shouted 'Luxury Dark Belgian today, Big Chief?' and she spilt it all over her shoes.”

            Agnes smothered a laugh. “Now now!” she said seriously, “You mustn't be rude  about your headmistress. Remember, she's out there working very hard to earn money for our drinks.”

            “Sorry, Agnes,” said Harriet, “Can we have a bit more?”

            “Of course.” Agnes poured out two more helpings, then she gave herself the last drop.

            Elspeth lifted her snout and snuffled at the breeze. “This is a really lovely view, isn't it?” she said, “It's like having the whole village spread out at your feet.”

            "Yes it's beautiful,” said Agnes, “Look, you can even see right through

the window at The Spires. The fire's roaring and there's a lady beside it with a cup of tea and some toasted...” She paused, and peered. “It's Miss Pringle!” she cried.

            It was too. In the window Miss Pringle could clearly be seen by the fire enjoying tea and muffins. “Huh!” said Agnes indignantly, “It's all right for some. She's supposed to be training Molly and Polly on the delivery round.”

            “Don't worry,” said Elspeth, squinting down the hill, "They're with her, and she's waving her claw at them and shouting.”

            "Something must have happened again. I expect it was her fault and there's no excuse to convalesce over afternoon tea!"

            "Now now Agnes!” teased Elspeth, “You mustn't be rude about your headmistress!”

            “Quite right,” smiled Agnes, “Girls, you're quite right!” And as they all laughed three fraught figures stepped from The Spires and struggled on up the road.

 

            “Well, girls?” said Miss Pringle pointedly, “Any more bright ideas?"     

            “Sorry, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “We were confused about...”

            “...the new jobs,” said Polly, “Perhaps this time you could give the instructions while we make the delivery...”

            “...together,” said Molly.

            “Oh all right!” snapped Miss Pringle, “But I'm warning you, if any wood lands on Mrs Postlethwaite you are in big trouble!”

            Mrs Postlethwaite lived in a small flint cottage just below the fort. It was one of the prettiest houses in the village, and this afternoon it looked particularly beautiful. The garden was a haze of misty cobbles and yellow leaves. The windows glowed with firelight, and on the door there was a freshly polished brass knocker. Miss Pringle led the pups  through the gate. They set off up the path, but then she spotted Mrs Postlethwaite trimming a holly bush nearby. 

            “Yoo-hoo Mrs Postlethwaite!” called Miss Pringle, “Your fuel order has arrived!"         Mrs Postlethwaite looked round, and beamed. "Hello, Miss Pringle," she said, “How good to see you again.” She put down her shears and bustled across. "You have two new helpers today,” she said, “Good afternoon, girls. Oh aren't they gorgeous in their woolly hats and their sweet little scarves!”

            “You haven't seen them in action yet," said Miss Pringle warily, "In fact, since they're new girls I've taken charge this afternoon. Where would you like your wood, madam?”

            “In my wood store as usual, thank you. Perhaps you could just help me with the cover.”

            "Certainly." Miss Pringle pulled the cover off Mrs Postlethwaite's wood-hole, then she turned gloomily to the pups. “Right well let's get it over with," she sighed, “Are you ready, Molly and Polly?”

            “Ready!” said Molly and Polly.

            "Right. Molly and Polly, pull the handle together!” The pups looked beadily at each other. Then they grabbed the cart's handle. They yanked it violently, and the wood fell down the wood hole.

            “Oh well done!” exclaimed Miss Pringle, “You really have mastered this job at last!”

            “Thank you, Miss Pringle,” said Molly, “It was...”

            “...nothing,” said Polly. And they both fell down the wood hole too.

            “OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE!” shrieked Miss Pringle, “CAN'T YOU

TWO DO ANYTHING RIGHT?”

            “Please don't be too harsh on the girls,” said Mrs Postlethwaite gently, “They are new to the job, and it is a step in the right direction.”

            "I appreciate your patience, Gertrude," glowered Miss Pringle, "However I'd say it's a step in the wrong direction!" And she leapt into the wood-hole, reflecting ruefully on the improbability that her sister was at that moment grubbing about in a cellar.

 

            Although as a matter of fact, she was.

            When the limousine pulled up in Grosvenor Avenue, Octavia

peered nervously from the window. Rain was still thrashing against the glass. She could hardly make out the houses, and the thunder was raging more wildly than ever. Horrible!

            The chauffeur jumped out and opened the door for her. “Here we are, Miss de Beauvoir,” he said, "I've parked as close to your house as possible."

            "Thank you so much," said Octavia, "You have been so kind." She slapped his face then she sprinted inside and straight down to the cellar.

            Luckily it was a deep cellar. Once she was underground, she could hardly hear the drumming of the rain. She didn't have to see the lightning at all, but there was no escape from the furious roar of thunder. Disgusting!

            She crept behind the freezer, and sat down. She did feel a bit safer now. Apart from anything else it was good to be home, but she quickly found there wasn't much to do in the cellar. There was a pile of old magazines, so she looked at some of those. In the freezer there was a box of luxury choc ices. She ate all of those, but she didn't enjoy them very much. Ooooooooo!

            Finally she heard the front door open. “Hi, darling!” called a voice, “I'm back from the launch party!”

            "'Ello?" said Octavia, “Who is it?"

            "Claudia, of course. Who do you think it is?”

            “Well I never went to school.”

            “Oh honestly darling!”

            Footsteps bustled down the stairs. The light flashed on, but Octavia still didn't dare to look out. “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” she howled.

            “Oh you poor old thing!” said Claudia sympathetically, “Where are you?”

            “I'm here behind the freezer,” whimpered Octavia, “Ooo Claudia isn't the storm absolutely dreadful?"

            "Well it certainly is a big one, but it's really nothing to worry about. Anyway you need to come out soon because you have a date tonight.”

            "Not going.”

            “But you can hardly put a man off at the last minute because of some rain."    

            “That's true. You do it." And she threw her Filofax over the freezer.

            "Goodness this thing weighs a ton!" said Claudia, "I never understand why you still have one of these. I mean, why don't you just put everything on your phone?"

            "Because we're all too dominated by technology today and this makes an aesthetically satisfying change," said Octavia, "Help!"

            "Well this is hardly the moment to discuss screen addiction." There was the sound of ruffling pages. "This is quite some date you have, darling," said Claudia, "'6.30 - Sir Rudolf Bebbington, Claridges. 8 - Lord Cavendish, Burlington House. 9.30 - The Crown Prince Nicolai of Svorgensklikken, The Savoy'. How am I going to contact The Crown Prince Nicolai of Svorgensklikken?”       

