by Laura Powell
The Grand Duchess looked at the children and frowned. It was a grizzled gardener, who was weeding a flower bed beside them, who answered.
‘They make a game of dragon-taming.’ He shook his head. ‘You’d think after recent happenings they’d have more care, but children can be heartless creatures.’
‘Recent happenings?’ the Grand Duchess asked sharply. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
He looked surprised at the question. ‘Why, the little ones who were taken, missy, out on the hills. And now they say another flock of sheep has been savaged too.’
The Grand Duchess gasped and put her hand to her mouth. She looked ready to faint. Pattern drew her away before the gardener could offer his assistance, and helped her mistress sit down on the rim of a raised pool. ‘The children . . . the children . . .’ she kept whispering.
‘Such accidents are cruelly shocking,’ Pattern soothed. ‘I myself felt quite unwell when I first heard. But you must recollect—’
‘Wait. You knew of this?’
‘The first time I went into town, people were talking of it.’
The Grand Duchess turned even paler. ‘Tell me everything. At once. I command you!’
Pattern described what she had seen and heard. The Grand Duchess clenched her fists. Her face was so white and stretched that her cheekbones looked sharp enough to poke out from the skin. ‘It is my uncle. I know it. He is even more cunning and ruthless than I dreamed.’
‘Your uncle? How can he be involved?’
‘He is abducting children, or worse, and setting it up in such a way that the people will believe the dragon has returned.’
Pattern felt as if she had missed a step on the stairs.
‘Dragon? Forgive me: I do not understand.’
‘The creature Prince Elffin brought with him from Wales,’ the Grand Duchess said irritably. ‘Elffin’s Bane. It is as the children were playing – the dragon comes out of its lair and attacks the country, until a princess is sacrificed to it. That is my uncle’s plan, don’t you see? He will arrange for more people to disappear, more crops to be wrecked and livestock taken, until the people demand my death to placate the monster. Just as they did to my poor forebears in the Hall of Maidens.’
Pattern’s head whirled. ‘But . . . your uncle cannot hope to deceive the people this way. No reasonable person would ever believe such a thing.’
‘And why not?’ the Grand Duchess asked sharply.
‘Because . . . surely . . . I mean to say . . . we live in the Modern Age.’ Until that moment, Pattern had never felt more of an Englishwoman, from the roots of her sensible hair to the toes of her sensible boots.
‘What of my honoured ancestors, the sacrificial maidens of times past? How do you explain their fate?’
‘Well, I do not know the particulars of their case,’ Pattern said, as calmly as she was able, ‘but in earlier times, people did not enjoy the scientific understanding that we have now. They relied on strange fancies to explain the world. Men of learning have since made studies of natural phenomena, and so put an end to many superstitions.’ (Not all superstitions, of course. There was the market stall with its magical amulets, and Dilys’s stories of the woman whose voice turned to slime, and the baby made of leaves. But now was hardly the time to mention it.) Pattern spoke more firmly still: ‘This fear of dragons is surely born of the same ignorance that condemned so-called witches in times past. I am sure the good folk of Elffinberg will not stand for the Prince to fool them. They cannot be so credulous.’
The Grand Duchess looked at her inscrutably.
‘You don’t believe me. I think you must be in league with my uncle after all.’
‘High— Eleri! No indeed—’
‘Yes. I was a fool to trust you. All this time, you were merely pretending to dislike him and be a friend to me. Now you try to trick me into mistrusting my own mind, when I finally see the truth of his evil scheme.’ Her voice rose, breathlessly. ‘Did Prince Leopold tell you to lure me out here, away from the protection of the castle? Because if I am discovered here – alone – defenceless – the people may try and kill me on the monster’s behalf. I have no one to defend me – no one to listen to me – I will never be safe . . .’
All around, the gardens basked in the sun. Pigeons cooed, the children laughed at their game.
‘You are safe with me, I promise you.’ Pattern wanted to say, Calm down, you are hysterical; you are making a spectacle of yourself. But it was not her place. Even so, she reached out and tried to take the Grand Duchess’s hand.
‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ hissed the Grand Duchess. ‘Or talk to me, or even look at me, ever again. You are dismissed.’
Then she snatched the keys from Pattern’s basket, and ran off as if a whole herd of dragons were after her.
CHAPTER TEN
The persecutions and the ridicule of the world ought not to make us swerve a jot from truth and righteousness.
J. Bulcock, The Duties of a Lady’s Maid
For a while, Pattern lacked the will to stir herself. She made no attempt to go after her mistress. Instead, she sat on the rim of the pool, face tilted towards the sun, and watched the children at their game. The little girl who played the Princess still kept her pose of martyrdom. Pattern found she did not like to see her wait so patiently, eyes glazed and hands clasped, as the other urchins romped around.
It was possible the Grand Duchess would relent. It was probable, however, that she would not, and Pattern’s short-lived career as a lady’s maid was already over. She wondered how long it would be before Mrs Minchin learned of the fall of her star pupil. How the other girls at the Academy would crow if they could see her now! How Pol would sneer, and Sue would smirk!
She touched the pearl friendship brooch, and blushed at her own delusions. It had only ever been a vain fantasy that a servant girl could be friends with a princess. No, she must go back to always holding her tongue and hiding her thoughts and creeping about as meekly as a mouse. If she had only known her place, and kept to it, all this misery could have been avoided. She had only herself to blame.
A cold heaviness settled on Pattern’s insides as she began to wonder how she was to get back to England. She had scarcely any money and no connections, and if forced to seek alternative employment in Elffinberg, she would have no references either. She had not even officially graduated from Mrs Minchin’s Academy.
Yet it did not seem as dreadful as it might once have done to leave the Duchy in disgrace. Pleasant as the country was, one did not have to believe in fairy tales to sense there was also something crooked at its heart.
As Pattern made her way back through the wood, she walked in parallel to the gilded carriages clattering up the avenue. Those guests who would be spending the night had arrived some hours earlier and were dressing in their rooms. Soon all would gather to drink champagne on the terrace, with Prince Leopold as their host. The Grand Duchess had said she would not appear until the last possible moment, just before dinner was served.
Pattern was too proud to beg her way back into favour. Still, she felt she owed it to herself, as well as the Grand Duchess, to present herself for duty one final time. But when she made her way to the door of the royal apartment, a grinning page-boy informed her that Her Highness did not require her services. Now – or ever.
So that was that. She must inform the housekeeper of the situation, collect her wages and pack her things. She would allow herself only one indulgence: to look her last on the banqueting hall, where footmen were putting the finishing touches to the table. On damask linen tablecloths, the dazzling silver-gilt Grand Service was laid out in all its magnificence, burnished by candlelight. Lavish displays of Elffish porcelain lined the side tables; the Grand Duchess’s place was flanked by candelabra four feet tall. Yet Pattern envied none of it. She would not regret it.
She turned and moved on, curiously light at heart.
‘Miss. Please, miss . . .’
A soot-smudged maid was hasteni
ng towards her, holding out a handful of hairpins.
‘Can you give these to the Countess of Brecon-Baden’s woman? She said she needed them most pressingly, but we are all rushed off our feet, and there is already such a rumpus . . .’
She thrust the hairpins into Pattern’s hands and was gone.
Pattern pursed her lips. She did not know the Countess or her maid, or where in the warren of guest rooms they might be staying, so she would have to find someone who did. Setting off on this final errand, she found her indignation grew. She was not, after all, entirely accepting of her fate. Why should she take the blame? She had been whisked away from everything she was familiar with and set down in an inhospitable foreign land, whose noodle-brained Head of State had as good as accused her of treason. All the while, she had been a good and faithful servant. She did not deserve such treatment. Nobody did. It was an injustice! An insult! An outrage!
As her thoughts ran on, she hardly noticed she was walking through the castle in plain sight, as if she had every right to stride through its halls, rather than creep along its rat-runs.
