The Piano Girl - Part Two (Counterfeit Princess Series)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  My breathing slowed. “Is that why you had the headache?”

  “Yes. If I eat it, Queen Eunice says I am to get a giant headache. And I do.” Rhoda sighed.

  Her weakness was not human flesh, but chocolate. Oh, how I loved Rhoda!

  “Before the hypnosis, how were you around chocolate?” I asked.

  “Awful. God has cursed us with a deep yearning for choc-o-lot.”

  “Us . . . do you mean all giants?” My toes curled beneath the covers.

  “Only the women. The men merely like it.” Rhoda sighed. “I should not go to the mercantile anymore.”

  Rhoda had made a scene. “I’m sure we can… they can put someone else in charge of groceries. You do so much already for Yonder.”

  “I smell choc-o-lot, even when it is in a box—all wrapped up.” Rhoda sighed her heavy, almost-asleep sigh.

  I lay wide awake. A sliver of moonlight streamed through the arched window. Do not wait for me. I will catch up to you.

  Too bad Felix didn’t know the giants wouldn’t be hibernating or that the giant women had an insatiable love for chocolate. I lay awake in the darkness thinking about my dear friend.

  Chapter Eight

  When I arrived at Leeson and Elza’s home for dinner, a letter sat propped up on the table against the saltshaker. My name was scribbled across the front of the light gray envelope.

  “Dhis arrived for you doday,” Elza said as I studied the slanted cursive.

  “Who delivered it?” I knew from being a warmonger’s daughter that one should always be mindful of the messenger.

  “Not Cragdon, but an older guard with a patch of hair”—Leeson motioned to the top-back of his head—“and a barley belly.”

  He’d described Roger. I sat down on the edge of my bed and unfolded the note that was tucked inside.

  Dory,

  I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock tonight.

  —Prince Wron.

  Pick me up for what? I glanced at Elza. “It’s from Prince Wron. All it says is he’ll pick me up at eight o’clock.”

  “For whad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Deep in thought, Elza tapped a spoon against the side of her mug. She tilted her head toward me and smiled. “Maybe dhis is a good sign.”

  While perhaps a good sign for Dory, it was not a very good sign for Alia.

  Over the course of the next hour, I bathed in a big tub brought in from outside, changed into a clean cambric top and long gingham skirt, and dried my hair by the fire. Though I told myself I wasn’t nervous, my stomach wouldn’t listen.

  “You look beaudiful, Dory.” Elza smiled, her head tilted toward me.

  We all listened as a carriage stopped in front of the smithy, and then there was the shuffle of boots outside. I joined Elza at the table, and as the seconds slipped by, she patted my hand.

  Someone knocked three times, and Leeson rose to answer the door.

  “Hello, Leeson.” Wron’s clear voice carried inside.

  “Please come in. I would like to speak with you,” Leeson said.

  “Hello, Elza.” Wron sat down at the table, across from me. “Dory…” He nodded, without really looking at me.

  “Hello.” I also nodded.

  Leeson did not sit down, but paced between the fireplace and the table.

  “Is Dory nod beaudiful?” Elza twisted her neck to view Wron.

  Without looking at me, he smiled and nodded at Elza. “Yes, she is.” He lowered his gaze to the table.

  “Why do you not look at her, then?” Leeson asked.

  I agreed with Leeson. The evening did not make sense.

  We all sat in silence. Wron was soon to be a married man. He was not here for me. The evening was a ploy. In my gut, I knew he was matchmaking me with Cragdon. And in the meantime, these dear people thought the worst of him.

  “Dory already knows, Leeson . . . and Elza, that I think she’s beautiful.” Wron fully met my gaze, and for a moment his chest expanded as he smiled at me.

  I wanted to dwell wholeheartedly on his words, but in the back of my mind I knew that he’d only said it so I would leave with him this evening.

  “I do not feel good about tonight.” Leeson scratched at the back of his head as he paced. “We will talk outside by my horses.”

  Wron rose and followed the elderly man out the side door into the stable area.

  “I don’d know, dear one.” Elza patted my hand. “Dhere is nod his usual charm, donighd.”

