The Fairy Stepmother Inc.

by Maggie Hoyt

  Maribelle nodded, hiked up her skirts a few inches, and began tiptoeing sneakily toward the hedge maze. I winced.

  As I suspected, Roompilda did indeed approach Lady Farthingbras. I saw Lady Farthingbras greet Roompilda. Come on, Maribelle, I thought. Get in position. Roompilda began to speak just as Maribelle stopped near the line for the hedge maze. Maribelle beamed at me. I held my breath, aching to know what was being said. Then the line began to move.

  The Allenby servants were sending in twenty to thirty people at a time, and as they opened the way to the next batch, the crowd surged forward, taking Maribelle with it. I groaned. Maribelle disappeared inside the maze, and Roompilda finished her conversation in secrecy.

  “I didn’t mean to go in! I didn’t mean to go in!” I heard as I trudged toward the hedge maze. “Can I just—if I could just squeeze by… This is the entrance, isn’t it? How silly, I’m already lost!”

  “Maribelle?” I called out.

  “Evelyn!” she said as she finally emerged to looks of disgust from the first third of the queue.

  “I’m so sorry!” she whispered, clutching my arm. “I didn’t actually hear a word they said. The line just started moving!” She looked around. “Is she gone?”

  I nodded. With the number of people at this party, any path Roompilda had taken across the grounds had quickly been filled in.

  Maribelle clapped her hands over her eyes. “It’s all my fault! What is she going to do? What’s she going to do to Fan?”

  I frowned and tried to ignore Maribelle’s wailing. Where would Roompilda have gone?

  “Are we sure it’s not a good surprise?” Maribelle asked.

  I’d seen Roompilda speak to the Rundles and the Farthingbrases. Clearly, she’d be looking for the Relishes. I may not be able to see Roompilda, but could I track down Lady Relish and Herb?

  “Gird and cleek,” I said suddenly.

  “I don’t think they serve seafood at the garden party …”

  “Historical name. Where do they play hoop and stick?”

  “Oh! I didn’t know they had that one. But lawn games are usually that way.”

  I took off in the direction Maribelle was pointing, while she flapped behind at my heels. We passed the lawn tennis courts first, and then the croquet wickets, both quite popular. A little way off on my other side I spotted horseshoe pitching. By the time we had passed lawn bowling, liked mainly by men of a certain age, I was worried we were reaching the limits of the Allenby estate.

  “Are you sure they’re doing hoops?” Maribelle asked.

  “There’s supposed to be a whole tournament!”

  “Maybe it’s behind those trees?”

  I strode over to a little cluster of trees. Maribelle had been right. Tucked away against the back of the Allenbys’ property was the hoop and stick tournament. I saw Lady Relish cheering on Herb, who was battling in the roped-off hoop and stick pitch. Approaching her from along the back hedge wall was Roompilda.

  “There she is,” I said. “She’s headed for Lady Relish. You go that way, I’ll work my way around.” I saw Maribelle begin to lift her skirts. “Just walk normally,” I added.

  Although hoop and stick wasn’t as beloved as lawn tennis, there were at least enough young men with hoops and a few mothers and young women to surround the large rectangular pitch. I took the long way toward Lady Relish, trying to pass unobtrusively behind the spectators. I just wasn’t certain I could get close enough without Roompilda spotting me.

  Maribelle, apparently, had a different idea of what constituted unobtrusive. I watched as she scuttled on her toes from the cluster of trees to a lone ash tree. She hid behind the ash for a second, then scampered behind one of the cement columns that held an unlit brazier, still several feet away from Lady Relish. Roompilda had now begun speaking to Lady Relish. Maribelle couldn’t possibly hear Roompilda’s low tone over the chants of “Relish! Relish!”

  I continued to slowly edge around the pitch, while Maribelle scurried over and took a position behind a taller gentleman. Now listen, Maribelle, I thought. As long as her cover didn’t start shouting, she ought to be able to hear Roompilda.

  “Fault!” I heard from the referee. “Player touched the opponent’s hoop with his stick, not his hoop.”

  “I never!” Herb shouted, and the spectators erupted into a mixture of cheers and jeers.

