Oh, no. I had tarried too long. What was going on?
Cursing, I pushed forward and ran smack into the broad, medal-pinned chest of Lord Hamp. There was a panicked expression on his face.
“His Majesty King Tumtry requests that you join him in the ballroom at once! We have a … delicate situation.”
I required no further urging.
CINDERELLA
After Cook uttered her confession, we sat in silence until I asked, “Why did Wilhemina want her poor husband dead?”
Cook grimaced, then replied, “Wilhemina Draper was itching to come to the city and join her fine friend Harriet, who married one o’ them baronets. Harriet had started to come visit in jewels and a costly coach, lording it over all the village women, and my mistress was jealous. Mr. Draper was a wealthy merchant, but he weren’t wealthy enough for the mistress, no ma’am, and when she asked him to move the family business to the city of Glassevale, so she could live high alongside o’ her friend, he flat-out said no.”
Lord Bluehart interjected, “When this poor fellow Draper said no to Wilhemina’s request, he was signing his own death warrant, was he not, Mrs. Hoovey? Wilhemina would not let a mere thing like a husband stand in the way of her ambition. She devised a scheme to murder him and use his money to move to the city, where she could find a wealthier husband.”
“I realize that now,” Cook said.
Then Swiss snarled, “And the rat poison you use with such a free hand around Lancastyr Manor these days? What about that, Mrs. Hoovey?”
Cook drew back in surprise. “What? Lady Wilhemina said there were far too many rats at the manor. She asked me to keep plenty of poison at hand and to leave choice morsels of fresh food for bait. We killed several rats before they got wise and stopped eating the poisoned victuals. Funny things, those rats. I know they’re just dumb beasts, but it’s almost as if they figured it out.”
Swiss appeared unable to summon a response to this.
“So you had no plan to poison my father?” I asked.
Cook jumped up from the sofa. “My lady?”
“Answer the question!” rapped out Lord Bluehart. “Did you have designs on my old friend’s life?”
“No! Never! Why would I poison Lord Lancastyr? He’s a kind man, even if he’s wandering in his wits, begging your pardon, my lady.”
I believed her, but I had to press her further. “Did it not occur to you, Mrs. Hoovey, that poison worked once for my stepmother and that she might use it again? She has spent nearly every groat of my father’s money, and she no doubt has plans to move on to another husband once the Lancastyr cupboard is bare. And that is why I sit by the cinders of the kitchen fireplace, doing your bidding without complaint. I have watched your every move, to protect my father. My wits are as good as yours, no matter how pretty and hapless I might appear.”
All three of the servants gasped.
Then Mrs. Hoovey began to sob. “I have been a mean, bad-tempered old soul in the kitchen, stewing in my guilt and taking out my ill feelings on you, Cinderella—I mean, Lady Rose. And though I thought it was justice to kill Master Draper at the time, for I believed he threatened my mistress’s life, I am also a murderess. They will hang me, but I declare, it’s almost a relief.”
Mrs. Grigson reached out and placed a sympathetic hand upon Cook’s shoulder, which made her cry all the louder.
I pitied her.
“You shall not hang.” I rose from the sofa and took off my emerald necklace. Then I gave the delicate gold links a savage twist at one end, to release a single glittering stone. It would garner a tidy sum if it were sold. I handed it to the dumbfounded Mrs. Hoovey.
“Take this gem and walk free,” I said, crossing the floor and flinging wide the parlor door. “Go far away, and find somewhere to start afresh. Fear no pursuit, for my friends and I will not ask the Lord Chief Justice to charge you with this crime.”
I ignored the chorus of protests and cries that immediately resulted, and turned to Swiss. “Now you know the truth,” I said. “What do you think my kinsman Prince Charming would say?” Unspoken between Swiss and me was the knowledge of the rats Cook had killed in Lancastyr Manor.
“You have tempered judgment with mercy,” he replied. “The prince would not object to your decision. The fault is your stepmother’s. Let this pathetic creature Cook make her own way in the world.”
After a whispered conference with Sir Tompkin, Lord Bluehart announced, “I cannot say we approve, but we shall abide by your decision. Just as soon as Cook writes out and signs her confession, with all the necessary dates and verifying details for the Lord Chief Justice, we shall escort her to a carriage. I shall call for pen, ink, and parchment.”
