Slumber

by Felicity Harper

  “Thackeray!” the King waited for Gilbert to jump down from his steed.

  “Your Majesty,” Gilbert called out, “Clementine is in great danger!” Not waiting to explain further, he hurtled up the steps to the Palace with King Marcus hard on his heels.

  Sir Hugo saw the King first. “Your Majesty!” he oozed and threw himself into a flamboyant bow. Barely registering the Duke’s presence, the King tore past him and headed for the stairs.

  “The North Tower, Your Majesty!” Gilbert shouted, leading the way. Up the spiral staircase they went, closely followed by the King’s Guard, three footmen, two housemaids and an astonished Duke. They found Fellowes first. He was anxiously tending to a semi-conscious Agnes at the bottom of the staircase. “Your Majesty - she - Lady Evangeline .…”

  Not waiting for explanations, the King took the steps to the North Tower two at a time as the animal screams of Lady Evangeline pierced the air. King Marcus kicked open the heavy door to find his sister and niece rolling on the floor. Lady Motley was using all her body weight to keep her daughter pinned to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus! I didn’t know!” she wailed as the demented sounds of her broken daughter echoed around the chamber.

  “Guard!” the King bellowed. “Get them out of here!” Two soldiers took hold of Lady Motley; two more grabbed Evangeline. Then the weeping mother and screaming daughter were dragged bodily from the Tower and past the gawping servants in the Hall below. Gilbert desperately searched the small room, looking for signs of Clementine; any sign that she was somewhere other than in the still, pale body lying on the bed.

  He found none.

  “She’s dead,” the King sobbed, clutching his daughter’s limp body to his chest and, to Gilbert, it felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut. “The tonic!” the King suddenly shouted. “Maybe it is not too late!” Frantically, he searched his cloak, seeking the small bottle he had brought back from Saxonly. Finding it, he carefully tipped the tonic to his daughter’s lips and massaged her throat to force the tincture down.

  “Tell me she lives, Thackeray!”

  Gilbert took Clementine’s wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse. He felt nothing. He shook his head. Princess Clementine was gone. They had lost everything. If only, Gilbert thought wretchedly, it were as simple as the fairy tales promised: a lover’s kiss and the Princess magically restored.

  “Your Majesty,” Gilbert said, his voice breaking, “with your permission, I would like to kiss your daughter.”

  The King, his eyes closed in grief, nodded his assent. Gently, Gilbert brushed Clementine’s cold lips with his own. “I love you, Clementine,” he told her solemnly. “I will love you until the day I die.”

  A tear he hadn’t realised he had shed dropped onto Clementine’s lips and slowly, they parted. He watched in wonder as her eyes opened and her periwinkle gaze met his.

  “Gilbert,” she whispered and her voice, though scratchy and faint, was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

  “The Princess lives!”

  The echoes of the jubilant chorus rebounded through the Palace as each servant called the happy news to another. Imprisoned in her apartment and watching over her sleeping daughter, Lady Motley sent up a prayer of gratitude. With the Princess alive, her brother might spare the life of her daughter.

  Dr Fellowes had a hard time convincing Agnes that she must stay abed and rest. The joyous news had galvanised the old woman into nurse mode and the physician had been forced to administer a stern telling off to keep her from rushing to the Princess.

  In the North Tower, the King held his daughter and thanked the Heavens he had almost doubted for her safe return. “You can let go of me now, Papa. I’m not going anywhere,” Clementine teased him but it came out as a croak and did little to convince him.

  “I will leave you to your reunion, Your Majesty.” Gilbert said, reluctantly dragging his gaze from Clementine’s pale face. King Marcus dropped to his knees before the younger man. “I am forever in your debt, Gilbert Thackeray,” he said.

  “Do not kneel to me, Your Majesty,” Gilbert said. “Not when I must own that I relied purely on luck and good fortune to save your daughter; and that my reasons for doing so were less than altruistic.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Papa,” Clementine uttered huskily. “Gilbert Thackeray is a true hero.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lady Motley laid herself prostrate at the King’s feet. “I beg you, brother, do not imprison my daughter.”

  Gone was the commanding air and haughty manner she had previously worn as though her right. Evangeline’s madness had stripped Charlotte bare of all but a mother’s instinct to protect her child.

  “Your daughter attempted an act of treason,” the King said coldly. “The penalty for such an act is not imprisonment but death.”

  “Marcus, no!”

  “Father, may I speak?” With legs that were still weak from her body’s confinement, Clementine stood and faced her King.

