As if on cue, a murmur ran through the crowd. A plump figure skipped into view. Rachel stared in astonishment. Surely this girl was not the princess! Why, she was arrayed like a ruffian! She wore a plain brown frock. Even so, there was no denying her extraordinary beauty. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Mother staring in shock.
The princess’ hair was tousled but no less lovely, a rich ebony. She wore no cosmetics, but her skin shone with the translucence of a crystalline snowfall. Her lips were a vibrant red, as red as ripe strawberries. In her hand she held a large parcel wrapped in brown paper.
The princess bowed before her father. Then she shifted her gaze to the carriage from which Rachel was disembarking. Her expression grew uncertain. Turning back to her father, the princess said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”
“Snowdrop, you look well.” Father extended his hand, and Snowdrop clasped it for a brief moment. “I assume you’re still poring over those books of yours? Have you received my gifts? I thought poetry books would be preferable to you. I hope I procured ones you like.”
Poetry? Rachel raised her head in interest. She loved poetry, too. Why was the princess suddenly looking angry? She listened to the girl’s answer to Stepfather’s question. “The books were lovely. I intended to write you letters of thanks, but I received no letters from you, so—” She stared pointedly at Stepfather’s flushed face and then slowly lowered her gaze. She thrust the parcel into his hand. “I made this for you.”
King Lawrence smiled at his daughter. “Thank you, Snowdrop. That’s very thoughtful,” he said. He gestured to Andrew. The aged servant stepped forward.
“Take our possessions to our chambers and then prepare the tea. I’m taking my bride on a tour of the grounds.” He placed the parcel into Andrew’s hand and gestured to Barbara. “Will you walk with me?” Rachel watched Mother approach her new husband. She was smiling, and she threaded her arm through his. Rachel averted her gaze. Mother and Stepfather walked from the courtyard into the beautiful gardens beyond, leaving the stepsisters alone.
Rachel stared after the retreating couple. How could Mother and Stepfather leave her with this girl? She turned toward the princess. The girl’s face was flushed, and she was clenching her teeth. She seemed so angry. Yet at the same time, Rachel felt sorry for her. The princess seemed sad. Rachel understood sadness.
Suddenly, Rachel heard her own voice emerge from her dry throat. “You like poetry?”
The princess started. She blinked and nodded.
Rachel swallowed nervously. She saw that Mother and Stepfather were already out of sight. Was she expected to tag along behind them? Was the princess meant to do the same? “I like poetry,” she said hesitantly. “It’s my favorite.”
Snowdrop smiled tentatively. “I like poetry, too, but I don’t always understand it.”
Rachel laughed. “I don’t either, but it’s so pretty.” She stepped forward without consciously making a decision to do so. “I brought a poetry book. My father bought it for me when I was seven.” She flushed at her poor choice of words. “Um, I mean, I bought it myself.”
Snowdrop’s face reddened. “I write poetry. It’s not good, though.”
Rachel gaped in admiration. “Isn’t poetry hard to write?”
Andrew suddenly appeared. He was pushing a wooden cart upon which reposed a tray of sandwiches, scones and cakes and a pot of steaming tea. He blinked in surprise when he saw the girls. “Why, Your Highness’, I didn’t realize that you were still here. Getting acquainted, I see.”
It was at that moment that Rachel’s stomach decided to have its say. It rumbled insistently. She gasped in embarrassment and placed a hand to her abdomen. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She bowed her head in shame.
“Are you hungry?” Rachel raised her head and blinked in surprise at the kind inquiry. She had expected the princess to laugh at her awkwardness, but the girl’s face wore a concerned frown. Rachel offered a tentative smile. “I’m quite well, thank you. I ate a large breakfast.” She performed an awkward curtsy, murmuring an apology for having forgotten to do so earlier.
Snowdrop shook her head. “Don’t be so formal with me. I didn’t curtsy either, did I? There’s no harm done. Are you certain you’re not hungry? I am, and it’s nearly teatime.”
Rachel felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Her stomach roared like a lion. The princess had to have heard it. Sheepishly, she bowed her head. “I could eat, but I mustn’t.”
“Don’t be silly. Andrew, remove the cloth from the tea tray. We’ll eat by the swan pool.”
