The Rat Prince

by Bridget Hodder

  “Interest! Interest!” the other mice shrilled, skipping about until Pompey shushed them.

  “I rather think it is,” I replied. “Thank you.” I untied my splendid royal cape and laid it aside with care, then turned to Swiss. “Shall we go?”

  “Not without me,” Lady Apricot insisted, and I saw no reason to protest.

  The mice scattered before us as we leapt into action.

  Across the floor, through the walls, and down the dormers we flew, arriving swiftly at Eustacia’s bedchamber. In one corner, concealed by the legs of a bureau, was a comfortable spying-space behind the baseboard.

  No particular precautions were necessary as we approached our vantage point, since Eustacia was shouting loud enough to frizzle one’s fur: “I will be a failure at the ball!”

  Rats have sharp ears, as you may be aware, so it was quite painful to listen.

  She screamed again: “And furthermore, Mamma, I simply cannot abide this dress!”

  Lady Apricot shied away from the noise, but Swiss and I pressed our faces to the spy-slit.

  Wilhemina was seated upon an upholstered settee near the dressing table. And there was Eustacia standing in front of her, decked out in a fine gown, the exact hue of ripe zucchini at its greenest. Though the color was impressive, the dress did not suit her; it brought an unhealthy look to her skin, and the tiers of ruffles made her appear a bit like a cake would if its frosting slid down to settle around its base. However, I do not claim to be a judge of female garments.

  A ladies’ maid was crouched at her feet, putting pins into the hem of the skirt.

  Wilhemina’s voice was cold when she answered. “Be silent, Daughter. How many times must I reassure you? The dress is magnificent. Surely you will attract Prince Geoffrey’s attention.”

  “Not in this hideous thing! I told you the yellow gown would flatter me more!” Eustacia folded her arms across her ample chest and aimed a kick at the ladies’ maid.

  “Ow!” cried the poor young woman, sitting back on her heels and spilling the pins hither and yon.

  “Clumsy, useless wench!” Eustacia shrilled.

  The maid ran from the room crying.

  Wilhemina drawled, “Come now, my dear, do refrain from driving away yet another of the servants. I’ll have a terrible time replacing her. If you continue in this manner, you’ll end with no one but your stepsister to maid you. And, frankly, she’s no good at it. Lord Lancastyr has spoiled her horribly. She has no useful skills whatsoever.”

  Eustacia stamped one foot on the polished oak parquet. “Mamma, you know full well I am not the only one who frightens away the servants. Why, when the butler gave notice, he said it was because he would not stay in any household of which you were mistress.”

  “Watch your tongue, ungrateful girl. We could retain staff if we had enough coin to throw at the problem, but I have already spent most of Lord Lancastyr’s fortune,” said Wilhemina. “Mind you, Eustacia, I’ve gone to all sorts of expense, decking you out in Zhinese velvet and South Sea pearls, with nothing to show for it. You still have not received any offers of marriage. So I expect you to be on your very best, most winning behavior at the ball.”

  Swiss’s whiskers tickled my ear. “I wonder why no one wants her, eh? With her irresistible charm and character.”

  Eustacia thrust out her lower lip farther. “It is not my fault that I have no suitors, Mamma. I make myself agreeable to the gentlemen, laugh at their jests, touch their sleeves to show interest, and hang upon their every word.”

  Wilhemina’s eyes had grown wider and wider during her daughter’s speech. “Why, you foolish girl! Gentlemen are not interested in young ladies who exhibit desperate behavior. Ignore and torment the pitiful fools—that will bring them panting after you. It has always worked for me.”

  She glanced into the large gilded looking glass on Eustacia’s dressing table, then frowned and touched an area under her chin experimentally. It wobbled.

  I experienced a twinge of satisfaction at her startled look.

  Eustacia threw herself upon her frilly bed. “But, Mamma, that is not what you did with Lord Lancastyr. I distinctly recall how, after you first encountered him at the dressmaker’s, you constantly dragged us over to see him and even sent round a copy of the Reverend Throckmorton’s Book of Sermons on the Indubitable Promise of Heaven for the Souls of the Dearly Departed.”

  “Yes, well, that was different. When I met Lord Lancastyr, I could tell he was beginning to wander in his wits. I needed to move quickly if I was to snare him.”