Sir Tompkin said, “The Lancastyrs are saved!”
A subdued little cheer went up in the room.
“Swiss,” I said. “Where is Prince Charming?”
PRINCE CHAR
The panicked Lord Hamp and I made our way with difficulty through the crowd in the main ballroom. There was shock, fear, and a hum of scandal in the air. Though I could not yet see him, I could hear Prince Geoffrey shouting.
“Who is the villainness spreading this vile slander?” he thundered. “Come out, whoever you are! I will have your head! Don’t dare to hide from me!”
Double damnation. I wondered what hapless person had riled up the crazy prince this time. If Geoffrey caused a scene now, it might destroy my scheme of focusing his murderous attention this evening upon one particular target.
“He must be stopped,” Lord Hamp said as we fought our way toward the throne. “There is a brotherhood among royalty, Your Highness. Help King Tumtry so that Angland does not fall apart. You said you came in friendship.”
“I certainly did. But what do you expect me to do? Your prince is unfit to rule. I have heard about the murder of Quintilius Porter, and I will not help you continue to lie about Geoffrey’s sanity so that you may rivet him to some poor unsuspecting female.”
A look of despair washed over Lord Hamp’s strong features. He suddenly had the air of a man twenty years older. “It was the only plan we could devise. There has never been a break in the succession, since the days of the founding of the realm. When King Tumtry dies, if Prince Geoffrey has not married a steady girl to mitigate the effects of his madness and give birth to an heir, the people will soon depose him, and a fight for the crown will ensue.”
I could no longer hold back. “Then set Geoffrey aside and arrange a contest of valor and intelligence to win the rulership, as we do in my realm!”
“The king is considering it,” Hamp said with a look I could not identify.
We were much closer to the throne now. I could see Geoffrey’s face, suffused with purple rage. He sprayed spittle as he continued to yell about the gossip he’d overheard. “Anyone with information about this slander must come forward!”
And this was Angland’s heir to the throne?
Humans!
I swallowed my impatience. “Is it true that King Tumtry is dying?”
“Lord Brimfield and I are of the firm belief he is still alive due only to his determination to see the future of his people safely settled. I do not know how much longer he can hold on.”
So I wasn’t the only one on borrowed time tonight.
We pushed past the last of the guests, emerging into the space around the throne. King Tumtry was slumped over, with the air of one who has already given up. Lord Brimfield was remonstrating with Geoffrey from a safe distance. Prince Geoffrey was holding aloft his sharp, bright sword.
My hand inched closer to the hilt of my own weapon.
“A moment for bold action, eh, Lord Hamp?” I said to him under my breath, and stepped forward.
“Hail, Geoffrey, my royal friend!” I greeted him heartily. “What’s amiss? May I help in any way?”
He swung around. “Yes!” he cried. “You, of all people, will wish to be part of this. You cannot guess, Prince Charming, what sordid rumor has come to my ears. It is about your v
ery own kinswoman and my future bride, Rose de Lancastyr.”
“Indeed?” I came forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “How grateful I am that you care so greatly for Lady Rose’s reputation. Oops.” I feigned an awkwardness around the point of his sword. “Er, do you mind sheathing that for a moment, Cousin? You don’t take it amiss that I call you Cousin, do you? After all, we soon will be family, is that not so? For I can see how you feel about Lady Rose.”
“Yes, yes.” He had the air almost of a bull who has seen too many dangling red flags. His hands were practiced and deadly steady, though, as he slid the sword back into its scabbard with a metallic hiss.
Good.
Lord Hamp gave me a look of gratitude. He now moved to the side of King Tumtry, who was leaning forward in a new attitude of tension, which I considered better than the hopelessness I’d seen in him not a minute before.
“Come,” I said to Prince Geoffrey. “Instruct me.”
It was unbelievable. He did. Geoffrey confided to me (and to everyone else who was listening), “It has come to my attention that a woman here tonight is smearing Lady Rose’s character. The perfidious slanderer—whoever she is—said that since the death of Lady Jane, your cousin Rose has lost her wits.”
