The Cherry Pie Princess

by Vivian French

  Peony took a deep breath, marched to an empty bed and sat down. “Tell my father I’m staying here. I’m not leaving until Mr Longbeard leaves with me.” And she folded her arms.

  The prime minister was horrified. “But Princess—” he began.

  “No.” Peony shook her head. “I’ve made up my mind.” Seeing Skeldith’s expression, she fished in her pockets for a pencil. “I’ll write a message, and then you won’t have to tell Father yourself. Has anyone got a piece of paper?”

  Horrington produced an old envelope from the depths of his battered tunic. “Here, child.”

  “Thank you.” Peony took the envelope and began to write while Skeldith stood waiting, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

  Lionel Longbeard pushed aside the blankets, looking anxious. “Princess! There’s no need for you to stay here—”

  “There is,” Peony said. “I’ve got to make Father listen.” She finished her last sentence with a decisive full stop and held the envelope out to Skeldith. “Tell him this is from me.” She gave the prime minister a doubtful look. “You will give it to him, won’t you?”

  Skeldith took the envelope with relief. With luck he could hand it to the king then remove himself with sufficient speed to avoid the inevitable explosion. “Of course, Princess.” He turned and scurried out.

  Peony shook her head sadly. “Poor Skeldith. He’s scared of Father.” She sighed. “It’s because Father gets into such terrible rages … and when he’s in a rage he threatens all kinds of things. He doesn’t really mean them, though.” She saw Lionel Longbeard’s face and paused. “But he does, doesn’t he? Oh dear.” She turned to Horrington. “Tell me truthfully – do you think my father’s a tyrant? I’m beginning to have a horrible feeling that he might be.”

  Horrington took his time considering his answer. “Most kings like to have their own way, child.”

  Peony was very still.

  “I see,” she said, and took a deep breath. “Yes. I see. I expect you thought it would be rude to say yes … but I understand.”

  Horrington looked at Peony with concern. “Princess, are you all right?”

  “Yes…” Peony sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Yes,” she said more firmly. “And I did say I wanted to widen my mind.” She sniffed again. “The lady in the library told me how books can do that, Mr Longbeard.”

  “Miss Denzil?” The librarian brightened. “Have you seen her? Is she well?”

  Peony managed a watery smile. “Yes … I saw her this afternoon! That’s why I’m here. I didn’t know what had happened to you. I ran to tell Father—”

  “And he didn’t listen,” Lionel said, and the light in his eyes died. “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, Princess.”

  Peony stood up straight. “I’m not. And I’m not scared of Father. I won’t leave until he sets us all free.” She glanced at Horrington. “I’m sorry, I never asked you why you’re here. Have you been here long?”

  Horrington gave a wry smile. “Long enough. I foolishly believed that your father might wish to employ a jester.”

  “A jester?” Peony shook her head. “Oh dear. Father hates jokes.”

  “So I discovered. He said he would only give me the position of court jester if I could make him laugh, and I failed. Dismally. My last joke offended him so much he sent me here.”

  Peony looked at him with interest. “What was the joke?”

  “Why is a king like a child at school?”

  “Ummm…” Peony thought of Miss Beef and her endless list of dos and don’ts. “Because … because… I can’t guess. Something to do with being a good ruler?”

  Horrington chuckled. “That would have been a better answer, perhaps. No, I told him that a king and a child at school both need to study their subjects well if they wish to grow old and wise.”

  Peony blinked. “Ah… No. He wouldn’t care for that at all. What was it you said – that kings like to have their own way? Father thinks he’s always right.” She stared into the flickering flames of the fire. “It would do Father good to be a little wiser, wouldn’t it?”

  “We could all do with being a little wiser,” the jester said, and Lionel Longbeard snorted.

  “Some more than others,” he said sourly.

  Chapter Twelve

  PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHRISTENING breakfast went on … and on. King Thoroughgood grew increasingly irritable. Nothing was big enough, fine enough or blue and white enough. By late that evening everyone was exhausted, and Queen Dilys was despairing.

  “It’ll be a disaster,” she wailed. “A complete disaster!”

