The Piano Girl - Part Two (Counterfeit Princess Series)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  Seated across from the counterfeit princess in a wingback goatskin chair, Wron appeared remarkably calm.

  “Dhad piece was beaudiful, vhad is ids name?” The middle-aged woman flicked open a fan.

  I tried not to stare, but her odd accent was strangely familiar as well.

  “Dory, this is Princess Alia, and her great-aunt and uncle.” Eunice waved a hand toward those in attendance.

  I bowed politely. “Where is King Wells?”

  “Queen Vells is quide ill. He is by her side,” said the uncle. His features were lean, and his pointed beard looked like it had been dipped in dark ink.

  “Oh, the poor dear.” Eunice sighed. “Irene, like me, never did like to travel.”

  “Vhad happened do your face, child?” the counterfeit aunt addressed me.

  “She has swamp pox,” Eunice said, before I could.

  “Did you just arrive today?” I looked from the well-polished matron and her husband to the lovely young maiden, who wore a light blue silk dress very much like one I had back home. My gaze lifted to her face, and with an intake of air, I remembered quite clearly where I knew her from.

  Merner.

  She’d sat at the table with the youth—with Fallon—when I’d mashed potatoes and basted chicken in Liisa’s home.

  “Yes, we jusd arrived doday,” the aunt said.

  I almost needed to sit down. Still in prison, Fallon hadn’t been able to warn them of my change in accent. They were basing their Blue Sky accents off mine from Merner. Heat flushed my face. I was ready to send them all to prison, but for Wron’s sake, I would ask questions first.

  I drew closer to the fire and, hands clasped in front of me, addressed the counterfeit princess. “What leg of the journey did you find most fascinating?”

  “Shepherd’s Field,” she replied.

  “Tell us your experiences.” Biting my lower lip, I tried to steady my emotion.

  “Ve vere . . . in dee carriage, of course, and oudside dee world vas more magical than I’d ever seen . . . id,” she said with a theatrical air.

  “Please, in more detail.” I gazed at the fire, smiling at her slip. Vs and Ws were the hardest.

  “Dee field vas golden.” She glanced at her aunt. “Golden like id had been kissed by dee sun and dee sky vas a wiolet blue and—”

  “A hypnodic dream qualidy came over all of us,” the aunt interrupted. “Bud ve’d been varned do nod ged oud of dee carriage.”

  “How many are in your entourage?”

  “Dvendy in all,” the aunt said.

  “And there were no casualties?” I asked.

  “No.” The uncle appeared bored. “I ordered dhem all to sday on the padh and do look sdraighd ahead.”

  Wron flicked a hand for me to continue.

  “Tell me about Swamp Valley,” I again addressed the princess.

  “Is dhad vhere ve sav dee alligador?” She looked at her aunt.

  “Such imagina-shun, Alia.” The uncle chuckled, shifting in his chair. “Ve draveled dhrough many moisdure-rich valleys, bud none bore such a name.”

  “If you traveled the route of Shepherd’s Field, you’d remember Swamp Valley,” I said. “There is a strange plant in the water that bites the horses.”

  Narrowing his eyes, the uncle glared at me.

  Had anyone else seen his menancing look? I sat down on the nearest ottoman and averted my attention to Wron.

  “Dee valleys vere nod marked vidh signage,” the aunt said. “Our animals vere ofden candankerous. Dhere are many legs of dee journey dhad vere enjoyable, and a few dhad vere not. But ve are nod here do dalk aboud our dravels. Ve are here do celebrade dee upcoming marriage of our niece Princess Alia do Prince Vron.”

  Eunice smiled and nodded my direction.

  It was purely entertainment for them.

  “Growing up in Blue Sky and being raised in the castle…” I watched the aunt’s eyes widen at my remarks, and her features froze. “I was in attendance at Princess Alia’s sixteenth birthday party.” My gaze moved to the counterfeit princess. “At the time, her hair was auburn, similar to my own. Her complexion is fair, though her eyes are hazel like yours. Tell me, Princess Alia, about your fabulous party?”

  “Are you insinuading dhad ve are lying?” The aunt’s neck rose out of her gown.

