Garden Princess

by Kristin Kladstrup

  At lunchtime, Adela ate in the nursery with her brother, Henry: cheese sandwiches, apples, and vanilla custard — his favorite foods at present. She entertained him by letting him pretend to be a bear. He growled as he ate his food, shoving it rudely into his mouth, much to the despair of his nanny. The game of bear went on after lunch because Cecile “wanted to discuss something” with the king and was too busy to bother with the usual embroidery lesson. Adela took on the role of a hunter. She chased Henry around the room, up and over the furniture, shooting at him with an imaginary bow and arrow. Henry fell to the ground again and again, roaring back to life each time. At last, laughing and gasping for breath, Adela suggested that he could be an enchanted bear who turned into a prince. “I don’t want to be a prince!” shouted Henry, and let out another roar. Finally, to placate his nanny, Adela read her brother a story about King Ival that put him to sleep. The story wasn’t “The Dog Princess,” but it might as well have been, for almost as soon as Henry grew quiet, Adela’s voice trailed off and her mind returned to thoughts of Edward. If I had a garden, it would be only dandelions. Why would he say such a thing if he didn’t care about her? She thought she knew the answer. It was because he was teasing her — that was how beautiful boys like Edward talked to girls, even ones who weren’t pretty. A weed among the pretty flowers — that was what Hortensia had called her.

  Just before she turned me into a dandelion, thought Adela.

  For tea, it was only Cecile, Adela, and Marguerite around the table in the queen’s private sitting room. Her other ladies-in-waiting had been dismissed for the afternoon so that Cecile could share some exciting news.

  “I’ve spoken to His Majesty,” said the queen, “and he agrees with me that, in addition to receiving the King Ival Medal, Garth will also get a title and a monetary reward.”

  Marguerite gave a squeal and threw her arms around her sister. “Oh, Cecile! Thank you!”

  “Don’t let anyone ever accuse me of standing in the way of love,” said Cecile. “I told His Majesty, ‘Garth has gone head over heels for Marguerite, and she feels the same way about him. They are simply dying to get married. But Marguerite is your sister-in-law, and it will hardly do to have her marry a servant. There is only one solution to the problem, Adalbert, and that is to raise the boy up in the world.’” Cecile looked triumphant. “He’s to be named an honorary Knight of the Realm, and he’ll receive a bag of gold.”

  Sir Garth, brother-in-law to the queen. Life at the palace will never be the same again, thought Adela. She took a sip of her tea, marveling at Cecile’s skills at manipulating the social world. First she had managed to marry the king, beating out princesses, duchesses, and ladies with far greater status than her own. Now she had arranged things so that her sister could marry the son of the head gardener without the least bit of scandal.

  “And now for my other bit of news,” said Cecile. “His Majesty’s plans for awarding the King Ival Medal are what gave me the idea. We’re going to have Adela’s grand ball on the same day the medal is awarded —”

  Adela opened her mouth to protest, but Cecile held up her hand.

  “Now, then, Adela, you must listen to my plan before you say a word. I know you’ll agree that I have your best interests at heart. Your father will award the medals at the ball, which is going to be a masquerade party with a garden theme: the ladies will come dressed as their favorite flowers!”

  “What about the men?” asked Marguerite.

  “We’ll have them dress as bees and grasshoppers and birds — garden creatures, you know,” said Cecile. “Perhaps even magpies,” she added.

  Adela stared, dumbfounded.

  “The ball will be a grand celebration of your and Garth’s triumph over Hortensia, Adela,” Cecile continued. “But it will also be a celebration of you — and the fact that you are, in your own way, coming into bloom.”

  Adela choked on her tea. “Coming into bloom?”

  Marguerite, meanwhile, was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “I’m going to go as a daisy! It’s Garth’s favorite flower, and I can just imagine my gown. It will be white with tiny daisies embroidered all over it.” She frowned. “Or maybe the skirt should look like petals.”