            “He can be reached through the Swedish Embassy,” said Octavia, "Eeeek!"

            "Er, quite. Well OK, but are you absolutely sure about this? The weather forecast said it would probably clear up later.”

            "Look will you please stop trying to talk me round?" snapped Octavia, "The world is in the grip of an elemental turbulence and I'm not coming out all day!" 

            “Then fine," said Claudia briskly, “Let's get to work and blow out this party!” Her footsteps retreated, and silence fell.

            Octavia listened. Actually the cellar almost was silent now. The hiss of rain had faded away completely, but by straining her ears very hard she could just make out a faint rumbling in the distance. Hideous! She pressed herself into the corner, and flipped morosely through a copy of The Terrier.

            Finally she heard Claudia return. "I managed to tell your boyfriends," she said, "Do you want your Filofax back?”

            "Well, all right," said Octavia guardedly. She peeped out and took the book. “Thank you for your help, so how did they take it?”

            “Pretty well. They all said you're a poor angel. They all send their love, and they're all going to have a little gift sent over to cheer you up.”         

            “Don't want any stupid designer jewellery!” moped Octavia, “I'm shaking so hard it would probably rattle and snap and diamonds would fly all over the...”

            Suddenly a shaft of  golden light fell down the stairs and across the floor. “There you are!” said Claudia encouragingly, "The storm has passed by, and the sun has come out at last!”

            "Hmm," said Octavia suspiciously, "Are you sure it's not just a particularly long flash of lightning?”

            "Well I understand why you find it hard to take my word, but look at it this way." And Claudia did her scary face.

            "Ooo Claudia!" wheezed Octavia, "You are scary!"

            "I appreciate the compliment," snarled Claudia,  "Now get out!"

             Octavia climbed humbly to her feet. She brushed herself down, then she nervously followed Claudia up the stairs, along the hall, and into the drawing room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                               CHAPTER 4

 

 

             Octavia's drawing room was full of light. This was an airy and beautifully furnished room, and now it was swarming with sunbeams. They cascaded down the plush velvet curtains, wove through elegant porcelain vases, and reclined on the sofa among the fine silk cushions. The storm had gone, and the whole day seemed born again.

            “Huh!” flounced Octavia, “Well I say it's not very nice!” And she sulkily threw herself down on the cushions.

            Claudia sat next to her with a puzzled frown. “But I don't understand," she said, "I thought you wanted the storm to go away?”

            “I did,” said Octavia, "It will probably be a beautiful evening now though, and I'll be left here with no date. You'd think the prince might look out the window and call back!”

            "Don't be so arrogant, darling! You can't just wave people away then expect them to creep back when you're ready."

            "Oh I know I know!" said Octavia guiltily, "I'm sorry, Claudia. I should have made an effort to go, but selfishness is a vice for celebrities."

            "Well yes, but don't get too dejected. Perhaps you'll be lucky and one of the guys will phone back to ask you out."

            "Even if they did, I'd probably be too embarrassed to accept."

            Just then her phone rang. She switched on. "'ello?" she said morosely.

            "Please don't sound so downcast, my love," said a manly voice, "Your favourite gentledog friend is unexpectedly in town."

            Octavia gasped with delight. It was her close personal friend Baron Gustav von Liebenitz. "Gustav!" she exclaimed, “I had no idea you were in London?”

            "A very good afternoon to you, Octavia," he said, "Yes, I'm staying at my Kensington townhouse this week to negotiate a business deal."

            "Oh I see," she said, "Is this one of your big property deals?"

            "That's right. I'm setting up a luxury Swiss development, but even now work doesn't take up all of my time. My love, I was wondering if I could invite you to the opera tonight?"

            "How kind, Gustav," she said modestly, "I'd love that, especially since I've been stuck inside today with the, er, weather."

            "Oh dear. Is your thunder phobia still troubling you?"

            "I'm afraid so. I'm fine now though, and it will be lovely to see you again."

            "Good. I'll collect you in the Bentley at 6.30, and if my meeting overruns I'll only be a couple of minutes late." 

            She blinked. "Late?" she asked.

            "Just a little," he said.

            “Well that's absolutely charming isn’t it?” she spat, “That's just charming isn't it, Gustav? Have you forgotten Venice already?”

            “Of course I haven't, but...”

            “But you'd rather gossip about kennels with a bunch of St Bernards than be on time for me?”

            “Of course I wouldn't, but...”

            “Then pick me up in the Rolls at 6 or I'll never speak to you again!” And she threw the phone over her shoulder. 

            Claudia stared wide-eyed at her. "Er, quite," she said, "Well the next time you try to do modesty I'd enlist your sister's help!"

            "Forgive me, Claudia," said Octavia graciously, "I should have said to duck."

            Claudia jumped to her feet. "Well I have to dash," she said, "Enjoy your evening, but don't get too excited in case Gustav decides not to show!" She swept out of the door, and Octavia smiled knowingly to herself.

            “Oh he'll show,” she murmured, “He'll show!” And she scurried upstairs to get ready.

            First she went into the bathroom, and ran a deep bath. Then she took out her aromatherapy candles and her crystals. She arranged them alternately on a ley line around the edge of the bath, and lit all the candles. The crystals shimmered by the light of the dancing flames. Next, she switched on her audio system. She chose a new age composition for orchestra and celestial choirs, then she dived headfirst into the water.

            She floated happily up and down. The music was very soothing, and she was a great believer in crystal therapy. She was a great believer in everything like that really. The secret of life was to calm your energy flows, and nurture your inner star being. Or perhaps it was just that she had too much money and not enough to do. Anyway it smelt really good. 

            Soon she was feeling very relaxed. The steam swirled in golden clouds above her, and her star being certainly seemed to like the choirs. In fact, somebody was doodling strange shapes in the clouds now. Octavia floated round in a circle, and watched thoughtfully.. The air was teeming with a collage of all her favourite things. There were orchids, and diamonds. There were peaches and birds and oceans, and through the steam she even thought she could see her sister...

 

              Miss Pringle too was in a steam-filled room. She was leaning over a large tin bath, and pups and bubbles were whizzing in all directions. “Right then!” she shouted, “Who's next for a scrub?”

            Molly and Polly splashed across. “Oh Miss Pringle this is...” said Molly.

            “...super!” said Polly, “We're playing hide and seek in the steam with...”

            “...Millicent!” said Molly.

            “And you've just found her!" squealed a voice. Millicent leapt out of a passing cloud, Molly and Polly screamed and they all doggy-paddled off into the steam together.