  The king scowled at her. “It will not! I won’t allow it. My son will be christened in a cloud of glory!”

  Queen Dilys shook her head and retired to her bedroom with a hot-water bottle. The king continued to issue orders as the night crept on, and the first light of dawn could be seen over the horizon when he finally announced that all was ready. The servants dragged themselves away while he made one last tour of the royal banqueting hall, the wilting prime minister at his side.

  “Excellent!” King Thoroughgood nodded. “Excellent! I think raising my throne up higher and surrounding it with flowers was an inspired idea. I’m glad I thought of it. The queen and the princesses will sit below me, of course—” He stopped, and the prime minister held his breath. “SEVEN chairs?” The king counted again, and his expression of extreme self-satisfaction faded. “SEVEN? But I have a queen, and I have seven daughters. Skeldith! Where is the eighth chair?”

  Skeldith wriggled like a worm on the end of a pin. “Erm … I told them to take Princess Peony’s chair away, Your Majesty…”

  King Thoroughgood stared at him. “What do you mean?” A thought came to him, and he slowly turned a deeper and deeper shade of purple. “Are you telling me that my daughter is still in the dungeon?”

  The unfortunate prime minister nodded.

  “Did you not pass on my instruction that she was to apologise?”

  Skeldith’s teeth began to chatter. “Yes, Your Majesty…” He fished in his pocket and brought out the crumpled envelope. “She … she asked me to give you this. Um … if Your Majesty has no further need of me, I’ll be off—”

  “WAIT!” The king snatched the paper and read it. Then he read it again, and then a third time. Finally he tore the envelope into little tiny pieces, threw them on the floor and stamped on them. “I will not be dictated to by my daughter!” he roared. “I will NOT! If she wishes to befriend the rogues and criminals that fill my dungeons, then let her. She is not to be released until she is willing to make a full apology, and that, Skeldith, is that! Do I make myself clear?”

  The prime minister nodded.

  “Now sweep up this mess! And make sure you’re here to greet our visitors when they arrive.” The king strode away, leaving Skeldith to find a dustpan and brush.

  In the dungeon for Those Who Speak Out Of Turn, the previous evening’s activities had been more cheerful. Peony had heaped the fire with coal and it was burning brightly. When Lionel Longbeard complained that she had used an entire week’s coal ration she smiled happily at him. “But Mr Longbeard, I’ve decided: I think we ought to escape, all of us together. And I think it ought to be tonight, so we might as well make ourselves comfortable. When do we get our buttered beans, by the way? I’m starving! And what do we get for breakfast? If we’re still here, that is, which I hope we won’t be.”

  “Buttered beans,” Horrington told her. “It’s buttered beans for breakfast, dinner and supper. A little unimaginative, I always think.” He gave Peony a hopeful glance. “Ahem. Which vegetable is the oldest of all vegetables?”

  Lionel groaned. “Beans, because they’ve always been there. You’ve told me that one every day since you got here.”

  “Buttered beans ALL the time?” Peony stared at Horrington. “Goodness! We certainly do need to escape. As soon as we’re all free I’ll make you the very best cherry pie ever.” She looked up. “Now,
we should make a plan. We could all squeeze through those windows, so we have to decide on a way of getting up there.” She paused. “I’ve already escaped once today, you know. If this goes on, I’ll soon be an expert!”

  Lionel Longbeard sighed. “Don’t you think we’ve already considered escaping, Princess?”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry! Of course you have.” Peony flushed. “I didn’t mean to be bossy.”

  Horrington frowned at the dwarf. “An extra point of view is always welcome. What did you have in mind?”

  “Well…” Peony stepped back and stared up at the windows. Then she turned and looked at the iron beds. “I’m thinking,” she said slowly, “that if we upend one of the beds it would reach quite high. And you, Mr Wells, are very, very tall. And if I were to climb on your shoulders – if you don’t object, that is – I might be able to get to the window. And look! You see each window has a central bar? If I tie a rope around that, you and Mr Longbeard can climb up after me!”

  “Very clever.” The dwarf sounded less than enthusiastic. “There’s just one problem: we don’t have a rope.”