Turning a corner, she spied the housemaid, Dilys, in conference with one of the evening’s guests. He was a red-faced gentleman in a military uniform stuck all over with medals. His teeth were almost as shiny-yellow as his ornaments, and he flashed them in a near-continuous grin. Dilys, however, did not seem entirely comfortable. She kept her eyes down and held her body stiff.
Pattern continued towards them, but the light was dim and the carpet was soft, and they did not seem aware of her approach. The gentleman suddenly lunged forward, and tried to pull Dilys into an embrace. There was a moment of struggle, and an angry exclamation from Dilys. She wrested herself free and slapped the gentleman across the face.
Pattern was rooted to where she stood. The gentleman was redder than ever. His lips spluttered and his eyes bulged. But worse was to come, for strolling towards them from the other direction was Prince Leopold. ‘Hallo, von Wynstein!’ He took in the scene, and his twinkling smile grew fixed. ‘Hey now, hey now, what’s the to-do?’
Von Wynstein’s splutters increased. ‘I’ve never been so insulted in my life, that’s what. Insulted and abused. Such gross impertinence.’ He glared at Dilys, who was wan and trembling. ‘I am quite overcome.’
‘My dear fellow! I am appalled – outraged – mortified!’ Indeed, the Prince’s face was a picture of all these things. ‘I can assure you the matter will be dealt with. Swiftly and severely, no less! I will give it my personal attention, I assure you. In the meantime, let us turn our attention to happier pursuits. The night is young, old friend, and many pleasures beckon.’
The Prince ushered his guest through the doors at the end of the hall. He paused a moment, then returned to where Dilys was standing, her head bowed. His mouth was a thin line.
‘Pack your bags and go.’
Dilys opened her mouth, but no words came. All the snap had gone out of her. Her shoulders slumped.
It was then Pattern stepped out of the shadows. ‘Highness, if I might speak to you a moment . . . ?’
Irritation twitched through the Prince’s person. However, he looked at her again, and managed an affable smile. ‘Aha! It’s the little maid who is tending to my niece. What can I do for you, child?’
‘Please, Your Highness, Dilys is a very modest, respectable girl. I was witness to her encounter with the gentleman, and I can testify that she did nothing wrong. I am afraid . . . that is, I fear the gentleman’s attentions to her were not as they should have been.’
‘Is that so? Hm. You put me in a delicate situation, child. Delicate and difficult! The gentleman in question is a dear friend of mine.’
‘In the servants’ hall, Highness, there is much talk of what a kind and liberal master you are. You have a great many friends of rank, but I think you enjoy the love of the common people too. I am sure you would not like to lose it.’
Despite the steadiness of her voice, her palms were sweating. She had never dreamed she could be so bold. But then she had already lost her position. She only sought to keep Dilys from losing hers.
Prince Leopold stared long and hard. ‘You think I don’t know how to keep the loyalty of the people?’ This time his eyes were not so merry, and his smile not quite so twinkling.
‘You should remember that you are Elffish born, if not raised. I expect loyalty from you also.’
‘Oh yes, Your Highness.’ Pattern’s face was bland as a bowl of milk. ‘The Grand Duchess will always be able to trust in me. I can promise you that.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
According to the confidence which is reposed in you, it is probable that you may be entrusted with secrets of various kinds . . . it is of the utmost consequence to your character that they may be kept inviolable.
J. Bulcock, The Duties of a Lady’s Maid
Twisting about on her lumpy mattress, Pattern could not account for why she had meddled in matters that did not concern her, on behalf of people who wished her gone. Since she had been unable to find Mrs Parry, she did not even know whether she would be granted a few days’ grace, or if she would be booted out of the castle at first light. Eventually she fell into a fitful doze. She dreamed of roads unfurling through a tangled wood, of gingerbread houses and china dolls with knives for teeth. The teeth made a grinding sound.
The grinding increased. It was her doorknob, turning.
‘Who’s there?’ she called out, sitting up in bed.
Heavy breathing. Creaking floorboards; a spill of candlelight. A hooded figure slipped through the door.