  “I sense it, too.” Wron was acting very uneasy.

  The side door opened soon enough. Wron crossed the room and held the front door open for me. “It’s time to go, Dory.”

  I glanced at Leeson for some sort of sign. The elderly man merely shook his head before Wron closed the door behind me. A footman assisted me inside the carriage. I sat across from Wron in the middle of the bench seat. At a very slow pace, the horses walked the road I usually took to The Bell Tower.

  “Why do I feel like you are taking me somewhere to meet Cragdon?” I pretended interest in the sliver of moon perched high in the sky.

  “Because imagination is another one of your strong suits.”

  Imagination was also one of his. “If you are trying to matchmake me with Cragdon, I need to remind you that I am betrothed to another.”

  “Then, where is this betrothed fellow of yours?”

  I stared at him.

  I had decided I’d tell him I was Alia the night of the Summer Ball. I would wear one of my Blue Sky gowns, and we would dance. Over the course of the evening, I would gather courage, and I would tell him. And if for some reason, he held me at gunpoint tonight and tried to force me to marry Cragdon, I would have to tell him sooner.

  “Remind me of why you are here in Yonder?” he asked.

  “At first it was to heal, and now I am paying penance for a petty crime.” I added heat to my words. “I shot a bird on common land, but it fell in royal.”

  “Yes, and I remember talk of your going to Evland, but… you’ve sold both your horses?” Our eyes locked.

  My stomach knotted at his observance. “I don’t need such a full-time workhorse to get to Evland. With the money that the horses brought in, I can easily hire a carriage.”

  He seemed content enough with my answer and turned toward the window and the sliver of moon. “My mother does not do well when you are away. She says, ‘It is too quiet.’ Even when you are only gone for dinner, she misses you.”

  I was caught off guard, and warmth gathered behind my eyes. I played with a loose thread on my skirt. Had he missed me, too? Did he care for Dory too much? I found myself gazing at his profile with questions in my heart.

  The carriage came to a gentle stop. Our destination was indeed The Bell Tower. What did they have planned for me here? Perhaps it was his mother who was getting creative again. Perhaps she’d dreamed it all up during their quiet dinner.

  Wron pulled the front door open for me, and I stepped inside. Though the stage area was empty, all of the torch sconces around it were lit. I felt emotionally spent, and hoped I was not the one to perform. Wron led the way to a table near the front. Except for the guards stationed at every plausible exit, there appeared to be no one else here. Not even Peg. Just the two of us. Could the evening possibly be for just Wron and me? I suppressed the hope that wanted to take wing, fly, and pirouette.

  Hope snapped as, guitar in hand, fair-haired Cragdon walked from the back of the stage into view. He carried the round piano stool, the one I usually sat on, closer to the front of the stage, and then sat down.

  Now that I was well, my betrothed was intent on marrying me to another man.

  Tuning his guitar, Cragdon glanced at me. “It’s good to see you tonight.”

  I lowered my gaze to the table and felt betrayed. I peered at Wron. He kept his profile to me.

  Cragdon strummed a moving melody and then added his rich tenor voice.

  “I knew. I knew. I knew . . .

  Beneath
the veil, I knew

  Was a woman, a woman like you.”

  I felt like Rhoda had sat on my chest. Cragdon’s song was proving far too serious to sit through. I knew of one possible exit that most likely was not accounted for.

  “Excuse me . . .” I patted Wron’s arm. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”

  Eyes wide, he stared at me. “Stay here.”

  “I knew. I knew. I knew . . .”

  “I can’t,” I said. Wide-eyed, I pleaded with him.

  Wron leaned toward me. “He’s put a lot of time into this. You can.” His soft voice tried to tame me.

  Shoulders heavy, I sighed.

  “On my knee, I’ll pledge this very night…” Onstage, Cragdon lowered himself from the stool to one knee.

  Without permission, I stood up and, looking straight ahead, strode toward the back hallway toward the Wenches’ room. The door was locked. I couldn’t wait. I turned the knob of the Gents’ room and locked the door behind me. In the dark, unlit room, I slid the upper window open and, stepping up on the sink, shimmied my way through into the cool night air. If I walked through backyards on my way home, chickens, cows, and dogs were bound to litter my path. I had to take the road.