  Adela shuddered, remembering what she had seen at Hortensia’s garden. Surely her stepmother couldn’t be serious. “Enough!” she said, setting her teacup down firmly. “Cecile, can’t you see how wildly inappropriate this theme is? Hundreds of girls were turned into flowers by a witch. I can’t imagine any of them”— Adela avoided looking at Marguerite —“wanting to relive that experience.

  “Besides,” she added, trying to compose herself. “I’ve already told you I don’t want to have a grand ball.”

  “Yes, dear,” said Cecile. “But that was before you knew you would be receiving the King Ival Medal. Surely you don’t want your guests to come all this way and not treat them to a bit of a celebration?”

  “Please, Your Highness!” Marguerite implored.

  Adela felt trapped. Was she really the only person who felt that such a ball was in poor taste? Obviously Marguerite felt differently. Maybe it was wrong to let her personal feelings interfere with Marguerite’s happiness.

  “All right,” she agreed at last. She sat back in silence, listening to her stepmother and Marguerite chatter away about their various costume ideas. It wasn’t long, however, before their conversation turned to Garth’s good fortune and Marguerite’s happiness and the possibility of having a wedding by the end of summer.

  How quickly love had come for Marguerite and Garth! Adela couldn’t help but feel a little envious. What if she knew Edward would be at the ball? Would she, like Marguerite, look forward to surprising him with her costume? Would she actually enjoy dancing with him? Adela, who had never liked dancing in her life, had to admit that she might.

  But Edward wouldn’t be there, and it was foolish to imagine that he would. I need to concentrate on other things, Adela told herself. Like gardening and being awarded the King Ival Medal and my plans for the future.

  Plans that wouldn’t include anything as silly and distracting as love.

  Edward was fighting off a feeling of panic. It had been some days since he had parted ways with the princess, and he was finally nearing his destination. He was going to find his mother. Or find out what had happened to her — whatever her fate might have been.

  Ragtown, his old neighborhood, still looked the same as it had thirty years ago: narrow, crooked alleyways all tangled together like strips of dirty cloth. Even the people and the animals were variations on what he remembered: half-wild children shrieking at their games, worn-out parents shouting at them to stop their racket, dogs barking and snapping at his heels.

  He was aware of eyes following him as he walked along his street. Not because anyone recognized him; too many years had passed for that. Instead, people were sizing up the stranger who had entered their midst, dressed in worn clothes that were long out of fashion but were still fancier than they were used to seeing in these parts. Edward shifted the bundle he was carrying from one arm to the other. Thirty years ago, there had been men here who would murder him for the jewels he carried; no doubt there were still men like that. There would also be those who would pay him for the jewels, dishonest dealers accustomed to working with thieves.

  But that wasn’t his business today. He stopped in front of a narrow three-story building no different from any of the others crowded together like rotten teeth. He glanced up, noting the small window on the top floor. The shutters were thrown open to let in the light — and the cold; few people here could afford the luxury of glass panes.

  He knocked on the door.

  He waited, then knocked again.

  “Looking for Maud, are you?” said a voice behind him.

  A bone-thin little girl with a sharp face was standing behind him. She was almost as dirty as the toddler she balanced on her hip.

  Maud was the name of his mother’s landlady. “Does she st
ill live here?” he asked.

  “Doesn’t like to come out. She’s half blind.” The girl stepped past him and kicked open the door. “Oi! Maud! Someone to see you!” she bellowed. “Just go on in,” she added.

  Edward entered and closed the door quietly behind him. The hallway he found himself in was as dingy and depressing as ever, the only light coming from a window with a broken shutter at the top of a rickety flight of stairs. The shutter had been broken long ago; he knew because he had broken it himself, earning a clap on the ear from the landlady. It startled him to see so little changed. Was it possible that his mother might actually still live in the little room on the third floor?

  “What do you want?” said a cross voice behind him.