  I felt my fur prickle at this cold-blooded admission that Wilhemina had never loved Rose’s unfortunate father. Even my mother gave a twitter of surprise.

  But the self-centered Eustacia did not seem to register Wilhemina’s perfidy. “Never mind that,” she said. “I’ve something more pressing to ask. Why did I hear you tell my stepfather that Cinderella will go to meet the prince with the rest of us?”

  Her mother raised one thin shoulder in an elaborate shrug. “He saw the invitation with the spoilt wench’s name included, and asked me about it. Since he was having a lucid moment, I dared not upset him.” Then she stood up. “Besides, Daughter, you really ought to stop looking upon Cinderella as a rival. Have you not noticed she has become far less beautiful lately? Her skin has grown rough. Her eyes have purple shadows under them.”

  “That’s not sufficient to make her ugly enough to discourage the prince if he saw her,” Eustacia groused.

  My mother squeezed closer to the viewing slot. “Ugly enough?” she echoed in anger. “How dare she speak thus of the rat-candidate for queen?”

  “Sssh.” I nudged her with my nose, though I felt the same rising fury myself.

  Wilhemina spoke again. “Now, where has Jessamyn gone? It’s almost time for luncheon.” She turned and looked around as if Jessamyn might somehow have been in the room with them all along. “I declare, I quite despair of your sister sometimes. She disappears often, and I find her ensconced in odd corners of the house … reading books.”

  “Reading!” Eustacia gasped. “How strange! That’s what Cinderella used to do, before you put her to work.”

  Wilhemina picked up a swan’s-down powder puff from the vanity table and lightly plied it over her cleavage. “Yes, well, I put a stop to that, didn’t I? Idle hands are the devil’s tools.”

  Swiss and I exchanged glances.

  Eustacia suddenly sat up straight. “Hold on a moment, Mamma. How do you plan to keep Cinderella home from the ball? What if my stepfather remembers and demands she attend?”

  Wilhemina gave one of her frigid smiles in response. “Why, the poor, sweet girl hasn’t a thing to wear.”

  A nasty grin spread across Eustacia’s face.

  “So that’s her game,” I whispered to Swiss.

  My mother turned away from the crack and faced us both. Her moon-white fur was ruffled with emotion. “The rat-candidate for queen shall appear before the human prince wearing garments more fine and costly than any other woman, taken from among the treasures of the Northern Rat Realm,” she declared. “My son, the Rat Prince, will see to it.”

  “Not to disagree with you, Lady Apricot,” Swiss said, “but I think you should see to it. Prince Char has no dress sense. Think of that ridiculous cape he wears to ceremonies.”

  CINDERELLA

  The next day passed in a flurry of mad activity. I cooked, cleaned, and flew from chamber to chamber on errands. When at last dinner was finished and the plates cleared away, I found it almost restful to kneel upon the floor in the kitchen to scour at the places where grease had slopped from the cooking pans.

  With each scrub, I imagined I was wiping Wilhemina from my life.

  “Lady Rose!”

  I looked up, startled. It was Mrs. Grigson, the housekeeper.

  “Please stop cleaning the floor,” she begged, her kind face soft with worry. “You’ll ruin your poor knees. And your hands! If dear Lady Jane were alive to see this, her heart would be
broken. Mine is, indeed.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” I replied. “But someone must tidy up, and Pye is washing dishes in the scullery.” Someone also had to collect and dispose of the poisoned scraps of meat Cook had left lying temptingly about as rat bait.

  I put the scrub brush down for a moment to push the curls off my forehead where they’d escaped their clumsy topknot and looked up at Mrs. Grigson. Only then could I see the distress in her honest eyes.

  I was not the only one for whom Wilhemina’s arrival at Lancastyr Manor had spelled heartbreak.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said, smiling with an effort. “Your task is harder than mine: trying to keep the manor running since … since—”

  “Since that creature bewitched your father!”

  “Sssh, Mrs. Grigson! Cook is in her rooms, but she could be back at any time, and you know how sensitive she is about Wilhemina.”

  “Sensitive? Ha! She’s a fine one, that Cook,” Mrs.Grigson said bitterly, her chin thrust forward. “Brought here by Lady Wilhemina from her home in the country to replace our good cook Mrs. Benjy without so much as a by-your-leave! Everyone says Cook spies for her high-and-mighty ladyship and tattles when we complain.”

