I Shall Wear Midnight

acceptably married by Pastor Egg tomorrow. And you know something very important about tomorrow? It’s today !’
    Roland, who was holding his head and groaning, blinked and said, ‘What is?’



Chapter 15
    A SHADOW AND A WHISPER
    I T WAS, ON THE WHOLE , a pretty good wedding in Tiffany’s opinion, a pretty good wedding. Pastor Egg, aware of the unusual number of witches in the audience, kept the religion to a minimum. The blushing bride walked up the hall, and Tiffany saw her blush a little more when she caught sight of Nanny Ogg, who gave her a cheerful thumbs-up as she passed. And then there was the throwing of the rice, followed of course by the careful sweeping up of the rice, because it was wicked to waste good food.
    Then there was general cheering and congratulations and, to the surprise of some, a happy, beaming Duchess, who chatted merrily, even to the maids, and appeared to have a kind and reassuring word for everybody. And only Tiffany knew why the woman shot occasional nervous glances towards Mrs Proust.
    Tiffany left then, to sneak away and help Preston in the King field, where he was digging a hole deep enough so that the plough would never find the charred remains that were collected and thrown down it. They washed their hands with vicious lye soap, because you could never be too careful. It was not, strictly speaking, a very romantic occasion.
    ‘Do you think he will ever come back?’ said Preston as they leaned on their shovels.
    Tiffany nodded. ‘The Cunning Man will, at least. Poison is always welcome somewhere.’
    ‘What will you do now he’s gone?’
    ‘Oh, you know, all the exciting stuff; somewhere there is always a leg that needs bandaging or a nose that needs blowing. It’s busy, busy all day long.’
    ‘It doesn’t sound very exciting.’
    ‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Tiffany, ‘but compared to yesterday that kind of day suddenly seems to be a very good day .’ They headed towards the hall, where the wedding breakfast was now being served as lunch. ‘You are a young man of considerable resourcefulness,’ Tiffany said to Preston, ‘and I thank you very much for your help.’
    Preston nodded happily. ‘Thank you very much for that, miss, thank you very much indeed, but with just one little – how can I put it – correction. You are, after all, sixteen, more or less, and I am seventeen, so I think you will conclude that calling me young man … I will own up to a cheerful and youthful disposition, but I am older than you, my girl.’
    There was a pause. Then Tiffany said carefully, ‘How do you know how old I am?’
    ‘I asked around,’ said Preston, his eager smile never leaving his face.
    ‘Why?’
    Tiffany didn’t get an answer because the sergeant came out of the main door with confetti cascading off his helmet. ‘Oh, there you are, miss. The Baron’s been asking after you, and so has the Baroness.’ He paused to smile and said, ‘Nice to have one of them again.’ His gaze fell on Preston and the sergeant frowned. ‘Lollygagging again, as usual, Lance Private Preston?’
    Preston saluted smartly, ‘You are correct in your surmise, Sergeant; you have voiced an absolute truth.’ This got Preston the puzzled glare he always got from the sergeant, and there was also a disapproving grunt, which meant: One day I’ll work out what it is you are saying, my lad, and then you’ll be in trouble.
    Weddings can be rather similar to funerals in that, apart from the main players, when it’s all over, people are never quite sure what they should be doing next, which is why they see if there is any wine left. But Letitia was looking radiant, which is compulsory for brides, and the slightly frizzled bits of her hair had been neatly concealed by her brilliant, sparkly tiara. Roland had also scrubbed up quite well, and you had to be quite close to him to smell pig.
    ‘About last night …’ he began nervously. ‘Er, it did happen, didn’t it? I mean, I remember the pigsty, and we were all running, but …’ His voice faded away.
    Tiffany looked at Letitia, who mouthed the words, ‘I remember everything !’
    Yes, she really is a witch, Tiffany thought. That’s going to be interesting.
    Roland coughed. Tiffany smiled. ‘Dear Miss Aching,’ he said, and for once Tiffany forgave him his ‘public meeting’ voice, ‘I am well aware that I have been party to a miscarriage of natural justice vis-à-vis your good self.’ He stopped to clear his throat again and