Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
For Audrey, with much love from Gran
V. F.
For James, with all my love
M.K.
Chapter One
BONG! BONG! BONG! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! The clock in Grating Public Library struck nine, and Miss Denzil clapped her hands. “At last! Today’s the day!” She smiled at the date on the calendar. Not only was it underlined, it was also ringed in red, and had a wobbly gold star attached by a pin. “Today the princesses are coming to OUR library.”
Lionel Longbeard, an elderly dwarf and the head librarian, shook his head. “Don’t get your hopes up, Miss Denzil. They’re only coming because their governess thinks it’s a good idea.”
Miss Denzil stared at him. “But Mr Longbeard! Our library is wonderful!”
“Princesses don’t read,” Lionel Longbeard told her. “They think it’s beneath them. They’ll be in and out in a couple of minutes … just you wait and see!”
Miss Denzil, who had only recently started working at the library, was shocked. “Really? Oh, dearie, dearie me. And we’re not allowed to speak to them?”
“Most definitely not.” Lionel Longbeard pointed to an official-looking document on his desk. It was headed “Required Behaviour During Visits From Royalty” and was written in purple ink. The opening line read, “Under NO circumstances is a member of the public permitted to address a member of the Royal Family”, and was followed by a long paragraph giving details of the dungeon that had been set aside for anyone foolish enough to make a chatty remark.
Miss Denzil read the warning in silence. “Goodness!” she said as she finished. “Not very friendly, are they?”
“They don’t need to be friendly,” the librarian told her. “They’re the Royal Family.”
“Well, I must admit I’m disappointed.” Miss Denzil removed the gold star from the calendar. “How many princesses are coming?”
Lionel Longbeard inspected a second document. “Seven.”
“Are they pretty?” Miss Denzil asked. “Oh, I do hope they are!”
The dwarf shrugged. “They giggle a lot.”
The assistant librarian sighed and took herself off to dust a row of books.
When the princesses arrived, they were under the care of a well-upholstered governess. She marched into the library and they followed, sniggering.
“What a lot of books!” The princess who had spoken sounded disapproving. “Couldn’t they think of something more interesting to put on the shelves?”
“Like pretty hats,” a taller princess suggested. “Or handbags!”
“Dear girl, you have SUCH sweet ideas!” The governess beamed at her charge.
“This is a dreadfully boring place.” A third princess was pouting. “Do let’s go, Miss Beef.”
There was a chorus of agreement. “Boring! SO boring!”
“Of course, my dears.” The governess curtsied and headed for the door. Six of the princesses swept after her, noses in the air.
One princess was left: the youngest. She came hurrying towards Lionel and Miss Denzil. “I’m so sorry about my sisters – I absolutely LOVE your library! Please tell me, where are the storybooks? And what are those big old books over there? Can anyone borrow books?” And then, leaning over the librarian’s desk, her eyes wide and hopeful, she whispered, “Are there any books that tell you how to DO things? Like … like cooking?”
“Peony!” The governess was standing in the doorway, her sharp voice echoing round the room. “Princess Peony? I trust you are NOT asking questions!”
“No, Miss Beef.” The princess jumped back, smoothing her dress. “I’m just coming, Miss Beef.”
She ran towards the door where the governess was tapping her foot in an irritated manner … and Lionel Longbeard lost his head. Ignoring all the instructions on Required Behaviour, he called after her, “Yes! Yes, Princess – of course there are! LOTS of books!”
The princess’s eyes lit up – and she was gone.
The librarian sank back in his chair. His heart was beating fast, and he wondered what on earth could have made him behave in such a very foolish way.
“That was really brave,” Miss Denzil said admiringly, before adding, “But, oh! Mr Longbeard! Wasn’t it terribly, terribly dangerous?”
Miss Denzil was right. Miss Beef was only too delighted to report Lionel Longbeard’s shocking behaviour to the king. The king was outraged and, unknown to his daughter, gave his orders. The soldiers arrived to arrest the librarian the same afternoon; when a small and trembling pageboy came tiptoeing into the library late that evening and quavered, “Please … Princess Peony wants to borrow a book about cooking,” there was only a weeping Miss Denzil to answer his request.
The book, A Thousand Simple Recipes for Pies, Puddings and Pastries, was not returned.
Chapter Two
THE YEARS ROLLED BY. Princess Peony and her six sisters grew older and taller, and some grew more beautiful and others did not, which made them very spiteful.
Peony wasn’t bothered about such things. Her sisters took no notice of her; she was the youngest, after all, and she had her library book for company. She spent her spare time in the palace kitchen trying different recipes for pies, puddings and pastries, until one day her father, making an unexpected visit to check on his cook, found her wearing an apron and covered in flour.
“When will you learn to behave like a princess?” he roared. “The kitchen is for servants!”
“But I like cooking,” Peony said. “And actually, Father, it was me who made the cherry pie for your birthday lunch. You said it was absolutely delicious and the best cherry pie you’d ever eaten.” She giggled. “You gave Cook a silver sixpence. She wanted to give it to me, but I said she could keep it.”
Her father went purple with rage. “YOU? You’ve been making PIES?”
