“Oh, good!” Lorelei took the soap and started to scrub a plate.
Trudy looked around for a mop.
“Oh dear,” Lorelei said.
“What’s amiss?”
Lorelei raised her arms out of the soapy water. Trudy was horrified. The girl’s arms and hands were covered with a bright-red rash.
“Does this happen whenever you wash a dish?” Trudy asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never washed one before.”
Never washed a dish! Her poor dead mother had let her get away with that? Had the woman mistaken her daughter for a princess?
“Mother kept the unguents and the bandages in the hutch,” Lorelei said.
Trudy opened the hutch door. There were enough potions and herbs and simples to set up shop as a wisewoman.
“That one. There.” Lorelei pointed to a big jar.
Trudy spread the salve over Lorelei’s rash.
“It has to be wrapped in clean linen.” Lorelei pointed again.
Trudy wrapped up Lorelei’s arms—three times. The first time the bandages were too tight. The next time they were too loose. An hour passed before Lorelei said they were just right.
At last! Trudy thought, Her majesty is satisfied.
“The dressing has to be changed every two hours,” Lorelei said. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
Trudy frowned. It wasn’t exactly her highness’s fault, but over an hour had gone by and the dishes were still dirty. The floor hadn’t been mopped, and there was a mountain of laundry in the basket. She’d be working half the night to get it all done.
Trudy worked half the night that night and every night. For a month she took off bandages and put on bandages. When the rash was gone, Lorelei offered to help again.
Trudy hadn’t been able to do any spinning because of all the bandaging. Surely, she thought, her majesty can’t come to grief spinning. “Can you help me with the spinning?”
Lorelei smiled happily. Gussie had never let her near the spinning wheel. She knew exactly what to do, though, because she’d watched her mother so often. She sat down at the wheel and got started.
Trudy nodded. There. She began to dust.
“Oh dear.”
Trudy turned around. Lorelei had stabbed herself in the hand with the spindle, and blood was pouring onto the cottage’s wooden floor. Trudy ran for the bandages.
While Trudy bandaged her, Lorelei apologized at least a thousand times. After that, Trudy spent an hour scrubbing blood off the wooden floor and wondering what the bungling ninny was good for.
Not much, Trudy soon discovered. Lorelei could hang laundry on the line, and she could make a bed neatly. But the only thing she was really good at was embroidery. And Trudy had no need for embroidery. What she needed was to scream, long and loud.
Every day Trudy got madder and madder. While she washed Lorelei’s satin sheets, her ladyship would be sitting at her ease, embroidering by the window. As Trudy kneaded Lorelei’s special millet-buckwheat bread, the lazy thing would be lying in bed because her poor little throat hurt. Or her poor little left eyebrow. Or her poor little big toe.
Then came the joyous moment when Trudy thought of doing Lorelei in. Cooking her highness’s goose. Rubbing her pampered self o-u-t. Out! Trudy started whistling.
Lorelei looked up from embroidering the outline of a potato on one of Sam’s breeches. She smiled. “I’m so glad you’re happy here, Trudy.”
“Oh, I am, lass, I am. Happier every minute.”
Three
It was lunchtime in the nearby court of the king and queen of Biddle. Queen Hermione rang her little bell to let the Royal Servants know they could bring out the first course.
The Chief Royal Lunchtime Serving Maid carried a platter heaped with crab cakes into the royal dining room. King Humphrey helped himself to a tiny crab cake. Queen Hermione helped herself to a tiny crab cake. Prince Nicholas took a dozen or so crab cakes and started eating.
King Humphrey tasted his crab cake. Queen Hermione tasted her crab cake. They shook their heads. Queen Hermione rang her bell again. The Chief Royal Lunchtime Serving Maid stepped up to the royal table.
“I’m so sorry,” Queen Hermione said. “These crab cakes taste a bit too fishy to me.”
“We beg to differ or disagree,” the king boomed. “They’re not fishy enough.”
“Crab isn’t a fish,” Prince Nicholas said, chewing happily. “My compliments to the chef.”
“Please bring grapefruit instead,” the queen said.
