Ghost of a Chance

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  “Good morning,” I replied to Marci.

  “I’d like to know the meaning of this,” Selma said, waving the paper at Lindy.

  “I thought I made myself plain. Too much starch in the petticoats,” Lindy replied.

  “I used the same amount that I’ve always used, and no one has ever complained,” Selma said.

  “Well, the petticoat this mornin’ could have stood guard out in the hall!” Lindy grinned at her own joke.

  “You see here,” Selma said. “I know my business. If you knew yours, you’d press things up properly and not blame your bad work on others.”

  “Bad work!” Lindy exclaimed. I could almost see the steam rising off her head.

  “Yes, bad work,” Selma said, warming to the subject. “Any Presser who knew her business would mind it and not mine!”

  I slid closer to the pressing room. I worked for Lindy, but I’d known Selma in the under-cellar. Each was convinced that nobody worked harder or did a better job than she did. I didn’t want to get dragged into the argument and asked to choose sides.

  Marci stepped between them.

  “Did either of you borrow my scissors?” Marci demanded.

  Both shook their heads, momentarily distracted.

  “Whyever would I do that?” Selma wondered aloud.

  “Several things have gone missing: thread, a pincushion, a pair of scissors,” Marci said. “I thought someone had borrowed them and meant to put them back.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Selma said, eyeing Lindy.

  Lindy’s eyes narrowed.

  I slipped my hand around the pressing room doorknob.

  “Darling,” Marci said, “did you borrow my scissors?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said.

  “My best shawl disappeared,” Selma said. “And I heard that the Head Footman can’t find his nail file.”

  “Really?” Marci said.

  I didn’t wait to hear about it. I ducked into the safety of the pressing room. A basket of clean linens sat waiting for me. I shifted my irons onto the stove and picked up a towel.

  There on the ironing board lay my aquamarine ribbon.

  I stared at it as if it were a poisonous snake. I stepped back, expecting that any minute some ghostly hand would reach out and—

  The door opened and Princess Mariposa swept in. The Princess wore her newest winter-weight gown. The wine-colored plaid was nothing like the bright, frothy gowns she’d worn all summer, but it was still beautiful. She toyed with the emerald pin at her collar.

  “I am going out,” Princess Mariposa said. “I’d like you to accompany me.”

  I was so surprised that all I could do was nod dumbly.

  “Come along, then,” she said, going back to the wardrobe hall.

  I returned the irons to their stand and eyed the ribbon. It was real silk, one of the Princess’s own that she’d given me. Spooky or not, it was still mine. I snatched it up, stuffed it in my apron pocket, and hurried after her.

  By this time, Selma had left and Marci was helping the Princess into a fur-trimmed cloak.

  “Ring for Francesca,” the Princess said to Lindy.

  Lindy hovered by the desk, still red-cheeked from her tussle with Selma. But she went to the thick tapestry bellpull hanging on the wall and tugged.

  I realized that my mouth hung open. I snapped it shut. I was going out with the Princess! Me! Darling Dimple, Under-presser, was accompanying Her Royal Highness!

  Francesca appeared in answer to the bell’s summons. Her black braids swung with her quick steps. She curtsied. Her smile suggested that she hoped I was in the sort of trouble that would cause me to be pushed off the tallest tower at daybreak.

  “Francesca,” the Princess said, “order my coach. See to it that Darling has her coat. Oh, and, Francesca, do not tell anyone that I am going.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Francesca smiled, but she threw me a suspicious look as she departed.

  I twisted my hands together. I was going out with the Princess! But where?

  Marci knelt down to help the Princess out of her slippers and into her boots.

  When Princess Mariposa was ready, she turned to me. “Have you ever visited the Royal Cemetery?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Then it’s about time you did,” she replied.

  I trotted along as Princess Mariposa hurried down the stairs to the main hall. She’d told Francesca to get my coat, but I didn’t have a coat. My old coat had become too tight and too short, and Jane had given it away. One of the Seamstresses meant to use it to make slippers. Once she cut away all the frayed and holey parts, there would be just enough fabric left over.