Peony nodded. “Cherry pies are my best. It’s lucky we’ve got an orchard with such nice cherries. My pastries aren’t so successful, but Geoffrey says I’ll get better with practice.”
“Geoffrey? Prince Geoffrey of Newbiggin?” A faint hope could be heard in the king’s voice.
“No, Father! Goodness – he couldn’t tell a grape from a gooseberry. Geoffrey the cook’s boy, of course.”
For a long moment King Thoroughgood was speechless. It was bad enough that his daughter had been spending time in the kitchen, but to be on friendly terms with a cook’s boy … that was too much. Much too much. Geoffrey and the cook were only saved from instant dismissal by Peony’s promise that she would never, ever set foot in the palace kitchen again.
From then on all Princess Peony could do was wander round the palace grounds, or sit in the musicians’ gallery above the royal banqueting hall watching the kitchen staff bringing pies, puddings and pastries to the royal table. She noticed that there were never any cherry pies, and she sighed. Father must have forbidden them, she thought. And I know they’re his favourite! But I suppose they’d remind him of me.
As the months went on, Peony found it too depressing to sit in the gallery. She made a chart for herself, and worked out exactly how many hours it was until her thirteenth birthd
ay. Every time she crossed off another twenty-four hours, her spirits lifted a little. When the princesses reached thirteen years of age they were allowed to leave the palace on Monday afternoons for educational purposes … and Princess Peony had a very clear idea about what might constitute an educational purpose. She was going to go back to the library, and she was going to borrow another book.
Chapter Three
NOT LONG BEFORE Peony’s thirteenth birthday there was a great event. A new royal baby was born – and it was a boy. King Thoroughgood and Queen Dilys were ecstatic. Barrels of weak ginger ale were sent to every village and posters were pinned on trees, inviting everyone to rejoice with the Royal Family.
The Royal Christening was to be a truly glittering party.
“We will invite all the most important people in the kingdom and beyond,” the king said.
“And the Fairy Godmothers,” said the queen. “I believe they bring wonderful gifts.”
The king looked doubtful. “What kind of gifts?”
“The usual kind of fairy gifts, dear.” The queen waved a hand. “A splendid singing voice, or a never-ending supply of jokes, or a crock of gold that never runs out.”
“That could be useful,” the king agreed, “although I’m not so sure about the singing. And certainly not the jokes. I can’t stand jokes. Had a dreadful fellow here once – wanted to be a jester, or some such thing. Had to get rid of him, of course. Gold, on the other hand, is always acceptable. Very well then – we’ll invite the Fairy Godmothers. How many are there?”
“Three, I believe.” Queen Dilys frowned. “And there’s a rather doubtful sort of person who lives in Scrabster’s Hump. She’s called the Hag.”
It was King Thoroughgood’s turn to frown. “We don’t want anyone like that. Make sure she’s not invited. We only want guests of quality, Dilys. And wealth, of course. I’ll be delighted to welcome the important, the grand and the wealthy.”
“And I’m sure they’ll be delighted to come, dear,” the queen said soothingly.
Peony’s six older sisters were less than delighted.
“What about us?” Azabelle demanded.
“We don’t ever get a party!” said Bettina.
“Will we have new dresses?” Clothilde wanted to know.
“I’ll only kiss that baby if Mother buys me new shoes.” Donnetta folded her arms.
Emmadine scowled. “Well, I want a new dress and new shoes before I kiss ANYTHING!”
Fabrizia ran to ask her mother and came back beaming. “We’re to have new dresses AND new shoes,” she reported. “And Mother says lots of handsome princes have been invited to the christening breakfast.”
This news cheered the princesses, and it was decided that the new baby wasn’t altogether a bad idea.
“Are we allowed to cuddle him?” Peony asked.
Azabelle snorted. “Cuddle him? Why would he want to be cuddled by you?”
“I like babies,” Peony said. “And he is our little brother.”
“And WE’RE his big sisters.” Bettina glared at Peony. “We get to cuddle him first. You’ll have to wait your turn; you’ll be last.”
But the older sisters never asked to cuddle the little prince. Peony tiptoed up to the royal nursery, but Miss Beef was on guard and would only allow her the merest peek at the baby. Peony just had time to see that he had flaming red hair and a button nose, and she sighed as she walked back to her room.
“I’d love to sing him songs. And tell him stories. If I could ever get back to that library I could borrow a book on knitting, and I could knit him the dearest little green jacket…”
But the baby’s nurse, instructed by Miss Beef, declared he needed Peace and Quiet and No Germs until after he was christened. The next time Peony came tiptoeing to the door she was told to go away, and not to come bothering everyone again. Disappointed, she walked down to the orchard and collected several handfuls of cherries before wandering back to sit on the palace steps. There, as she sat eating her cherries, she was joined by the palace cat. The cat sat down beside her, purring.
“Hello, puss,” Peony said. “I haven’t seen you for quite a while.”
The cat’s purr grew louder, and Peony smiled at him as they sat comfortably together in the sunshine. “I wonder where you go to when you’re not here? Somewhere nice, I hope.”
Miss Beef, who happened to be bustling past, sniffed loudly. “All cats are vermin,” she snapped. “Riddled with fleas, without a doubt. Shoo! Shoo! Be off with you! And do NOT leave those cherry stones on the steps, Peony.”
As Miss Beef went one way and the cat fled the other way, Peony picked up the cherry stones with a sigh and put them in her pocket. “Miss Beef spoils everything,” she said crossly. “She won’t even let me be friends with a cat.” She looked round, but there was no sign of her furry acquaintance. “And now I won’t see him again for ages. I do wish he were mine…”
The cat had been in and out of the palace for years. Sometimes he was to be found in the stables, or the kitchen, or strolling through the royal apartments, and at other times he simply vanished. He occasionally allowed Peony to stroke him, but mostly he remained aloof. He particularly liked to sit in high places where he could see, but not be seen.
The youngest housemaid, who had twice found him crouched on top of Peony’s wardrobe, was wary of him. “It’s like he’s spying on us, Miss.”
Peony had laughed the idea away. “I think he’s just being a cat. What would he find to spy on here?”
But the housemaid was right: the cat was indeed a spy.
Chapter Four
THE CAT’S NAME WAS BASIL, and he was newly returned from Murk, where the Fairy Godmothers lived – a journey he made every two or three months. There he was expected to report on the latest doings of the king and the Royal Family. He had never been complimentary about any of them, with the exception of Peony.
“Peony’s – how shall I put it? Different,” he explained, after ending a boring account of daily events at the palace. “She’s unusually kind, and she’s thoughtful as well.”
“Interesting.” Fairy Jacqueline made a note.
“Poor child,” said Fairy Geraldine. “The rest of them sound shockingly selfish.”
Fairy Josephine sighed. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: they ought to have asked us to the girls’ christenings. We could have done so much for them, especially the plain ones.”
“Beauty isn’t everything, Josephine.” Fairy Jacqueline snapped. “But you’re right. We should have been asked.”
That the palace had never asked the fairies for anything was the subject of much discussion and disapproval. Without practice the fairies’ magical powers were withering away; even a request for the removal of a wart would have been appreciated, but no such request ever came.
Fairy Jacqueline shook her head. “I’ve almost forgotten how to turn rags into satins and silks.”
“I practise on the kettle,” Fairy Geraldine said brightly. “Last week I filled it with daisies entirely by magic!”
“So you did,” Fairy Jacqueline said sourly. “And you meant it to be gold, so you can hardly count that as a success. Besides, it made the tea taste dreadful for days.”
Fairy Geraldine looked sulky, and Fairy Josephine turned back to the cat. “So, friend Basil – is anything else happening at the palace?”
“Merrow!” Basil had been saving the most important item of news until the end. “Ahem. There’s a new baby – and it’s a boy!”
“A boy?” Fairy Josephine gave a little trill of astonishment. “Oh! Oh my goodness me – a little prince!”
Fairy Geraldine forgot to be sulky. “Surely they’ll have a Royal Christening for a baby boy…”
“Really, Geraldine!” Fairy Jacqueline was disapproving. “You sound as if you think a boy is more important than a girl. To my mind, a princess has all the value of a prince.”
“Of course, dear,” Fairy Geraldine agreed. “But after all those girls �
�� they’re sure to be a little pleased, don’t you think?”
Fairy Jacqueline sniffed. “King Thoroughgood and Queen Dilys sound exceptionally foolish, so I expect you’re right. We’ll see.”
“We will go if we’re invited, won’t we?” Fairy Geraldine asked anxiously.
“Naturally.” Fairy Jacqueline nodded. “But we have yet to hear if a christening is to take place.”
Basil, who was cleaning his whiskers, looked up. “Oh yes,” he said. “Didn’t I say? There’s to be a wonderfully grand Royal Christening Breakfast. No expense spared. ‘A truly glittering party’, the queen said. And you’re all to be invited.” He stretched and jumped down to the floor. “But now I must be off. Things to do … princesses to check up on.” And away he went, leaving the fairies in a state of huge excitement.
“What wonderful news!” Fairy Geraldine clapped her hands. “When the invitation arrives I shall accept at once.”
“Of course,” Fairy Josephine agreed. “And we must think what gifts would be suitable for the new prince. What a shame our magic isn’t a little more up-to-date; a straight nose and a noble profile are so very appealing.”
“Hmmm.” Fairy Geraldine looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. I was wondering about a magic porridge pot. One needs to be practical these days…”
Fairy Jacqueline gave her a sour look. “After what happened to the kettle, my dear, I think you should leave kitchen utensils alone.”
“What FUN!” Fairy Josephine twirled on her tiptoes. “I do love parties.” She paused mid-twirl. “Oh! Do you think they’ll remember to invite the Hag? There’s bound to be trouble if they don’t.”
“I’m sure it’ll be all right,” Fairy Geraldine said. “Scrabster’s Hump is miles and miles away. I don’t expect the Hag even knows there’s a new baby.”
But Fairy Geraldine was wrong. The Hag was, at that very moment, studying the poster pinned to a tree on the top of Scrabster’s Hump.
The Cherry Pie Princess Page 1