The Chief Royal Lunchtime Serving Maid removed the platter. On her way into the kitchen she passed a counter where the royal lunch was laid out. There were platters of crusty beef Wellington, creamed potatoes, and asparagus in mustard sauce, and there was a basket of poppy seed popovers. And two plates of grapefruit sections, poached eggs, and dry toast.
At a long table the Royal Servants waited for their lunch. The Chief Royal Lunchtime Serving Maid handed the platter of crab cakes to the Chief Royal Steward at the head of the table. He took four or five cakes and passed the plate to the Chief Royal Housekeeper on his right.
“There would be more for us if the prince didn’t eat so much,” the Chief Royal Undergardener complained.
“Hush,” the Chief Royal Housekeeper said. “We’re lucky to serve two such finicky rulers. My cousin Mabel doesn’t fare half so well at the Earl of Pildenue’s castle. The earl and his family adore their food, adore their clothes, adore their furniture. She never gets anything.”
Back in Snettering-on-Snoakes, Lorelei ate her lunch of grapefruit, poached eggs, and dry toast, and patted her mouth with an embroidered napkin. Then she went out to hang embroidered laundry on the embroidered clothesline.
While she worked, she thought about her mother and Trudy. Her mother had been so good to her. And Trudy was too. They both worked so hard. She hadn’t helped her mother much, or Trudy, even though she always wanted to.
Trudy looked tired sometimes, although she never complained. Gussie must have been tired too. But no matter how tired she might have been, her mother had always had a kiss and a hug for Lorelei. And even if the hugs had made Lorelei a little black and blue, she would have given anything to have them back again.
She wiped away a tear with the embroidered toe of Sam’s hose.
Prince Nicholas, riding by, saw the tear. He had gone out after lunch to get some fresh air. As soon as he had turned into the lane, he’d seen Lorelei. She looked pretty in the distance. As he got closer, she was still pretty. Not a raving beauty, but definitely pretty. Light-brown hair. Ordinary color, but thick and wavy. Nose a little too big. But her eyes were big too. Enormous. And she had roses in her cheeks. You didn’t see roses in the cheeks of the noble and stuck-up ladies at court.
Then he saw she was crying! A corner of his heart that had never been touched before was touched. He leaped off his steed. “Maiden!” he cried. “You weep!”
Lorelei turned and knocked over the laundry basket. Embroidered petticoats and tunics and bodices danced across the small muddy yard.
Prince Nicholas vaulted over the low fence and helped Lorelei gather up the wash. He picked up one of Sam’s shirts, embroidered with three-legged stools. The stitchery was masterful. But why three-legged stools?
“LORELEI TURNED AND KNOCKED OVER THE LAUNDRY BASKET.”
He asked, “Maiden, why were you crying? Perhaps I can be of service.”
Lorelei blushed. He wasn’t that handsome, but there was something regal about him. Who was he? “I was missing my mother, kind sir.”
“Your mother is . . .”
“She died.” Lorelei smiled bravely and gathered up the last item of laundry, a petticoat embroidered with tiny teakettles.
The poor maiden was an orphan, Nicholas thought. Or half of one if her father was alive. “You have my most sincere sympathy, maiden.” He wanted to say more but couldn’t think of anything else.
Lorelei smiled. “Thank you, kind sir.” He was nice!
She had a wonderful smile. He found himself stammering. “Er . . . I am P-Prince N-Nicholas.”
He was a prince! She swept him a curtsy. “I am Lorelei.”
Inside, Trudy glanced up from her washtub. Look at her highness out there, she thought, passing the time with a young lord. Not for long, your ladyship. She hummed and danced a little jig. Not for long, heyho! Not for long, tra-la!
Four
When Nicholas got back to the castle, King Humphrey summoned him to the throne room. As usual it was full of courtiers and subjects. King Humphrey had just settled an argument between two farmers over a cow. When he saw Nicholas, the king ordered everyone to leave. The only ones left were the king, the queen, the prince, and the Chief Royal Window Washer, who was cleaning the stained-glass windows.
“Son,” King Humphrey boomed. “We are growing old or advancing in years. We should like to abdicate. But before we do, you must wed or get married.”
Nicholas thought of Lorelei and his heart started to race. “I just met—”
“We must find you a true princess,” Queen Hermione interrupted. “The descendent of a long line of royalty. A noble maiden, with . . .”