  Lady Relish’s attention was immediately drawn away from Roompilda. Her conversation thus interrupted, Roompilda turned at precisely the same moment Maribelle’s cover moved toward the pitch to get a better view of the action. Exposed, Maribelle took the—well, I’m not sure it was the only course of action, to be honest. She dived behind a bush.

  She was not, in my opinion, very near a bush, but there was one a bit behind her and to her left, so what started out as a dive turned into more of a leap and roll, as she landed partially on the bush and rolled to the ground. I cringed.

  Roompilda, who had actually been looking down at her pocket watch, glanced up with a slightly puzzled look, probably feeling the sensation that she’d just missed something really interesting. She turned back to Lady Relish, gave her one more piece of advice or instruction, and took her leave. I hurried over to Maribelle.

  “Are you all right?” I asked as I helped her off the ground.

  “That was really close!” Maribelle exclaimed. “Did she see me?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, picking leaves off of Maribelle’s skirt.

  “Phew! Wait, where did she go? Did I miss it again?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Maribelle wailed in anguish. “Where’s she going next? I promise I can do it this time! I’ll concentrate really, really hard.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think she’s got anyone else to talk to.”

  “What? Who are these people, anyway?”

  I scowled and began leading Maribelle away from the hoop and stick pitch. “Roompilda said she was sent by the queen to coach Fan for the Season. But she’s given Fan horrible advice, like telling her to lose weight, and the only callers she’s found for Fan are three obnoxious boys and their mothers.”

  “Oh, I don’t think anyone gets good callers their first Season.”

  “Each one of those visits was a disaster. So why is Roompilda going around this party giving a message to each of the three mothers?”

  The wheels in Maribelle’s mind began to spin, and her eyes grew even wider as the perplexity seemed to sink in. “Evelyn, wait! We’ve only eavesdropped on two conversations!”

  “She spoke to the Rundles during the debutante dance.”

  “Oh.” Maribelle pouted. “Then what do we do?”

  I took a deep breath. “I need the message. I need the message from the queen. I have to get into Roompilda’s purse and read that message.”

  “Evelyn! You can’t snoop through people’s things! That’s not very nice.”

  “It’s not very nice to tell my daughter to stop eating! How else can I know what Roompilda is planning?”

  “But how are you going to do it?”

  “I have to get her to put down her purse. When would a woman put down her purse?”

  “When she uses the toilet,” Maribelle declared.

  “She’ll still take it in with her.”

  “Oh, right. Do the Allenbys’ toilets have curtains that go all the way down to the floor? Because sometimes in toilets the curtains stop a bit above the floor, and then you have to be careful, because someone might snatch your bag! Maybe Roompilda won’t be careful, and we could pretend to be thieves!”

  “She might not even use the toilets,” I said.

  “Ooh, good point.”

  I tried to focus my mind, shutting out the ambient noises of lawn games, music, and Maribelle. Roompilda would have to leave the purse somewhere if she wanted to dance. Could I persuade a nobleman to ask her to dance? Even if I could, knowing Roompilda, she’d probably just refuse.

  “Right, I’ll just think about mysel
f,” Maribelle said. “I put down my purse … when I tie my kids’ shoes.”

  What if Maribelle knocked her over, “accidentally”? Don’t be ridiculous, I thought. To give you time to go through that carpetbag, Maribelle would have to knock her unconscious. You can’t mug her. Couldn’t I? Could I get someone to mug her? Probably not at a garden party.

  “Could we get her to drink a lot of lemonade?” Maribelle mused.

  I looked around. We had wandered as far as the lawn bowling. In the distance, I could see two couples playing doubles lawn tennis; the women, dressed in their finery, scuttled back and forth, never really reaching the ball before their husbands ran over and swatted it. Who wants to play tennis at a party? I thought. It just makes you sweat, under layers and layers of your nice clothes, while you’re strapped into a bodice that’s too tight, and no one’s dress slippers are remotely comfortable, and—and you have to pile your belongings somewhere!

  “A game,” I said. “You don’t carry your purse when you’re playing a lawn game!”