Andrew frowned. “But, shouldn’t you wait for your father and Her Majesty?”
Rachel watched in amazement as Snowdrop directed an imperious stare at the servant. “We may eat whenever we choose,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. She turned toward Rachel. “I can see that you’re hungry. There’s no need to wait.” She gestured for Andrew to ready the tray. Andrew removed the damask cloth from atop the food and stepped back, allowing the girls to help themselves.
Rachel selected a plate. She piled sandwiches, scones, and cakes upon it, creating a veritable pyramid of delicacies. Her hands trembled as she explored the bountiful array of food; such a tantalizing display. Her head felt light with giddiness, but the tendrilous vine of shame snaked around her heart even as she assembled her plate. She would have to purge herself after the meal, of course, for she could not allow herself to grow pudgy. But, she knew how to destroy the evidence of her crime. Right now, she would enjoy herself. She would deal with the consequences later.
“Thank you, Andrew,” Snowdrop said. “If Father asks for us, tell him we’re eating beside the swan pool.” As Rachel walked in Snowdrop’s wake, she noticed the princess stop and whisper in the servant’s ear. The servant nodded as they passed.
The girls walked through flower gardens and along canopied paths. The sun beamed through the trees, smiling cheerily at them. They stepped from the canopied grove and into a glade from which bubbled a dazzling pool.
Rachel gasped when she spied the five swans at play. They splashed one another and moved in graceful dances. “They’re so beautiful,” Rachel breathed.
Snowdrop nodded and smiled. “They’re tame ones. Artists sometimes come to the palace just to paint them. Mother and I used to come here every day to watch them play. We enjoyed watching them so very—” Her voice dwindled into silence, and she gestured to a stone bench beside the pool. “We can sit there.”
Rachel sat, her skirts creaking loudly. Snowdrop sat as well, and the girls ate.
Rachel consumed several tea sandwiches, savoring the delectable varieties and exotic flavors. This food was so vastly different from her usual fare. But, she was most eager to sample dessert. She selected a cream bun and bit into it. Vanilla custard oozed down her chin. Blushing, she wiped the custard away. She lowered her gaze to her plate, and her hands toyed with its scalloped edge. The princess ate so daintily, and she was so lovely. Rachel felt constrained by her own inadequacies. She raised her head in time to see Snowdrop’s frown of confusion. Or was it concern? Rachel stopped eating. The hunger reared its head like a striking cobra. Rachel toyed with the plate once again, her hand hovering over a sweet roll. Dare she eat it?
“You may eat as much or as little as you want,” Snowdrop said gently. “Are you all right?”
Rachel nodded. “I usually don’t eat so much, but—”
“That’s what teatime is for, isn’t it? To eat?” Snowdrop laughed. “Don’t worry so much. I’ll bet the swans are hungry, too. Do you want to feed them?”
Rachel’s embarrassment fled. She smiled. “May I?” Then her face fell. “But I ate all my sandwiches. I have no more bread.”
Snowdrop laughed. “You’ve never fed swans before? They’ll eat anything.” So saying, she selected a cake frosted with powdered sugar and broke it into fragments. She scattered the crumbs onto the water. Instantly, the gleaming surface frothed as the swans alighted and attacked the cr
umbs. They ate in frenzied delight. Rachel laughed and selected a tart from her plate. She began breaking it apart.
Suddenly, a hand grasped Rachel’s arm, and she blinked into the princess’ ashen face. “What is it?” Rachel asked.
“An apple tart.” Rachel blinked in confusion as she saw Snowdrop glare at the pastry as if it were a criminal mounting the steps of a scaffold. “It’s an apple tart.”
Rachel frowned. “So?”
“I told Cook never to prepare—” Snowdrop turned from the pool and released Rachel‘s arm. “Father will be looking for us.”
Rachel nodded. Taking her plate, she trailed behind her stepsister toward the courtyard.
CHAPTER THREE
A s the girls walked toward the palace, Snowdrop reflected on the fright the apple tart had given her. This was not the first incident that had frightened her. She thought of the kind-faced lady’s maid who had come to serve her for one day. The girl shuddered as this memory assailed her. Why did she think of this now?