  “You jump do conclusions, my dear.” Her husband set his hand upon her knee. “Dhis creadure is merely insinuading dee obvious: Alia dyed her hair for dhis occasion, and dee color is capdivading.”

  “I do nod remember ever seeing you before.” The aunt’s face reddened as her voice rose. “And do insinuade dhad you addended my niece’s birdhday pardy!”

  Walter yawned. “Dory, is she or is she not Princess Alia?”

  “No, Your Highness.” I peered down at my hands.

  “Arrest them!” Walter’s voice resonated through the Great Hall. “And arrest the other gypsies that were with them.”

  “She’s the chicken farmer’s daughter!” The counterfeit pointed at me. “From Boxden.”

  “Shud up,” snapped the uncle, as guards appeared in every plausible exit.

  I took pity on the counterfeit princess. I’d had a hard time with the accent too.

  “Gypsies . . .” I whispered, shaking my head. Felix had been right.

  Only Eunice remained seated. “We’ve foreseen them spinning such a web. We’re so glad you’re here, Dory. You’re improving, dear. Whatever did you have for dinner?”

  I crossed the room to examine myself in the gilded mirror above the buffet. The pox were still there, but much of the swelling had receded. My cheekbones were now visible. Yet it was my eye area that pleased me most. My lids were no longer puffy.

  Had it been Rhoda’s soup, teamed with prayer?

  Prince Wron returned to the Great Hall and stood with his back to the fire.

  “What will happen to the gypsies now?” I asked.

  “They will spend one night in prison. In the morning, they will be escorted to the southern hills. They will be left without horses or food to make their way home. It will take them at least a week, if they survive.”

  “Did you see the uncle try to silence me with an evil look?”

  “He is a fool to think it is only you who spoiled their plans.” Wron looked to his mother. “Did you not think last week’s counterfeits the most convincing?”

  “Yes, I worry.” Eunice sighed. “What was the harm in looking for the mark?”

  Wron glanced to where I stood behind Walter’s vacant chair. “We don’t even want the mark to be mentioned, Mother.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. The real Alia will remember to tell us about it.” Eunice glanced uneasily at me.

  “The counterfeit was lovely.” I did my best to change the subject.

  “My country cannot afford for me to find counterfeit princesses lovely.” Wron tossed a small chunk of wood into the fire.

  Eunice pulled at her skein of yarn. “This marriage has been sixteen years in the making; it’s not like we didn’t give our enemies time to plan.”

  Needing to be alone with my fears, I strolled out onto the terrace and stared toward the end of the wooden bridge as it stretched across the river’s ravine. Had Father given our enemies too much time?

  Father in heaven, please watch out for my father and my fellow countrymen who accompany him. Keep them safe. Amen.

  ΦΦΦ

  Sleep evaded me for a long stretch, and then I sank deep into it. The counterfeit uncle stood near The Beast while I played. With a piercing look, he tried to silence me. I awakened to the sound of chains being dragged across slate. I sat straight up, staring into the darkness. The dragging-chains sounds continued.

  I sighed. It was only Rhoda’s snoring.

  Someone rapped softly upon our chamber door. The uncle! I scooted back against the headboard. “Who is it?” My voice cracked. The door creaked open, and I prepped myself to scream, hoping it would be loud enough to wake Rhoda.

  “It’s m
e.” The voice sounded almost like Wron’s. I pulled the covers snug under my armpits and held my breath.

  Candlestick in hand, Wron stopped near the foot of my bed. “Dory, I believe you were having a nightmare.”

  “I was. Did you see him give me an evil look?” I mumbled.

  “Who?”

  “The uncle,” I breathed.

  “Yes, I did. But he’s a fool to think that only you saw through them.”

  I nodded. “I thought Rhoda’s snoring sounded like chains being dragged across slate, and then I awoke.” Wide-eyed, I stared at him.

  “You were indeed having a nightmare.” He crouched near Rhoda’s bed and, using good lifting form, turned the giant to her side. “Do not worry about the uncle, Dory.” He returned to the foot of my bed. “Tomorrow they will be escorted to the hills, and you will never see him again.”