  I glanced up at the Princess. I’d seen her appear thoughtful, sad, wounded, and even—one time—horrified, but I’d never seen the expression she wore now. It was a look I’d once seen on Jane’s face—a sort of longing, as if there was something missing that she couldn’t find.

  What could Princess Mariposa long for that she couldn’t get? She had everything: gowns, jewels, a castle—a whole kingdom! If the Princess was searching for something, maybe she hadn’t looked in the right place yet.

  But whatever it was, I doubted she would find it in the Royal Cemetery.

  Francesca was waiting at the front doors with a coat over her arm when we arrived. If I hadn’t known that she’d taken a shortcut down the back stairs, I’d have been impressed. The Princess drifted off to gaze out the tall front windows as Francesca helped me into the coat, a dark silver wool with a velvet collar and cuffs. I buttoned the fat pewter buttons down the front and smoothed the soft cuffs. Francesca rolled her eyes. She was used to fine clothes, but I wasn’t. I sighed at the thought of returning the coat to her later, when I noticed the word Darling embroidered in silver thread on the cuff.

  This was my coat!

  “Mine,” I breathed.

  “Don’t be a ninny,” Francesca whispered.

  “Just in time, my dear,” called Lady Kaye, the Baroness Azure. She crossed the room, rapping the floor with her silver-capped cane. She had her other arm hooked through Prince Sterling’s, pulling him along beside her.

  Princess Mariposa arched an eyebrow at Francesca.

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” Francesca protested.

  “I knew you’d want to pay your respects, and I knew you’d want my company,” Lady Kaye said, releasing the Prince’s arm. “And dear Sterling offered to escort us both!”

  This smelled a little fishy to me, and from the wrinkling of the Princess’s nose, I could tell it smelled to her, too. But she smiled and thanked them for their thoughtfulness.

  “Let’s be off, then,” the Baroness commanded as if she were the Princess. The Guards hastened to throw open the doors for her as she sailed through, cane aloft.

  Princess Mariposa followed, biting her lower lip. Prince Sterling winked at me and offered me his arm. The Prince, whose full name was Humphrey Frederic Albert Sterling, insisted that he preferred Sterling. That was a good thing, since we’d all known him as that before we knew his full name. We were used to it. And I thought Sterling a much grander name than Humphrey.

  “Nice coat,” he said as we walked outdoors.

  “It’s new,” I told him, unable to resist.

  “Very becoming.”

  I beamed. I was glad he’d decided to stay for the winter—some business about waiting for a ship’s arrival. The other servants doubted this reason, but it sounded fine to me. I didn’t want him to go home to Tamzin.

  The coach gleamed with gold fittings. A team of great white horses stamped their hooves in the cold. The scent of snow filled the air. A rim of frost clung to the coach wheels—which stood as high as my shoulder! The Baroness and the Princess were already bundled up under a fur coverlet when a Footman helped me climb the steps and slip inside the coach. I settled on a velvet-upholstered seat and pressed my nose to the frosty little window at my side. The curve in the glass distorted my view so that now the front of the cast
le stretched up into the sky like a glistening white candle.

  The seat bounced slightly as Prince Sterling settled in beside me. The Footman tucked a fur coverlet around us. Then he saluted and snapped the coach door shut. A whip cracked above and we were off. The clop-clop of the horses’ hooves on the stone pavement echoed in the crisp air. Excitement buzzed in my veins. I was riding in a coach pulled by six white horses, and anything could happen. Why, any minute now they might leap off the pavement and fly through the pale sky, up, up—

  “Now, my dear, you mustn’t be cross with me. I do like a nice stroll through the Royal Cemetery. So many old friends to visit there,” Lady Kaye said in a voice intended to sound soothing. “Including your dear, dear parents.”

  Princess Mariposa’s breath stirred the fur around her hood. “I understand, but I prefer to visit my parents’ graves alone and—”

  “Then why did you bring Darling along?” Lady Kaye interrupted.

  Startled, the Princess turned to her.

  “Because I’m sure she’d like to visit her parents’ graves.”

  Lady Kaye pinked slightly at this and raised an eyebrow. A long silence followed as the two women, the powerful Baroness and her ruler, stared each other down. I sucked in my breath, trying to predict who would blink first.

