Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale

by Kate Stradling

  Duncan turned again to discover her removing the thick-soled boot from her left foot. She unceremoniously dropped it on the floor before stripping off her stocking and flinging it away. Her ankle was puffed and red, possibly sprained.

  Alberta studied the injury for a long, tense moment, her brows drawn together in a dark scowl. She’d threatened back at the greenhouse that she would have his head, and Duncan suddenly believed her. Almost he wanted to cover the ankle up again just to banish that intense concentration from her face.

  “Bella,” she said abruptly, “go into my closet and get me the contents of drawer two and drawer thirty-five.”

  “I’m not your servant,” said Bellinda ungenerously.

  “I’m not sending an unknown called Scurvyhead into my private closet,” Alberta replied. “Unless you want me to hobble in there myself, you’re the only other person here.”

  “You might’ve said please,” Bellinda muttered. “Two and thirty-five, you said?”

  “That’s right.”

  Princess Bellinda carried her newly lit candle across the room and into the adjoining closet. Duncan heard the sound of two drawers as they opened and shut.

  “You,” Alberta said, drawing his attention back to her. “What’s your name?”

  He hesitated.

  “I’ve already told you it’s Scurvyhead,” said Bellinda as she reemerged from the closet. In one hand she held a small bottle of liquid and a roll of bandages.

  “What parent names his child ‘Scurvyhead’?” Alberta replied scornfully. Then, she demanded again, “What’s your name?”

  “It’s Duncan,” he said apologetically.

  “Have you been stealing lemons?”

  “What? No!”

  “What on earth are you going on about, Bertie?” Bellinda asked. “You’re the lemon thief.”

  “It’s my tree,” she insisted. “They probably thought he was the real culprit, though. That’s why they put him in there and threatened his job.”

  Duncan felt unjustly accused. “Why would they think it was me?”

  “Because lemons—or citrus fruits in general, really—are a cure for scurvy. Didn’t you know that?”

  He shook his head. He could hardly explain that his problem really had nothing to do with scurvy, so he thought it best to remain silent.

  “Now that you do know, are you going to steal lemons?” she asked suspiciously.

  “No!” cried Duncan.

  The sheer instinctiveness of his answer seemed to satisfy Alberta. She turned her attention to her sister and the two items she had requested. “Hand those over now,” she said. She set the roll of bandages aside upon receiving it and focused her efforts on unstopping the bottle of liquid. Even as she pried this open, though, her fingers froze around the cork, and a distant expression settled on her face.

  “Oh, no,” said Bellinda. “Not that look. Whatever you’re scheming, leave it alone for tonight and tend to your ankle.”

  Alberta secured the cork in the bottle’s neck again and proffered that object back to her sister. “Put this away in its drawer,” she said. “Take the bandages too, while you’re at it.”

  “Bertie, have you gone crazy? What about your ankle?”

  “What about it?” Alberta said sharply.

  “It’s all puffed and swollen!”

  “Yes, and I’m trying to think how to keep it that way, so quit interrupting my thoughts!”

  “You can’t just leave it like that!”

  “Go to bed, Bella,” Alberta replied, and she worked at the laces of her other boot. “And you, Duncan or Scurvyhead, whatever you prefer to be called, go back to the greenhouse. If you breathe one word of what’s happened tonight, I swear I’ll have you beaten to within an inch of your life and cast into the dungeons. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And don’t think you’re getting off easy, either,” she added. “I just need some time to consider an appropriate punishment. Be advised that if you try to flee the castle grounds I’ll send a legion of soldiers after you and have you flogged for insubordination.”

  “Alberta!” cried Bellinda reproachfully.

  “Go to bed, Bella,” her sister retorted. “Take this good-for-nothing out with you and send him on his way.”

  “But—!”

  “Good night,” Alberta said with iron tones. She swung her legs up on the bed and swept the bed curtains shut to emphasize that she was done interacting with both of them.

  “As if a row of drapes can shut out the sound of my voice,” Bellinda said scornfully. “What are you plotting in there?”

