Daisy creature — that must be the girl with the diamonds. Thinking of her made Krazo remember the princess. Last night, when he wasn’t having nightmares about the woman in the dark room, he had dreamed about the princess. She had cried again in his dream, but this time, when she had seen him, she had smiled and spoken in the same soothing voice she had used with the dairymaid. He liked that voice.
Just then Hortensia tossed him a packet of envelopes tied together with a white ribbon. “I’ve finished my letters,” she said.
These letters were not invitations but carefully worded missiles addressed to the families of her guests. Krazo knew what they said because Hortensia often read them aloud as she wrote them, snickering when she reached the last few lines:
Dearest _______,
I write to tell you that I have asked your charming daughter [or granddaughter or niece or ward, as appropriate] to live with me and to deliver, with the most profound pleasure, the news that _______ has accepted my invitation. I cannot tell you how delighted I am that she has consented to grace my happy home with her lovely presence. You will be pleased to learn that henceforth, _______ will be admired by all who visit me. Indeed, I feel as if a beautiful flower has been added to my garden. I thank you for so graciously allowing me to transplant _______ to my home.
Hortensia
A variation on this letter was the phrase beautiful flower, for here Hortensia would occasionally name the actual flower, in which case she would not only snicker but also howl with laughter as she signed her name.
There was a similar version of the letter for families of her male guests, only that version didn’t mention the garden, and it was always phrased to suggest that the young man had begged Hortensia to be allowed to stay on as a courtier.
Like her party invitations, these letters were written on magically scented paper. The magic must have been extremely powerful, because after one whiff, the recipients would swoon with joy and brag to their friends and neighbors: “Yes, that’s right. Our little Mary’s living with Lady Hortensia now! You have heard of Lady Hortensia, haven’t you? They say she’s got the most beautiful garden in the world.” Krazo, whose job it was to deliver the letters, had seen it happen often enough. The magic grew stronger over time, until, at last, everyone who had ever known one of Hortensia’s guests — even family members — forgot about them.
For those guests who had come to the party by coach, it was Hortensia’s practice to send the letters home with the coachmen, whom she cleverly enchanted so that they would remember nothing untoward about their brief visit to Flower Mountain. Krazo knew Hortensia must have sent the coachmen from yesterday’s party home already. It would be his job to deliver the remaining letters today.
“What about the princess?” he asked.
He couldn’t have said why it mattered to him, but he did want to know what had happened to her. What flower had she become? Where was she in the garden?
But Hortensia sat up, a look of alarm on her face. “The princess? I forgot about her!”
Krazo tilted his head. In his experience, Hortensia had never forgotten about a guest before.
“Are you sure she came? Did you see her?” asked Hortensia.
Much as he wanted to lie, Krazo knew it could be dangerous. “Yes.”
“When? Where?”
“Yesterday . . . in the garden.”
Hortensia groaned. “How could I have been so careless?”
“Maybe she went home with the coachman,” Krazo suggested.
“She couldn’t have! I know she wasn’t in the carriage! And the gate was locked at all other times. She must be on the grounds somewhere.” Hortensia picked up the pen and dipped it in the ink bottle. “The coachman may have reached home by now. They’ll be wondering what’s happened to her.”
She whipped out a piece of stationery. She didn’t laugh as she wrote the letter; instead she snarled, “Flower, indeed! I’ll wager the girl’s as ugly as a clump of sod. I don’t know what I’ll do with her, but I can assure you that it won’t be pretty!” She addressed an envelope, shoved the new letter inside, and added it to Krazo’s bundle.
“Make sure you deliver the king’s letter first,” she told him. “Go! Now, as fast as you can! I’ll rip your tail feathers out if there’s any trouble over this.”
Krazo would never have dared point out that it was hardly his fault she had forgotten the princess. But he did think it as he looped the ribbon around his neck.