  Marcus resisted the temptation to rush to his daughter’s aid. She had told him plainly she was no longer a child, nor an invalid and she must be allowed to stand upon her own two feet. Twas easier said then done he acknowledge to himself.

  “Speak your piece, Clementine.”

  “Aunt Charlotte, please stand,” Clementine implored Lady Motley. “This is your brother’s house and you are still his sister.”

  Lady Motley rose unsteadily to her feet and Clementine, worried her aunt might collapse, gestured for a seat to be brought for her.

  “Father, I see no reason why Aunt Charlotte and Evangeline should not be installed in the dowager house. It is big enough for them to live in with a full retinue of staff and … more specialised help for Evangeline.”

  “I would keep her there, Marcus,” Lady Motley pleaded eagerly, her expression pathetically hopeful. “No one would ever see or hear from us again.”

  Ignoring his sister, the King turned to his daughter. “You think this a fitting punishment for someone who tried to kill you?”

  “Father, Aunt Charlotte did not try to kill me and Evangeline is clearly deranged,” Clementine reasoned. The King laughed humourlessly.

  “My sister nurtured her daughter’s obsessive hatred towards you, Clementine. How can you forgive her so easily?”

  “Because, whether they meant to or not, Papa, their actions set me free,” she implored. “I am no longer a prisoner in this wonderful Palace; I am no longer trapped by fear of a curse; and I am no longer a burden to my dearest, wonderful father!”

  “Burden indeed!” the King countered. “Very well,” he acquiesced. He turned to the physician. “Is my niece going to be a danger to others?” he asked.

  “No, Your Majesty,” Fellowes replied. “I believe Lady Evangeline has suffered an episode of hysterical delirium. A period of quiet contemplation and isolation from the rigours of life’s vicissitudes will see her returned to health.”

  “She will need someone to care for her,” the King said, “Do you know of anyone?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I can send for her right away if you wish,” Fellowes said and hurried away to do just that.

  King Marcus finally looked at his sister. “I grant you this boon for the sake of my daughter,” he told her. Lady Charlotte put a hand to her mouth to stem her tears and nodded her gratitude. “Pack everything needed for both of you,” he told her sternly. “Take it now: all of it, for I never wish to see you again.”

  Lady Motley dropped a deep curtsy to Princess Clementine. “May God bless you, Princess Clementine,” she said and scuttled away.

  Marcus exhaled in relief. “Now to exile that odious little bastard, Glossop,” he said, “or do you expect me to show him clemency too?”

  “Good god no!” Clementine said, wrinkling her nose. “Feel free boot him into the next Kingdom!”

  “Fair enough!” said the King more jovially. “Consider it done!”

 
“There is something I would like, Papa.”

  “And what is that daughter?”

  “I want Gilbert Thackeray.”

  “Erm, Mr Thackeray: I think you should come outside, Sir.”

  “Hmm? I’m busy right now, Mrs Finn. Can’t it wait?” Gilbert asked, looking up from his journal. He was trying to record as much as he could about recent events before he forgot any of it. Especially the bit where he was wrong and the curse had been reversed by true love’s kiss. That was his favourite part.

  “No, Gilbert Thackeray, it cannot wait!” Clementine said crossly as she replaced Mrs Finn at the door.

  “Clementine?” Gilbert looked up, first at the Princess and then out of his window to where he could hear the rattle of horses’ bridles. “Is that your father out there with his guards?”

  The King’s horse snorted impatiently and stamped its foot. Gilbert had a feeling it was merely reflecting its master’s agitation. Clementine had probably been bossing him around too, he concluded.

  “Yes it is,” Clementine said “He has promised to have you arrested and tortured if you refuse to follow orders.”

  “Really?” Gilbert asked, showing only mild interest. “What orders might those be, Princess Clementine?”

  “Mine!” she replied, sounding enormously pleased with herself. “I’m ordering you to take up your title so that we might pass it on to our second son.”

  “I hadn’t realised we were about to have a first son, let alone a second.” Gilbert shook his head in wonder. “That must have been a powerful kiss I gave you!”

  “Our first son will be King one day but our second shall have need of his father’s title,” Clementine explained patiently. Then, as though only just realising what he had said, added fiercely, “Don’t you dare mock that kiss, Gilbert Thackeray! That was love’s true kiss!”