  He whirled around. Maud’s body was crippled with age, her face as wrinkled as a mushroom, and her eyes frosted blue from cataracts. The only thing that hadn’t changed was her scowl.

  Edward explained that he was looking for a woman, who had lived on the top floor about thirty years before. When he described his mother, Maud’s scowl became a sneer.

  “That one! You mean the one that never paid her rent on time. Never could pay her rent after that worthless, thieving son of hers ran away and left her.”

  The panic was back — a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Do you know what happened to her?” he asked.

  Maud gave a snort. “Dead and buried would be my guess. Never did nothing but cough all day and night. But you’d have to ask the doctor that came and took her away.”

  “Doctor?” His mother couldn’t afford a doctor.

  “One of those charitable types from the hospital.”

  The hospital was clear across town, in a much better neighborhood than this one. “Is that where he took her?” asked Edward.

  “How should I know?”

  “Do you know his name?”

  Another snort. “If I ever did know, I’m not likely to think of it after all this time. Who’s asking, anyway?” Maud peered at him, as if she could see inside his mind with her disturbing blind eyes. As if she could see his shame.

  He decided to go to the hospital. Maybe there would be a record of her there. Maybe he could even find the doctor who had helped her.

  But as he headed away from the filthy streets of Ragtown, Maud’s words rang in his ears: Dead and buried would be my guess.

  He thought of the princess. He had made the right choice, leaving her to search for his mother on his own. Just imagine if she could hear what Maud had said of him: Worthless, thieving son . . . ran away and left her.

  Edward wasn’t sure he could bear having her know the truth about him, though a day did not pass when he didn’t imagine the princess saying that none of it mattered, that he wasn’t the same person he had been thirty years ago.

  Perhaps it was even true. The treasures he carried didn’t tempt him in the least. Shouldn’t that mean something? You’ll be a thief forever, Hortensia had told him, but shouldn’t it matter that he no longer wanted to steal? Shouldn’t it matter that he had already been punished — and that he wanted to make amends?

  After he learned the truth about his mother, he was going to return the jewels in the bundle to their owners — the ones he could find, anyway. There were some pieces that he didn’t recognize. Some of them may have belonged to Hortensia, or, more likely, they belonged to guests who had come to Flower Mountain before he had. He liked to imagine himself bringing these last treasures to the princess. “I’ve returned all the things I could,” he would tell her. And she would say, “Oh, Edward!” as if she could see all the sorrow and regret and goodness inside him. And he would find out that it was possible, after all, for a princess to love a thief.

  Edward turned onto the street with the hospital. He slowed his pace as he approached the gate, feeling the panic rise again. It didn’t seem to make a difference how often he steeled himself to what he knew must be the truth about his mother. She was gone, and he would never be able to tell her the words he longed to say: I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.

  Inside the entrance of the stately building, a well-fed, bored-looking young man was sitting behind a desk marking a stack of ledgers.

  Edward cleared his throat.

  “Yes?”

  “Are there any doctors here who make charitable visits to patients in Ragtown?”

  The man made a face. “A few, maybe. Not many.”

  “I’m looking for a doctor who might have visited a patient there about thirty years ago.”

  “Thirty years!” The man looked as if he thought Edward was crazy. But a moment later he scratched his head. “Well, I guess it might have been old Dr. Harold. He worked here well before my time, mind you, but people still talk about him — soul of kindness and all that. I think he still sees a few patients from time to time over at his house on Lavender Lane.”

  Based on the man’s directions, Edward had no trouble finding Dr. Harold’s home. His was the largest house on a street lined with large homes. Red brick with white trim, two stories, two chimneys, and a garden in front. Clearly Dr. Harold’s career had been a successful one. He couldn’t have spent too much time visiting patients in Ragtown.

  He won’t know a thing about my mother, Edward told himself. He’s probably not even the right doctor. Those thoughts pushed away his fears, made it easier to knock on the door.

  The serving girl who answered looked him up and down, taking in his worn-out clothes. Edward wondered if he looked more like a beggar than a thief. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Is the doctor at home?”