The packet was heavy, and at first he wobbled in his flight. He had to circle the garden several times before he found his balance. He saw Hortensia gather up her writing things and leave her marble couch. He saw her intercept the gardener on a nearby path. The gardener took the writing desk from her, and the two of them hurried toward the house.
And then, because the thought of tail feathers being pulled out was not a pleasant one, Krazo hurried on his way.
It wasn’t long before the argument in the banquet hall attracted attention. The servant who had been sleeping in the next room came in first; Adela, still trapped under the table, recognized him by his missing heel. This servant began arguing that mopping the floor was more important than doing the dishes. Then came the two feather dusters, insisting that Hortensia considered their work superior to any other. Soon more servants showed up, until the banquet hall was filled with men squabbling over whose job was most essential and who would get to sit next to Hortensia at supper that evening. Adela was just wondering if she should try sneaking out the door when a new voice, loud enough to be heard over the rest, called out, “Gentlemen, enough!”
The words “My lady!” buzzed around the room. Adela, looking toward the door, saw the hem of a white gown.
Hortensia waited for quiet. And then, “I regret to inform you that we have a problem. There is a young girl who came to the party yesterday. Her name is Adela,” she said, making the name sound distasteful.
“Do you mean Princess Adela? I saw her yesterday,” said someone. Adela thought she recognized the voice as belonging to one of the guests she had met the day before.
“You’re sure? A rather plain girl? Rather ugly?” said Hortensia.
“Well, I —”
Another voice broke in: “I saw her this morning in the garden. I talked to her.”
It was Garth! Adela bit her lip.
“She was acting strange,” said Garth. “Something about daisies and magic and —”
Hortensia cut him off. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know, my lady!”
“Listen to me, all of you! This girl — this princess — is dangerous.”
“Miss Adela — dangerous?” Garth sounded incredulous. “Are you sure, my lady?”
“Of course I’m sure. You’ll understand how frightened I am when I tell you that the girl has gone completely mad!”
“Mad!”
“An unfortunate condition caused by a combination of mountain air and too much sun. It’s hard to say what horrible things she might do. I’m afraid for my life!”
“I can’t believe Miss Adela would hurt anybody.”
“Then you’re a fool!” Hortensia snarled. She stamped her foot, but when she spoke again, her voice was honeyed and sorrowful. “Or, more likely, you don’t care about me.”
“No, my lady! Why, I would die to protect you!”
The other men rumbled in agreement.
Hortensia clapped her hands and raised her voice. “The man who loves me the most will be the one who finds the princess and brings her to me. That man will sit beside me at supper tonight.”
The rumbling of the men was louder this time.
“Do you want her alive or dead, my lady?” asked Garth.
Adela was hard put to decide which was worse — the question or Hortensia’s quick answer: “Alive, naturally! Alive if at all possible! I have never had a garden princess before. Go on, now — quickly! Search the garden! Search the grounds!”
There was a scuffle as the men fou
ght to get out the door. Only Garth lingered behind with Hortensia. “I don’t want to leave you alone, my lady,” he said. “If anything happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself. I would have brought Miss Adela to you this morning if I’d only known.”
“We’ll find her soon enough. The front gate is locked, and she can’t get out. She may even be inside the house.”
“I know where she’ll be, my lady. Miss Adela loves flowers. I’d guess that she still does, even if she has gone mad. She’ll be in the garden.”
“Very well, then. Show me!”
Adela saw Hortensia’s skirt swirl around. She peeked out from under the tablecloth just in time to see her leave the room, Garth hurrying behind. She listened to their retreating footsteps. She heard the far-off noise of the front door opening and closing.
The house was quiet.
Adela let out her breath. Dangerous, Hortensia had called her. But how dangerous could she be, crouched under a table with no way of defending herself?
She listened to the faint voices of the men outside. “Oh, Princess! Where are you?” And “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Just as if it were a game of hide-and-seek! It was only a matter of time before they came to look for her inside the house. She had to do something — find a better place to hide. If only she could stay hidden until . . .