Oh, the blessed irony. “Nonsense,” I growled.
“Ah.” Prince Geoffrey nodded. “So the gossip angers you, too!”
“Yes, it does.” It also thrilled me. For I knew who had dreamed up this falsehood. She’d betrayed herself right into my hands.
Geoffrey did not notice my rush of cold joy. He continued filling me in on his thoughts. “Prince Charming, I did not see the speaker who spread the lies. But I shall find her. If I must kill everyone in this room one by one, I will stop the treasonous gossip about my soon-to-be bride! You will help, will you not?”
It had come—the moment for which I’d been made a man. I would fulfill my charge, my duty as ruler. And yet I would not literally break my promise to Lady Rose. Pretty neatly plotted, eh?
“I shall do more than help, Prince Geoffrey. I am privy to the information you seek.” I raised my voice and called, “Wilhemina Draper, who styles herself Lady Lancastyr, come forward! Come reap the harvest you have sown!”
The revelation spread through the crowd like blood through water. I heard a scream and someone crying.
Lord Brimfield crept up to me. “Noble prince, are you sure of what you’re doing?” he nervously mumbled.
“Perfectly. I am restoring the House of Lancastyr, and taking care of a particularly nasty criminal as well. Watch and see how it is done.”
During this exchange, the people of Glassevale accomplished the unpleasant task of seizing Wilhemina and delivering her up to face the prince’s rough justice. In short order, she landed at Prince Geoffrey’s feet. Her stiffly curled hair had come loose from its pins and her red tiara was missing.
“Aha! The guilty one! Thank you, royal cousin.” Geoffrey favored me with a comely smile. “I am in your debt. And to think that earlier tonight I considered having you assassinated!”
“My prince!” Lord Brimfield exclaimed in horror.
I was almost shocked into a laugh.
Then Geoffrey turned on Wilhemina. “Wretched creature! What have you to say for yourself? Is there any reason why I should not strike your head from your body this instant?”
Then, suddenly, came the cry of a child: “Release her!”
The crowd fell back to reveal a frantic Jessamyn, pulling Lord Lancastyr along by the hand. Eustacia was behind them, her zucchini-green gown looking as if she’d been drawn through a bramble hedge rather than a press of people.
“Your Highness, please—spare my mother!” Jessamyn begged.
Wilhemina, on her knees before the prince, seemed to jerk out of her stunned state when she heard her daughter’s voice. “Your Highness, most benevolent prince! I am wrongfully accused. I have done nothing! Do not take my head,” she rasped.
I should have been reveling in this moment, watching my people’s enemy pleading for her life.
I wasn’t.
In fact, that pit-of-the-stomach feeling—guilt—was starting up again.
Geoffrey turned to Eustacia. “Are you her daughter, too?” he asked in a dangerously musical tone of voice.
Eustacia hesitated, seeming all at once to realize the peril she was in, standing there next to her mother. She shook her head till the corkscrew curls swung out wide. Then she stepped backward into the throng and disappeared.
A real rock of loyalty, that one.
“I am her daughter!” little Jessamyn declared, strong and clear. “And this is her husband, Barnaby de Lancastyr. And you are nothing but a big bully. You need to let my mamma go right now!”
Zounds! Was this the fearful child who’d shrieked when she’d seen rats in the attic only a short time ago?
“Stepfather,” Jessamyn said, tugging at Lord Lancastyr’s long silk tunic. “Do something. Save my mother!”
Lord Lancastyr stood indecisively by, looking at the vivid little girl with a bemused expression. “What’s the to-do about?” he asked. Then he squinted toward the throne. “Why, is that you up there, King Tumtry? I say, queer goings-on tonight!”
King Tumtry made no move. He seemed to have decided, as had his councillors, to leave this all up to me.
I swiftly took charge of the two innocents. “Lord Lancastyr, Jessamyn—come along with me. You don’t belong here.”
“Hold, Prince Charming!” Geoffrey said. “I have a question to ask of the daughter. Little girl, have you ever heard this woman”—he tossed a careless hand in Wilhemina’s direction—“abuse or spread lies about your stepsister, Rose de Lancastyr? Upon your oath, speak the truth!”
