The Fairy Stepmother Inc.

by Maggie Hoyt

  I strode into the crowd, scanning faces for Fan or Damian, until finally I saw someone familiar. A certain uptight redhead was directing two young women—I followed Roompilda’s pointing finger with my eyes, and sure enough, there stood Fan and Damian in a circle of young people, about to be joined by two more. Damian and the hangers-on were talking and laughing. Occasionally one of them would pull a face, probably mocking someone not in the circle. Then they would all giggle. Was his goal to peer pressure Fan into laughing?

  I picked up my pace, not letting my eyes leave Fanchon, but made it no more than a few feet when the Shermans manifested buoyantly in my path.

  “Well done, Madam Radcliffe!” Mr. Sherman said.

  I swallowed my frustration. I couldn’t very well put off Mr. Sherman. He’d saved me, for the second time in my life.

  “I couldn’t possibly have done it without you.”

  He beamed like a small child.

  “I can’t thank you enough. Make sure you send me an invoice,” I said.

  He shook his head and waved his hands at me. “Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it!”

  “Mr. Sherman. If I’m getting paid—”

  “Please. We haven’t had this much fun in years,” he said, glancing up at his wife.

  “I can’t believe we actually witnessed a fairy tale!” she trilled. “This was better than all the balls combined!”

  Mr. Sherman grinned and gave me a wink.

  “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mr. Sherman,” I said. “Take care.”

  “You too, madam. And if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”

  I hustled on as they walked away. I could only partially see Fan’s face, and she looked miserably uncomfortable. How could Fan laugh at this sort of mockery? It was exactly the sort of thing the fairies had forbidden, I thought, knowing full well the fairies weren’t real. Don’t do this to yourself! I wanted to shout.

  Apparently, I need to pay more attention to my surroundings. I didn’t see Maribelle coming. She flung herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck and nearly knocking me to the ground. As I regained my balance I realized she was sobbing.

  “Evelyn, that was so beautiful!” she wailed. “The fairies really came, and Lord Piminder apologized, and Clarrie doesn’t even have to marry Terence, which is good because I don’t think he deserves her because she’s so beautiful!”

  “Maribelle …”

  “I just can’t believe there was really gold! And that creepy little man did appear, but he wasn’t her fairy godmother—well, you know …”

  She sobbed as she clung to me. I kept glancing at Fan. I needed help. I looked around. Who could help me?

  “And I saw you arguing with Lord Piminder. I don’t know how you convinced him to apologize, but you must have been amazing!”

  “You helped with that, Maribelle.”

  “I did?” She stared at me wide-eyed, with dark streaks under her eyes where her makeup had smeared.

  “He never would have listened to me if there hadn’t been all these people here. And you found most of them.”

  This started the deluge of tears all over again.

  “Maribelle …” I tried to peel her off me, but she wouldn’t budge, and she couldn’t hear me over the sound of her own sobs. I looked frantically around. If someone, anyone, could take Maribelle off my hands …

  Then suddenly, my eyes spotted Ethan Kingsley, watching Damian hold court. He couldn’t help me with Maribelle, but … I was all set to shout at him, when he turned toward me and met my eyes.

  “Help,” I mouthed, nodding my head at Fanchon. “Please!”

  He nodded, clenched his fists, and worked his way into the ring. When Damian noticed him, he stopped his monologue and the laughter died down.

  “Maribelle!” I hissed. “Shh! I need to be able to hear!”

  “Hmm?” She stopped bawling and released her grip, and I moved her with me a few steps closer.

  “You’re a Kingsley, aren’t you?” Damian said.

  Ethan nodded.

  “I thought I recognized those hand-me-downs.” The group snickered. “What do you do, Kingsley?”

  “I’m interested in shipping routes,” Ethan said. “Right now, I’m helping Mum ship her—”

  “You’re working for your mother? Oh, well done. Tell me: Are you so inept you couldn’t even get one of your brothers to hire you? Dear old Mum was the only employer who would take you?”

  Ethan just stared daggers, giving no response to the laughter around him. Fan, on the other hand, wheeled on Damian.

