She peered down at me. I motioned for her to come closer. She bent over and I whispered in her ear, “He was looking for the talisman.”
Princess Mariposa looked me in the eye. I met her gaze squarely. Her tears vanished. She set her jaw like steel. Then she straightened up.
“Remove the King’s cuffs from that imposter!” she commanded.
Captain Bryce squared his shoulders and stalked over to the dangling imposter. Dudley—it was hard to think of him as Dudley after knowing him so long as Prince Baltazar—kicked at the Captain, snarling. The gryphon dumped Dudley on the pavement at the Captain’s feet with a bone-cracking snap. The Captain knelt down and wrenched the cuffs off the hapless Dudley.
The gryphon snagged Dudley’s coattail with the tip of a talon.
Let me have him, the gryphon said, its eyes boring into mine.
“The gryphon wants him,” I told the Princess, whose eyes grew wide.
“To—to kill him?” she gasped.
To take him away. Far away, the gryphon replied, its tongue curling in its open beak.
I had the feeling it wasn’t telling me the whole truth.
“It says it wants to take him far away,” I said.
Prince Baltazar shrugged. “There is a certain justice to that request. He’s caused a lot of trouble and, I think”—the Prince looked down at Princess Mariposa in compassion—“a lot of heartbreak.”
Tell her I promise to never return to her kingdom, the gryphon offered.
“The gryphon promises to never come back,” I added. “It’s a good trade. Gryphons are powerful hunters, and now that this one is loose…” I looked up at the damaged turret where the beast had once been stone.
“They’re lies! Lies!” Dudley screamed. “Ask my wife; she’ll tell you!”
“Wife?” Princess Mariposa roared.
I blinked. Of course, that explained a great deal.
“Cherice,” I told her. She glared down at me. I shrank—suddenly aware that I should be quiet and mind my own business.
“Guards!” Princess Mariposa’s voice rang out like the sound of a sword drawn from a scabbard. “Find the Wardrobe Mistress and detain her.”
Guards scrambled to beat each other back into the castle.
“Sir Gryphon, I accept your word to leave my kingdom and never return. But mark me, sir, I show no mercy to those who break their vows,” Princess Mariposa said.
“Mariposa! No! Wait!” Dudley wailed as the gryphon rolled him up in its talons and, with a slap of its great wings, soared up into the sky.
And with it, I felt the last wisp of magic drip out of my fingers. I swayed, slightly dizzy.
Princess Mariposa turned away. Captain Bryce gripped the gold cuffs. The Archers lowered their arrows. Wedding guests crept out from behind the shattered remains of the royal wedding. The real Prince Baltazar tugged at his collar. Prince Sterling looked at his boots.
A tall figure in a stiff green gown banged the pavement with her cane.
“No doubt your cooks have prepared a grand feast,” Lady Kaye said.
She patted the Princess’s hand.
“My dear, let me escort your guests to their refreshments,” Lady Kaye said. Then she lowered her voice and spoke close to the Princess’s ear. “I think you’d like some time alone.”
Princess Mariposa nodded.
The Baroness Azure raised her regal head and proclaimed, “The Princess requests your presence at her feast, which will now be held in the royal dining room. Please follow me.” Holding her cane aloft, the Baroness marched back to the castle, stepping over debris as if it weren’t there.
The shocked guests ambled after her, some glancing back at the Princess, who stood proud and pale at Prince Baltazar’s side.
“I hope you can forgive me,” Prince Baltazar began.
Princess Mariposa laid a hand on his arm. “You’ve traveled a great distance to spare me from a shocking disgrace. Please stay as my guest and attend my feast.”
The Prince grinned. “I am a little hungry,” he said with a glance at Prince Sterling. “Care to join me, Humphrey?”
“Humphrey?” Princess Mariposa gasped, turning pale for a second time that morning.
“My pardon, this is my friend, Prince Humphrey of Tamzin,” Prince Baltazar explained.