Snowdrop had only been seven at the time. She remembered, as in a recurring nightmare, the piercingly sweet voice and the gentle hands, the hands that had suddenly tightened around her waist.
Snowdrop awoke early that spring morning. Today was a very special day. There would be frosted cake with tea. Apple meringues, one of her favorite desserts, would also be served. She eagerly anticipated giving Mother her gift; a book about birds of all kinds. Mother loved to watch birds, and she also enjoyed reading. So, Snowdrop had procured something Mother would love. The book had exquisite watercolor paintings as well.
“Morning, princess.” A cheerful voice spoke from the doorway of her chamber. Snowdrop blinked in surprise at the unfamiliar voice. A stoop-shouldered woman ambled into the room. Her plain features wore a kind smile, and she carried a basket. One of Snowdrop’s frocks was draped over her right arm. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
Snowdrop frowned. “Who are you? Where’s Martha?”
The woman shrugged her shoulders and clicked her tongue. “Poor lamb’s got the toothache again. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure my help this morning. Would you like your breakfast first, or shall I help you dress?”
Snowdrop sighed. Martha always had the toothache. “I’d like to dress first,” she said. “It’s Mother’s birthday, and we’ll eat breakfast together.”
The woman nodded, a strange smile flitting across her face. “Yes, of course, princess.” She sat her basket upon Snowdrop’s bed and laid the crimson frock across the pillow. “Do I need to stay with you?”
Snowdrop shook her head. “I’ll need help lacing the ribbons,” she said. It was then that the basket caught her eye. So many ribbons gleamed within its depths. She saw multitudes of colors: reds, pinks, blues, and yellows. Her eyes were arrested by a poppy-colored ribbon. The silken adornment gleamed with vibrancy. Was it Snowdrop’s imagination, or did the ribbon shimmer with the light of many jewels? Mother would be mesmerized, Snowdrop knew. Without stopping to think, she reached out a hand and fingered the beautiful ribbon.
“You like that one?” The lady’s maid smiled. “That’s my favorite, too. Here. Allow me to help you.”
Snowdrop shook her head. “But, I haven’t put on my—” She gasped as the woman reached forward with lightning speed, the lovely ribbon glinting in her hand. Ever so gently, she began wrapping the ribbon around Snowdrop’s waist. “How lovely you’ll look,” the woman crooned. “A beautiful girl indeed. You will be a fitting birthday gift for your mother in your new finery.” She laughed softly. “Beauty that I myself made,” she murmured. “Quite ironic.”
Snowdrop was suddenly frightened. The woman’s touch was so gentle, but Snowdrop longed to run. She tried to make the woman release her, to struggle with all her might. But, the woman’s grip around her waist tightened more and more. Snowdrop couldn’t breathe. She gasped as heat tore through her body. “H-Hel—” The word stuck in her throat as the ribbon tightened and tightened. Surely, it would soon break. Then—
“I could tighten this so tightly that every one of your precious ribs would break.” The woman spoke matter-of-factly, but her voice had changed. Through the pounding in Snowdrop’s head, she thought that what she now heard was a man speaking. “A pretty girl left to die,” the voice whispered melodically. “No longer the beauty your mother desired.” There was a long pause. Then Snowdrop felt a violent jerking sensation. The ribbon’s hold had loosened.
“I cannot leave you for your mother to find.” A face appeared close to hers, a masculine face. She saw a crimson-marked cheek, a sight that struck terror into her heart. Snowdrop screamed. The man bowed his head. “Do you know that you were a gift to your mother? You were born because of a wish she made. I would have given your mother anything. Yet how was I to know she would prefer the gift to the giver?” He sighed and turned toward the door. “I couldn’t hurt your mother, not on a day that commemorates her birth,” he said. “But I want you to know that I detest the very air you breathe.” He turned again to face her, his features twisted with anger. Snowdrop felt her innards knot in terror. “I was such a fool! You are worthless, and I should strangle you!” He crumpled the vibrant ribbon in his trembling hands, his grotesque features convulsing with pain. He hissed a curse through clenched teeth. He turned and left the room. Snowdrop did not know what happened after that. She only remembered falling to the floor. When she awoke once again, physicians were attending her.