  His words soothed my tattered soul.

  “Now, go back to sleep.”

  I sank down and pulled the covers beneath my chin.

  “Good night, Dory.”

  “Good night, Prince—” The door closed firmly behind him.

  I crossed my arms behind my head and found myself smiling.

  “Good night, Prince.”

  Chapter Six

  Rhoda nudged me awake. “Do not look in the mirror today, Dory.” Stretching, she lumbered about the room.

  I laid in my soft comfy bed, and let Rhoda’s greeting stew in my heart. I said a two-word prayer: Please Lord.

  I remained in bed determined to hear from him. I closed my eyes, waiting.

  Dor-ee . . . A child’s voice called me back to the memory of Sadie as our wagon pulled away from their home. “Once…” the child had said. Then she’d pasted on a smile.

  Warm tears began my day.

  I pasted on a smile and went about my morning routine as I set the butter, maple syrup, and sliced fresh peaches on the dining table. Wron and his parents were already seated. “It’ll be just a moment; Rhoda’s baking her special pancakes,” I informed them.

  “They are now called Queen Cakes,” Eunice said, fluttering her fingers. “I’ve renamed them, as they are my favorites.”

  “They are Giant Oven Baked Pancakes,” Rhoda bellowed from the kitchen.

  “That is much too long of a name, Rhoda.” Eunice frowned.

  “Giant Cakes,” Rhoda said, carrying two plates into the dining area. “Be careful, they are hot.”

  I strode to the kitchen for the third cake. Gripping it by the hot pad, I returned and slid the billowy, giant oven cake in front of Wron.

  “It’s official, Mother, they’ve been renamed to Giant Cakes.” He glanced up at me. “Thank you, Dory.”

  “Play, Dory.” Eunice flitted a hand.

  I sat down at the piano. At first only Wron’s visit to my room last night came to mind. For a moment, the melody was beautiful beneath my fingers. Then the counterfeit uncle’s evil look crept into my memory and demanded escape.

  “Dory, are you well?” Eunice asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” I continued playing.

  “Your playing is quite moody this morning.”

  Eunice was not an easy woman to explain things to. “You know how you occasionally drop stitches, and have to unravel to make things right?” I glanced over my shoulder at her.

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “I’m unraveling.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time to unravel at The Bell Tower today.” Eunice sighed.

  “After I work for Peg today,” I said, over my shoulder, “may I go to Leeson and Elza’s for dinner?”

  “Yes,” Wron said.

  “And spend the night?” I persisted.

  “Yes,” Wron said.

  “Wron!” Eunice gasped. “Why in the world… why?”

  “You must be home tomorrow morning in time to serve breakfast,” Wron said.

  I cast a “Thank you” over my shoulder.

  “A whole day without music?” Eunice’s teacup clattered to her saucer.

  “You’ll survive,” Walter said, thrashing the newspaper closed.

  ΦΦΦ

  The Bell Tower was not the refuge I was looking for. In the breadth of half an hour, I’d gone from the royal pianist who must play for the Queen to the Swamp Woman at Peg’s—the creature to whom customers spewed obscenities when they’d drunk too much hope. To offset the humiliation, I remembered someone’s kind sentiments: I was also the pianist enjoyed by the commoners who would sit outside of Peg’s to hear me play.

  These were the people I would play for today. My people.

  We ended the evening at The Bell Tower with the reenactment of Long and Molly’s reunion. At the end, when we all stood onstage, bowing to the audience, Peg turned to me. “We’ve pert near bled this one dry,” she whispered. “Keep your ears open for the next.”

  “Tomorrow night will be our last reenactment,” Peg announced. Despite the audience’s nays and boos, Peg shook her head. “Tell your friends, if they want to see it one last time, tomorrow night is the night.”

  At dusk, when I exited The Bell Tower, Cragdon was there to walk me home.

  “Prince Wron did not think it wise for you to walk to Leeson’s unattended.”

  “I appreciate his concern,” I said. The memory of the mobbing was one I’d never shared yet with anyone outside of the Great Beast.

  “Each time I see you, you look better.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised by Cragdon’s compliment.

  “Today your cheeks are more defined than the last time I saw you.”

