But her remarks were lost on Daphne, for just then, to Mrs. Stimpson's surprise and secret dismay, the entrance was formally announced of the Court Godmother, whom she had imagined to be at least moribund, if not dead. She came in, looking frail and feeble, but still with much of the energy and vitality that had seemed to have departed for ever.
"Really," thought the disgusted Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "Mother Hubbard's dog is a fool to her!"
Daphne had already gone to greet her and lead her to a seat. "I'm much better, my child—in fact almost as well as ever. A day or two ago I thought I was dying—but a little rest and the good news of your return have quite set me up again. I begin to think I shall see my second century out yet!"
"It is indeed a marvellous recovery, my dear Court Godmother!" chimed in Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "We've all been so anxious! We should have sent to inquire, only we couldn't—because—well, you'll hardly believe it, but we've been imprisoned (and very nearly executed, too!) on a ridiculous charge of having made away with our dear young Queen here! When, as you know, I had actually gone out of my way to have her sent to Clairdelune as soon as I found you were too ill to see to it yourself."
"And well for you that you did so!" said the grim old Fairy, "for if you had played—or even sought to play—her false, I would have seen to it—old and ailing as I am—that such treason did not go unpunished!"
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson shivered inwardly under the implacable old eyes; she knew well that she could expect no mercy if the Fairy discovered that these secret orders had ever been handed to the Baron. Only, as the Baron had never received them, he could tell her nothing, and as the Council now believed them to be a forgery of the Marshal's, Mrs. Stimpson felt herself fairly safe.
"Yes, dear Court Godmother," she said sweetly; "but you see, I haven't—so we needn't discuss that now, need we? When you came in just now, I was just telling her Majesty that we had no desire to stay on at the Palace longer than is unavoidable, but that, naturally, we were anxious to know where accommodation would be found for us—nothing grand, of course, any fairly large château would suit us."
"I'm sorry," said Daphne, after stooping to kiss Ruby, "but that is quite impossible."
"Impossible?" cried Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "I can't believe that your Majesty would turn us out of our own Palace, without a home to go to!"
"You have 'Inglegarth,'" said Daphne, "and as soon as the Baron returns with the car he shall take you there."