“Humphrey Frederic Albert Sterling,” Prince Sterling corrected.
Princess Mariposa turned to him. A blank expression filled her face. Her usually sapphire eyes turned a dark sea green.
Prince Baltazar shuffled his boots. “If I may be excused,” he began.
“You are excused,” Princess Mariposa said in a toneless voice.
Prince Baltazar bowed and then left in a hurry.
I remained glued to my spot. I wasn’t leaving unless the Princess herself ordered me to. I gazed up at Prince Humphrey—the Humphrey who’d given the Princess the beautiful butterfly, the Humphrey who’d been a spoiled brat—with my mouth hanging open.
He winked at me.
“Tubby?” Princess Mariposa repeated as if she couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought. “It’s been you all along?”
Prince Humphrey winced. “Don’t remind me of how rotten I behaved back then.”
“Yes, you were rotten,” she agreed, a little pink color returning to her face.
“I wanted you to like me and I didn’t know how to get you to. I sent you a butterfly.”
She nodded. “I still have it.”
“You do?” he asked, smiling. “I’m sorry, Mariposa, sorry for pretending to be someone else, but I wanted to see you again. And I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.” He reached out and took her hands. “Forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” she mused. “For what? Pulling my hair? Pretending to be a poor nobody? Ruining my wedding? Preventing me from marrying an imposter?”
“For not visiting you sooner,” Prince Humphrey said.
At that, a smile curled the corner of the Princess’s mouth.
“I suppose,” she said. “I forgive you. Just this once.”
Prince Humphrey laughed. “And now that we’re friends,” he said as Princess Mariposa arched an eyebrow, “perhaps you’d introduce me to your servant here.”
Princess Mariposa looked down at me, blinking as if she’d forgotten I was there.
“This is my friend Darling,” she said.
My heart swelled; I was Princess Mariposa’s friend.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Prince Humphrey said with a bow.
I curtsied. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Darling,” Princess Mariposa said. “Don’t miss out on lunch.”
I curtsied again and walked off, glancing back every few steps.
A large blue butterfly fluttered down between them. Princess Mariposa studied it. It hovered a moment before sailing off.
“I saw an Inachis io once,” she said, watching it go.
“Did you catch it?” Prince Humphrey asked, offering her his arm.
“No,” Princess Mariposa said. “I let it go.”
Then she took his arm and the two strolled back toward the castle, a rainbow of butterflies following in their wake.
The Guards scoured the castle from the attics to the cellars. There was no sign of Cherice. In all the excitement, she had escaped. The wedding festivities continued despite the fact that there hadn’t been a wedding. The food was superb; the fireworks extravagant. The servants, awarded a break from their duties, watched from the lawns. The party went on for days.
At last, the guests departed; Prince Baltazar was the first to go. He invited Princess Mariposa to visit Candala at her convenience.
“Like that will happen,” Lindy said, pressing a nightgown. “Candala might be paradise, but Her Highness would rather die than set foot in it after what that scoundrel Dudley did to humiliate her.”
“Do you think the gryphon ate him?” I asked, wincing.
“Darlin’,” Lindy said, “don’t go imagining things you oughtn’t
to imagine. The masons will patch up that turret and we’ll all forget it ever happened.”
I didn’t argue with her, but I doubted it. The two of us staggered under the heavy load of pressing the Princess’s wardrobe, which was left unattended now that Cherice was gone. Iago poked his nose in the pressing room from time to time, but he always shook his head at the ever-growing pile of dresses, stockings, and petticoats that needed sorting and putting away. Then he vanished back into his haven under my bed.
Finally, the Baroness Azure offered her assistance. She was, I learned, the first peer of the realm, the richest lady at court. Armed with her cane, she planted herself in an armchair and rattled off orders like a general. Lindy and I—along with Francesca, whom the Baroness had recruited to help—scurried to obey. Princess Mariposa couldn’t find a new Wardrobe Mistress soon enough, in my opinion.