  “That’s rude,” she said. “Ethan is my friend.”

  Damian put his hand on her shoulder, and for a moment I thought she might bite it. “Him? You can do better than him. Kingsley, I heard that you took out a whole dessert table at the Courtenays.” A round of jeering laughter spread through the group.

  “Apparently,” Damian continued, “he tripped, grabbed the tablecloth, and pulled it along with him as he landed flat on his face. Custard everywhere.”

  This got Damian’s biggest roar of the morning. Even I had to admit it was slightly amusing. Fan wasn’t laughing, but she looked frozen, staring not at Ethan or any of the jeering nobles, but past the circle into the crowd beyond. I disentangled myself from Maribelle and began moving around the circle, trying to follow Fan’s gaze. Standing directly opposite Fan, positioned perfectly between the heads of two debutants, was Roompilda, reminding Fan merely by her presence that the queen expected to be obeyed.

  What could I do? I briefly thought about running and tackling Roompilda, but what would that achieve? The damage had already been done. If Fan didn’t want to risk losing Ella, all she had to do was pick one of Damian’s jokes to laugh at. Her eyes flickered between Roompilda and Ethan.

  “No,” Damian said, “you don’t want to tie yourself to someone like him. He’s not worthy of your father’s name. He’ll simply drag you down with him—literally.” Damian chuckled at himself and turned toward Fan, probably expecting that she would find this hilarious.

  At the mention of her father, however, Fan’s eyes narrowed and her fists clenched, and she broke free from Roompilda’s gaze and turned on Damian.

  “Did you think I would find that funny? You certainly know everyone’s business. Did you know that just the other day someone screamed at me just because of my father? So no, you’re right. He isn’t worthy of my father’s name. I wouldn’t wish it on him!”

  “I—I assure you, I had no idea,” Damian stuttered, clearly not expecting Fan to get so angry. “I am terribly sorry for my poor choice of words. I was merely poking fun—”

  “No, you weren’t! That was mean! And it’s mean to laugh along with you. And I know you know about the fairies and the frogs, because I’m sure she told you.” Fan pointed at Roompilda. “You chose the one thing I for sure couldn’t laugh at!”

  “My darling Fanchon, I have been an ignorant fool, but nothing more, I assure you. I did not think—”

  “You didn’t think about me! You didn’t think of me as different from any other girl!”

  “Please, my dear—” he started, reaching out to grasp her shoulders.

  “Don’t patronize me!” she shouted.

  He pulled his hands back. “You have every right to be angry with me,” he said, adjusting his approach. “And you are correct, I do know that the fairies have granted you the luck you deserve. I also know that you are deserving of only the very best luck. Thus, I appeal to that kind, sweet nature of yours as I beg for forgiveness, hoping that surely you will take pity on me and grant me a second chance.”

  Fan’s mouth opened and shut like a fish as she realized she was trapped. The fairies would want her to forgive him. Just as I thought she’d made up her mind to defy Roompilda and the queen, she was going to have to let this pompous fop back in, and eventually they’d all wear down her resolve. Not for the first nor the last time did I curse those frogs.

  “Leave her alone,” Ethan said
suddenly, stepping into the center of the circle.

  “Mind your own business, Kingsley.”

  “It’s my business if you’re bullying my friend.”

  “That’s sweet, champ. Why don’t you run home to Mum and—”

  “Stop! Just stop!” Fan cried. “Leave him alone, you—” She froze, clamping her mouth shut. “Mmmgh!” she grunted in frustration.

  “You—you—smug, boil-brained, fat-kidneyed ratbag!” Ethan shouted.

  I winced. Not the snappiest insult I’d ever heard, although I could see the appeal of ratbag. The crowd, which had now grown beyond Damian’s original circle of young nobles, was dead silent. Fan turned to stare at Ethan, her mouth gaping open.

  “Did you—did you just insult him because you knew I couldn’t?”