  “It was indeed,” he said gravely. He reached out to pull her into his arms. “Shall we see what happens if I do it again?” He bent his head, pressing his lips to hers and exploring her open mouth. She groaned with pleasure and moulded herself to his body, marvelling at how solid he felt against her own soft flesh.

  “I had better not be seeing you manhandling my daughter before the wedding, Thackeray!” the King boomed from outside and, reluctantly, Gilbert pulled away.

  “What is all this talk off weddings anyway?” Gilbert asked. “I’m quite happy to hand you my title for these kiss-babies we have supposedly produced but I never said anything about getting married.”

  Clementine gave him a shove. “I sincerely hope you don’t think yourself amusing at this moment, Gilbert Thackeray,” she muttered furiously. “I would hate to have to call in my father’s chief torturer.”

  “That’s Lord Granbury to you, woman!” Gilbert said manfully, pulling her back into his arms. “And I hope I’m not going to spend the rest of our lives being threatened with torture every time you don’t get your own way!” Clementine rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

  “There’s every probability that you will,” she said sadly, “especially if I have to wait much longer for you to say you love me!”

  “What!” Gilbert said, horrified. “I already said it once. We were in the Tower, remember, and …”

  “Gilbert!”

  “Oh, very well then. Seeing as it’s the second Tuesday in the month - and the moon is on its waxing gibbous …” Clementine’s eyes narrowed dangerously so he finished with a heartfelt, “Of course I love you, you daft woman!”

  “Yes, I know!” she said smugly. “Now - kiss me again before my father comes in and drags me back to the Palace!”

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  A re-imagining of the classic fairy-tale Goose Girl

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  Cursed

  Chapter One

  His heavy brow creased as he watched her. She was perched on the stump of a fallen tree, a sad smile playing across her soft lips. What thoughts brought such stillness? He had wondered the same thought many times before.

  Her sadness never lingered long.

  A small hand tucked a russet curl behind her ear. Charcoal marked its passage across her cheek. His dark eyes lingered there. Mesmerised. Was her skin really so soft as it seemed? How would it feel beneath his large, calloused hands?

  As though he would ever know.

  He would never allow himself near such a creature - let alone lay one of his brutal hands upon her flesh.

  A sudden smile transformed her face. She held out her hand as though someone were there with her.

  “A dance?” she asked. “Why! I would be delighted, Sir!”

  She stood and dipped into a curtsy. Unseen, his lip curled in a semblance of a smile as he watched her dance around the little clearing. When first he had witnessed her, he had thought the girl feeble-minded. Now, he understood. She was lonely.

  “Henrietta!” A shrill, distant call broke the spell.

  “It seems I must go,” she said and held out her hand.

  “Henrietta!”

  “Yes! Yes! I’m coming!” she muttered, stooping to gather her things into her basket.

  A cramp squeezed his thigh. He shifted position and, as he did so, a twig snapped beneath him. The girl paused and clutched her basket to her chest. He held his breath and waited.

  “Henrietta! Where are you?” There were two voices now, each as strident in tone as the other.

  “I’m here!” she called back and then, with one last look around, she hurried away.

  He shook his large head. This did him no good. Watching her served only to remind him what he could not have. It was better when he had known only darkness. At least then he had not suffered this gnawing sense of longing. Straightening to his full colossal height, the ogre turned and walked away.

  Chapter Two

  Prudence, Cecilia and Millicent were pacing the garden as Henrietta emerged from the shadow of the trees. She looked at their collective frowns and sighed. The younger girls must have told Prudence that Henrietta wouldn’t be attending the Binkley Autumn Ball that evening.

  “What have you been doing?” Prudence asked, picking leaves out of Henrietta’s tangled curls. “What so att
racts you to that forest I’ll never know,” she muttered, bossily taking the basket from her sister and putting it down on the bench.

  Peace and blessed quiet, Henrietta thought, a little guiltily. She adored her sisters but - sometimes - she liked nothing better than going to the forest where they couldn’t find her. Not that she would ever dream of saying so. Despite Prudence’s somewhat overbearing nature, Henrietta missed having her at home with them although - in reality - marriage had done little to keep her younger sibling out of their lives for too long which, to Henrietta’s mind at least, was mostly a blessing.

  Cecilia flounced over. Her blonde hair was beautifully neat beneath her bonnet; its ribbons perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. Henrietta tugged at a twig that had caught in one of her own brown curls and wondered how her sister managed it.

  “Henrietta, please inform Prudence that we are going to the ball tonight,” Cecilia complained, “whether you are there or not!”