            “Come back here at once!” snapped Miss Pringle, brandishing her brush, “This is a bathtub, not an amusement park!”

            Gemma hopped up onto the side of the bath. “But Miss Pringle, it's all SO thrilling!” she chirped, “We just can't HELP ourselves!” She leapt off and did a back-flip in the air, and Miss Pringle caught her. She began to scrub her vigorously, and Gemma squirmed giddily. “Help, girls!” she giggled, “I'm being attacked by the Razorfinned Pringle Shark!”

            “Now listen to me, all of you," said Miss Pringle firmly, "Let me explain why this is matters. Hygiene is an important life skill, and bathtime should be  a serious affair."

            Just then a small galleon sailed past manned by three pups. “WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” shrieked Miss Pringle, “THE TOYS ARE FOR DECORATIVE PURPOSES ONLY!”

            Harriet span the ship's wheel. “Sorry Miss Pringle, can't stop!” she called, “We're off to do battle with the Pirate Queen of Skull Island!”

            “Don't be ridiculous!" scoffed Miss Pringle, “There are no islands in this bath, and there are certainly no pirates.”

            "DON'T BE SO SURE, ME HEARTIES!" roared a voice. Hetty leapt out from under Miss Pringle's mob cap. She wore a pirate hat and an eye patch, and waved a tiny plastic sword. “Ahoy there!” she bellowed, “My name is Hetty the Horrible, and ye'll never capture Skull Island! Yo ho ho and a bottle of bilberry cordial!” 

            Miss Pringle made a furious grab for her, but it was too late. Harriet docked the boat on the hot tap. The three crew leapt out, scrambled up Miss Pringle's crinoline, and began to fence wildly with Hetty on her head.

            Just then Agnes looked round the door. “How's it going, Miss Pringle?” she asked, "Could you do with any help?"

            “I've heard some silly questions in my time,” sighed Miss Pringle, watching the battle raging on her head, “but I think that was the silliest!”

            “Oh, I see,” frowned Agnes, "Well in that case, let's show these pirates who really rules the waves!” She grabbed a loofah and advanced determinedly on Skull Island...

 

            Aaaaah! thought Octavia. Sweet. She loved the dear little pups. She sometimes went up to stay at the fort, and at home she always kept a picture of them by her bed. Gustav had once pointedly asked why it wasn't a picture of him, but she just laughed and pecked him on the cheek. The jealous old big boy. Which reminded her, he would be here at any minute and she should be getting on. She floated round the bath one last time, then she leapt out and hurried through to the bedroom.

            From her wardrobe she took out a glamorous purple evening gown. She slipped it on, then she opened her jewellery box. Inside was a dazzling array of brooches, rings and necklaces. She wished she could wear the mysterious de Valois diamonds, but apparently some woman in Plusharia had to die before she would get those. The cow. Still, she did have some very pretty amethyst earrings Olivier had given her last night. She slipped them on, and looked at herself in the mirror. The finished effect was dazzling. Gustav would certainly be satisfied, so then she hurried downstairs to wait.

            It was dark by now. As she entered the drawing room a crescent moon hung in the window, but she didn't switch on any lights. The moon was too beautiful for that. Quietly she checked her evening bag. The clock on the mantlepiece struck 6, and right on cue a Rolls-Royce drew up outside. On the back seat sat a handsome Alsatian in full evening dress. Gustav! She swept a pashmina around her shoulders, then she stole from the house. She slipped into the car, and Gustav beamed.

            "Octavia my dearest!” he said, "How ravishing you look tonight!"

            "Thank you, Gustav," she said, "Meeting finished on time then?" And her whiskers arched menacingly.

            He shrinked back in his seat. "Er, indeed," he said uneasily. He pecked her on the cheek, then he took both her paws in his. "Octavia, there is something I must say," he said seriously, "I have come to ask for your forgiveness.”

            "And I appreciate the thought," she frowned, "I hope I'm not unreasonable to see punctuality as a mark of respect?"

            “Of course not. I was rude to arrange a meeting this afternoon, and so I postponed it. Now I can offer you the opera at Covent Garden. I can offer my private box and supper at the Savoy, so will these tokens make up for my disloyalty?"

            "Yeeaaah!" grinned Octavia. Gustav snapped his claws at the chauffeur and they glided off into the night.

 

            Half an hour later, Octavia and Gustav were sipping cocktails in the Floral Hall at the Royal Dogpera House Covent Garden. It was one of Octavia's very favourite nightspots. The Hall was a huge, romantic conservatory, with ornate windows and glittering galleries rising to the roof. Tonight the theatre was packed out. It was hosting a gala opera performance, and the beautiful dogs were out in force. There were seductive setters, and hunky huskies. Pert Pekes, and muscular mastiffs. There were coy collies and burly boxers and delectable Dalmations, but Octavia was the only Plusharian Desert Hound. And about that she was perfectly, deliciously happy!

            “Goodness gracious!” said a setter over her champagne, “Over there, that lovely girl with Baron Gustav von Liebenitz. Surely it's la Grande Contessa Octavia de Beauvoir?”

            "Oh yes!" whispered her Peke friend, “The Baron is a naughty boy. Why, I read only this morning Octavia is dating his arch rival.”

            “Shocking. Still, you can't blame the man. Octavia looks simply exquisite tonight."

            "Truly, she has the kind of beauty which comes along once in a generation. Fancy another chew stick?" (That was what Octavia thought they were saying anyway. And, on the whole, she was probably right.)

            Suddenly she felt a paw on her hip. She span round, and found herself face to face with a dashing Dobermann in smart evening dress. She gaped. It was her ex-close personal friend Wolfgang, 12th Earl of Glausepharbenn!

            "Wolfgang!" she gasped, "I had no idea you were in the audience?”

            “To judge from your companion here," he said pointedly, "evidently you did not. Good evening, my dear.”

            "A very good evening to you,” she said politely, “Well this is a pleasant coincidence. I haven't seen you since Monte Carlo, so I hope you are well?”

            “As well as can be expected in the circumstances. You may be surprised to see me, but I hoped I would find you here.”

            “Oh, really? So this isn't a coincidence after all?”

            “No. You have been avoiding me since you so humiliatingly jilted me. I need to speak to you, and I knew you are partial to grand opera. Among other things.” He glared hatefully at Gustav, but Octavia just laughed lightly.

            “Sweet old Wolfie!” she said, “You always were rather highly strung, but let's not spoil this special evening. Tell me Gustav, do you know the Earl?”