That eliminates Lorelei, Nicholas thought. Her pretty, rosy cheeks alone would rule her out.
“We’ve devised a test,” the king said. “Or an examination.”
“But what if I don’t love the true princess?”
“You’ll love her,” Queen Hermione said. “She’ll be just right for you.”
No she won’t! thought Nicholas.
“You’ll make yourself love or adore her,” King Humphrey roared. “Or we’ll abdicate in favor of Archduke Percival.”
Nicholas hated the archduke. Percy threw his servants into the moat if they did something wrong or if he felt like it. He would be a terrible king.
“Would you like to hear the test, dear?” the queen asked.
Nicholas nodded.
“When a maiden arrives who claims to be a true princess,” Queen Hermione said, “we shall give her a bouquet.”
The king guffawed. “But amidst all the fragrant or sweet-smelling flowers, there will be a sprig or small bunch of parsley. And that’s not a flower.”
Nicholas wondered what parsley had to do with being a princess.
“The true princess will know,” the queen said. “She will pluck that parsley right out of her bouquet.”
“That’s the test?”
“Certainly not,” Queen Hermione said. “There’s more. We shall serve her a salad. A beautiful salad.”
“Except,” King Humphrey said, chuckling, “right in the middle, there will be a bit—”
“A speck—” the queen interrupted.
“The merest fleck. We don’t want to hurt or injure the maiden. There will be a fleck of uncooked or raw noodle.”
“The true princess will find it!” Queen Hermione announced.
What did parsley and noodles have to do with being a kind and just ruler? Nicholas listened in amazement to the rest of the test. There would be a trial in every course of the banquet. Also, the poor princess would be given a gown with a skirt that was a tint lighter than the bodice. She’d have to notice. She’d be shown a tapestry and would have to find the single missing stitch.
Lorelei might pass that one, Nicholas thought.
Every inch of the princess would be measured. Her waist had to be tiny. Her hands and feet had to be small, although her fingers had to be long. Her big toe had to be longer than her index toe. She had to be tall, but not a giant. And so on.
“But the final test will be the most important one,” Queen Hermione said.
“There’s more?” Nicholas said.
King Humphrey nodded solemnly. Then he nodded again.
“She will sleep in a guest bedroom,” the queen said. “Her bed will be piled with twenty soft mattresses.”
“She’ll fall off!” Nicholas said. “She’ll hurt—”
“A princess does not fall,” the queen said. She went on. “Each mattress will be filled with the finest swans’ feathers. But under the bottom mattress we will place a pea. If she sleeps well, she is no true princess!”
King Humphrey agreed. “If she sleeps or slumbers well, she is no true princess!”
The Chief Royal Chambermaid heard about the pea test from the Chief Royal Window Washer. It made her curious, so she got a pea from the Chief Royal Cook. A dried pea, because they couldn’t have meant a fresh one, which would just squoosh flat.
The Chief Royal Chambermaid made everything ready, just as it would be for the princess. One pea. Twenty mattresses. And a ladder.
She climbed up. The bed was sooo soft. It was delicious. Pea? She couldn’t feel any pea. With twenty mattresses under her, she doubted she would feel a watermelon. She didn’t think anybody could feel the pea—true princess, fake princess, or any other kind.
The Chief Royal Chambermaid climbed down and yanked off a few mattresses. Then she climbed back up. She still couldn’t feel the pea. She pulled off more mattresses and tried again. Nothing.
She took off all the mattresses except the bottom one, but she still couldn’t feel anything. She checked under the mattress. There it was. Well, she was no princess. Maybe a true princess could feel a pea under one or two mattresses. But under twenty? Not on your life.
Five
Sam got ready for his trip to the earldom of Pildenue. The earl was his only noble customer. Sam made enough from this one job to keep Lorelei in silk kirtles and embroidery thread for a year.
He said a long farewell to Lorelei in front of their cottage. “Be sure you wear your shawl at night, honey.”
“I will, Father.”
“Be sure she does, Trudy. I don’t want her to get sick.”
“Yes, Master,” Trudy said. Would that be a good way to bump her off? Let her catch cold and die?
