The Piano Girl - Part Two (Counterfeit Princess Series)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  Plano picked at something between his teeth. “Roger!” he yelled, searching the stone keep high above us. “Roger!”

  “What is it?” the middle-aged guard yelled down to us.

  “She saz she is the Swamp Woman.” Plano pointed at me. “She sounds like the Swamp Woman, but she does not look like her.”

  Roger took the stairwell down. Surely the middle-aged guard would recognize something about me. He stopped beside Plano, tilted his head to one side, and stared.

  “Roger, it’s me, Dory. Cragdon escorted me to Leeson and Elza’s home last night.”

  He regarded my clothes and my face, and then his dark brows bunched together as one. “You are dressed like the Swamp Woman, but…” He scratched the side of his head. “I will need to escort you.”

  “Your escort will be unnecessary.” Lifting my chin, I saw Wron approach. “Prince Wron has noticed my delay.” That or he was just out for a stroll.

  Wron was handsome, with his cape flowing behind him. He had not seen me yet, or if he had, he did not recognize me. I lowered my chin, bracing myself for his response. Thirty feet away his stride slowed and, for the briefest of seconds, his eyes widened.

  My heart pounded wildly as he stopped within arm’s reach. “Prince Wron, I know Queen Eunice is expecting me, and I have been unable to prove to your men that it is I, the Swamp Woman…” I swallowed. “Dory, the piano girl.”

  “You are well,” he whispered.

  “Yes.” I dared to meet his eyes. In his face, not a dimple or a laugh line showed, nor a sparkle, or even a flash of light in his icy-blue eyes. Not even the slight semblance of a warm smile. His response to my recovery, my healed complexion, was merely a cold, blank stare.

  I swallowed my disappointment. “Please escort me inside. I will prove who I am at the piano.”

  In silence, we walked to the postern and from there inside the castle. He’d said nothing. I was healed of my long affliction, and he’d not even congratulated me.

  “Did you shoot a turkey?” My voice wavered.

  “Yes . . . you missed a feast.”

  When we neared the hallway mirror, I stopped. “I don’t mean to be vain, but I’d like to be certain that I am…” My voice trailed off. I paused to look at my reflection in the large gilded mirror, and my heart warmed at the young woman with clear skin and hazel eyes who stared back.

  “You are well.” Wron waved a hand.

  “Yes. Tonight is the final reenactment of Long and Molly’s reunion at The Bell Tower. Please help me convince your mother that I should go.”

  “You must.” He laughed softly.

  I walked slightly ahead of him down the hallway. In the Great Hall, Walter and Eunice were seated at the long table. I was late. They were mid-breakfast. Eunice glanced up from a bowl of raspberries and cream. Her eyes widened as we approached, and her gaze locked on me. She swallowed a spoonful of raspberries while she regarded my clothing and long hair. Then she set one hand to her heart, and the other she slapped on the table between Walter and herself.

  Walter turned to look at what had provoked his wife to act without her usual word flow. His thick brows gathered as he scanned me up and down thrice. My hair was especially familiar to them both, and they continued studying it.

  “The piano girl?” Walter said.

  “Dor . . . y?” Eunice finally whispered.

  “Yes, Mother,” Wron said. “Dory is well.”

  “She is,” Eunice murmured. “You are well, indeed, my dear.”

  I smiled, relieved at her reception.

  “Rhoda,” Eunice said loudly over her shoulder. “Rhoda, you must come see.”

  Rhoda emerged from the kitchen with Needa on her shoulder. “Dor-ee, is that you?”

  I nodded. There was an uneasy silence while everyone including Wron gazed at me. They had all become accustomed to the strange little creature that I’d been, and now it was as if they looked upon a stranger.

  “I ate two baked onions today at Leeson and Elza’s. I did not know that I was well until the guards would not let me in.”

  “It is Dory.” Needa clapped and almost fell backward off Rhoda’s shoulder, before clutching the collar of the giant woman’s dress.

  “It’s nice that you are well for the Summer Ball.” Eunice patted her snowball hairdo. “Such a beautiful young woman working at the castle. It will not take long to marry her off. Walter, will we allow her to marry?”