            "Not personally," said Gustav acidly, "Although I believe I once glimpsed him in the 'News in Brief' column of the Financial Times!"

            “I have no wish to bandy words with you, sir!” spat Wolfgang, “Let's go outside now and settle this thing like gentlemen!”

            “Oh Wolfgang please!” said Octavia emotionally, “Why can't you let go of the past?”

            “The past is one thing,” said Wolfgang curtly, "However, romantic vows are quite another.”

            “But romance can be fleeting. We both got carried away in the excitement of the moment, but now I deserve to live my life in peace.”

            “And is that your final word on the matter?”

            “It is,” said Octavia haughtily.

            “Very well,” declared the Earl, “You have made your feelings quite clear, but I warn you. If I cannot have you, then nobody shall!” And he swept out into the night with his tail lashing vengefully behind him. 

 

            “I must say, Agnes,” said Miss Pringle, “You bake a ve-e-ery flaky mushroom crumble!”

            “Thank you,” said Agnes, “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

            "The vegetables were delicious too. I must compliment you on some particularly piquant parsnips!”

            “Well, er, right. Would you like an after-dinner mint?”

            "Don't mind if I do!" And Miss Pringle sank blissfully down into her armchair by the fire.

            This was always her favourite moment of the day. Lessons had been taught, and the firewood dutifully gathered. The pups were fed and bathed, and after such a perfect dinner her sense of repletion was almost complete.

            Agnes handed her a box of mints. Miss Pringle took one, and nibbled reflectively. “But of course that is not the sum of the matter,” she said, “There remains to be considered the dessert.”

            "Well yes, I suppose there does,” frowned Agnes, “Was there something wrong with it?”

            "absolutely not. I love traditional English puddings, and I don't think I've ever snaffled such a succulent syrup sponge!”    

            “Yes well can I just interrupt here?" said Agnes briskly, "You're a pleasure to cook for, but before you get started on the custard it's time for 'Doreen The Daredevil'.”

            “Oh no!" groaned Miss Pringle.

            She glowered at the radio. It stood to one side of the fireplace, a big old-fashioned set with a wooden case. The pups were sitting clustered around the base, and staring excitedly at the dial. 'Doreen The Daredevil' was their favourite programme. It was a weekly children's serial, and featured the adventures of a frenetic Border Terrier pup in a flying helmet.

            "Actually I've been thinking about this," said Miss Pringle, "We should have a range of evening activities, instead of always listening to the same programme. I mean it's so moronic.”

            "I'm not sure that would be fair," said Agnes, “The pups have been following the serial for ages, so what do you have against it?”

            "Well for a start the plot's so predictable. Doreen escapes from a collapsing tower or blazing cave with the aid of her trusty umbrella. Then she hurries back to her boss at the Secret Pup Service. 'Well done, Doreen,' he says, 'You really came up trumps, but now you have your most important mission yet.' Then he sends her off to find some secret plans. She finds the plans. The villain Colonel von Wittenberg finds her. They chase each other round and round and before you know it she's tied to a crumbling cliff till next week. Sometimes I wish the little scamp would just grow up!”

            "Well, I can see your point," said Agnes, “However I think this is a generational thing." She pointed at the pups, who were glaring at Miss Pringle.

            "Right then," she said briskly, "Let's get on with it." She stood up and strode across. “All right, ladies?” she said, “Anyone for Scrabble?”

            “But Miss Pringle it's Doreen night!” said Heidi excitedly, “I'm desperate to see if she escapes from the flooded mineshaft. Can I sit on your lap?”

            "Well yes," said Miss Pringle, "but only on the condition that you behave yourself."

            "I'm sorry?" frowned Heidi, "In what way?"

            "You know perfectly well in what way. I'm glad you enjoy the serial, but you got very carried away at the end last week and ripped the fringe off my shawl."

            "Ah," said Heidi guiltily, "You noticed then?"

            "It would be hard not to. We don't want any repetition of that, so just try to relax." Miss Pringle switched the radio on. The dial glowed into life, then she returned to her chair. Heidi scurried across and hopped onto her knee.

            “Calling all pups!” said the announcer, “The time is now 6 o'clock. Once again we invite you to join us for another adventure with...” A trumpet blew an urgent fanfare. “Doreen The Daredevil!” An orchestra struck up a sinister gallop, and Heidi began to tremble.

            “Now just remember what I told you,” warned Miss Pringle, “Stay calm!"

            "Thank you, Miss Pringle,” said Heidi modestly, “I will try.” The gallop faded away, and then it was replaced by the sound of frantically sloshing water.

            Immediately Miss Pringle's attention began to wander from the serial. It was the same old routine. Colonel von Wittenberg cackled, Doreen got busy with her trusty umbrella and before you knew it she was scuttling off on her next tedious mission. It was harmless enough fun for pups, but Miss Pringle had more important things to think about.  She was addressing a governors' meeting tomorrow, and also there was also the recent protests over Sunday tea. The menu of bread and butter had been due for a change. A varied diet was important for pups and she was just wondering if they would accept bread and jam instead, when an urgent gasp cut through her musings.

            “But Colonel von Wittenberg!” exclaimed Doreen, “Why are you tying me to a stake in the middle of this tropical lagoon?”

            “Simple, my little von,” growled the Colonel, “In a few minutes, ze crocodiles vill return for zair dinner. Zay vill be ravenously hungry, and tonight you will be ze main course! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAR!” The orchestra struck a menacing chord, and then it dived into the gallop again.

            Heidi screamed. Miss Pringle made a grab for her shawl. Heidi flew at it, and pupil and headmistress wrestled together. Miss Pringle clung on angrily. She simply could not tolerate this rowdy behaviour. Heidi had been given plenty of warning, but then suddenly she leapt off her lap. She slid down her skirt, gave a great roar and ripped the pompoms off her slippers.

            “OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE!” shrieked Miss Pringle, “NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU SILLY LITTLE PUP!”

            "I'm sorry," said Heidi, "I got confused." And she politely handed Miss Pringle the pompoms.

            Agnes stood up hastily. "Really Heidi, that was very careless of you," she said, "Shall I pass you your sewing basket, Miss Pringle?”

            "Not yet,” glowered Miss Pringle, “First I have some correspondence to attend to. Take a letter please, Agnes.”

            Agnes went to the dresser and fetched a pen and writing pad. She sat down again, and Miss Pringle sat back and pressed her clawtips thoughtfully together. "Now let's see," she said,

            “'Dear Sir,

                 I am the headmistress of a prep school in Northumbria. For some years my pupils and myself have listened to your serial 'Doreen The Daredevil'. I had understood this to be suitable for children, but tonight it so disturbed one of my pupils she ripped the pompoms off my slippers.