Mrs. Pepperwhistle looked in on us occasionally. Her gaze reflected the hunger she felt for her daughter’s advancement. No doubt she thought Francesca should step right into Cherice’s shoes, but the Baroness spent her time in between issuing orders compiling a list of candidates that she believed were suitable for the position.
It was a long list. I didn’t see Francesca’s name anywhere on it.
“Marci, the Head Scrubber, would be good at this job,” I told the Baroness one afternoon when she ordered me to rub her feet. I wrinkled my nose against the smell of her stockings and rubbed away.
“Marci?” the Baroness snorted.
“Her grandmother was Queen Paloma’s Wardrobe Mistress. I guess she taught Marci everything she knew,” I replied.
“Marci has a temper,” Lindy said, walking past.
“So do you,” I mumbled under my breath.
The Baroness cackled, eyes bright with glee. “Does she?”
“They both do,” I whispered. “Good servants are jealous of their work.”
“Are you?” she asked, eyes twinkling.
“Yes,” I said with a nod.
“Then rub harder,” the Baroness murmured, closing her eyes.
It was days later that I realized something. Something important. When a strange mouse popped up and wrote Roger a note telling him I was in danger, he hadn’t hesitated to come to my rescue. Maybe he did like me—a little anyway. At least we were still friends.
Gillian sidled up to me one evening on the east terrace.
“You haven’t told me a story in weeks,” she whined.
“I haven’t seen any soap bubbles lately,” I said, leaning back into the bronze lion’s chest.
The days had grown cooler; it would probably be the last evening out on the lawn until next spring.
“Come on,” Gillian moaned.
“Well,” I said, studying my fingernails. “There once was a girl who had to scrub the floors in a witch’s castle. Every day, she scrubbed, dragging a heavy bucket, a rag in her reddened fist, all alone.”
“Oh,” Gillian breathed, settling in with her chin on her fist. “Yes, go on.”
Jane sat down next to me and squeezed my knee.
“Good evening,” she said.
“Hi, Jane. What will you and the other Pickers do when it’s colder?” I asked.
Gillian squirmed like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
“We can always help out in the greenhouses. They grow lots of things in there—flowers, vegetables, fruit trees,” she answered.
“Really?” I said as if I wanted to hear more.
“What about the girl in the witch’s castle?” Gillian said, poking me.
“She was caught slacking and sent to bed without her supper,” Marci said, plopping down on the other side of Jane.
Gillian shriveled up like a wilted lettuce leaf.
A falling star streaked through the night sky.
“Make a wish,” Marci told Jane.
Jane smiled, her cheeks pink, her eyes hazy. “What would I wish for? I have my girl,” she said, squeezing me.
“I’d wish for a story,” Gillian grumbled under her breath.
“I’d wish that the hidden things would become known,” Marci said, glancing at Jane and nudging her apron pocket. “It’s about time they were.”
Jane frowned, squinting at the stars and patting her pocket.
“Come on, Janey,” Marci said. “Let her have it. She’s earned it. She ran out in front of that monster to warn the Princess. She’s entitled to a reward.”
“Let me have what?” I asked.
Jane sighed. She dug in her pocket and brought out her closed fist.
“I meant for you to have this,” Jane said.
“Just give it to her,” Marci urged.
Gillian leaned over my shoulder, eager to see what Jane had in her fist.
“I’m giving it to her. Do you mind?” Jane said.
“Just tell me what it is,” I suggested.
“It belonged to your mother,” Jane said, her voice failing.
“Oh,” I said.
I never thought about my mother. She’d died the day I was born; she’d never been there when I needed her.
“It belonged to her family, passed down for generations. She left it with me, to give to you,” Jane said, shoulders drooping. She thrust her hand out at me. “Take it. It’s yours.”
A thin silver chain glinted in Jane’s hand. A silver locket dangled from it. I put out my hand and she let it fall into my grasp. I studied it. The locket had a starburst engraved on one side and on the other the word WRAY.