This was an unforgivable position in which to place a child, particularly Wilhemina’s child.
Jessamyn’s lower lip began to tremble. “I—I—would rather not say.”
Wilhemina tried to rise from her knees, and Prince Geoffrey pushed her back down. Her heavy scarlet skirts pooled around her on the floor like blood. “Stay,” he ordered, “while I decide your fate.”
Wilhemina next tried to defend herself, to forestall any revelations Jessamyn might make, her voice thinning with terror. “Your Highness, what lady has not spoken harshly to members of her household now and again?”
Prince Geoffrey ignored her. “Little girl,” he said to Jessamyn once more, “did your mother ever say Rose de Lancastyr has aught amiss with her wits?”
Jessamyn broke down and sobbed. “She did, yes! Oh, Mamma, you ought not to have done so many terrible things to Rose. Now look what has happened. You can be so cruel at times, Mamma, but I don’t want you to die!”
With a satisfied smile, Geoffrey drew his sword.
CINDERELLA
Swiss and I, possessed by a shared premonition of doom, hurried from the Zhinese parlor, leaving the others to take care of Cook’s written confession. As we passed a fireplace, I noted with wild despair that the clock on the mantel read eleven-thirty.
“Whiskers and wedding cakes!” Swiss exclaimed. “That can’t be the right time! Only one half hour left before the spell dissolves.”
Char had only a half hour left to be human?
I could not fathom how the minutes had slipped through our fingers already, or how I’d lost track of my beloved Rat Prince. I’d accomplished much tonight, yet in the matter of finding a future for me and Char together, there was simply nothing to be done. But at the very least, I wanted to spend every remaining second by his side.
I picked up my skirts and ran down the wide red-carpeted corridor. The glass slippers lent speed to my feet, yet Swiss kept pace with me easily.
When we burst into the ballroom, it was packed with people. Yet they were all perfectly, unnaturally still. My heart rose to my throat.
“Uh-oh,” Swiss said, moving into a defensive posture in front of me.
My gaze swept past him and over the heads of the crowd, drawn to a group standing b
y King Tumtry’s throne. They were quite familiar figures. “Oh no.”
Char stood straight and tall beside Prince Geoffrey. My father slouched off to the side of the throne, disconnected from the proceedings. And there was my darling Jessamyn, her mouth wide open in a scream she seemed too terrified to utter.
My stepmother was on her knees in front of Prince Geoffrey. As I watched, he brandished his large sword high in the air.
There were gasps and cries from the crowd.
No, oh no. Char. Char!
Just as Geoffrey’s sword was about to complete its downward arc, faster than my eyes could follow, there was a loud clang of sword falling upon sword, rather than the swoosh and clunk of a woman parting with her head.
And Char was there, holding a blade of his own, staring into Geoffrey’s astonished face.
“It’s awkward, Your Highness,” Char said. “Killing the ball guests. Puts a bit of a damper on the dancing.”
He had done it. He’d saved Wilhemina.
“Prince Charming!” Jessamyn bawled. “Thank you! Thank you!” She moved closer to my father, who put a hand on her shoulder.
Wilhemina scrambled up from the floor and tried to run away. A pair of palace guards caught and held her.
This was not yet over. Char’s weapon was still locked with Geoffrey’s.
Swiss leaned toward me, anguish on his face. “Geoffrey is an accomplished swordsman,” he whispered. “How will Char, who has never in his life held a sword till now, defeat him?”
Panic gripped me. “Go to him! Protect him if need be!”
We both began to push desperately forward.
“King Tumtry must put a stop to this!” I cried to Swiss. “And why on earth was Geoffrey about to kill Wilhemina?”
“Geoffrey is either mad or bad, my lady,” Swiss informed me. “Perhaps a bit of both.”
I heard a bellow like a raging beast, and the ring of jarring steel.
“Let me through,” I pleaded with the phalanx of people. “Oh, make way, I must reach my beloved prince!” Char, Char, Char.
When people saw who I was they allowed me to pass, no doubt thinking the prince I spoke of was Geoffrey. Swiss and I broke free of the crowd just in time to see Geoffrey aim a mighty hack at Char’s head.
The Rat Prince Page 13