  Ethan nodded. Fan snorted as a grin spread across her face, and then she erupted into uncontrollable laughter. The look of sheer panic on Ethan’s face as Fan doubled over was matched only by the utter confusion on Damian’s face.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me!” Fan said, tears streaming down her cheeks. I tried not to take offense. I did only give birth to her.

  Ethan smiled in relief as Fan wiped her eyes, her laughter subsiding to more of a chuckle. She looked at him, and her face lit up.

  “You made me laugh!” she said. “That means you can marry me—um, if you want to, of course.” She paused. “Do you want to?” she asked shyly.

  For a split second, Ethan looked startled, but then he set his jaw and dropped to one knee so quickly he hit the ground with a thud.

  “Um, Fanchon, would you—I don’t have a ring.” He smacked his forehead. “I’m so sorry I’m not prepared! But I really do—I really want—I really want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

  Fan giggled. “Yes, of course! I proposed first!” She helped pull Ethan to his feet and threw her arms around his neck.

  My enjoyment of the sweet spectacle was interrupted, however, by a high-pitched shriek a few feet away.

  I turned toward the noise and saw Roompilda marching toward me, head lowered, moving people out of the way with a violent shove.

  “You imbecile!” she shouted at me, her face flushing with anger. “Do you not understand who I am? I work for the queen! I work for the queen! You have interfered with royal commands!”

  I was too speechless to argue. Her usual stick-straight posture and prim impassiveness had fallen to pieces. Her spectacles now sat crooked on her nose, and she was shouting so forcefully, beads of spittle had formed in the corners of her mouth.

  “I had this!” she continued to scream. “I was so close, you ignorant, meddling peasant!”

  I’d promised Fan I’d take the blame if she didn’t marry Damian; apparently, that was exactly the message Roompilda was planning to convey to the queen. I was almost disappointed. I’d been looking forward to causing a scene. Well, perhaps I could be allowed one little parting shot.

  “Do you have pen and paper?” I asked Maribelle, who’d followed along behind me.

  She started rummaging through her handbag.

  “I never lose!” Roompilda bellowed. “Do you understand me? I never lose!” Strands of hair shook loose from her updo and fell in her face.

  “Ooh!” Maribelle exclaimed. She pulled a peppermint sweet from her bag, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. Then she handed me the brown paper wrapping. “Here you go! Now, I don’t usually carry ink with me …”

  “I’ll tell the queen everything!” Roompilda hissed. “She’ll hear my full report!”

  “I have my son’s charcoal pencil,” Maribelle said, brandishing the crayon. “Will that work?”

  “It’ll do,” I said.

  “Listen to me!” Roompilda screamed. “The queen will never, ever—”

  Her tirade was interrupted by a concerned nobleman, who put his hand firmly on Roompilda’s shoulder. “Madam, I think it’s time for you to leave,” he said.

  He tried to guide her away, but she jerked her arm free, swinging her carpetbag as she did so, and wheeled on him. “Take your hands off me! Do you know who I am?” she shouted. He could only stare at her, bewildered.

  “This is Roompilda Stidolph,” I said. “Royal etiquette coach. I wouldn’t let her near your children.”

  Roompilda let out a strangled cry of rage.

  “Come on, madam,” the nobleman said, grasping Roompilda’s shoulder once more. With a violent yank, she spun away, stomping her foot vehemently in frustration. Unfortunately, she didn’t account for the curvature of the hill.

  Her ankle buckled beneath her as she lost her footing, and she began to topple over, carried by the momentum of her swinging carpetbag. The bag flew out of her hand just before she tumbled to the ground, and since she was already mid-spin, she simply continued to roll until she hit the carpetbag, which had beaten her to the bottom of the hill.

  “Oof,” Maribelle whispered.

  I finished scrawling my note and walked down the hill. Roompilda had managed to prop herself up on an elbow and was glaring at me through her bent and battered glasses. I reached for the carpetbag and opened it.

  “Just a talking point,” I said, holding up the scrap of paper. “For when you report to the queen.” I dropped the note in the carpetbag.