  “That’s why you shouldn’t be speaking to me. You know the only reason you haven’t been discharged yet is that you are willing to remain in spite of the fact that she has not paid you wages for months, and you put up with her evil temper.”

  Mrs. Grigson dabbed a shaking knuckle at the wrinkled corner of one eye. “You have the right of it. I tolerate her behavior because I must keep my place here. I’m too old to make my way afresh in the world. And you, child—I must look after you. But regardless of that, I had a reason to seek you out just now, my lady. Your stepmother has asked to see you in her chambers.”

  “Oh!” Was the sudden shaking in my breast fear? Or anger? Whatever it was, it haunted me daily.

  I dropped the brush into the bucket, rose, and used my coarse skirt to dry my hands. “Very well. I shall go at once.”

  Mrs. Grigson stepped closer and extended her hands toward me as if to touch my shoulders, then let them fall. She took a deep breath. “My lady, you mustn’t give in to your stepmother any longer. You must find the courage to stand up to her.”

  “Mrs. Grigson,” I said quietly, “do you believe I am a coward for not defying Wilhemina?”

  “Of course not!” she said, but her tone was unconvincing. “I understand that you’re a gentle thing, my lady, and not bred to deal with the likes of such a woman. But it is your right to be treated with honor, as the true daughter of the house. Will you reflect upon that, for my sake?”

  I nodded, unable to speak, though I longed to tell her the truth.

  She dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Blessings upon you, Lady Rose, and luck.”

  I suppose I ought to have been insulted by her familiarity, yet it was so long since anyone had handled me gently, with love, that I felt a sorrowful weakness wash through me.

  Mother, Mother. Why did you leave me here all alone?

  Oh, no. This would never do. One kiss from the kindly housekeeper, and I come apart at the seams like one of Eustacia’s overstuffed dresses? No. I had to be strong for my father, for Jessamyn, and for Mrs. Grigson herself.

  I squared my shoulders and went upstairs. I wondered what fresh torment Wilhemina had dreamed up for me. Nothing she could devise would surprise me now …

  Or so I thought.

  * * *

  Minutes later, I stumbled from Wilhemina’s chamber in confusion, closed the door, and leaned back against it. I tried to catch my breath and somehow make sense of what had just occurred. Then I heard someone whisper my name.

  “Pssst. Rose!”

  I looked around.

  It was Jessamyn, of course. She peeked from behind the stiff brocade curtains of a nearby window seat, her brown locks twining down the front of a pink satin gown. “Rose, over here!”

  “Sister!” I ran down the hallway and threw my arms about her. “You’ll never believe what your mother told me!”

  “Quiet—I don’t want her to find us!” She drew me behind the curtains and pulled me down onto the red-upholstered window seat. It was after seven o’clock and the sky outside was finally drawing down into dusk, but a brace of candles upon the window ledge flickered an unsteady light. “What did Mamma say? I heard from Mrs. Grigson that you’d been summoned, so I brought a book up here and waited.”

  “I’m going to the ball tomorrow!” I exclaimed. “Your mother has changed her mind. I can’t believe it. In fact, I shouldn’t believe it.”

  At first I’d been suspicious as to why Wilhemina would suddenly allow me to leave the manor, after all these months of keeping me confined here. However, she’d shown me the king’s invitation with my name on it and said she was worried about awkward questions were I not to attend. Her begrudging tone had seemed quite genuine, and I was convinced.

  At last—an opportunity to further my family’s interests.

  Jessamyn bounced up and down on the cushions. “Oh, Sister! Do you mean you have gotten over your reluctance to venture forth from home?”

  I flinched at this reminder of Wilhemina’s falsehood but decided to let it pass. “I do still mourn my mother, yet I am quite ready to emerge from this long isolation and see people once more,” I assured her. And though it was not the full story, this was true enough.

  Jessamyn clapped her hands. “We’ll meet the prince together!”

  “A dream come true,” I whispered, though it was not romance I was thinking of. If my parents’ old friends were at the ball, I would finally be able to explain my father’s plight and enlist their aid.