                 I enclose my cobbler's bill. I hope you will attend to this matter without delay. Thank you for your attention, and in closing I would just add that unless you restrain your scriptwriters in future we will dance round the gramophone instead.

                 Yours Sincerely,

                   Miss J. Pringle B.Ed (York)'

            That should put the wind up them, eh Agnes?”

            “I'm sure it will," said Agnes, "The pups do seem very worked up this week.” She pointed at the rug, where a wild game had broken out. Hetty was tying up Heidi with a skipping rope, while all around an imaginary lagoon seethed with small furry crocodiles.

            "Stop it at once!" snapped Miss Pringle, "If you are not upstairs in five minutes I will not read you 'The Water Babies!"

            Hetty twirled an imaginary moustache. “Zo I haff you at larst, my little von!” she cackled, “I am glad you could join us for dinner, but now ze pleasure is orl mine. Crocs, dig in!”

            Heidi screamed again. The crocodiles pounced, but then Agnes leapt up.

            “Time for bed, girls!” she said brightly, "And if you're quick I'll tell you about the time I saw a real crocodile in the river!"

            “YIPPEE!” cheered the pups. And they all stampeded away up the Great Staircase.

            Miss Pringle breathed a sigh of relief. “Excellent work, Agnes," she said, “I thought you handled that very well.”

            “Thank you," said Agnes, “You've taught me how to take charge using a distraction.”

            "I can tell you were paying attention. It can be an effective technique, but regarding this crocodile-in-the-river business," she added nervously, "you didn't really did you?”

            “Of course not,” smiled Agnes, “but I'll think of something!” And she

hurried away after the pups.

            Miss Pringle rummaged contentedly in the magazine rack. “No of course she didn't," she murmured, “A ridiculous idea. That might be an everyday occurence for Doreen, but things like that just don't happen in real life."

            Suddenly a copy of Celeb Frenzy fell out onto the floor. Miss Pringle blinked with surprise. The cover showed Octavia wearing a strapless evening dress, and flashing her teeth. In a way it had beenind of her to send a copy, but Miss Pringle had expressly told Agnes to dispose of it. She snatched it up and was about to stuff it in the log basket, when she paused.  

            'Things like that just don't happen in real life...'

            Or did they? Not in her life certainly, but Octavia’s was another matter altogether. Miss Pringle sat back, and stared reflectively into the fire. The skies over London would probably have cleared by now. Octavia would be on the prowl again, so what would she be doing at this very moment?

            The flames winked. Her thoughts begin to drift. Anything was possible with her sister, and as she gazed a shimmering picture seemed to appear before her mind's eye...

 

 

 

 

                                                             CHAPTER 5

 

 

            As the curtain rose at the Royal Dogpera House on the second act of Pallierdi's grand opera 'La Venetissima', Octavia yawned deeply. What a bore. She had wide cultural interests, and was far from adverse to opera. This was a beautiful score in a magnificent production, but how were people supposed to see her long silky nose when they kept putting the lights out? Even Gustav was too busy to notice. Cecilia Barkoli was standing alone at centre stage now. She was launching into an impassioned aria, and he was peering intently at her through a pair of opera glasses. The swine. It had been kind enough of him to invite her, but now the evening was turning into something of a trial.

            Suddenly she felt a paw on her hip. She looked at Gustav, but he was still gripping his opera glasses, so whose paw was this?

            “Carlos!” she gasped hopefully, “I had no idea you were into opera?”

            Suddenly a pair of arms grabbed her from behind. They dragged her backwards out of the box, and bundled her into a sack.

            “All right, Alf?” said a coarse voice.

            “Trussed up good and proper,” said another, “Let's scarper and get 'er back to the boss at the Manor!”

            Ooo, thought Octavia.

            The sack bumped and shook and lurched. She tumbled over and over, but finally the motion stopped and an engine started. She frowned anxiously. It seemed she was in some kind of vehicle, and she only hoped it was one fit for a celebrity. She usually refused to travel in anything less than a Bentley and she was about to demand a few details, when suddenly she felt dizzy.

            She pressed a paw to her face. She usually didn't suffer from travel sickness, so now what was happening? Had she put her crystals on the wrong ley line and got her energy flows in a twist? It seemed unlikely, but then she remembered the waiter in the bar. The one in the long black cloak. She was just studying the cocktails list when suddenly he rushed across, thrust a glass at her, muttered “Drink this!” and burst out of the door with a maniacal cackle. The drink hadn't been very nice either. It had purple smoke rising from the top, and when she sipped it it was really funny. However it was too late to worry about any of that now.

            A well of dizziness whirled below her.  She struggled to keep a hold on the world, but it was no use. The darkness span faster and faster, then with a roar it tore her clean from consciousness. So she just sank helplessly back into the black void...

 

            When she woke up, the first thing she saw was a rope tied round her wrists. She blinked. Perhaps she was still dreaming, but the rope felt unpleasantly tight. Then she saw another tied round her waist, and another round her ankles. Charming! she thought. The ropes clashed with her dress and she looked angrily round for an explanation, but then she froze.

            She was sitting in the middle of a large country house library. The walls were lined with books, and around her stretched an ocean of plush carpet. She couldn't imagine where she was, but then she realised she wasn't alone. In one corner was a large mahogany desk, and behind it sat Wolfgang. 

            She gaped. “You!” she exclaimed.

            “Indeed,” he said quietly.

            “But...” she stammered, “But it can't be!”

            “I quite understand your surprise. However unluckily for you, my cruel angel, it is!” He stood up and stalked broodingly towards her.

            She bristled furiously. “How dare you!” she spat, “After everything you've put me through, you dare to call me cruel?”

            “I do apologise, Octavia,,” he said steelily, “Is the epithet too blunt for you? How do you prefer merciless, or coldly coquettish?”

            “I have no time to play linguistic games with you. Why have you brought me here, you monster?”

            "Do you really need to ask?" He stopped in front of her, and glowered down at her. “We have unfinished business, Octavia,” he said, “You made a fool of me once, but never let it be said I give up on romance."

            “What can you know of true romance?” she said fervently, “What can  you know of virtue or passion or eternal love?”

            “Very little, since you casually thrust me aside. However all that is in the past. If you will now agree to be my wife, we can forget the whole sordid episode and begin our relationship afresh.”

            “And if I refuse you?”

            “Then I will hold you here until you relent. Your Baron can't help you now. Nobody knows of my secret country hideaway, Henchstone Manor,  and so  you will remain my prisoner indefinitely!”