  But the most obvious place to find me would be the road. I had to get my wits about me. Think. Think. Slowly, I inched around the side of the stone building. The carriage now faced home. On top of the bench seat, the coachman’s head bobbed as he slept. The guards who leaned against the front of The Bell Tower were mid-yawn and mid-stretch as I slipped past them to the rear of the carriage. I boosted myself onto the ledge where luggage was usually stored, and hugged my knees, pulling myself into a tight little piece of baggage. Several minutes passed before the front door was flung open.

  “Hey . . . did anyone see Dory leave?” Wron called out.

  “What? Huh!” Guards yawned themselves awake. “What?”

  “Did anyone see Dory—the woman who was with me—leave?”

  “No, we’ve been here the whole time,” one of the guards said.

  “For the next five minutes, I want everyone to search, and then return here. She is smart, cunning. Look in every nook and cranny.”

  Someone approached and opened the carriage door. I didn’t move a muscle, didn’t breathe. The door creaked closed. Boots crunched on the pebbly dirt road as someone rounded the team of horses, the carriage, and then back toward me.

  The Bell Tower door creaked open again. “No sign of her inside. Just the open window in the Gents’ room.” It was Cragdon’s voice.

  “She’s either hiding somewhere close or walking the road,” Wron said, rounding my side of the carriage. “I don’t think she would walk through yards this time of night.” Though I was tightly packaged and hidden in shadows, he stopped beside me, and his hand brushed the edge of my skirt to rest upon my knee.

  I dared not breathe.

  “I’ll walk the road and see if I can catch up with her.” Cragdon sounded weary.

  “I’ll ride ahead and see if she’s returned home,” my beloved said.

  Wron waited until Cragdon disappeared into the distance. “Get in the carriage, so he doesn’t see you when we drive by,” he whispered. “I’ll wait here for a moment until one of the guards returns.”

  Uncoiling myself, I dropped to the ground and crept inside the carriage. A few minutes passed before one of the guards returned. “No sign of her,” he said.

  “Stay here and inform the others that Cragdon and I have gone ahead.” Wron gave orders. “Once all of the men have returned, inform them that it is time to head home, as I believe the girl has already done.” He sat down inside the carriage, across from me. And then remembering one more thing, he leaned out the window. “Stop at Leeson’s on the way home,” he addressed the footman. “I want to be certain that the girl is there.”

  While the carriage jostled over the rutted dirt road, Wron and I smiled at each other. Like a swan seeks its reflection in the water, my heart waltzed under his open gaze.

  “Lie low now, as we are nearing Cragdon,” he whispered.

  I curled up on my side of the seat and waited until Wron motioned that it was all right for me to again sit up.

  “You needn’t worry again.” His mouth twitched. “I am done helping him.”

  “I’m glad.” I sighed, happy.

  After the carriage stopped at the smithy, Wron stepped out of the carriage and knocked on Leeson and Elza’s door. I stepped quietly out of the carriage, and he blocked the coachman’s view of me until Leeson opened the door.

  “You are home at an early time,” Leeson said, pleased.

  “Has Dory arrived home yet?” Wron asked loudly for the coachman’s ear. “I am glad to see that you are here and safe and sound.”

  Leeson’s brows knit together. I stood in the doorway, now with the light behind me, and gazed up into Wron’s face. “Thank you for tonight,” I said.

  Leeson stepped away from the door to leave Wron and me alone in its wake.

  “Will you be at The Bell Tower all day tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Would he miss me? “Tomorrow night is our final reenactment of Long and Molly’s reunion. Peg’s afraid we’ve bled it dry.”

  He nodded and scratched his neck. “I am going to walk home. Tell me something about Alia. Something that she would want me to know about her, that I might think of her . . . and not”—his chest expanded as he looked away from me—“the moon.”

  I wanted to close my eyes and waltz, but instead I had to think. What would I want him to know about me in such a time as this?