  It read:

  Kingsley: E.R. approves.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I AWAITED THE wedding with tense excitement mixed with a bit of dread. I needn’t have. Ella responded immediately to Fan’s letter saying of course she and Aiden would come and of course she would be Fan’s matron of honor, but I held my breath until the prince and princess actually arrived in Strachey. Both welcomed Ethan with unbridled enthusiasm.

  Although I suspected Aiden didn’t need to be impressed, I knew word would get back to the queen, and I was concerned—nay, certain—that I couldn’t pull off a wedding that would justify my wholesale disobedience. Fortunately, Francesca Kingsley knew what she was doing.

  I swear I never told her any of the sordid details of my rebellion. Apparently, she didn’t need them. She volunteered her own ballroom, hired a decorator from the Capital, and called in a favor to bring in the archbishop to perform the ceremony. And most importantly, I thought, she’d made sure each of Ethan’s siblings was present, with spouses—from the colonel, in full dress uniform, to the chief physician, in full academic regalia. Each shook the prince’s hand. Each, so far as I could overhear, name-dropped all the nobles he or she had influence with. There was a chance, I thought, Her Majesty might forgive me.

  At least, I fervently hoped so. Just before they left, Ella and Aiden told us their secret: Ella was having a baby. She made Fan and I promise to visit. If the queen didn’t want me there, I’d sneak into the palace. Nothing would keep me away from my grandchild.

  This time, I was prepared for the post-wedding loneliness. Mina and I cleaned out Fanchon’s room and prepared her and Ethan’s new home while they were on their honeymoon. I went for walks with Maribelle. And, by myself, I finally went through some of Henry’s things. He was the type to keep mementos—old journals from school, a picture Ella had drawn him, a note I’d written him. I couldn’t bear to get rid of them, so I bought a large wooden chest that Mina and I lowered into the cellar, and I filled it with his memories.

  Before I locked it up, there was one more item I needed to store away: a large sack of brass-coated wire, which I’d snuck away from the tower as the distracted crowds dissipated. After all, you never knew when a fairy godmother might need to spin straw into gold.

  The next day, I ordered a sign, and within a short time I was standing on a kitchen chair hammering a metal bracket on the front of the house. I hung my sign from the bracket, stepped down from the chair, and took a critical look. I’d told the sign painter that the slipper absolutely had to look like glass. Instead, it looked a sort of milky bluish gray, not unlike my own attempt at glass slippers.

  I smiled with pride anyway. Sure, the pressure had be
en intense, and I’d been inches away from getting caught—on multiple occasions—but I’d won. I’d outwitted Roompilda and Lord Piminder, and I was willing to take the risks to outwit others like them. Somebody had to look out for these girls.

  I was open for business.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, I am grateful for the women who have raised and mentored me, who encouraged me whether I wanted to be a princess or an athlete, and who recognized my anxieties and helped me find my strengths. To Mom, Pat, Nita, Cecilia, and many others, thank you for teaching me how beautiful humor is in the face of adversity.

  I am doubly indebted to my mom, who did the lion’s share of the editing on this book and, despite our differences on comma placement, bears a lot of the responsibility for this being better than it began.

  I’m grateful to my dad, for unabashedly sharing this with everyone he knows, and for being my first writing partner, on a play containing my very favorite punchline, when the princess informs the vizier, “I’d rather wear red and pink together than marry you!”

  I’m thankful to my brother, who played every bizarre game I imagined, created some unique ones of his own, and has challenged and encouraged my imagination our whole lives. May you always find the stolen White House plans.

  My thanks to the entire Inkshares team for helping a new author find her voice, and for doing so with patience and cheer.

  Finally, this book was crowdfunded, which means it would not exist without the friends, family members, friends of friends, and complete strangers who preordered enough copies to turn it into reality. I am so grateful for your support and enthusiasm. Thank you for sharing this with your friends and for investing in my dreams.

  THE END

  GRAND PATRONS

  A. Fiblo

  Bobby Jo (Hoyt) Brandli

  Carrie Sampson

  Cathy and John Hoyt

  Leisa Andrews

  Lisa M. Rogers, CPA

  The Beucler-Wang Family