            Octavia went cold all over. She had underestimated Wolfgang's tenacity, and also his cunning. Her predicament was  truly dire, but there had to be some way she could fight back...

            She modestly shook her head. “Yes, you're quite right,” she said remorsefully, “I have a weakness for toying with men, but I see now I've treated you appallingly.”

            “Oh, really?” he said guardedly, “So you agree you pushed me beyond the limits of endurance?"

            "To be honest I'm surprised you didn't crack sooner. However, the time for games is past. Come here, darling, and I'll show you how I really feel about you.” She enticingly lifted one eyebrow. He hesitated, and his face darkened in a storm of suspicion and desire. Then he moved towards her. She invitingly tossed back her head, and the huge hound bore down on her.

            Suddenly she lashed out with her stiletto. She caught him on the shoulder, and he reeled backwards across the room sending furniture flying in all directions. He struggled to his feet and his eyes flashed with fury.

            “Very well, Octavia!” he snapped, "Continue to torment me if you must, but I warn you. Nobody mocks the Earl and gets away with it!” And he stormed menacingly out of the door.

            YEEEAAAAAH!

            So that was all good. The evening had got off to rather a slow start, but now things had hotted up no end. She stretched contentently, but the ropes were so tight around her she didn't get far. She looked uneasily down at them. It was certainly exciting being abducted to a remote country house, but it was also very uncomfortable. And lonely. And dangerous too. She stopped being excited, and trembled. Actually she was in quite a mess now. A  man as ruthless as Wolfgang should not be trifled with, but how could she escape? She was bound immovably to the chair. The desk and windows were beyond reach, and the door just a distant dream. In fact all she had to help was her evening bag. It was still hooked on one wrist, but all the credit cards and make-up in the world couldn't save her now.

            Then suddenly she remembered the claw scissors. Of course! They had been a Christmas present from her sister last year, and they hadn't seemed very useful at the time. Octavia had her claws styled professionally at a top salon, but she always kept them in her bag because they reminded her of the fort. Octavia loved puppies. Aaaaah!

            She clicked open the bag. Beneath all her glamorous clutter nestled a small tweed pouch. With some difficulty she removed it. She squeezed out the neat pair of scissors, and carefully hooked them onto her claws. Then she snip-snapped away at the ropes until they broke. Yeah!

            She leapt up. The ropes fell away, and she darted across to the window. She looked out, but then her heart sank. The library was on the second floor. A sheer wall of ivy stretched between her and the ground, but then again Plusharian Desert Hounds had very long legs. She stealthily opened the window. She climbed out, and closed it silently behind her. Then she wrapped her legs round the ivy and scrambled down to the ground. Yeah yeah!

            She peered cautiously around her. She was standing on the forecourt at the top of a long driveway. It swept through acres of shadowy parkland to a pair of tall gates, and the gates were open. She sprinted gleefully down the drive. It was great to get the better of Wolfgang like this. Pompous men like him were literally all bark and no bite and she was just about to burst to freedom, when a Rottweiler stepped out from behind the gatepost.

            She flinched away. The Rottweiler wore a tight dinner jacket over his muscular frame, and he looked very angry.   

            “Good evening, madam,” he growled, “And who might you be?”

            “Ooo!” said Octavia doubtfully, “Well I'm... I'm the cleaning lady. I forgot my feather duster so I just popped back to fetch it!”

            “Really?” he said suspiciously, “You don't appear to be carrying a feather duster.”

            “Er, no. Well I suppose I must have forgotten it again!”

            "Huh! That's hardly likely, and you look too glamorous for a cleaning lady. I think I'd better see what the boss says about this.” He pulled out a mobile phone, but then she caught his paw.

            “One moment, young man,” she said, “I do realise you have a job to do, but did you say glamorous?”

            “I did,” he glowered, “You certainly fit that description.”

            “Then forgive me, but does that mean you find me attractive?”

            “Well, yes,” he said hesitantly, "I suppose I do...”

            “I am most flattered, young man,” she said flirtatiously, "Well then, I wonder if we can come to some arrangement. Perhaps I haven't told you quite the whole truth, but would you let me to go on my way in return for... a kiss?” She coyly tilted her head, and his eyes clouded with temptation. 

            “Well I don't know about that,” he murmured, “It's very irregular, and it would have to be our little secret...”

            “But of course,” she smiled, “Among other qualities, I happen to be impeccably discreet.”

            "I see," he growled, "Then what are we waiting for?”

            “What indeed?” she breathed. She invitingly threw back her head. She prepared a kiss on her full lips,  and he swooped hungrily down on her.

            Suddenly she lashed out with her stilleto again. She struck him in the chest, and he fell backwards into the hedge with a crash. She rushed triumphantly out through the gates. “SORRY BIG BOY!” she shrieked, "I HAVE SOME DUSTING TO DO, BUT ANOTHER TIME PERHAPS!” She swerved down the road, but then she blinked.

            Before her a deserted country lane stretched away into darkness. In fact it was little more than a mud track. The guard was still thrashing hopelessly about in the hedge, so she stopped and peered urgently around her. Across the lane was a dense wood began. She could hide in there until the commotion had died down, so she ran into the trees. She wriggled her way through until she was a good distance from the road, and squeezed behind a stout trunk.  Then she sat down to wait.

             The wood loomed huge and dark before her. She blinked nervously. The trees reached up with their gaunt arms to salute the starless sky, and there was no sign of life anywhere.

            Octavia felt very small indeed.

            She opened her evening bag and pulled out the brown nylon lead. She had intended to fling it into the river on the way home, but now it would offer her some disguise. She hastily clipped it on, but then she heard a distant roar.

            She looked up sharply. There was nobody behind her, but she rose warily to her feet. The noise had sounded very like the angry guard, so she took a step back into the trees.

            Suddenly something grabbed at her sleeve. She gasped and span round, but it was just a branch. She pulled free and edged deeper into the wood. Then there was another roar. It sounded closer and even angrier now, and so then she broke into a run.

            She had no idea real where she was going. The wood's darkness was quite impenetrable, but the roars were closing on her now. It wasn't easy running in stilettos either. Her legs twisted and buckled like a puppet, and she stopped and tore off the shoes. She shoved them under a pile of leaves, then she ran on again.

            She ran as fast as she could go. Luckily that was fast because she had long legs, but still the roars grew louder. In fact it sounded like not just one guard now but a whole pack of them. She ran and ran. Time and again she thought she glimpsed a road beyond the trees. She burst through, but on the other side there were just more trees. They loomed and grotesquely gesticulated as if showing the guards where she was, so then she ran again.