  “Alia is also a good shot.”

  His brows lifted with surprise.

  I nodded. “She enjoys hunting, and its rewards.”

  “Really?” He was genuinely pleased. “Thank you, Dory. That was unexpected . . .” His voice trailed off. His eyes dulled as he nodded his good night.

  I stepped out in front of the smithy as he told the driver to go on ahead. Then I watched as, alone under a sliver of moonlight, Wron strolled home, thinking about me.

  ΦΦΦ

  “It’s our last show, Dory,” Long whispered, and feeling the air, he reached for my arm. From the kitchen doorway, we faced the crowded, dimly lit room. For our final reenactment, The Bell Tower was even more packed than our first performance had been.

  “Tonight is bittersweet,” I whispered, hooking my arm in his.

  “Keep your appetites, folks, and watch Gerdie,” Peg bellowed from where she stood near the stone fireplace. “Do not look toward the stage.”

  Near the front entrance, Gerdie broke into song. With the hooded cloak over my head, I led Long up the steps. We stood near the front of the stage, and waited for the ruckus to dim.

  “Dory, pull back your hood,” yelled a man near the stage.

  “She’ll do that at the end,” Peg bellowed. “Now, everyone be quiet!”

  Long patted my hand as we waited for the room to still and then we waited some more for that deep silence when you fully have the audience’s attention.

  “Do you see my Molly?” Long leaned toward me.

  “What does she look like?” I asked.

  “She used to be . . .” Long held his hands out in front of him, outlining her plump curves. “With coarse hair and strong hands.”

  Taking my time, I scanned the sea of faces that were familiar to me now. Near the fireplace, at the right side of the room, sat a giant of a woman. Though her face was cast in shadow, I knew it was Rhoda. Beside her at the table sat a woman whose dark shawl covered her head and shoulders. Perhaps Needa was here, too, hiding in the Queen’s bag of pears that were stashed on the table. Though disguised, they were seated amongst their countrymen. My heart wanted to cheer.

  I forced my gaze to the other side of the room. “I don’t see her, but don’t worry. She won’t be long.”

  He cleared his throat, peering into the darkness.

  “Little old woman . . . where are you?” His voice tremble
d with emotion.

  “Our children have grown,

  I’m here all alone.

  Little old woman who shared my bed.

  Little old woman who sent me for bread.

  Little old woman, where are you?”

  I spotted Wron’s familiar broad shoulders, one table away from his mother.

  “Has anyone seen Long’s wife, Molly, today?” I asked. Keeping my face hidden in shadows, I waited for Raul, the liveryman who was seated near the front, to say his part. Instead, he took a sip of hope and popped a chip into his mouth.

  “Has anyone seen Long’s wife today?” My voice rose for emphasis as I peered down at Raul.

  “Yeeeesss.” He cleared his throat. “I saw her with a cornful of apron standing in her garden.”

  Chuckles reverberated throughout the room.

  “I saw Molly hanging clothes on the line,” yelled Clarence from the mercantile.

  “It appears everyone has heard the good news, except, that is, for Long’s wife. Can anyone help us find her?” Again, I scanned the sea of faces. “It has been three years since Long has seen her.”

  “It’s been longer than that.” Clarence’s bellow was followed by the regular round of laughter.

  “My home is not far,” Long said. “You take a right at the Mill Road. You’ll pass a cherry tree.” He reached his hand high to his left. “And then you’ll see my Molly…”

  “I know where she lives; I’ll go.” Weaver stood up near the front. “But save my chair.” The young man downed his glass of hope, ran a forearm across his mouth, and proceeded toward the door.

  Clearing his throat, Long waited for the whispers to fade.

  “Home . . .” His crackly voice was now a part of my fondest memories.

  “The comforts of home.

  Where we warm our souls by the fire,

  A straw-tick bed when we’re tired,

  A bowl of my Molly’s mutton stew . . .

  My home . . . little old woman

  . . . is you.”

  Emotion heavy in their eyes, the audience clapped.

  We waited so no one would miss a word, and then Long leaned his head toward mine. “Do you see my Molly?”