  Peony clapped her hands. “Oh, but we do! We can tear up the sheets off the beds, and tie them into a rope!”

  There was a thoughtful silence.

  “Do you know,” Horrington said at last, “I think it might work…”

  Lionel Longbeard nodded. “I apologise, Princess Peony. I spoke too hastily.”

  “Then let’s begin,” Peony said – but at that moment there was a rattling at the door.

  “Buttered beans!” said a gruff voice, and a large troll came stomping in with a tray. “’Ere you is. Extra portions, seeing as you’ve got a royal for company. Enjoy!”

  The buttered beans were not as delicious as Peony had imagined. They came from a pot that the guards used to wash their socks, and had a curious woolly texture. All the same, she ate them with a smile. “Do they come and collect the dishes tonight?” she asked.

  Lionel Longbeard nodded. “They’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Then we’ll wait,” Peony said, “and escape as soon as they’ve gone.”

  “A nap might be wise,” Horrington suggested. “Sometimes they don’t come until quite late.”

  Peony yawned. “That’s a good idea. It’s been a busy day.” She chose a bed and snuggled herself down under the blankets. “You will wake me, won’t you? As soon as the guards have been?”

  “No need to worry,” Horrington assured her. “Those trolls have feet of lead. And they enjoy slamming the door.”

  “That’s all right then,” Peony said, and as soon as her head hit the pillow she was asleep.

  Horrington sat down on his own bed. “A dear child. It’s lucky, my friend, that she’s so different from her father.”

  The dwarf nodded. “But is she right? Will she be able to escape?”

  “It’s possible.” The tall man measured the wall with his eye. “But if I understand you correctly, friend Lionel, you don’t intend to follow the princess to freedom.”

  “What would I gain?” The dwarf pulled at his beard. “If I leave here without the king’s pardon, I can’t return to my library. Guards would be sent to find me – I’d be hunted high and low.” He gave his companion a sideways look. “As would you.”

  “And for that reason, I too will be staying here.” Horrington looked up at the windows. “But the princess may still win her father round.”

  “I thought I’d given up hope,” Lionel said, “but you’re right. That child has determination.”

  Horrington laughed. “Perhaps she is a little like her father, after all.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE DISHES WERE NOT COLLECTED that night. The guards had been presented with one of the barrels of ginger beer and had decided to begin celebrating the christening early. Finding the contents of the barrel not to their taste they had added something a little stronger, and their celebrations lasted long past midnight.

  They were exceedingly bleary-eyed when they came stomping down the dungeon corridor early the following morning, wincing at every rattle of their keys. They heaped the dishes from the various cells onto a sticky tray and handed out dry bread and cold beans for breakfast, finally arriving at the dungeon for Those Who Speak Out Of Turn. It took them a while to find the keyhole, and when at last they managed it there was an argument as to which of them would pick up the dishes and which would stand by the door. The sound of their voices woke Peony, and she was sitting up in bed when the larger guard came lumbering in.

  “Hello,” she said – and then, seeing daylight creeping through the narrow windows, “Oh no! What time is it?”

  The guard gawped at her. “Uh?”

  Peony jumped out of bed. “What time is it?”

  The guard scratched his head. “It’s morning.”

  “But is it early morning?” Peony insisted.

  This was too much. The guard’s head hurt, and all he wanted to do was sleep for at least two days. “Morning’s morning.” And he picked up the dirty dishes, dumped down a small bowl of bread and beans and lumbered away.

  As the door clanged shut behind him Horrington opened his eyes. “Now’s your moment, Princess,” he said. “They won’t be back for hours. And yes … I believe it’s still quite early.”

  Peony’s eyes shone as she pulled the sheet off her bed and began tearing it into strips. “Time to escape! Although,” she added wistfully, “it really should have been in the middle of the night if it was going to be a proper escape…”

  Half an hour later Peony was balanced precariously on Horrington Wells’ shoulders, stretching up to a dungeon window. The rope of torn sheets was tied round her waist, and standing below her was Lionel Longbeard, holding the upended iron bed steady.

