Garden Princess

by Kristin Kladstrup

  Marguerite held out her hand. Garth was supposed to take it in his own, lean over it, and kiss the air directly above it.

  Instead he turned red. He opened his mouth and made a small choking sound. He threw Adela an agonized look.

  “Garth has a strong interest in gardens,” she said helpfully.

  “How lovely!” Marguerite withdrew her hand, and her face dimpled into a smile. “I love gardens, too. In fact, I’ve been told my name is a kind of flower.”

  Somehow Garth found his voice, nodding. “Sure enough, Miss Marguerite — your name’s a kind of daisy.”

  Her eyes lit up with pleasure. “Why, you clever man! You must tell me everything you know about daisies.”

  “I — I will, Miss Daisy — I mean, Miss Marguerite — I mean, my lady,” Garth stammered.

  Marguerite held out her hand, and he helped her into the carriage. He helped Adela in as well. “Do you want to ride with us?” she asked.

  He shook his head, looking almost frightened by the suggestion. “I’ll ride up top,” he said as he closed the door. The carriage swayed as he climbed up beside the coachman. There was a grinding of wheels, and they lurched forward.

  “Good-bye, girls!” cried Cecile.

  Marguerite waved her handkerchief out the window and threw several kisses before falling back against the cushions. “My goodness! Did you ever see such a handsome man in your life? Your Highness simply must tell me everything about him!”

  “He’s the son of the head gardener,” Adela repeated, sure that Marguerite must have missed this detail. Servants like Garth, even handsome ones, had never merited Marguerite’s attention before. But she was surprised to see color blooming in Marguerite’s cheeks, and even more surprised to see that Marguerite looked both shy and exultant at the same time.

  “Oh, Your Highness! I’m sure he was flirting with me!”

  “Garth?”

  “Calling me Daisy like that,” Marguerite elaborated. “Oh, I know it was fresh of him, but, really, I don’t mind. Did you see how nervous he was around me?”

  “Well, yes.” Adela wasn’t sure how to let on that Garth was nervous around practically everyone.

  “Oh, Your Highness, do say you think he might care for me.”

  “Well, I —”

  “I’m sure he must!” Marguerite spoke with certainty. The fact was that men were always falling in love with her. At least that was how it sounded from Cecile’s afternoon teas, where Marguerite’s romantic life was one of the queen’s favorite conversation topics. Usually it was some dashing young captain who had danced every dance with Marguerite at a party, or a particular knight with a nice-looking mustache who had stared at her all afternoon at a tournament, or a foreign ambassador who kept writing her love letters long after his state visit was over. How funny it was to hear her going on now about Garth, of all people.

  “Really, Marguerite,” Adela began, trying not to laugh. “I —”

  “I shall walk with him at the party,” Marguerite decided. “You said he likes gardens! I shall walk with him and ask him questions about the flowers! Men love to be asked questions. It puts them at ease. Oh, but I’m sure I won’t be at ease at all — not if he looks at me again with those eyes. Did you see how blue they were? Just like great big . . . great big . . .” Marguerite struggled for the right word.

  “Forget-me-nots?” Adela suggested. “Sapphires?”

  “Yes!” gushed Marguerite.

  It was well after noon when they stopped for lunch. The coachman pulled the horses over beside the dusty country road, and Garth helped Adela and Marguerite out of the carriage.

  Adela stretched as best she could in her tight dress. Two hours of being cooped up in a carriage with chatty Marguerite had been almost more than she could stand, especially coming as it did after three full days of listening to Marguerite and Cecile put forth their various ideas about garden-party fashions. Never mind all that now, Adela told herself. Today would be the start of something new. She was going to collect new plants from Hortensia’s garden. And it wouldn’t be long before she would travel and visit other gardens. Not only that, she would explore woodlands and meadows, mountains and deserts. She was going to bring home plants nobody had ever seen before.

  She looked around. What a fine spot for a picnic! A grove of birches with quivering leaves just beginning to turn yellow, lichen-covered boulders set among the trees like chairs, and, above everything, the mountains, stark and silent against the blue sky. Their dark forested slopes seemed to promise adventure. The sort you might find in a King Ival story, thought Adela. Not the sort you would expect to find at a garden party, which, no matter how much you liked flowers, was sure to be a rather tame event. “How much farther to Flower Mountain?” she asked.

  The coachman — whose name, Axel, was a source of amusement for her father (My coach has three axles, the king would joke) — scratched his bald head and squinted up at the mountains. “My guess is we have at least another hour ahead of us, Your Highness. Hard to say, though, what with mountain roads being so unpredictable. Lucky for us there is a road — if you can believe the map, that is.”

  “We’d better eat quickly, then,” said Adela. Hortensia’s invitation had said three o’clock, which was rather late in the day for an outdoor party in autumn. Suppose they arrived even later and there wasn’t time to see anything. “I’ll hand out the food,” she offered as Garth set the picnic basket down on the ground. She opened the lid to find cold chicken, cucumber sandwiches, lemonade, and sugar cookies. There were also china plates, crystal cups, and embroidered linen napkins. Adela was surprised that Cecile hadn’t ordered the cook to send along a pair of gold candlesticks! “Who’s hungry?”