  Maribelle gasped. “Evelyn, you’re brilliant! And lawn games are so charming, I’m sure she’ll want to play.”

  “I’m not, which is why you’re going to have to convince her.”

  “Oh! Which game are we going to play?”

  I thought a moment. If I could just get Maribelle to talk to Roompilda, Maribelle’s style of conversation was plenty sufficient to create a distraction. We had to pick a game with ample opportunity for standing around and chatting. That ruled out tennis, thank goodness, and judging by the day’s participants, lawn bowling wasn’t a woman’s game, and if it wasn’t proper, Roompilda wouldn’t go near it. That left croquet.

  “I think croquet is our best bet,” I said.

  “I love croquet!”

  “We’ll need a fourth, though. Do you think your husband would play with us?”

  Maribelle cringed apologetically. “I’m not even sure where he is,” she said.

  “That’s all right.” I looked around. I hardly knew anyone here. I’d have an impossible time finding a fourth player. You know, a nagging voice said, you could probably get Lady Relish to play. Roompilda wouldn’t be able to resist supervising. I sighed. This was going to be a tedious game.

  I was just about to tell Maribelle my plan when I heard my name.

  “Evelyn,” said Hugo Piminder, bowing as he approached. “How are you enjoying the fete?”

  I couldn’t tell whether I was blessed or cursed.

  “Ah, it’s lovely. Have you met my friend Maribelle? Lady Maribelle Frandsen, Lord Hugo Piminder.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” he said. Maribelle, meanwhile, was shooting me wide-eyed glances.

  “How do you two know each other?” she asked.

  “We met at the Courtenays’,” I said. “Maribelle and I were about to play a game of croquet. Would you care to join?”

  “I would be delighted.”

  Well, we had our final player. Now to convince Roompilda. “Now, we just need one more,” I continued, hoping that if I talked loudly, no one else would offer suggestions. “Hmm …” I made a show of looking and walked directly after Roompilda.

  “We could …,” Piminder tried to interrupt. “I believe I know someone …” He trailed off as I ignored him and followed in my wake.

  As soon as Roompilda came within view, I started calling out.

  “Oh, I know! Roompilda!” I shouted. “Come join us! We need a fourth for croquet!”

  She turned around and stared at me incredulously. I marched my posse over toward her. “Here, you must meet Lady Maribelle Frandsen and Lord Hugo Piminder. Maribelle, Hugo, this is Roompilda …” My mind went blank. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your surname.”

  “Stidolph,” she said. “Roompilda Stidolph.”

  “That’s right. Roompilda trains young people for appearances at court. She gave Fan a few lessons.”

  Lord Piminder smiled politely, and Maribelle oohed appreciatively. Roompilda didn’t seem impressed by them. You’re supposed to be helping, Maribelle, I thought. Now she’d suddenly clammed up. How could I convince Roompilda to come with us? I remembered what Henry had—well, what I thought Henry would say. You’re not that different. Give her business opportunities.

  “A pleasure,” she said tersely. “I’m afraid I—”

  “Actually,” I said brightly, interrupting before she could refuse, “Roompilda is a good person for you to meet, Hugo. What a coincidence! Hugo’s son is about the right age to start thinking about marriage. I bet Roompilda would be able to help him make a more suitable match. And Maribelle has so many children. Are your boys going to have private tutoring, Maribelle?”

  I gave Maribelle a pointed glare.

  She gasped. “Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that! They’re going to be behind! How old should boys start lessons?” she asked, grasping Roompilda’s arm. For a moment, I was impressed. I would never have suspected Maribelle had this much acting ability. Then, of course, I realized she was sincere.

  “Please tell me six is not too old!” she continued. “Do you do private consulting?”

  Well, we’d overcome our first obstacle. I immediately started leading us toward the croquet wickets. Like so many mortals, Roompilda couldn’t react fast enough to an onslaught of Maribelle. In her bewilderment, she simply followed.

  There was one croquet court left available. It was angled a bit away from the other courts and located not far from the exit to the hedge maze. The Allenbys had thoughtfully put out a few lawn chairs at each court.

  “Looks like this one is ours,” I said.