Until what? Until someone came to rescue her? By now her father and Cecile must be wondering where she was. But they would have no reason to suspect any mischief. If anything, they would assume that the partygoers had had a late start coming back and had decided to spend the night at Hortensia’s or at some inn along the way.
And when she and Marguerite didn’t come home today? Cecile would surely begin to fret, but Adela’s father had never been one for worrying. “I expect the carriage has broken down,” he would say. “I’ll send someone to look for them.” And what good would whoever he sent be against a witch who could turn girls into flowers and men into witless slaves?
I can’t just sit here waiting, thought Adela. I have to rescue myself.
The front gate was locked, yes, but there must be a key for it somewhere. The keys at home were kept near the servants’ entrance, just off the kitchen. Keys for all the doors in the palace, keys for the stables, keys for the various outhouses, keys for all the gates — all hanging from hooks neatly labeled by the housekeeper. Was it too much to hope for something like that here?
Apparently it was. Adela found the kitchen quickly enough, but there were no keys to be found there — only stacks of dirty dishes. “Never mind! There are other places,” she told herself.
She began to look in earnest, slipping from room to room, opening drawers and cupboards, lifting the lids of chests, and peeking inside boxes. She was careful to stay away from the windows. Even so, she felt as if she were being watched by all the images of Hortensia. They were everywhere: portraits on walls, miniature pictures set out on tables, busts on pedestals. At least she has one weakness, thought Adela. She must be as vain as anything.
Unfortunately, Adela couldn’t think how to use Hortensia’s weakness to any advantage. She found herself wondering what King Ival would have done. How, for example, had he escaped from the beautiful witch who had enchanted him? Adela couldn’t remember. But she did recall another story in which King Ival had come up against a witch so ugly that she went about cloaked in a dense fog. In that one, he had been helped out by a friendly mole who could see in the dark. And there was also the story illustrated by the tapestry in the library back home. In that one, King Ival had been helped by a dog who had turned out to be an enchanted princess. Helpful animals under enchantments were a common theme in stories about King Ival.
Adela couldn’t help thinking of the magpie. “Enchanted prince?” she wondered aloud.
Hardly. Enchanted thief was more like it! She couldn’t imagine any creature less interested in helping her. She was just going to have to help herself.
Upstairs she found a long, carpeted hallway lined with doors and, naturally, more portraits. Pushing open one door, she found a room with four unmade beds, a wardrobe, a dresser, and yet another portrait of Hortensia. She opened the wardrobe; it was empty. She pulled open the dresser drawers, and they were empty as well. Not even a stocking, thought Adela.
The next few rooms were the same: unmade beds, empty wardrobes, and empty dressers. So it was with all the rooms, until there was only one door left, only one more room to search, and Adela despaired of ever finding the key.
But her hopes lifted when she opened this door.
Unlike the other rooms, this one was filled with clothes. There were dresses everywhere — crammed into the wardrobe, tossed over the chairs, and lying in heaps on the floor. It’s her room, thought Adela. If there is a key, this is where I’ll find it.
The dressing table looked promising. What a mess it was! Piles of jewelry — bracelets and brooches, earrings and necklaces, tossed together as if they were junk. Adela lifted a golden belt. It was heavy enough to be real gold; the gemstones studding its length looked real, too. And here was the very diamond necklace Marguerite had worn yesterday. Adela picked it up, feeling the weight of the stones in her hand. She wondered if everything on the dressing table was stolen. Was that why Hortensia held her garden parties? So she could add to her jewelry collection? If so, she had been at it a long time. Adela thought of all the flowers in the garden — hundreds of them. How could it be that nobody knew what Hortensia was doing? “Somebody needs to stop her,” she murmured.