  The king frowned before clearing his throat to speak.

  “I am already betrothed,” I reminded Eunice.

  “Yes,” Eunice smiled, “but that was before Yonder.”

  Chapter Seven

  From my view in the alcove of the Great Hall, I watched the sun slip behind the distant hills and the sky fade from fuschia to charcoal gray. I had just finished playing a long dinner melody for the royal family when I heard a clinking sound behind me. Using her fork, Eunice tapped the side of her glass.

  “That’s very annoying, Mother,” Wron said.

  “Well, I’m trying to get Dory’s attention.”

  “Yes, but there are more polite methods.”

  “Maybe I need a bell.” Eunice sighed. “Would you rather have Dory serve us dessert or one of the guards?”

  Hearing their conversation, I rose from The Beast.

  “Dory, will you serve dessert?” Eunice waved a hand toward the kitchen. “Rhoda has gone to bed with a giant headache, the poor thing.”

  “Yes, of course.” I collected their dinner plates and set them beside the sink in the kitchen. Then I knocked on the small blue door to Needa’s home.

  “What is it now?” Needa groaned.

  “It’s dessert time, and Rhoda has gone to bed with a headache.” I carried the grumpy little gnome to the island. A warm pan of kuchen sat on the countertop. Slices of apple peeked through the golden-brown cake.

  “Rhoda must have used the canned apples in the pantry; the king apples are still a pale green,” Needa said. “Please slice me a smidgen.”

  I set pieces of cake onto dessert plates and a smidgen in Needa’s dish.

  “Rhoda already whipped the cream.” Needa pointed to the icebox.

  I found the chilled bowl and mounded a plop of whipped cream on top of each slice.

  “Rhoda makes it look so special.” Needa scowled at me, eyeing my blob. “Fly me over the top.” I knew what she meant as I’d occasionally seen Rhoda fly her over the food like a jay in flight.

  Needa pinched her fingers in a bowl of cinnamon, and then I glided her over the top of the plates, over which she twitched a cloud of cinnamon dust. “Whee!” she squealed.

  I carried the plates out into the Great Hall. Eunice’s eyes widened at the cinnamon-sprinkled blob of whipped cream on her plate. I waited for her to refer to my dessert skills as grossly unremarkable.

  “Dory, please play something lovely, like ‘Lavender.’” Eunice flicked her hand toward The Beast. “Afterward, I would like you to clean the kitchen for Rhoda.”

  I smoothed my dress behind me and thought about what I’d play. I smiled at the reflection I remembered seeing in the mirror just a few hours earlier that day. There was a lovely melody to be followed, and I did for a spell. Healing had brought peace to my heart. Yet another image crept into my playing, and it was almost as depressing as my pox. The memory of the giant pile of dishes that Rhoda had left for me in the kitchen. What was I to do with the mess? I’d never done dishes before. Yes, I’d rinsed a dish, but I hadn’t washed one. Where to begin? And why was I the one to do it?

  “Dory . . .” I heard the clicking sound of silverware on glass as Eunice tapped her dessert fork. “Are you unraveling again? That is not ‘Lavender.’ Let me name that one also. Let me see, I shall call it…”

  I thought the name “Dirty Dishes” quite fitting.

  “I shall name it . . . ‘Grossly Unremarkable.’”

  “Mother, your manners are grossly unremarkable,” Wron said.

  I suppressed a smile
.

  Eunice patted at the corner of her mouth with a cloth serviette. “Never mind, Dory, we’re done.”

  Everyone, including Wron, moved from the table to sit by the fire. I carried the dessert plates into the kitchen and stared at Rhoda’s mess. On the island and counters sat pots and pans, piles of plates, and cutting boards with discarded vegetables. Plops of batter were sprayed everywhere, like Rhoda had danced while she whisked.

  What was Eunice thinking?

  If I were Rhoda, I would have a giant headache, too. I sighed, surveying the mess. If I could make it through the Forest Maze alone, I supposed I could survive this.

  First, I scraped everything off the plates into the garbage. I then stacked the plates into one pile. The dirty silverware I put into one cup. The clean-looking silverware I put back inside the drawer. Next, I put all of the dishes inside the roasting pan and carefully fit the dirty glasses around them. I would hide this dirty dish container inside the oven. In the morning, when Rhoda felt better, she’d find it there.