  Marguerite, settling herself on one of the boulders, politely declined. “Nothing for me, thank you, Your Highness. I had a bit of toast at breakfast.”

  “More for the rest of us,” said Adela, who was famished in spite of having eaten toast, eggs, bacon, and pancakes earlier. “Here you go, Axel,” she said, handing the coachman a plate piled with food, a cup filled with lemonade, and a napkin. She filled another plate and cup for Garth, then helped herself.

  To her surprise, Garth sat down next to Marguerite. Oh, no! thought Adela. He can’t possibly know what’s to come. Marguerite had talked all morning about her plans for winning Garth’s affection. Now Adela wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for him.

  Sure enough, Marguerite set to work right away, smiling shyly and asking if Garth wasn’t terribly excited about the party.

  Blushing, he stammered that indeed he was.

  “I love flowers,” said Marguerite. “I absolutely love them. Don’t you?”

  Garth, still blushing, acknowledged that he did.

  I suppose it won’t hurt him to suffer now, thought Adela, but I’ll have to sneak him away from her at the party. I’m a poor friend if I can’t do that much.

  She ate a chicken leg and wiped her fingers. Then she ate two cucumber sandwiches, sipped her lemonade, and thought about gardens.

  “It’s the knack for planning that makes the gardener,” Garth’s father had once told her. “You and my son both know what to do when it comes to the care and nurturing of flowers, Your Highness. I’ve taught you when to plant, when to prune, and so on. But I’ll be the first to admit that Garth hasn’t got an eye like you have — an eye that can see what you want before it all comes into bloom.” It was a bit of praise that had made Adela’s heart swell with happiness. She did love to plan a garden, and Hortensia’s was sure to be a marvel of planning. She must have a great variety of fall-blooming flowers, thought Adela. And I can ask her what bulbs she’s planted for the spring.

  At that moment her ears picked up the sound of Marguerite’s honey-sweet voice. “Do you really mean to say that some flowers — what did you call them, pennials? — come up year after year, all by themselves?”

  “Perennials,” said Garth, “and yes, they do.”

  “How marvelous!�
�� exclaimed Marguerite. “And daisies, are those pentennerals?”

  “Well, now, some are and some aren’t.”

  “I suppose I could be a pentenneral, seeing as I am a kind of daisy.”

  “Yes, Daisy — I mean, my lady.”

  Marguerite dimpled. “I like it when you call me Daisy. You must always call me that.”

  Clearly embarrassed, Garth ducked his head. But he looked up quickly enough, a stupid grin on his face. “All right, then . . . Daisy.”

  Adela frowned. Was it possible that Garth actually liked Marguerite? She watched his eyes follow the movement of Marguerite’s hand as it fluttered up to tuck a curl back in place, brushed against the diamond necklace at her throat, then dropped to her waist, where it paused to smooth the fabric of her dress. Then Garth looked up, and his eyes met Marguerite’s. They smiled at each other, and Adela felt as if she were spying.

  He does like her, she thought. Or anyway, he likes to look at her.

  Marguerite had wavy golden hair, blue eyes, and petal-pink cheeks. She was more than pretty; she was as lovely as sunlight. “I should love to plant a garden someday,” she said.

  Adela couldn’t imagine anything more unlikely than Marguerite with a shovel in her hand.

  “I could help you,” said Garth.

  “Oh, would you?”

  I don’t know why Marguerite looks so surprised, thought Adela. It’s exactly what she wanted him to say.

  “Do you know . . . ?” Marguerite’s voice became tentative. “I — I was hoping that today you might walk with me at the party. I was hoping you might talk to me about gardening. You know so much, and I know so little!”

  “Of course I will.”

  So much for wanting to protect Garth from Marguerite, thought Adela. He’s practically throwing himself at her! Not that I care, she told herself quickly. It isn’t as if he promised to look at Hortensia’s garden with me.

  But there was the rub: she did care.

  It wasn’t as if she had ever wanted Garth to look at her the way he was looking at Marguerite. But she had counted on his friendship. And it did seem unfair that someone as empty-headed as Marguerite could take it away so easily.

  Stop it, Adela told herself. Garth is still your friend. And Marguerite is pretty. I suppose he can’t help being attracted to her, any more than she can help being attracted to him. They do look nice together.

  Now she sounded like Cecile, who was always saying things like, Don’t they make a handsome couple? And, Surely she can do better than that. He’s not half as good-looking as she is! As if people should be matched up by their looks, like the horses that pulled the royal carriage.