  “Which rules shall we play?” Lord Piminder asked. “There’s pell-mell, golf, and then the lesser known international version, nine wicket, which I would be happy to teach everyone.”

  “Well, they’ve only set up six wickets,” I said, “so I was thinking good old traditional garden croquet. Let’s have Maribelle and Roompilda be partners, and Hugo and I will be partners. Which color balls do you want?”

  “Ah-ah, we must start with a coin flip.” Lord Piminder pulled a coin out of his pocket. “Lady Frandsen, would you like to call it?”

  “Ooooh … it’s so much pressure! I don’t know… Oh, fine. Heads!”

  “Heads it is. Will you two play first or second?”

  Maribelle looked at Roompilda, who seemed to be struggling between the need to be polite to a potential gold mine and her desire to stare daggers through Maribelle’s skull.

  Luckily, Maribelle just decided on her own. “We’ll go first!”

  “Very well. Evelyn, which colors shall we take?” Hugo said.

  “Black and blue,” I said and handed him the black ball.

  “Ooh, can I have yellow? And you can have red to match your hair!” Maribelle said.

  “We must start by getting all four balls into play,” Lord Piminder said. “After that, we may decide which ball to play on our turn.”

  “This is so much fun!” Maribelle exclaimed as she set her purse on one of the chairs. I placed mine next to hers and watched Roompilda with some trepidation until she deposited the carpetbag in the next chair. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The game started. Maribelle squealed as she knocked her ball toward the first wicket. I motioned to Lord Piminder to go next, and he promptly hit Maribelle’s ball.

  “Now, when you hit another player’s ball,” he called out, “you are immediately allowed what’s called a croquet shot to send that ball anywhere on the field.” He lined up the shot and sent Maribelle’s ball rolling across the court. “Then, you are allowed a continuation shot to move your own ball ever closer to the wicket.”

  Roompilda and I were not particularly enthusiastic students. She watched with an impassive glare; I suspect mine looked a good deal more hostile. I’d forgotten, apparently, how patronizing he could be. Maribelle, on the other hand, spontaneously applauded.

  Lord Piminder then took his continuation shot, which should have given him excellent fiel
d position—except instead of rolling to a stop, his ball curved away from the wicket and trickled down what we all quickly realized was a hill.

  “Hmm. We appear to be on a slope. That certainly adds a new wrinkle,” he commented.

  Roompilda was next, and to my surprise, she took a full swing and barely managed to hit the ball a few feet. Well, at least I knew she had one weakness: limp wrists. I took a quick glance toward Hugo to see if he was foolish enough to teach her how to swing a mallet. He seemed to be biting back advice.

  My turn. I took a look at the course. We’re on a hill, I thought. Maybe I wouldn’t need Maribelle to cause a distraction after all. With my first swing, I sent my ball toward Roompilda’s, tapping it gently. Then I lined up my croquet shot and sent her red ball flying down the hill.

  “I might have hit it the other way,” Lord Piminder said. “When she puts it back in, she can place it fairly close to the wicket.”

  I ignored him and quickly lined up a continuation shot. I was halfway through my swing when he interrupted me.

  “No, no, no,” he said. He stood behind me and placed his hands on my arms. “Remember, you’re permitted to hit each other ball once before going through a wicket. If you tap mine right now, you can use the croquet shot to hit it through the wicket, and then use your continuation shot to send yours through the wicket. See?”

  I just wanted my turn over before Roompilda got back, but he was breathing down my neck and tracing a line with his finger in the air, apparently showing me the angle I would need to hit his ball. Any second now he was going to grab my hands and help me make the shot. If he gets any closer, my body suddenly told me, I am going to bite him. Fine, I thought. I shook him off, hit his ball, sent it and then mine through the wicket, and finally ran over toward the purses.

  “Oh good, you found it!” I heard Maribelle say. I abruptly sat down next to the purses, trying not to look suspicious and gnashing my teeth.

  “Lord Piminder says you may place your ball so it will go right through that wicket,” Maribelle said.

  “I hate to hurt my own team,” he began, “but I must be honest. According to section 1.6a of the official rules, an out-of-bounds ball can be placed within three feet of the spot where it left the field of play; no penalty given.”