  I’d had Rhoda’s cabbage soup for breakfast; at work, one of the cooks had cut up an onion, dipped it into batter, and tossed it into the deep fat. It was the most delicious onion that I had ever eaten. I’d also had a mutton burger, which was not new for me.

  Halfway home, I stopped to pick wildflowers along the roadside. “Elza doesn’t know I’m coming. When I lived with them, I often used to pick her a handful.” I apologized for delaying the young guard, but he appeared happy enough to linger and chitchat with me.

  As I carried the bouquet, I found myself thinking about my future wedding day. Would Wron and I be married in the church or in the Great Hall? I didn’t know Yonder’s traditions.

  “After supper tonight, some other guards and their girlfriends are meeting at The Bell Tower. Peg allows us to meet there, for a fee of course.”

  I laughed. “Of course.”

  “Would you go with me, tonight?”

  The uneasy knot that had formed in my tummy had been for good reason. Cragdon was beginning to see past my pox. Or imagining he did.

  “I’m betrothed to another, but thank you,” I said, relieved that we were within a few strides of Leeson and Elza’s home.

  “Betrothed? Where is your betrothed from?” Cragdon tried to slow our pace, but I continued on ahead of him.

  I knocked on the smithy door, and while I waited, Cragdon stopped beside me in the doorway. “Please reconsider my invitation.”

  “No, thank you.”

  When the elderly couple opened the door, Elza could tell by my pigeon-toed stance that my spirits were low. “Come in, Dory.” She peered at Cragdon’s dusty boots. “Where is Prince Wron?”

  “He is hunting today and hopes to shoot a turkey for dinner. In his good graces, I am allowed to spend both dinner and the night with you.”

  Elza gripped her hands together, pleased.

  “Thank you for escorting me home.” I nodded to Cragdon and stepped inside the warm room.

  “I am to escort you in the morning,” Cragdon said as I began to swing the door closed.

  “Tell Prince Wron that Leeson will escort me in the morning. Thank you.” I firmly closed the door.

  “Is everything okay?” Leeson eyed the door.

  Elza giggled. “Dory has an admirer.”

  ΦΦΦ

  After eating onion soup and sourdough rolls, Elza and I sat in front of the fire and drank coffee, while Leeson gave
in to an early nap.

  “You are quied,” Elza whispered. “Is id because of Prince Wron?”

  “Yes.” I nodded with a heavy heart.

  “He’s waiding for Princess Alia, and you, Dory, dhreaden his heard.” Only the plump curve of Elza’s cheek was visible as she stared into her lap.

  “It’s so good to talk about it. I’ve felt so alone.” I reached over and patted her hand.

  In the morning, after eating another baked onion for breakfast, Leeson walked me home. I was not as comfortable as I’d once been in town, so I wore my hood to cover my hair and much of my face as we walked together through the streets. When we reached the gatehouse, I pressed my cheek to Leeson’s shoulder and hugged the dear man good-bye.

  “We will see you soon, dear one,” he said. I watched Leeson’s lean stature as he crossed the bridge.

  Plano, the young guard on duty, stood overhead cracking walnuts with his hands. “The Swamp Woman returns for piano duty,” I said, with a slight lift of my chin.

  With a perplexed scowl, the guard regarded me. “Let me see that you are the Swamp Woman.”

  Usually, Plano was not so gruff. I flipped back my hood and peered up at him. His brows gathered. “You do not look like the Swamp Woman.” He nudged his nearest companion, and together they laughed.

  “Who do I look like, then?” Wide-eyed, I thought to look at my hands. I held them out in front of me. They were spotless. My long, elegant, piano-playing hands were again lovely in appearance. Taking several strides away from Plano, I lifted my hands toward the blue sky and marveled at their restored appearance.

  “Thank you, God,” I whispered. “Thank you!”

  I yelled up at the men of the gatehouse, “It is I, the Swamp Woman. I am healed.” Smiling, I showed them my hands, which were spotless in appearance.

  They simply stared.

  “Cragdon escorted me to Leeson and Elza’s home last night, and now, Queen Eunice is waiting for me to play piano.”