“Wray?” Gillian asked. “What’s that?” She dug her chin into my shoulder, straining for a better look.
I nudged her off me.
“It’s your mother’s family name. She was a Wray, Emily Wray,” Jane admitted as if it killed her to do so.
“So your name’s really Darling Wray,” Gillian said. “That sounds more romantic than Darling Dimple.”
“Her father’s name wasn’t Wray,” Marci objected.
“What was it?” Gillian demanded.
“James Fortune,” Jane said.
“Darling Fortune? That’s almost as good as Darling Dimple!” Gillian snorted.
“Captain James Fortune,” Marci amended.
I opened the locket. It was empty.
“I’m sorry, Darling,” Jane murmured. “I should have told you. I should have given you the locket long ago.”
Marci harrumphed.
“Why didn’t you?” I asked.
Jane twisted her fingers together. “Well,” she said, “I was an orphan. My aunt Doris raised me. She was the Head Icer—she made the most beautiful sugar roses. I grew up here in the castle. But I never had anything. My aunt died years ago and, well, I didn’t have a family of my own—”
“So you took care of me,” I said. “But you never told me you were an orphan.”
“I’m not an orphan,” Gillian announced.
“No,” said Marci, “just a girl who talks too much.”
“So I pretended that you were really my little girl,” Jane finished with a sob.
The castle lawn spun around me. I wasn’t Darling Dimple, not really. I was somebody whose mother had been a Wray. Somebody who’d inherited a silver locket with a starburst—the same starburst the west terrace bore. Suddenly, I felt all alone. A stranger. A nobody.
Jane squeezed me as silent tears ran down her face. Good old Jane. Jane, who’d taught me to read and write. Jane, who’d loved me every day of my life. I didn’t know Emily Wray or Captain James Fortune, but I knew Jane.
“I am your girl,” I told her.
She kissed the top of my head. I tightened my fist around the locket. Overhead the stars twinkled in the night sky. Marci poked an errant strand of hair back into her bun. Other servants, eager to enjoy a last evening on the lawn, came out with their shawls and scarves. Their soft chatter filled the night air.
I polished the locket on my apron; finally I had a treasure of my own to put in my artichoke crate. But for now, I intended to wear it. I slipped the chain over my he
ad and settled into Jane’s side. I didn’t know who Emily Wray was or what her starburst locket meant or if it had ever held anything, but I intended to find out. Someday. For now, I was Darling Dimple, Jane’s girl, and I had a great story to tell.
“So,” I told Gillian, “one day an unusually large soap bubble floated out of the girl’s bucket. It got stuck in a shaft of sunlight.”
“Yeah?” Gillian breathed in the dark.
“And inside the bubble was a genie.”
“A genie? Oh. What’s next?” Gillian said with a sigh.
So I told her the story about the genie and the thousand magic slippers and how the little Scrubber girl danced in a different pair each night until she wore a hole in the floor and fell through. And then her adventure really began.
Acknowledgments
Books are written, but they are also made. I would like to thank the many people whose work, kindness, and inspiration went into the making of this book. My agent, Sara Crowe, who never stopped believing I could do this. My editor, Diane Landolf, for believing in Darling and her dresses. My book designer, Liz Tardiff, and all the other people at Random House who have labored over this book and made it the beautiful object you hold in your hands.
To my critique partners, Kaye Bair and Rachel Martin, for patiently reading and rereading, and offering helpful insights and suggestions, and asking difficult-to-answer questions. To the “Ames” group—Sarvinder Naberhaus, Jane Metcalf, Candace Camling, Dorothia Rohner, Lisa Victoria, Kate Sharp, Ann Green—for all their support.
To my husband, Jon, and my daughters, Sara and Becky, for indulging my obsession.
And to all the authors of my favorite books—you taught me how to imagine all the things that weren’t. And to God, who whispered to me that the things that weren’t could be.
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