  “You’re going to have bags under your eyes in the morning,” Alberta replied from behind the curtain. “Don’t come crying to me when your face looks a fright because you didn’t get enough rest.”

  Bellinda’s mouth screwed up into a stubborn expression, but the only vocal response she made was an indignant little squeak. Then, she turned sharply on her heels and strode to the door. Duncan trotted sheepishly behind her to the hallway.

  She had the grace to pause and asked, “Can you find your way back to the greenhouse on your own, Scurvyhead?”

  “Yes, your Highness,” he said.

  “Don’t trip in the dark on the way back down the stairs,” Bellinda admonished, and she wrenched open the camouflaged doorway to the servants’ passage. “No one wants to find a corpse at the bottom come morning.”

  “Thank you, your Highness,” he said humbly, and he ducked his head in a quick bow.

  “Don’t thank me. You might find death preferable to being in Alberta’s clutches. Who knows what sort of mischief she’s going to dream up for you. Get on your way now. I need my beauty rest.”

  She spoke that whole speech with such utter unconcern that Duncan didn’t know whether she was being serious or sarcastic. It didn’t really matter, though. He simply ducked his head again and made his retreat down the stairs. The door clicked shut behind him, bathing him in black shadows. He fumbled along the walls as he descended. Once safe at the landing below, he groped with clumsy hands to find the door’s lever and its promised escape.

  His instincts told him to run straight for the stable, to saddle Wildfire and be gone. Princess Alberta had already threatened to send soldiers after him, though, and the last thing Duncan needed was more people chasing him. With her threats fresh in his mind, he followed orders and returned to the greenhouse, there to bundle up in his thin blanket and wait out the night.

  Nothing more happened. Until at long last the sun peeped above the horizon and Gardener and Cook appeared to count the lemons, Duncan was left with peace and quiet, and an overactive imagination to plague him with theories of terrible things to come.

  Chapter 13

  There were no lemons missing at dawn, of course. Gardener counted them twice and Cook a third time, and they both turned fake smiles upon Duncan afterward.

  “So the thief didn’t show himself last night,” said Gardener.

  Duncan swallowed nervously. “No, sir.”

  “And you didn’t fall asleep?” asked Cook suspiciously.

  “No, sir,” said Duncan.

  The pair exchanged a knowing glance, and Duncan realized that Princess Alberta had been entirely correct: they thought he was the thief.

  “Well, perhaps tonight will be the night,” Cook said to Gardener. “We really weren’t sure when the villain would strike again, just that it seemed about time.”

  “Yes,” Gardener agreed. “Scurvyhead, you’ll have to keep guard over the greenhouse tonight as well.”

  Duncan couldn’t stop the instinctive widening of his eyes, even though common sense told him such a reaction made him look even guiltier to them. He hadn’t slept, and his brain was foggy. All he wanted at the moment was to curl up in a corner for a nap. The thought of repeating last night’s escapades made him sick at heart.

  “Well,” said Gardener with a gruff tone entering his voice, “I suppose you’d better get some
rest, for a couple hours at least.” He sounded as though he begrudged those couple hours, but Duncan was too tired to care.

  “Thank you, sir,” he replied, and he made a quick retreat before they could demand anything else from him. He went straight to the garden shed. Habit alone made him lock the door and pull the curtain over the tiny window before he cast aside his wig and collapsed on his mattress.

  Frantic pounding on the door awoke him three hours later. Duncan dragged his eyes open, disoriented for a moment before his brain registered the shouting voice outside.

  “Scurvyhead! Wake up, you fool, and open the door!”

  Adrenaline surged through him. He snatched up the sheepskin wig and jammed it on his head as the visitor pounded on the door again.

  “Scurvyhead!”

  Duncan twisted the lock and wrenched the door open, panic infusing his mind. Late morning sunlight blazed against his eyes, which focused on the stricken face of Jimmy, his fellow under-gardener.

  “What took you so long! Your head is on the line here!”

  Duncan’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What’s happened?” he asked, though he could well guess after the events of last night.