  I deemed myself a genius as I carried the roasting pan toward the oven.

  “Here,” Wron said, entering the kitchen, “let me help you with that.”

  I made it to the stove and rested the roasting pan on top. “I have it,” I breathed. “Thank you, though.”

  A line deepened in his forehead. “Do you need help, Dory?”

  “Well . . .” I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “You could wipe the table off in the other room.”

  Brows furrowed, Wron studied the dirty dish container. “What are you doing?”

  I inhaled, pulled down the oven door, and slid the large pan inside the oven, which was still warm.

  “Dory . . .” Wron shook his head, and his wide smile could have sugarcoated the moon. “I’ve heard that it’s much easier to wash them in the sink. Here, let me help you with that.” I backed up as he transferred the large pan from the oven to the island.

  Maybe I should just go to bed and let him do the dishes.

  “You don’t want to leave Rhoda this mess.” He opened an upper cupboard. “Look”—he waved a hand—“there won’t be enough plates for breakfast if you hide them in the oven.”

  Though he was right, Wron was no longer attractive to me. He was a meddling righty-tidy.

  “I’ll help. You can wash and I’ll put away.” He appeared serious.

  Frowning, I pumped water into the large sink and rubbed a bar of soap between my hands for lather. I started scrubbing stuff and handed him a sudsy plate.

  He handed it back to me. “You must rinse it first.” Kneeling, he found a tub beneath the counter. “I’ll fill this with rinse water.” I scooted to the left as he worked the pump and filled the tub with plain old water. He hummed a delightful little tune that I’d never heard before.

  I also hummed the tune, trying to remember it.

  He set the tub to the right of the sink, and I handed him the sudsy plate.

  “Did you wash both sides?” he asked.

  Why did I need to wash both? They’d only eaten off one side.

  “You always wash both sides, Dory.” His brows gathered.

  “You’re going to have to give me a better answer than that, if you expect to be a good king someday.” I met his gaze.

  “Because they’re stacked in the cupboard. Bottom, top. Bottom, top.”

  With a little huff, I took the plate from him and washed the other side.

  He plunged the plate into the rinse water, dried it, and slid it inside a cupboard. While the cupboard was open, his profile was hidden from view. Hurrying, I set a couple of dirty glasses in the closest cupboard.

  “What are you doing? You should already have another dish washed and waiting for me.”

  I began to worry about my future. He might be one of those husbands who demanded perfection.

  I quickly washed another plate, handed it to him, and repeated my routine of stuffing dirty dishware in the closest cupboard while he slid the clean plates inside the cupboard to his right. Feeling rushed, I handed him a glass to rinse.

  “Where is everything? That counter was full.”

  Wide-eyed, I glanced at the counter and then at him.

  “I only put away two plates and one glass.” He frowned at me. “You’re stuffing them somewhere. And your touch is too soft. You almost act like you’ve never washed dishes before.”

  “I haven’t.” My mouth bunched up. “I am a royal pianist.”

  “But you worked at The Bell Tower. Surely…” Frowning, he shook his head.

  “I’m very good at peeling potatoes.”

  He walked past me and opened the cupboard that I’d hidden them in. “Dory, I pity the poor fool who marries you. You are lazy and show no consideration for Rhoda and the mess she’ll find in the morning.”

  Feeling heat rise in my face, I plunged the pot that Rhoda had used for the potatoes deep into the water.

  “Kettles are always washed last, because they’re the dirtiest.” He continued to nitpick.

  “I am a royal pianist!” I threw the rag into the sink and glared at him.

  “I am royalty by blood.” One brow lifted as he faced me. “And I’m helping you. No more putting dishes in the oven or hiding them in the cupboard. I will help until we’re done.”

  I retrieved the washrag and sighed. Three feet of counter space was still covered with dirty dishes, pots and pans, a gravy boat… I wanted to scream! Setting the saucepan to my left, I began with the glasses. I washed the inside and outside of one and handed it to him.