Pattern prepared to brandish her water jug . . .
‘Shh! It’s me!’
‘Your Highness?’ The thumping of Pattern’s heart slowed. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’
‘Dilys told me how you stood firm against Prince Leopold. You saved her position, and avowed your loyalty to me. Me! Who abused and insulted you, and would have turned you out of the door! I am so ashamed, Pattern. I have been an unworthy monarch and an even worse friend. Can you forgive me?’
Under the cloak, the Grand Duchess was still wearing her evening finery. Candlelight gleamed on the rich scarlet folds of her gown, and caught at the rope of pearls and diamonds around her neck. But the curls were already coming out of her hair, her face was as pinched and shadowed at is had ever been, and the grandeur of her costume looked absurd for so young a girl. A lonely little girl, frightened of monsters under the bed . . . Pattern felt old beyond her years. Old and tired. She saw how life was always going to be: the Grand Duchess all fury one moment and sweetness the next, with Pattern standing by to humour and soothe, mending hurts as expertly as she darned stockings . . . Was this what friendship meant?
‘Forgive me. Please,’ said the Grand Duchess again, and put her cold hand on Pattern’s.
Pattern tried to smile. ‘Yes, Your Highness. As you wish.’
‘You must call me Eleri – now and for always. I wish us to be true friends, and that means we must be equals.’
‘I am not sure that’s possible,’ Pattern said, as gently as she was able. ‘Society and culture and custom forbid it. My position—’
‘Hang your position! It’s your character I care for. I see your true value, and I hope you will come to know mine, though I fear there’s much that needs improving. This friendship business is harder work that I realized. But we will learn how to do it together, and practise as we go. That is . . . if you are willing to try?’
Pattern’s smile came more easily this time. ‘I am not afraid of hard work.’
‘No, you must not be afraid.’ The Grand Duchess sat on the bed and gnawed her lip. Her eyes had a hectic glitter. ‘I know you to be clever and good; I hope you are brave also. It may be that I am losing my mind. But I plan to show you my secret, so that you will understand why. You must trust me, and stay strong. Can you do that?’
Pattern nodded. Exciting and alarming things were about to happen, and to her surprise, she wanted to be part of
it.
‘Then put on your boots and follow me. Quickly now!’
Pattern dressed hurriedly. The clock on her desk showed it to be approaching three o’clock as the two girls crept out of the room. The Grand Duchess – or Eleri, as Pattern must try to think of her – held up her candle, illuminating the row of little wooden doors repeating down the length of the attic hallway. ‘I thought I should never find my way up here,’ she whispered. ‘Yours was the third door I tried, but the other inmates were snoring so soundly I should think they’d sleep through an earthquake.’
The immensity of the castle meant that much of it lay deserted even in the busiest hours of the day. There were not footmen enough to be stationed at half the doors, and not courtiers enough to grace more than a handful of reception rooms. At this time of night, it was easy to believe they were the only creatures to inhabit the place.
Pattern was not entirely surprised to find their destination was the library. Even though no one was likely to be browsing the shelves at this hour, Eleri insisted they check every corner before proceeding to the hidden door that led to the Old Castle. But instead of climbing the stairs up to the Hall of Maidens, Eleri turned the other way. It turned out the stairs went further down. They became yet steeper, taking them deep under the castle, below even the cellars. There was another ancient door at the bottom, to which Eleri applied a little gold key. It led to a small chamber furnished as a chapel, with a plain stone altar and a very worn Celtic cross.
The walls were covered with the remains of blotched and faded frescoes. They depicted the adventures of a man with red hair and a yellow crown; Prince Elffin, Pattern presumed. Here he was, climbing a hill . . . sailing through a storm . . . leading an army . . . addressing a crowd. Several of the frescoes looked to have been deliberately scratched out; others were entirely baffling. Pattern peered at one that showed the Prince standing before the rising sun with his arms uplifted. The next depicted him kneeling by a fire, with a snake, a bell, a knife and several other strange objects around him.