  Her expression softened. “He’s out just now,” she said. “Would you like me to fetch the missus?”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll come back later.”

  But even as he said it, Edward wondered if it was true. Would he really have the courage to try again?

  “The doctor will be back soon,” said the girl. “You can wait for him in the parlor if you like.”

  It seemed he wouldn’t be forced to test his courage after all. Edward followed her into the house.

  “I’ll tell him you’re here when he comes in,” said the girl, and left him alone.

  He took in his surroundings: a pretty room with a flowered carpet and lace curtains at the window. There were books on the low table in front of the love seat, one of them open. Someone, perhaps the doctor, liked to read. And someone, perhaps his wife, had left a bit of half-done embroidery beside the books — yellow flowers stitched on a white background. Edward thought of dandelions, which made him think of the princess.

  But only for a moment. He closed his eyes, feeling the panic again. He could picture himself, rising up from a chair to shake the doctor’s hand. He would describe his mother, and the doctor would look grave. Yes, of course I remember the woman you describe. Her son had left her alone, and she was dying. Can you imagine? I did what I could, but . . .

  Edward heard footsteps in the hall. Was the serving girl coming back? Then he heard a voice: “Never mind, Polly. I’m sure I must have left it in the front parlor.” A woman stood in the doorway. She was searching through a basket she held in her arm.

  He couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth, and a choked sound came out.

  The woman looked up. Her eyes were dark like his own, but her hair had gone white, and her face had grown older. The basket she was holding fell to the floor. She put her hands to her face.

  “Neddy?” she said.

  Adela was standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom and laughing. “I look ridiculous!” she said.

  “No more so than anybody else, Your Highness,” said the dress designer, who was making the last adjustments to the dandelion costume Adela was wearing. Her name was Nora, and she was a cheerful, middle-aged woman whom Adela had come to know well over the past few weeks. Nora was good at her craft. The best in the business, as Cecile had put it, which was why the queen had hired her to create all the royal costumes for the masquerade ball. “Don’t tell H
er Majesty or Lady Marguerite, but your costume is my favorite of the ones I’ve made,” said Nora. “You’re sure to have a wonderful time this evening!”

  “I think I agree with you,” said Adela.

  She couldn’t help but look forward to the ball — and the award ceremony that was to take place at it. Her father was going to bestow an honorary knighthood on both her and Garth.

  “I never heard of a girl being named a knight before,” Cecile had remarked.

  “I’m proud of my daughter, and I want to show it.” The king was not often so resolute, but when he was, Cecile knew better than to press her point.

  As for the ball, Adela had asked Cecile to invite Bess and the other guests who had come to Hortensia’s garden party the same day as she, Marguerite, and Garth. Adela was looking forward to seeing them again and only hoped they didn’t mind wearing flower costumes. She had softened her opinion of the garden theme, thanks to Nora, who had made her see that this aspect of the evening could be entertaining. “Think of the ballroom floor as a living work of art, Your Highness,” Nora had told her. “Designers from all over the kingdom will be putting forth their best effort. Trust me, it will be a sight to see.” It had been fascinating to watch Nora at work, creating one costume after another. Marguerite had held true to her plan of coming as a daisy. Garth had wanted to come as himself — a gardener — but Marguerite had said no to that idea. Instead, she and Nora had secretly cooked up something absolutely stunning. At least that was Marguerite’s description of the costume. Garth’s was absolutely ridiculous. Adela couldn’t wait to see it.

  The queen had wavered between dressing as a rare purple orchid or a delicate pink rose until Nora had settled the issue for her. “I would say the rose, Your Majesty, and I can make a lovely honeybee costume for His Majesty. Very romantic, if you know what I mean.” Cecile’s finished gown, made of rose-colored velvet and green silk, really was a work of art, and Adela’s father’s costume was a marvel of construction. “Not often you get to see a king dressed up like a honeybee,” Nora had remarked.