  Wron rinsed it and held it up to the light. “See how it sparkles? My parents used to make me wash dishes as penance. They were very good about overseeing my work. ‘One cannot be lazy about doing what is right’ was one of their favorite mottoes.” He paused as he dried. “Tell me more about Blue Sky.”

  “The sky is blue.”

  “And Alia, what color are her eyes?”

  “Blue.”

  “And her hair?”

  “Blue.”

  “Hmm . . .” His cheek muscles twitched. “And what is her personality?”

  “Blue.”

  Mr. Righty-Tidy held another one of my glasses up to the light. “If you keep washing like this, Dory, you could someday find work as a scullery maid in a kitchen.”

  I’d had enough of his mocking. Soapy remnants of potato lay inside the large pot. I scooped up a handful and, turning toward him, smeared it into the side of his unshaven face.

  Mouth agape, he stared at me. “That was very uncalled for.”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks. It was very called for.

  He grabbed my shoulder, slid a hand inside the pot, and rubbed sudsy potato into my face.

  I stormed. He’d even rubbed it near my eyes, whereas I had been far gentler. At the same time, we both reached for the remaining potatoes in the pot. We fought with one hand as we held onto each other’s shoulders with the other. It was exhilaratingly intense. Outside of my mummy roll with the three sisters, I had never had a physical fight of any kind, and I’d so wanted to.

  The plods of potato were gone. I reached for the saucepan first and dipped it half-full of water. He tried to block me, but the water splashed down the front of him. Again, his jaw dropped, and I laughed at his stunned expression. Sudsy muck dribbled down the front of his dark cambric tunic. I laughed and refilled the pot. He wrestled with me again. Gripping my forearm, he maneuvered my arm above my head, and there was no stopping him as the whole pot of water cascaded over me.

  I remembered that the garbage was full of scraps. I swung the cupboard open and plunged my hands into the scraps, smearing them down the front of his shirt. Laughter roared out of him. He grabbed my arm to keep me from running, and one-handed, he grabbed for the scraps. He dredged my face and neck, and lastly rubbed a handful into the top of my hair.

  I wiped food off my face, and then swiped at him. He grinned and backed away. I skated in potato peelings and sudsy water toward him before my feet lifted
out from beneath me and my body crashed to the hard stone floor.

  Dazed, I looked up at the ceiling. Wron knelt down beside me and peered into my face. “Are you all right, Dory?”

  “Yes.” I smiled. A clump of mashed potato clung to his cheek. My, he was fine.

  “Can you wiggle your toes?”

  I paused to wiggle my toes. “Yes,” I breathed.

  “Wron, what is going on here?” Walter’s voice boomed from the doorway, and then he rounded the side of the island. I did not tip back my head to see him; instead, I watched as Wron’s face reddened beneath the layer of potato.

  “What in the world?” Walter whispered.

  “I believe this is called a food fight.” Wron’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “Hurry and clean up this mess!” his father huffed and then retreated.

  Wron assisted me to my feet. In silence, we finished the dishes and cleaned the counters and the floor.

  “I’m sorry about your hair. I became overzealous.”

  For my response, I opened the lower cabinet and pulled out the garbage can. I leaned over it and shook my head. A plop of something fell inside.

  Wron laughed.

  ΦΦΦ

  After a long, hot bath, I tiptoed into my room, and my bed only slightly creaked as I pulled the covers over me and sighed as I recalled the evening. My swamp pox had helped me to see the kindness of my betrothed’s heart. If I’d always been blemish-free in Wron’s eyes, I knew I would not appreciate him as I did now.

  “How did it go without me?” Rhoda’s question interrupted my sweet thoughts.

  “You’re awake.” Facing her, I tucked my hands beneath my cheek. “Everyone loved the apple kuchen, even though I made the whipped cream look like a lump on the plate. Are you feeling any better?”

  “Yes, so much better.” She yawned.

  “Do you get headaches very often?”

  “Only when I eat choc-o-lot.” Rhoda sighed. “I went to the village for cinnamon, and I . . . ended up buying all their choc-o-lot. Once I eat one piece, I cannot stop.”

  “I’m sorry. Chocolate can be a problem for a lot of—”

  “I have tried to give it up, but the craving has never left me.”