            Suddenly her path was blocked by a row of huge oaks. She looked frantically round, but behind her the roars were closing in. She was cornered. She dived into a bush and crawled underneath, and lay still.

            Roars rained down all around. The guards sounded almost on top of her now, and their voices were wild and vengeful. She pressed herself desperately to the ground. The noise made her shake all over, but there was nowhere else to go.

            Suddenly the bush ripped open. Noise and light and raging breath burst over her. She screamed, but then she gaped.

            Hovering high over the wood was a huge helicopter. The propellors roared deafeningly, and beneath hung a pair of blinding searchlights. So that was how Woflgang had tracked her down. He would stop at nothing, and then a long steel prong extended from the helicopter. On the end was a hhook. It closed menacingly on her, but she just stood and watched defeatedly. She knew she was beaten, and now she could only await her fate.

            Suddenly the hook grabbed the end of her lead. It yanked her into the air, and she swung and dangled like a trapped fish. The pilot seemed to be toying with her before reeling her in, but then she noticed something. She could see him clearly in the cockpit now. He was a formidable figure, but it wasn't Wolfgang. Instead he was a swarthy German Shepherd, in a black flying suit and goggles.. And then suddenly she realised who it was.

            "Alphonse!” she gasped, “I had no idea you were invariably in the right place at the right time?"

            He whipped up the goggles. “But of course, my love!” he called, “Whenever you are in need, I shall be there. Come aboard!”

            "I will I will!" she cheered, "Open Sesame!"

            He pulled a handle on his control panel. A hatch opened in the side of the helicopter, and then the prong began to retract. Octavia beamed with relief and joy. Count Alphonse von Heldenlieben was a close personal friend of her's. He was the master of a wealthy Bavarian province, and what's more he was a quite exceptionally nice person. Slowly he manouevred her towards the craft. It was frightening being suspended high over the darkened woods, but she revolved winsomely on the lead so he could admire the stripe up her tail. He carefully guided her into the cockpit. The hatch closed, and then she fell into his  arms. 

            “My hero!” she sighed.

            “My dearest angel!” he growled.

            They kissed tenderly, then she looked emotionally up at him. “Oh Alphonse it's so marvellous to see you!” she exclaimed, “Thank goodness you arrived in time!”

            “Calm yourself, Octavia,” he said, “I heard of your kidnapping on the news, and I knew at once who was responsible.”

            “But how did you know where I was? Wolfgang said nobody would ever find me here.”

            “That was just a cruel bluff. A monster like that would stop at nothing to win you, but he will trouble you no more. See.” He pointed out of the window, and Octavia looked down.

            Far below, Henchstone Manor was encircled with flashing police cars. Policedogs swarmed around the house, and Wolfgang was being led away in pawcuffs. He glanced up at the helicopter. His eyes met Octavia's, and his whole face darkened with a brooding fury. Then Alphonse pulled the joystick and  swung the helicopter away.

            "Oh what a dreadful man!" she gasped, “What would have happened if you hadn't come to my rescue?”

            “You mustn't dwell on that, my dearest,” said Alphonse comfortingly, “You are safe and that is all that matters."  

             “I am so lucky to have you," she said emotionally, "Chivalry is the hallmark of a gentleman, and you have shown  all that a woman could ask for. Have you got a pen?”

            “A pen?” he frowned, “Why?”

            “Oh just an idea,” she said lightly, “I thought I might flash Wolfgang a saucy little sign saying 'BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, MR HUNKY!'”

            “In that case definitely not!” he sniffed, “Honestly Octavia, I come literally flying to your aid and this is all the thanks I get!”

            “Ah don't you worry, big boy!” she simpered, “I'm only having a little joke. Let's be on our way,, and if you're lucky a quick goodnight kiss isn't out of the question!”

            “Now that's more like it!” he beamed, “London, here we come!”

             He urged the helicopter higher. She snuggled next to him, and as they turned for home the blaze of police lights was erased by the gentle glow of the stars...

 

 

            “Tea, Miss Pringle?”

            She jumped. The voice seemed to have come out of nowhere. She couldn't work out where it or even she was, but then she realised. She was sitting in her armchair in the Ceremonial Hall. The fire was blazing brightly, and Agnes was standing over her with a tray of supper.

            “Oh...” stammered Miss Pringle, “Oh, er, hello!”

            “Hi,” said Agnes, “Did I wake you up?”

            “I... don't know. Yes I think you probably must have done.”

            "Sorry. I didn't realise, but here's something to help you come round." She put the tray down, and poured out a cup of tea.

            Miss Pringle stared groggily at her. In a sense this was the most familiar scene in the world. Agnes and she had supper together every night, but it was all rather a shock after the opera house and the manor and the forest of sinister roars. Of course it was quite obvious what had happened. Musing on what Octavia would be doing tonight, she had fallen asleep by the fire and dreamt up the whole thing. It had certainly been very realistic, but that was the price of a vivid imagination.

            Perhaps...

            She blearily rubbed her eyes. “I do apologise, Agnes,” she said, “I don't usually drop off on duty like that."

            "You're hardly on duty," said Agnes, "Anyway you've had a busy day, so would you like an extra sugar lump?”

            “I think you'd better make that two. Do you know, I was just having the most extraordinary dream about Octavia.”

            “Really? What were you both doing?”

            “Well, I wasn't really doing anything. Somehow I could just see her. She was on a date at the opera in London, when suddenly a pair of arms grabbed her from behind and...” She hesitated, then she laughed bashfully. “Forget it,” she said, "I am prone to these outlandish dreams, and anyway I don't want to put you off your supper!”

            “Shame,” said Agnes, “It sounds like it would have spiced the occasion up no end!” They laughed, and she handed Miss Pringle a cup of tea and a toasted crumpet. Then she sat down with her own supper.

            Miss Pringle straightened up in her chair. "Well anyway thank you for fetching this," she said, "Have the pups settled down?"

            "Yes," said Agnes, "They're fast asleep, and I don't think we'll have any more interruptions."

            "Good, because I have some interesting reading later. I've got the new Headmistress's Gazette, and there's a report on the recent hot water bottle debate.”

            “The what?” frowned Agnes.

            “Agnes honestly!” said Miss Pringle briskly, “Don't you read the newspapers?"

            "Well yes, but I don't think it was mentioned in The Times..."

            "It's been raging in the professional press. In fact it was one of my letters in the Gazette which first raised the question. Given that small hot water bottles cool off quicker than large ones, when must a headmistress surrender her's to a pup?"