She had been talking to herself all day; now, however, she had someone to talk to — her own reflection, looking back at her from the mirror above the dressing table. But there was something strange about the reflection. Adela stared, putting her hand up to her hair. The girl in the mirror did the same. But where Adela’s hand touched the tangled remains of Marguerite’s careful hairdressing, the hand in the mirror touched a beautiful arrangement of curls. Adela looked down at her dress. Not only was it torn, but it was also filthy. Which was what happened when you wore a dress that was too small and tried to sleep in it on the ground. She looked up again to confirm that the girl in the mirror was wearing the same blue dress. Except that the dress in the mirror was clean and fresh. Not only that, but the gown also fit perfectly; nobody could ever say the girl in the mirror was too large for it. In fact, it seemed to Adela that the girl in the mirror was rather slender. She leaned forward, wondering if the girl’s face wasn’t different as well. Her lips seemed more full, her eyebrows more arched, her eyelashes longer, her nose straighter . . . In a word, the girl in the mirror was beautiful.
Adela set the diamond necklace down and picked up an enameled bracelet. So did the girl in the mirror. Adela dropped the bracelet. So did the girl. “I suppose it’s a magic mirror,” said Adela. “It makes you look more beautiful than you really are. But I can’t see why Hortensia needs a mirror like that.”
She turned her head, trying to see her profile. “Try not to frown, dear,” Cecile was always telling her. “You have a rather weak chin, and frowning doesn’t suit you, especially in profile.” Now Adela frowned, and it seemed to her that her reflection looked quite pretty. She tried smiling and found that her reflection was dazzling. Then she remembered how Marguerite had looked at Garth — sideways, shy yet flirtatious, her head slightly lowered so she could show off her eyelashes. Adela tried looking at herself like that, smiling as if she had a secret to share, and her reflection was so lovely that she could have admired it forever.
Instead she closed her eyes and shook her head. “What am I doing?” she wondered aloud.
She opened her eyes. The girl in the mirror was still as pretty as ever. “I’ve got to get out of here,” Adela told her. Naturally, the girl in the mirror said the same thing, but she said it so beautifully that Adela found herself staring at her again.
“Stop it,” Adela admonished herself.
She averted her eyes, and it was in doing so that she saw it — exactly what she nee
ded to see and exactly when she needed to see it: a silver key on a silver chain, hanging over a corner of the frame of the mirror. It felt like magic, finding it like that.
She took the key down. It wasn’t very large. The palace gates at home had a big iron key. You needed two hands to turn it. But this little key was the only one Adela had found. “It must be the right one!” she said.
The girl in the mirror looked as if she agreed. Her beautiful eyes sparkled with excitement, and for a moment, Adela felt as if the girl were on her side, as if she wanted her to escape, to stop Hortensia. It was as if the girl were saying, You were meant to find that key. You were meant to be a hero. And then the temptation to stare came over Adela again. She could do nothing but gaze at the loveliness of the girl in the mirror. Everyone who looked at that girl would love her. How could they not?
Adela frowned. So did the girl in the mirror, looking even more fetching.
“You’re not me,” said Adela. The girl in the mirror said the same thing, only she looked sad as she said it.
And, of course, beautiful.
“I have to go,” said Adela. She reached out with her calloused, sunburned hand as if to touch the porcelain white hand of the girl on the other side of the glass. Then she turned away.
Just outside the window on the other side of the room was an oak tree. Adela opened the window, hitched up her skirt, and pulled herself up onto the sill. The tree grew so close to the house that she had no trouble swinging over to the nearest bough. She reached back to close the window, then climbed into a sanctuary of shadowy green. She could hear the searchers calling for her —“Come on out, Princess! We won’t hurt you!”— but she couldn’t see them, and that was all to the good. “If I can’t see them, they can’t see me,” she told herself as she settled into a fork of the tree. She would wait until dark to make her escape. And then . . .
Adela’s hand closed around the silver key. “I’ll tell Father what’s happened,” she murmured, “and we’ll put an end to it.”
Garden Princess Page 7