Agnes pointed. Nanny stared, and then turned to her.
'Sometimes I think the weight of that damn crown is turning Verence's head,' she said. 'I reckon he really doesn't know what he's lettin' into the kingdom. When Esme gets here she's going to go through this priest like cabbage soup.'
By now the guests had got themselves sorted out on either side of the red carpet that began at the bottom of the stairs. Agnes glanced up at the royal couple, waiting awkwardly, just out of sight, for the appropriate moment to descend, and thought: Granny Weatherwax says you make your own right time. They're the royal family. All they need to do is walk down the stairs and it'd be the right time. They're doing it wrong.
Several of the Lancre guests were glancing at the big double doors, shut for this official ceremony. They'd be thrown open later, for the more public and enjoyable part, but right now they looked...
... like doors that would soon creak back and frame a figure against the firelight.
She could see the image so clearly.
The exercises Granny had reluctantly given her were working, Perdita thought.
There was a hurried conversation among the royal party and then Millie hurried back up the stairs and towards the witches.
'Mag- the Queen says, is Granny Weatherwax coming or not?' she panted.
'Of course she is,' said Nanny.
'Only, well, the King's getting a bit... upset. He said it did say RSVP on the invitation,' said Millie, trying not to meet Nanny eye to eye.
'Oh, witches never reservups,' said Nanny. 'They just come.'
Millie put her hand in front of her mouth and gave a nervous little cough. She glanced wretchedly towards Magrat, who was making frantic hand signals.
'Only, well, the Queen says we'd better not hold things up, so, er, would you be godmother, Mrs Ogg?'
The wrinkles doubled on Nanny's face as she smiled.
'Tell you what,' she said brightly. 'I'll come and sort of stand in until Granny gets here, shall I?'
Once again, Granny Weatherwax paced up and down in the spartan greyness of her kitchen. Occasionally she'd glance at the floor. There was quite a gap under the door, and sometimes things could be blown anywhere. But she'd already searched a dozen times. She must've got the cleanest floor in the country by now. Anyway, it was too late.
Even so... Uberwald...[8]
She strode up and down a few more times.
'I'll be blowed if I'll give 'em the satisfaction,' she muttered.
She sat down in her rocking chair, stood up again so quickly that the chair almost fell over, and went back to the pacing.
'I mean, I've never been the kind of person to put myself forward,' she said to the air. 'I'm not the sort to go where I'm not welcome, I'm sure.'
She went to make a cup of tea, fumbling with the kettle with shaking hands, and dropped the lid of her sugar bowl, breaking it.
A light caught her eye. The half moon was visible over the lawn.
'Anyway, it's not as if I've not got other things to do,' she said. 'Can't all be rushing off to parties the whole time... wouldn't have gone anyway.'
She found herself flouncing around the corners of the floor again and thought: if I'd found it, the Wattley boy would have knocked at an empty cottage. I'd have gone and enjoyed meself. And John Ivy'd be sitting alone now...
'Drat!'
That was the worst part about being good - it caught you coming and going.
She landed in the rocking chair again and pulled her shawl around her against the chill. She hadn't kept the fire in. She hadn't expected to be at home tonight.
Shadows filled the corners of the room, but she couldn't be bothered to light the lamp. The candle would have to do.