            “Oh I, er, see. Is this a problem you have often then?"

            "Not really, but when it does happen it can be difficult. A cold night. A tap at the door. An interminable discussion on the landing conducted in tetchy whispers..."

            "But the pups never come to me about this."

            "Of course not. Because as a deputy headmistress, you're not so easy to emotional blackmail. 'It's not fair.' 'You're supposed to be our headmistress.' 'I will help you carry it down.' And so on and on."

            "Well now you mention it, I suppose it is quite a moral dilemma. And you

say this has sparked a debate among other headmistresses?"

            "Yes, it's been widely discussed. This isn't really the trivial point it seems. It touches on broader issues of professional duty, but the general view is if it's very cold you can stuff the child into a bedsock instead.”

            "Goodness!" laughed Agnes, "What a feast of intellectual stimulation I miss by not reading The Headmistress's Gazette!"

            "On second thoughts I might go for 'Persuasion' instead!"  smiled Miss Pringle, "And anyway, your turn will come."

            Agnes blinked. “Oh, really?” she said, "You mean for me to be a headmistress?"

             "Of course," said Miss Pringle wisely.

            “But do you really think I've got what it takes?”

            “Definitely, though in a way I understand your surprise. I am a very unusual mentor. With all my funny ways you must sometimes wonder what hope you have, but we always seem to get there in the end."

            "Well yes, we certainly do. And I appreciate your faith in me."

            "You're very welcome." The two old friends looked at each other, and smiled warmly.

            Then Agnes stood up. “Well I'll leave you to your reading," she said, “I'm tired too, so I think I'll take my tea up to bed.”

            "Good idea," said Miss Pringle, "See you in the morning, and bedcaps are in the airing cupboard.”

            "Thanks, but I don't actually wear one.”

            “You should give them a try. On a cold night, I wear two.”

            “One on your tail, yes?”

            "It makes you feel a-a-all funny!”

            "I'm sure it does. Good night, Miss Pringle!” Agnes trotted away up the Great Staircase, and Miss Pringle lay back her head.

            Suddenly the whole hall seemed to be singing with serenity. The walls glowed. Her tea cup steamed. The fire crackled, and on a side table her Jane Austen omnibus awaited.

             Yeeaaah!

            She jumped. 'Hm!' she thought, 'Not very good, was it? Still, perhaps I do have some Plusharian Desert Hound in me after all!' She chuckled, and reached contentedly for her book.

 

 

            As the huge black helicopter swooped down on Grosvenor Avenue, Octavia threw open the side doors. The engine was making a mighty roar. She whipped off her seatbelt, then she turned to Alphonse. “Well thanks for the lift, big boy!” she shouted, “Don't bother to land, I'll take the prong!”

            “As you wish, my love,” he called, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

            “It is indeed. I will yearn with every beat of my heart for the day when we can be together again.” They fell into a last emotional embrace, then he pulled a handle on his control panel. The steel prong extended from the helicopter. Octavia slung the brown nylon lead around it, and clung onto both ends. “CIAO BIG BOY!” she shrieked, “SEE YOU IN VIENNA!” And she leapt out into the night.

            She slid wildly down the prong towards her house. The roters were whipping up a ferocious wind. It was like a whirlpool in the ocean of blackness, but she swung saucily from side to side so he could admire the stripe up her tail. She landed with a crash on her balcony. She unhooked the lead, and waved gratefully to Alphonse. He produced a large bouquet of roses and flung it from the cockpit. She caught it, and blew him a final lingering kiss. Then she clip-clipped into her bedroom and slammed the door.

            She tossed the roses on the dressing table and scuttled downstairs. She loved

being given flowers, but she couldn't wait to see what was waiting in the drawing room. Claudia often popped in when Octavia was going to be late home. She was a great friend, and it had become a tradition for her to leave a little treat. Octavia bustled inside, and smiled.

            In the grate, a fire glowed welcomingly. The lights were tastefully dimmed, and on the dining table Claudia had laid out a delicious cold supper. Octavia hurried across and peered with interest. There was a pasta and tomato salad, olive bread, and a rich berry mousse. And a note.

            'Hi darling,' it said,

              'Hope you had a good evening. I'm glad the weather cleared up, but personally I'm not going to look at the news until the morning! By the way, the other guys brought their gifts of designer jewellery round. It's on the kitchen table.

            Bon appetit.

             love, Claudia.'

              'Aaaaah!' thought Octavia, 'She's a very nice person, isn't she?' She gleefully scooped up a forkful of salad, but then she did something rather strange.

            She put the fork down again. Then she stood up. She walked into the kitchen, found a plate, and put on it a slice of bread, a knob of butter, and a kebab skewer. She carried it all through to the fire. She sat down on the sofa, and speared the bread on the skewer. Then she held it to the glowing coals, and began to make herself a piece of toast.

            Even she couldn't understand quite what she was doing. She didn't usually eat much toast. She was more of a quinoa crispbread sort of girl, and if she did ever feel like a slice she usually went for ciabatta. That was the way smart London ladies did things, but she didn't feel like being smart now. Somehow she just felt like being cosy.

            She looked at the bread. It was crisp and golden, so she turned it over. She held it to the fire again, but then she noticed the skewer was shaking. She frowned in confusion. It certainly wasn't cold in here, and yet her paw was trembling faintly. And it was only then that she realised how scared she had been.

            She sighed hopelessly. She told herself not to be so silly, but she was shaking all over now. In fact she could hardly even hold the skewer, let alone eat. It hadn't really been a perfect evening at all. It was very frightening being kidnapped and held prisoner in the country house, and then chased through the great dark woods. There was a price to pay for having such an exciting life. She was always getting into scrapes, and at moments like this she wished she was rather more like her sister. 

            Not that there was much chance of that. You were who you were, she reflected as she gazed at the shrinking fire, and you could always make the best of it. And anyway everything had ended  up all right. Thanks to Alphonse and Claudia, she was safely home again. The fire too was her friend. It was like a last glow of the day, and now all it wanted was make her toast, and see her peacefully upstairs to bed.

            She stopped trembling, and smiled. That was a comforting thought, so she looked at the bread again. It was burnt.

 'Hm!' she thought, 'Not very good, is it?'

            She jumped. 'Ooo!' she thought, 'Fancy that. Perhaps I've got more Border Terrier in me than I thought after all!' She smothered the bread with butter, and took a large contented bite.   

 

            And as the two sisters sat watching the last flames dance in the grate, another happy day drew to a close.