  And even if Sir Tompkin and Lord Bluehart proved uninterested, I could still catch the ear of either Prince Geoffrey or Good King Tumtry. Surely, after all the faithful service the Lancastyrs had given the Crown over the centuries, the prince or the king would be willing to find my father a physician and keep my stepmother from plunging us into ruin.

  Jessamyn kissed me. “The prince will fall instantly in love with you. How could he not? You are the prettiest girl in the kingdom.”

  “Thank you, my little flatterer.” I laughed in spite of myself. “Beauty may inspire interest, but that is not the same as love. And speaking of beauty, did I ever tell you I saw Prince Geoffrey once, long ago? It was when I went to the royal palace for my debut and met Queen Monette.”

  “You met Queen Monette before she died?” Jessamyn breathed, her face aglow. “Oh my! Was she nice?”

  “Very. But she was aging and looked unwell.”

  Jessamyn paused for a moment. But she soon recovered and asked, “What does the prince look like?”

  “He doesn’t have dark hair like the prince of my dreams, but he’s magnificent nonetheless.” I closed my eyes, the better to remember. Then, ignoring my own wise advice about beauty that I had just dispensed to Jessamyn, I said in a swoony voice: “He has golden hair and golden eyes … Perhaps they are evidence of a golden heart.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to dance with such a man. To feel the warmth of his smile dawn upon my face, to be aware of his touch on my back as he guided me through the steps of an allemande or a minuet, swaying to the music of a royal orchestra.

  Aloud, I said, “It would be lovely to take to the floor with him.”

  “I’m too young to dance, but I do not care,” Jessamyn commented. “I can listen to the music, and I can eat! And I’m to wear a brand-new gown made of sky-blue peau de soie, with a necklace of pearls. Mamma got me the dearest kid gloves with pearl buttons, and sweet slippers that match my dress. What will you be wear—”

  Abruptly, she stopped speaking when she saw the look of stricken realization on my face.

  This whole thing had been just a cruel game of my stepmother’s.

  My spirits plunged as deep as they had risen only moments before. “I haven’t a stitch to my name that isn’t made of bu
rlap,” I said. Soon after Wilhemina had moved into Lancastyr Manor, all my beautiful clothing had somehow disappeared.

  “But surely you may borrow one of Eustacia’s gowns?” Jessamyn said. “She has so many.”

  I shook my head. “Can you imagine what she would say to that? Besides, her frocks wouldn’t fit me. No, dear one,” I said over a sigh. “I’ll stay home. It doesn’t matter.”

  This was untrue, and we both knew it.

  Just then the curtain was pushed aside by a shaky, veined hand, and my father stepped into the nook.

  “Hello, little ladies,” he said with a vague smile. He wore no wig today, and his gray hair was spiky, as if he’d been running his fingers through it at random. “How nice to hear such pleasant voices coming from the window seat!”

  I stood up. He seemed much like his old self. Perhaps …

  “Yes, Papa!” I heard my own desperate eagerness and winced inside. “We’re excited about the upcoming ball at the royal palace. May I have a new dress to wear for it?”

  “Of course, sweet girl, of course.” He patted my head. “Anything you desire. Did I not already consent to the purchase of several ball gowns? But I suppose you must have something special to dazzle the prince, and have it you shall. Dear me! How extravagant we have become.”

  I turned quickly to Jessamyn, who was watching, wide-eyed. “Did you hear that, Sister? Papa says I may have a gown made up! Will you bear witness in front of my stepmother? Why, what is wrong? Why do you look at me so?”

  “Rose,” Jessamyn said quietly, “perhaps you are forgetting something.”

  “Yes?”

  “The ball is tomorrow.”

  A ball gown takes months to make up. The fittings, the assembly and stitching, the refittings, the embellishment, the nips and the tucks, the turnings and hems.

  I clutched at my stomach, glad for once that it was empty.

  “Young lady, are you quite well?” my father asked with courtly politeness. He had forgotten again who I was.

  After a brief struggle, I mastered myself. I dropped a kiss on his withered cheek and smoothed his hair. “Oh, yes, yes. I am excellent, thank you, Papa. And Jessamyn, you’re quite right. Silly me, thinking to have a dress made up in one day. I apologize. Now, if you will excuse me, Papa, Sister…”