  “You’ve been summoned,” Jimmy replied. “Wash your face, hurry! And try to make that ridiculous wig presentable! The whole castle’s in an uproar!” He dragged Duncan out of the shed and toward a barrel of rainwater. “Princess Alberta sprained her ankle first thing this morning, and she’s been in a rage ever since! She’s already sacked the maid responsible—”

  Duncan dug in his heels at this revelation. “What?” he croaked.

  Jimmy looked at him as though he’d gone crazy. “Princess Margaret’s maid, Lizzie—Princess Alberta sacked her after she bumped into her this morning. It was an accident, but the princess twisted her ankle trying to regain her balance, and Lizzie’s to blame. They’re packing her off for home now—poor girl’s in tears!”

  For a moment Duncan forgot to breathe. Overpowering guilt enveloped him. Someone else had been punished for his misdeeds and was losing a precious job. Duncan could afford the loss—he had never hired on for the pay—but most of the servants he had spoken with needed the income to live and to help their families. Princess Alberta had taken his crimes and laid them at someone else’s door, and he hadn’t the faintest clue why.

  “What’s this about me being summoned?” he inquired.

  “She’s been making demands ever since,” Jimmy replied, as though this should answer his question. “The doctor’s given her three weeks of bed rest, and she’s been making outrageous demands all morning! And one of those demands is that you be brought before her immediately! Hurry up!”

  “For what reason?” Duncan persisted. Surely she must have said something.

  “Because you and that ugly wig are conspicuous, I’d wager,” said Jimmy. “The other servants are already laying odds on whether she’s going to fire you just for looking so ridiculous! And I wouldn’t put it past her, either! I told you she’s on a tirade! If you delay any longer, she’ll order your head lopped off for good measure!”

  The words spurred him into action. He splashed his face and arms with water and patted them dry with the small towel Jimmy was kind enough to produce.

  “I guess you can’t do anything about that wig,” Jimmy said, eying him dubiously. “It would be worse to go before her with your head full of scurvy.”

  Duncan’s mouth set in a thin line. “Where am I supposed to go?” he asked.

  “Up to her chambers. Come on. I’ll lead you there, but don’t expect me to go any further than the main corridor. I don’t want her catching sight of me.”

  “I can’t blame you,” Duncan replied. Wordlessly they proceeded to the castle, to the very same servants’ entrance he had used the previous night. Duncan glimpsed a carriage standing in the courtyard, with a crowd of servants clustered around a sobbing girl. His stomach twisted with guilt renewed.

  Jimmy glanced that direction as he opened the door. “Poor Lizzie,” he murmured regretfully. “Such a nice girl, too.” His words stabbed like knives into poor Duncan’s conscience.

  Up the stairs they went in semi-darkness. The door at the top stood open a crack, and Jimmy motioned Duncan through. “It’s the fourth door down the other side of the hallway,” he said. “Good luck.” Then, he shut the door tight.

  Duncan felt like a prisoner headed to the gallows. He swallowed, reminded himself that he fully deserved whatever punishment awaited him, and stepped forward to his doom.

  Princess Alberta’s door was wide open, and voices issued from within.

  “You’ve no right to interfere with my servants, Bertie! Absolutely no right at all!”

  “So what if she’s your servant, Mae? She injured me! She’s not immune to punishment!”

  “You little pest! Doctor Green says your ankle is too far bruised to have gotten that way in the last couple hours! You probably twisted it climbing out your window on a rope of sheets, and now you need someone to blame so you don’t get caught! I know how that artful little mind of yours works!”

  “I haven’t made a rope of sheets since I was ten,” Alberta retorted scornfully. “Your precious Lizzie collided with my royal person, and she’s been duly recompensed.”

  “She was a good maid, Bertie! What am I supposed to do now?”

  “You get another maid, Mae. What servant isn’t completely replaceable?”

  “That’s a rotten attitude you’ve cultivated.”

  “I’m surprised you noticed. It only took you four years.”

  Duncan hadn’t meant to eavesdrop this long, but he could hardly intrude upon the conversation. Nor could he retreat back to the servants’ passage. Just as he was wondering whether to hide among the ornamentation in the hallway, the interchange within came to an abrupt end. Alberta’s final remark was answered by an angry huff, and Princess Margaret appeared in the doorway.