“And make her eat enough, Trudy. You have to keep your strength up, sweetie pie.”
“Yes, Master,” Trudy said. Should she starve Lorelei? No. It would take too long.
“Here, sweet. Give your old daddy a kiss.”
Lorelei hugged him. “I’ll miss you, Father. Hurry home.”
Sam climbed up to the seat of his wagon. He flapped the reins, and the old mare started to trot.
Lorelei wiped away a tear. She turned to Trudy. “We’ll just have to keep each other company.” She sniffled. “We’ll have a lovely time, won’t we?”
“Yes, lass.” Yes indeed!
King Humphrey wrote a proclamation to announce the search for a real princess.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! Or listen well! Insofar and Inasmuch as We, King Humphrey, Supreme Ruler and Monarch of the Kingdom and Monarchy of Biddle . . .”
The king paused here. But there was no synonym for Biddle, so he went on.
“. . . Wish to Abdicate Our Throne in Favor of Our Son and Heir, the Noble and Royal Prince Nicholas. And Insofar and Inasmuch as We Stipulate and Require . . .”
And so on. The next important part came at the very end. “. . . and Said Princess Must Satisfy Us, King Humphrey, Supreme . . .” Blah blah blah. “. . . That She Is in Her Person and Her Self a Completely and Utterly True Princess. Our Judgment on This Matter or in This Respect Shall Be Final and Without Appeal.”
Below that King Humphrey signed King Humphrey or Supreme Ruler of Biddle, as was his habit. The Royal Seal was affixed, and the proclamation was complete. And finished, too.
Except for one thing. The king wanted a portrait of Prince Nicholas to go with the proclamation. He sent for his Chief Royal Artist and Portrait Maker.
“My son or heir isn’t a bad-looking boy, is he?” King Humphrey asked the artist. “There’s nothing wrong with his looks, is there?”
“Oh no, Sire. Not in the slightest.” The Chief Royal Artist and Portrait Maker thought the prince was ordinary-looking. Nothing special.
“The prince has to look handsome in his portrait or picture,” the king said. “That way a
true princess will want and desire to come.”
“I understand, sire.” Smaller ears. Straighter mouth. Broader shoulders. He could do that.
Nicholas wanted to look as ugly as possible in his portrait. He wanted every princess who saw it to say, “Ugh. Who would want to marry him?” Because if no princesses showed up, he might be able to convince the king and queen to let him marry Lorelei.
So he squinted. He squirmed. He mussed his hair. He let his mouth hang open. He drooled. He borrowed Queen Hermione’s makeup and drew a big black mole on his chin.
It made no difference. The Chief Royal Artist and Portrait Maker was a master craftsman. In the portrait Prince Nicholas’ chin (without a mole) was lifted majestically. His eyes had a piercing look. A hint of a smile played around his mouth. His shoulders were broad. His mouth wasn’t lopsided. His ears were perfect. Also, the Chief Royal Artist and Portrait Maker waved Nicholas’ hair and thickened his eyelashes. Princesses would fall in love with those eyelashes. Guaranteed.
When all was ready, scribes copied the proclamation. Lesser Royal Artists and Portrait Makers copied the portrait. Messengers were dispatched to kingdoms near and far.
The search was on.
“THE SEARCH WAS ON.”
Six
Trudy thought about how to do Lorelei in. She could hit her over the head with the frying pan. Or strangle her with the embroidered clothesline. Or drag her to the village square and push her out of the clock tower. Any one of those would be lots of fun. But she’d be caught. The dopey villagers liked Lorelei.
It should be easy to finish her off, Trudy reasoned. After all, her highness was in bed sick or hurt three times a week without anybody doing anything to her. Why, she could murder herself one of these days without Trudy’s having to lift a finger! Hmm. Now that was an idea.
The morning after Sam left, Trudy announced that she didn’t feel well. “You’ll have to do the housework today, lass,” Trudy said. “I’m not up to it.”
Lorelei would wash the dishes and she’d get that rash again. But today Trudy would be too sick to put on the salve. So Lorelei would swell up like a balloon and POP! And nobody would think it was Trudy’s fault.
The Fairy's Return and Other Princess Tales Page 4