  “I’m not sure this window opens,” she reported. “I might have to break the glass. Do you think there’s anyone outside who will hear?”

  “Who knows?” Horrington said. “Can you see anything?”

  “The window’s very dirty,” Peony told him, “but I’m almost sure we’re at the back of the palace.” She rubbed at the glass with her fingers. “Yes! It’s the orchard. And I can see the big oak tree. I’ve always wanted to climb it, but Miss Beef would never let me … OH! Oh my goodness! How lucky is that? Mr Wells – Mr Longbeard – the window’s at ground level! We won’t have to climb down the rope once we’re outside. It’s just a little jump!”

  “A little jump is good,” Horrington said cautiously. “Do be careful, Princess. Glass is sharp!”

  Peony didn’t answer. She was tugging at the window catch, trying to force it open. Years of wind and rain had rusted the frame, and as she gave a final heave the entire window fell into the dungeon with a crash, scattering shards of glass over the cold stone floor.

  “That’ll leave us with a nasty chilly draught on a winter’s night,” Lionel muttered, but he made sure he spoke too low for Peony to hear. She was already climbing through the gap, pulling the rope behind her. Seconds later she was balanced on the other side, peering back at her two companions.

  “It’s really easy,” she encouraged. “Mr Wells – are you coming next?”

  Horrington coughed. “Princess Peony,” he said, “you must go alone.”

  “WHAT?”

  It was difficult to see Peony’s face, but her tone was one of hurt astonishment. Horrington, still balanced on the end of the iron bedstead, steadied himself against the wall and tried to explain. “Think, dear child. If Lionel and I escape, where will we go? What will your father do when he finds his dungeon empty? Why – send the guards out to catch us, and neither of us has a mind to play cat and mouse for the rest of our lives.”

  There was the sound of a suppressed sniff, and then Peony said, “But why didn’t you tell me before? Why did you let me think we were all going to escape together?”

  Horrington sighed. “If we’d told you earlier, would you have agreed to go on your own?”

  Peony thought about thi
s. “No,” she said slowly. “You’re right. I’d have insisted on staying with you … and I still can!” She began to climb back.

  “NO!” Horrington shouted, and Peony froze. “Excuse me, Princess, but this is important. You must persuade your father to let us go free. My friend badly needs to return to his library.”

  Peony looked down at the dwarf. He was still holding on to the bed but he was staring at the floor, shoulders bowed. Even in the half light she could see how old he had become, and how defeated. “Oh, poor Mr Longbeard! Of course I will … I absolutely promise.” She paused. “Maybe I ought to be a bit more tactful next time I speak to Father. What do you think?”

  Horrington smiled up at her. “Now you come to mention it, you might be right, Princess.”

  The princess giggled and climbed back out, pulling the rope after her. “They mustn’t find out I’ve gone. Heap up the blankets on my bed and tell them I’m asleep.”

  Horrington did his best to bow. “Princess, your ingenuity amazes me.”

  “I’ll come back later and tell you how I’m getting on,” Peony promised. “Goodbye for now, Mr Wells. Mr Longbeard – please, PLEASE don’t despair!” And then she was gone, taking the sheet rope with her.

  The jester jumped down, and together he and the dwarf restored the dungeon to something like its previous appearance. Pillows were stuffed down Peony’s bed and the result was convincing enough to fool the guards. The glass they left.

  “I shall complain about the dangers of ancient windows,” Lionel said, and he nodded at Horrington. “I shall be suitably outraged!”

  “Indeed.” Horrington yawned. “It’s still early, my friend. Go back to sleep. Dream of freedom, and your library…”

  Lionel Longbeard looked up at the empty window space. “I think perhaps I will,” he said, and he climbed back into his bed with something almost like a smile.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ONCE OUTSIDE, PEONY WOUND UP the rope and slung it over her shoulder. “I’d better keep this – I might need it,” she decided. “And now I’ll climb the oak tree. It’s too early to go and find Father; he’s always grumpy before breakfast. And I can peek in the palace windows from up in the branches, so I’ll know when everyone’s awake.”