  She stopped short upon seeing a servant before her. “What are you doing there?” she coldly demanded.

  “I—I was summoned,” Duncan said awkwardly. He had sense enough to keep his gaze downcast.

  Princess Margaret glanced back over her shoulder. “Why are you summoning servants, Bertie?” she asked.

  “Is it Scurvyhead?” Princess Alberta responded. “He’s an expendable dog. Send him in on your way out, Mae.”

  Princess Margaret ignored the command. Instead, she swept past Duncan in a quick retreat, her back stiff and her head held high. Duncan swallowed his nerves and stepped into the doorway she had just vacated.

  He didn’t really know how to proceed.

  “Stop dawdling and get in here,” said Alberta crossly. She sat neatly arranged upon a sofa, with pillows to prop up her bandaged foot.

  He kept his head ducked as he obeyed. In his periphery, he could see a stack of books next to her and wondered if she meant to read all of those during her recovery. The thought boggled his mind.

  “Did you tell anyone?” she asked.

  Instinctively his eyes flew to her face. “No!” he cried, and he averted his gaze downward again. “That is, I did not, your Highness.”

  A breath of silence passed. Then, “You’ve heard about Lizzie by now, no doubt,” she said in a curiously detached voice. “Do you feel guilty?”

  Shame flooded through him. “Yes.”

  “Good,” said Alberta. “You should.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He looked directly at her.

  She stared coldly back at him. “Do you have something to say to me?” she asked.

  Duncan lowered his eyes again. “No, your Highness.”

  “That’s a lie,” Alberta said flatly. “I suppose our difference in status prevents you from speaking your mind. At least you have sense enough in that respect. Perhaps you think it’s unfair that I should remind you of your guilt. Perhaps you think I should forget your crimes, since someone else has already taken the punishment.”

  “If you were going to get rid of a
nyone, it should’ve been me,” Duncan said impulsively. “I should be the one who gets punished.”

  “Oh, you will be,” she replied. “Tell me what happened after you returned to the greenhouse last night.”

  “Nothing happened. Cook and Gardener came at dawn to count the lemons. They were all there. I’m to guard again tonight.”

  She sighed irritably. “I thought as much.” To his confusion, she pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from the table next to her and, with one of her books as a writing surface, scribbled something. The pen returned to its inkwell, and the paper was folded in thirds. Alberta proffered it to Duncan.

  “Take this to Cook,” she demanded.

  He stepped forward to receive the letter, a frown on his face.

  “Come right back after you’ve finished,” she added. “I have a whole list of chores for you.”

  His mouth thinned in an unhappy line, but he nodded his head all the same. He was in no position to flout her authority. Until he consulted Wildfire, he was in no position to do anything but obey. He could only hope that this turn of events might persuade the white horse that it was time they moved on to another hiding place.

  Alberta’s critical gaze followed him from the room. He breathed a sigh of relief once he was beyond her door, only to realize that he had no idea which direction he needed to go. His eyes darted up the corridor. He could take the servants’ passage back down the stairs and follow its lower path into the castle’s main level with the hopes that it led to the kitchen, or he could wander around on this floor until he found a fellow servant to consult.

  He doubted that Princess Alberta would wait patiently for his return. The longer he took, the angrier she would get. He decided that the servants’ passage was the better option.

  A moment’s inspection at the camouflaged door showed him the mechanism that opened it. He slipped into the dimness beyond and trotted down the stairs, careful not to lose his footing. At the bottom stood the exterior door and another corridor that led inward. Tempting as it was to make a run for the stables and be gone from this place, Duncan instead took the interior corridor.

  Mouth-watering smells and the sound of clanging dishes drifted toward him as he went. The hall branched once, but by then he was close enough to the kitchen to hear Cook shouting orders to his underlings. Duncan squared his shoulders and followed the sound. The passage opened into the familiar, sun-lit room where he collected his supper every evening. An army of white-clad servants rushed to complete preparations for the royal family’s noon meal.