  “Are your parents buried in the Royal Cemetery?” Prince Sterling asked.

  “I don’t know. My father was lost at sea,” I began. “Captain James Fortune—”

  “That’s a good name. Why don’t you use it?” Prince Sterling asked.

  I hadn’t thought about it before. Jane had slapped the name Dimple on me the day I was born. It had been mine for so long that it felt cozy, like a pair of warm socks. But Fortune was my real last name.

  “I guess I should,” I said, trying to imagine the name Darling Fortune tripping off my tongue.

  “Men lost at sea aren’t buried in cemeteries,” Lady Kaye said.

  “But my mother could be,” I said. “She was an Under-chopper.”

  Lady Kaye blinked at that.

  “Few servants are buried in the Royal Cemetery,” she admonished me. “Who was your mother?”

  “Emily Wray, um, Fortune. Emily Wray Fortune,” I replied.

  “Her mother was a Wray?” Lady Kaye spoke as if this were nonsense.

  “According to Marci,” Princess Mariposa said.

  I unbuttoned my top coat button and pulled my locket out for her to see.

  The Baroness leaned forward and stared.

  “I don’t believe it!” she announced.

  “Well, it appears she was,” Princess Mariposa said, hiding her smile behind her glove. “All the Wrays are buried in the Royal Cemetery,” she said to me. “I’ll instruct the Warden to help you locate them.”

  Lady Kaye settled back into the seat cushions with a sniff.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” I replied.

  We’d left the castle grounds behind and were dashing down the mountain road to the city. A fairyland of silver-and-white-laced trees danced past. The sound of adult talk blended in with the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. I sank into a reverie of fairies and frost minions battling it out over who would rule the forest. Before I knew it, the forest had melted into farms and households and then into the city itself.

  I’d been to the city twice, but not since Jane’s eyesight had grown so bad. Jane had raised me; I had followed her around the castle kitchens until she’d become too nearsighted to work as an Under-slicer. Now she worked with the Pickers. I still saw her regularly, but I had my own job.

  The city was even bigger and more exciting than I remembered. Houses, parks, tree-lined avenues, shops and buildings, and more shops and houses whirled past in wavy lines through the window. People on doorsteps waved as the coach passed by.

  I pressed my nose against the glass so that they could better see me, Darling Dimp—Fortune, riding in the royal carriage. Just like a real princess. I smoothed the skirt of my brand-new coat and imagined it was the finest gown ever sewn.

  “You’re marking up the glass,” Prince Sterling whispered.

  I jerked back from the window as we passed under a heavy wrought-iron arch and into the Royal Cemetery. I rubbed at the glass with my coat sleeve while the coach rounded to a stop. The Footman helped us out, starting with the Princess. I stared all around, blinking in the sudden sunshine.

  The Royal Cemetery was a park! Frost-trimmed lawns stair-stepped up a hill covered in trees and hedges and skirted by little stone paths. Pretty statues and empty flower boxes dotted the landscape. Squinting in surprise, I noticed the tidy graves tucked in among it all, spoiling the effect.

  A short, stout, white-whiskered man dressed in a heavy canvas apron over a black overcoat came jogging toward us, pulling off a pair of gardening gloves. His feet were so small that his whole body jiggled with each step.

  “Good day! Good day!” he cried. “Welcome! Beautiful day, Your Highness, yes indeed! A beautiful day to visit this place of peace.” He bowed so low that he wobbled on his tiny feet.

  I tensed, worried that he’d fall over. The Princess reached out as if she had the same concern.

  “Good morning, Warden Graves,” Princess Mariposa said, hand in midair.

  I giggled; Prince Sterling nudged me. I glanced up, expecting to be scolded, but he grinned. His warm brown eyes flashed.

  “Interesting name,” he whispered.

  I nodded.

  At that moment, the Warden’s head popped up. Spying the Princess’s outstretched hand, he beamed. He grabbed the hand and kissed her glove with a loud smack.

  “At your service!” Warden Graves said. “Shall I escort you to the Royal Tomb?”

  Princess Mariposa shook her head. “I prefer to go alone.”