  I would rather find somebody who’s interesting than somebody who’s handsome, thought Adela. It was funny, but whenever she had thought about Cecile’s grand ball (not that she had thought about it much), it had never occurred to Adela that any of the men Cecile would invite might actually be interesting. What if one of them had a sense of humor, for example? What if one of them was brave and adventurous like King Ival? Would she be quite so set against marriage if she met a man who not only encouraged her to follow her dream of traveling but would even ride alongside her when she did?

  I suppose I might choose that man, Adela decided. If I wanted to marry someone.

  But what if he didn’t want to marry her? What if he didn’t think she was pretty enough? Because she wasn’t pretty — not really — no matter how much Cecile insisted that she could be if she tried harder. Adela’s nose, for example, was a little too large for her face, and her mouth a little too wide. Her hair was long and sand-colored and unrelentingly straight. Moreover, she was very tall — taller than most men, including Garth. She was so tall that Cecile was taking her height into account in assembling the guest list for the grand ball. “Don’t worry, dear! We’ll be sure to invite a few tall marriage prospects for you,” she had said recently.

  And Adela’s father had added, “I shouldn’t worry too much, Cecile. What does it matter how tall she is or what she looks like? She’s the king’s daughter. Who isn’t going to want to marry her?”

  Which had hurt a bit, actually, and Adela had been forced to remind herself that she didn’t want to get married. She wanted to be a gardener — a real gardener, not someone who practiced it as a hobby.

  “What do you think, Your Highness?” said Marguerite just then, startling Adela out of her thoughts. “Don’t you agree that Garth should ride inside the carriage the rest of the way?” Marguerite gave Garth a sidelong smile.

  “Of course,” said Adela.

  As they packed up the picnic things, she considered how lucky she was that no one would ever look at her the way Garth was looking at Marguerite. The way people looked at a flower. Think what a distraction it would be, she told herself. I would never get any gardening done at all!

  Only it did make a person feel a bit lonely, watching two other people fall in love.

  A magpie’s nest is a messy-looking thing, and Krazo’s was as messy as they come, with twigs poked together in a bowl shape and a twig roof over the top. He had built it in a spruce tree on the front lawn of Hortensia’s estate.

  It was here that he kept his treasures. These consisted of an emerald brooch, a gold watch set with paste diamonds, a turquoise-and-silver bracelet, a little pearl ring, and Krazo’s favorite piece, a flashy belt buckle studded with amethysts and garnets. Over the years, these prizes had been left behind by party guests. Usually Hortensia was attentive when she collected “the loot,” as she called it, but every so often she overlooked something. That was a lucky day for Krazo.

  On the day of the garden party, Krazo woke up feeling lucky. More guests than usual would be attending this party, and he had high hopes that Hortensia might overlook something that afternoon. He also felt free for the day; Hortensia always slept late, and she rarely called for him during one of her parties. The magpie spent the morning arranging the treasures he already owned, getting things ready for the new ones he hoped to acquire. He hung the pearl ring on a twig poking out of the wall, draped the watch over another twig, and pushed the turquoise bracelet into the middle of the nest, where it caught the light from one of two entrances. Then he changed his mind — the bracelet was sadly tarnished — and he pushed the belt buckle into the light instead.

  As he worked, Krazo thought about the guests who would be coming to the party. Not all of them would bring treasures. The young men, for example, really couldn’t be counted on. Except for kings and dukes and princes (and there would be none of those today), men didn’t wear much jewelry. But there would be plenty of young ladies at the party, and Hortensia had been speculating about what they might bring for days. “The little dairymaid won’t have much in the way of jewelry,” she had remarked, “though her parents may dig out an old locket or something. But she’s as sweet as a primrose, so it hardly matters.” Then there were the twin sisters Hortensia had invited. “Red hair, freckles on their noses — adorable creatures,” Hortensia had commented. “Their father is a sea captain. Sea captains are always bringing their wives and daughters pretty things.” There was also a shopgirl coming to the party; Hortensia thought she might borrow something from the shop where she worked. And last but not least, there were the princess and the other young lady from the royal court. Krazo didn’t need Hortensia to tell him that royals always came loaded down with jewelry. His emerald brooch, for instance, had belonged to the daughter of a duke, as had his pearl ring. The duke’s daughter had come to one of Hortensia’s parties wearing bracelets all the way up her arms, gold chains around her neck, and rings on her fingers. Small wonder Hortensia had overlooked the brooch in that pile of treasure!

  The important thing today, Krazo knew, would be to put himself in the way of opportunity. And so, as the sun began to crawl down the afternoon side of the sky, he made his way to the front lawn. A wisteria vine twined above the portico of Hortensia’s palatial home, a vantage point that made it a perfect hiding place. He had just
settled himself in among the fragrant blossoms when he spied a young man walking through the front gate. It was the gardener from the royal palace, and as he came up the drive, Hortensia came out to greet him. The gardener slowed, staring dumbly at her as most men did when they saw her for the first time. Krazo watched his mistress place her hand in the crook of the man’s elbow. “Garth, isn’t it? I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you. My garden is in the back. