“So there’s a new baby prince,” she muttered, “and we’re ordered to rejoice. Huh! We’ll see about that. What have that fancy lot ever done for me? Nothing, that’s what. Nothing. There’ll be a Royal Christening, no doubt, and I expect I’ll be forgotten. Always am. I’ve a good mind to go anyway…” She peered more closely at the paper. “Ha! How very convenient! They’ve given the date: Midsummer’s Morning. Well, well, well. I’ll be there, invitation or no invitation – and if there’s no invitation, I’ll make them very, very sorry!”
And she went to look out her books of magic and a large iron cauldron.
Chapter Five
PRINCESS PEONY’S THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY finally arrived. The attention of the royal household was firmly fixed on the Royal Christening, but her mother blew her a kiss and gave her a frilly pink dress, which Peony immediately hid in a bottom drawer. Her father gave her a nod and a small purse of silver coins, and her sisters produced a card that had a picture of a cake with fourteen candles.
“It’ll do for next year as well,” Azabelle told her.
Miss Beef wished her many happy returns, and suggested that a birthday was an excellent day on which to promise to be a good girl, and always do as she was told.
Peony spent the next five days fretting, but at last Monday came rolling round. By two o’clock she was dressed in her coat and hat and ready … and so was Miss Beef.
“Excuse me,” Peony said politely, “but are you going somewhere?”
Miss Beef glared at her. “Don’t be so stupid, child. It’s your Educational Outing Day. I’m taking you to the churchyard to look at the tombs of your ancestors. You have an unfortunate tendency to indulge in activities designed exclusively for the lower classes. That book you keep under your pillow! ‘Pies, Puddings and Pastries’ indeed. The tombs of your ancestors will settle your mind before the christening party tomorrow.”
“Oh,” said Peony. “Thank you for thinking of – of such an interesting idea, but I’d much rather go on my own.”
Miss Beef turned a fearsome shade of puce. “On your own? A princess, walking the streets of Grating alone! Have I taught you nothing in the past ten years?”
Peony considered. “Well,” she began, “I suppose I do know my times tables, even though I wobble a bit when it’s seven times eight. And I know that Father is King of Grating, and he and Mother are thrilled that they’ve finally got a baby boy after so many girls. And I know there’s going to be a massive christening breakfast—”
“Enough!”
Miss Beef had never found Peony an easy child. She was sadly lacking in any sense of her position as a member of the Royal Family. Her sisters were as rude and demanding as all princesses should be; Miss Beef had no idea where Peony’s peculiar behaviour had come from.
“Straighten your back and be quiet,” she ordered. “We’ll hear no more of this nonsense!”
It took Peony nearly an hour to escape. Miss Beef held the princess’s arm in an iron grip all the way to the churchyard, and only let her go when they were finally standing in front of the enormous marble monument to Peony’s ancestors. Peony, who was feeling more and more frustrated, was wondering if she would ever get away, when Miss Beef began fishing in her bag for her spectacles.
“Now, where did I put them? I’m sure they’re here somewhere … aha! Here they are. Now, let me read you the inscription. Such a splendid list of virtues! ‘Nobility, superiority, occasional recognition of the grateful poor’. I suggest you make a note, Peony… Peony?” The governess stared. “Where is she? Where’s she gone? Princess Peony! PEONY! Come back this minute!”
But Peony was already out of earshot. She was running, running as fast as she could go. Out of the churchyard, into the high street – narrowly avoiding a carriage pulled by a couple of high-stepping gryphons – and swerving into a narrow lane. On she ran, looking this way and that for something or somewhere she could recognise. At last she was forced to admit that she was lost, and she stopped to ask a passing gnome if he knew where the library was.
“The library? First on the right, second on the left … that’ll be quickest.”
Five minutes later Peony was outside the library door. Taking a deep breath, she walked in.
It was nothing like she remembered. The neatly stacked shelves were now a tumble of books in tottering heaps and chaotic piles, and the library desk was covered in dirty cups and plates. A giant was lying back in the librarian’s chair, fast asleep with his mouth wide open, and a small pig was rootling in the litter of empty sweet wrappers spread around the giant’s enormous feet.
“Oh dear,” Peony said. “Oh dear!”
A small squeak from behind a book stack made her turn, and she found herself looking at Miss Denzil … but a very different Miss Denzil from the neat little person she had met years before. This Miss Denzil was as untidy as the library she worked in, with a dirty apron and wild tangled hair – but her eyes were still kind.
“Can I help you, Miss?” she asked.
Peony fished in the pocket of her coat and brought out A Thousand Simple Recipes for Pies, Puddings and Pastries. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve had this a very long time,” she said, “and I know it by heart. I’ve learnt how to make a perfect cherry pie, and I’m quite good at biscuits. I’d like something different, please. Could you suggest a book about knitting?”
Miss Denzil took a sharp breath. “Oh! Oh oh OH! It’s YOU! The little princess! But you’ve grown so tall!”
“I’m thirteen,” Peony said. “I was nine the last time I was here.” She shook her head. “We were never allowed to come back … I don’t know why. I wanted to, ever so much, but Miss Beef said one visit to a library was more than enough for any respectable princess. She says reading gives people ideas, and no princess needs those.” She leant forward. “But I don’t agree. Not at all. What do you think?”
The assistant librarian hadn’t been asked what she thought about anything since Lionel Longbeard had been taken away, and she was flustered. “Oh! Um … I’m sure you’re right, dear.” Then, remembering Lionel, she added, “Dear Mr Longbeard always said that books are essential for widening the mind. He knew so much – he must have read most of the books in this library.”
“Well, my mind needs a LOT of widening,” Peony said. “But who’s Mr Longbeard?”
Tears sprang into Miss Denzil’s eyes. “The previous librarian, dear. The dwarf who told you there are lots of books about cooking.”
“He was kind.” Peony nodded. “Very kind. Usually no one said a word when we went on our visits. I used to think nobody in Grating could talk. Is Mr Longbeard here? I’d like to thank him.”
Miss Denzil opened and closed her mouth in consternation. How could she tell this girl that Lionel Longbeard was in her father’s dungeons, and it was all her doing? “Erm…” she hedged. “Erm…”
“Stoopid dwarf.” The giant had woken up and heard Peony’s question. “Stoopid dwarf did speaking out of turn to some ol’ princessy person.” He chuckled. “Out of job, into dungeon … stoopid! That’ll teach him.”
Peony went very pale and clutched her book to her chest. She looked at Miss Denzil with agonised eyes. “Is that true? He was put in a dungeon just for being kind to me?”
Miss Denzil put an apologetic hand on Peony’s arm. “My dear, he spoke to you. He broke the rules…”
“But … but that’s the most dreadfully awful thing I’ve ever heard!” Peony’s voice was shaking, and she too had tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry! Oh, I’m so terribly, TERRIBLY sorry…”
And she rushed out of the library, leaving the cookery book on the counter.
Chapter Six
QUEEN DILYS HAD A HEADACHE. A very bad headache. Preparing a glittering christening breakfast was difficult, particularly as King Thoroughgood insisted on changing the arrangements every five minutes. She was lying in her boudoir, the curtains drawn and a lavender-soaked handkerchief on her forehead, when there was an urgent knocking on the door.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
The queen gave a faint moan. “I’m not well, Miss Beef. Come back later.”
“But Your Majesty, that bad girl Peony has run away!”
Queen Dilys clutched her head. That’s so typical of Peony, she thought. The child is nothing but trouble! Staggering to the door, she opened it to find a flushed and angry Miss Beef standing outside.
“She vanished, Your Majesty,” Miss Beef snapped. “I turned my back for a mere second – and she was gone!”
“Where is she now?” Peony’s mother was irritated rather than anxious.
Miss Beef was saved from replying by the sound of running feet, and Peony exploded into the room.
“MOTHER! The most awful thing has happened and it’s all my fault! You’ve got to do something or I’ll absolutely burst – I know I will!”
The queen collapsed onto her chaise longue. “Peony, what ARE you talking about?”
“It’s the librarian, Mother! He’s in a dungeon and he shouldn’t be! We’ve got to get him out – he hasn’t done anything wrong, he was trying to help me!”
“A librarian?” Queen Dilys’s eyebrows rose. “But why should we worry about a librarian? Really, Peony! I thought it was something serious.”
“But it IS serious!” Peony was almost shouting, and her mother sank back, holding her handkerchief to her aching head.
“Peony – that’s enough. Quite enough! I don’t want to hear another word. Whatever this librarian’s done, I’m sure he deserved it, and if he didn’t it really isn’t any of your business. Now, Miss Beef – kindly do what you’re paid to do and take my daughter away.” And the queen closed her eyes.
Peony stared at her mother. “How can you say that? How CAN you? That’s just WRONG—”
Miss Beef stepped forward, a steely look in her eyes. “That’s enough, Peony!” She seized the princess by the wrist. Peony was taken by surprise; by the time she realised what was happening she was being hauled down the marble corridor to her room. Opening the door, Miss Beef pushed her inside, and a moment later a furious Princess Peony heard a key turn in the lock.
“Wait! Let me out!” she called, but there was no answer. She rushed to the balcony, but she was too high up to jump, and below her was the rose garden, thick with thorns.
“I suppose this must be a little bit how poor Mr Longbeard feels,” Peony told herself. “But a dungeon would be much, much worse…”
She sat down on the edge of her bed and looked round. It was a pretty room, with everything a princess might want, but she was now seeing it in a different light. “It only goes to show how much my mind needs widening. I didn’t even know there was a dungeon in the palace. That’s so dreadful … and Father sent Mr Longbeard there just for speaking to me!” Peony began to feel an uncomfortable sensation in her stomach. “Oh dear,” she said. “Oh dear. Does that mean I’m the daughter of a tyrant? Or … or could Father just have made a mistake? But I don’t think he makes mistakes.” She sat up straighter. “I have to talk to him. It’s much better to sort these things out. I can tell him it was my fault, and then he’ll have to set Mr Longbeard free.”
A sound from outside made the princess run to the balcony. A heavily laden cart was rolling up the drive, coming to a halt outside the kitchen door. The burly driver and his mate climbed down and began carrying boxes and bundles into the palace.
“Oh! I’d almost forgotten. Tomorrow’s the christening party!” At once Peony’s mood lifted. It would be the ideal moment to ask a favour.
Another cart pulled up behind the first, and Peony watched with interest as a particularly large box was unloaded. One of the gnomes took off the lid, revealing a splendid christening cake, covered in icing twirls and curls and fancy icing lace.
The gnome wiped his brow. “Phew! Weighs a ton!”
His companion grunted. “Let’s get it inside.”
A moment later the two of them were staggering into the palace with their precious load, leaving a dwarf in charge of the cart. An idea flashed into Peony’s head, and she leant dangerously far over the balcony.
“Excuse me!” she called. “Excuse me, Mr Dwarf – can I ask you something?”
The dwarf looked round to see where the voice was coming from. When he saw Peony he went bright red and crouched down in his seat, making it very obvious that he was trying to look invisible. When his companions came back he said something to them in a low voice, and all four of them turned and stared up at Peony. She gave a cheerful wave, but their expressions remained stony. The Royal Family, demanding, unfriendly and convinced of their own importance, were not popular.
Peony, knowing nothing of this, was baffled. She tried waving again, but the four were busy unloading the rest of their goods as fast as they could, and a moment later the two carts were rattling down the drive.
They looked at me as if they hated me, Peony thought. But why? Do they know about Mr Longbeard? Oh, I absolutely HAVE to do something. I’ve got to get out of here – I need to talk to Father right now this minute!
Chapter Seven
WHILE PEONY WAS WORRYING about Lionel Longbeard, the Hag was brooding. No invitation had arrived, and she was growing angrier by the day … a state she much enjoyed, as it gave her a reason to practise her darkest and most unpleasant spells. She had half-filled her cauldron with a distillation of deadly nightshade and essence of poisonous toadstool and, as each day passed and no invitation came rattling through her letterbox, she added something more disgusting to the contents.
“Wooooo…” she sang happily as she stirred the new ingredients in. “Woooo … woooo … woooo! Let the brew get ever stronger … let them suffer ever longer…”
The Hag did, however, have a practical problem: her snakeskin dress didn’t fit. She had been eating unusually well; a few weeks earlier a goatherd had driven his unfortunate flock into the caves beneath Scrabster’s Hump in order to save them from a terrible thunderstorm. What he was not saving them from was a hungry Hag: not a single goat made its way back to the grassy slopes. The goatherd, unwilling to search the caves, packed up his goatherd’s whistle and went off to be a plumber. The Hag had eaten three enormous meals a day and doubled in size as she read her books of dark magic. Now, as she tried the dress on, even the spiders sniggered.
“I’ll have to let it out,” she said. “What a bore!”
Not being much of a seamstress, the Hag decided to use magic. The results would not be as reliable as a good stout running stitch, but the christening party was the following day and she had no choice.
“Wooooo wooooo!” she chanted. “Wooooo wooooo!”
The dress obligingly grew … and grew. The Hag tutted crossly and tried again. This time the dress developed a surprising number of pockets, together with a Victorian bustle.
“Wooooo!” the Hag ordered. “WOOOOO!”
The bustle fell off, but the pockets remained. No amount of wand waving could remove them and at last the Hag, by now in a terrible temper, gave up.
“Stupid thing! I’ll have to wear it as it is,” she muttered. “It’s all that king’s fault. And that queen. If they’d sent me an invitation to their ridiculous christening party I’d have thought about ordering a new dress … but I’ll make them pay! Oh, how I’ll make them pay! I’ll steal their precious little baby, that’s what I’ll do – and I’ll not give the boy back until they’re weeping and wailing and begging on their knees.” An evil smile crept slowly over her face. “And I know just how I’m going to do it…”
She opened a drawer in the kitchen dresser. A small warty toad scrambled out and made a hopeful leap for freedom, but the Hag caught it and popped it in an empty milk jug. Digging deeper in the drawer she pulled out several balls of musty-smelling green string, and her smile grew even nastier. “Sleeping twine,” she muttered. “I’ll make bunches and bunches of sleeping twine … and the potion should be just about ready. Dip it in, dip it deep – that’ll send the fools to sleep!”
> The Fairy Godmothers of Murk were also worrying about their dresses. “Everyone in red, do you think?” Fairy Geraldine suggested.
“Blue might be more suitable for a boy,” Fairy Josephine said. “Or is that too obvious?”
Fairy Jacqueline was looking in the wardrobe. “Ridiculously obvious. What about a nice bright orange? Very ladylike and most becoming.”
The other two fairies went to look. “That is pretty,” Fairy Geraldine agreed. “But I do love red.”
“Blue,” Fairy Josephine said. “Definitely blue!”
Fairy Jacqueline pulled out a bright orange dress with a flourish. “Well, I want to wear this. You two can do as you want.” And slamming the wardrobe door shut, she stalked off with her dress over her arm.
Fairy Geraldine shook her head. “Temper, temper!”
Fairy Josephine sighed. “If only the king or the queen would ask us to grant a couple of wishes. That would cheer her up no end, even if they were only little ones.”
“Maybe they will at the christening party.” Fairy Geraldine was always optimistic. “After all, they did invite us.”
Fairy Josephine looked doubtful. “Perhaps. Let’s hope for the best. So you’re going to wear red?”
“Of course.” Fairy Geraldine twirled a curl. “And I suppose you’re wearing blue?”
“Naturally,” Fairy Josephine said. “And I think we’ll look lovely. Just like a bunch of summer flowers!”
Chapter Eight
THERE WAS TROUBLE in the palace as well. One of the boxes delivered that afternoon was full of dresses and shoes, and the six sisters were fighting over them.
“I’m the oldest, so I get first choice!” Azabelle declared.
“But that’s not fair! You ALWAYS get first choice!” Bettina’s face was very red. “We should take turns!”
The Cherry Pie Princess Page 2