  Warden Graves’s smile faded. “Of course,” he said, nodding. He tucked his gloves under his arm and fished in the pockets of his overcoat. “I have the keys. I do.” His fist came out of his pocket with a pop. A set of gold keys dangled from his fingers. He laid them in the Princess’s hands gently, as if they were made of glass. “Sound the gong if you require anything, Your Majesty, and I shall come at once.”

  “Thank you,” she replied with a sad smile, and set off, vanishing into the shrubbery beyond. She’d forgotten all about me.

  I twisted one of the fat buttons on my coat, wondering what I should do.

  The Baroness tapped her cane on the turf. “There’s nothing worse than wallowing,” she said.

  “Except impatience,” Prince Sterling said under his breath.

  “Or mumbling,” she snapped.

  The Warden stepped from foot to foot as if unsure of his balance. “Perhaps, Your Grace, I could offer myself as an escort?”

  Lady Kaye looked down her long nose at the little man. “Prince Sterling is my escort,” she replied, as if this were obvious.

  “Thank you, Warden, for your offer,” Prince Sterling said, squeezing my shoulder. “This young lady would like to make use of it.”

  The Prince winked at me as he took Lady Kaye’s arm and they ambled off.

  That left me, Darling Fortune, all alone in the cemetery with Warden Graves. My heart pounded. I’d never been to a cemetery before, and the thought of all those dead folks left me shaky. The sun slid behind a cloud. Gray shadows hovered over the stark, leafless trees and stone paths. The wind moaned. An icy chill stung my cheeks. I bit my lip; was that a ghost lurking behind that pillar?

  “Of what service may I be?” the Warden asked.

  I found myself looking into his twinkling blue eyes. He smiled as if he couldn’t wait to show off his cemetery to someone. I cleared my throat. Maybe this was my chance to learn something about my mother.

  “I think my mother might be buried here. Her name was Emily Wray Fortune.”

  “Emily Wray! Of course. I remember her. Pretty girl,” he said, rocking on his heels. “Terrible tragedy, that. She died so young.”

  “Was she pretty?” I asked, surprised. />
  “Very pretty. Much like you—fair, with beautiful blond hair.”

  “Oh.”

  “The Wrays are in the older section,” Warden Graves said, and, taking my elbow, led me down a broad path.

  We walked between carved tombstones that proclaimed this or that beloved person was buried there. The Warden pointed out unusual mausoleums and told me entertaining facts about the occupants. The dear departed, he called them, as if he’d known them all personally. Maybe he had; he looked old enough to me.

  Gradually, the stones grew smaller and closer together until we passed through a thicket of tombstones lined up like soldiers on parade. Here, uneven tiles paved the walkway. Great oaks towered overhead, casting long, dark shadows. Gravestones gleamed from between their roots like broken teeth.

  A sharp wind tugged at my coat. I kept a tight grip on the Warden’s arm; this was one place I did not want to get lost.

  The path ended at a black gate with the name Wray curled in black metal letters over the top. Two black angels stood guard on either side, holding torches aloft. Their marble faces glowered at me. The Wrays had their own private little cemetery. And from the look of their guardian angels, they didn’t want anyone going in there.

  “Here we are! Of course, long ago the torches would have been lit anytime the family visited….” The Warden gave an embarrassed chuckle.

  “Is it locked?” I whispered, not at all sure I wanted the gate opened.

  “Locked?” The Warden coughed. “I don’t think so. It never used to be.”

  He walked over to the gate and gave it a push. It groaned but refused to budge. The Warden yanked on his gloves, took hold of the gate with both hands, and shoved. The hinges shrieked like a scalded kitchen maid as the gate lunged open. The Warden tumbled forward, catching himself to avoid toppling into the shadowy space beyond. He steadied himself and favored me with an unconvincing smile.

  “Not locked,” he said. “See.”

  I peered inside. Frost iced the ground and the trees with a ghostly glaze. Dead leaves brooded in clumps between the stones. Shadowy statues lurked in the distance. Mist rolled down the frosted path, as if something suddenly awakened by the screech of the gate’s opening was coming to investigate. I took a step backward.