Snowdrop gazed down at her plain frock. She had an aversion to adornments now, and she was never able to wear ribbons without feeling confined. She furiously banished these thoughts. Surely the apple tart incident had nothing to do with these strange remembrances. But, every night, she had dreams of a hand holding a poppy-colored ribbon. She also dreamed of her own hand, a hand offering poison to her Mother. She mustn’t think of these things!
Trembling, Snowdrop continued her walk toward the palace, Rachel following in her wake.
Chapter Four
T he palace corridors teemed with scurrying feet and raised voices. Delicious aromas wafted from the banquet hall. Rachel shuffled in Snowdrop’s wake. “We always eat at 8:00,” Snowdrop said. “Father told me to show you to your chamber so you could get ready.”
Rachel nodded. After a moment, she said, “I’m sorry about earlier. I—”
“It wasn’t your fault. I was just startled, that’s all.”
“Why?”
Snowdrop turned down a corridor and paused before a door bearing interwoven reliefs of roses and daffodils. “I’m sure it was an accident,” she said shortly. “I just don’t like apples. I heard the servants saying that they had to use extra staff to prepare the banquet, so I’m sure someone made a mistake.” She sighed. “Other people like apples. I used to like them myself.” She gestured to the carved door. “The Flower Room,” she said. “It’s close to the chamber where I sleep. Father said it would be good if we slept near each other.”
Snowdrop opened the door, and Rachel entered the room. She gaped at the beautiful furnishings, a pearl-topped vanity table, a canopied bed, and a sprawling armchair before a hearth. “Oh, my,” she whispered.
Snowdrop smiled. How often had she taken her own armchair for granted? It was a strange experience seeing how the palace’s finery might look to someone else. “I have an armchair, too,” she said. “It’s where I like to read in the wintertime.”
Rachel walked to the armchair and traced the fringed antimacassar upon its arm. She turned to Snowdrop, and the princess noticed that the girl’s eyes were moist. “We had to sell our furniture after Father died,” Rachel said. My favorite chair was one of the first pieces that were sold.”
Snowdrop frowned. “When did your father die?”
Rachel bowed her head. “When I was eight.” She turned toward her bed. Her valise stood beside the bed, waiting to be unpacked. Snowdrop watched as Rachel removed clothes and accessories from the worn satchel. She stared in surprise at the array of combs and cosmetic caskets R
achel removed from her case.
Rachel blushed. “They’re gifts from Ayven. He helps me.”
“Ayven?”
Rachel smiled. “I’ll introduce you to him, but you mustn’t tell anyone. Promise?”
After a moment, Snowdrop nodded. Confusion gripped her heart.
Rachel reached into her valise and extracted a cloth-wrapped bundle. Slowly, she unwound the cloth, revealing a glittering, heart-shaped mirror. Its frame was carved from applewood. The glass of the mirror gleamed, and the frame shone.
Snowdrop gasped. “It’s lovely.”
Rachel nodded. “I got him last year from a peddler.”
Snowdrop started, her stomach plummeting. “What did you say?”
“I got him last year from a peddler.”
“Him? Did you say him?”
Rachel placed the mirror on her vanity table. “Yes. Him. He’s my friend.”
“What did this peddler look like?” Snowdrop glared at the mirror and turned away.
Rachel frowned. “He was short and plump. He had such a beautiful voice.”
“Did anyone else see this peddler? What do you mean the mirror is your friend?” Snowdrop’s voice trembled.
“I mean what I said. Ayven is my friend. Ayven helps me. He listens to me. I don’t know if anyone else saw the peddler or not. There were so many peddlers that day. He was sitting by himself. He sold everything you can imagine.”
Snowdrop stared at Rachel for a long moment. “I must go,” she said abruptly. She ran from the room.
Chapter Five
A ndrew sat at the walnut table in the palace library. He inhaled the friendly fragrance of knowledge. Books waited patiently upon the table, eager to assist him. He smiled at his old friends, excited to renew acquaintances.
“Andrew! I think I’ve discovered something.” Snowdrop burst into the library. Her cheeks were flushed. She paced. “I have evidence. It’s a mirror that my stepsister brought with her. I know she bought it from the same man! Come and look at it.”
The Princess and the Invisible Apple Tree Page 2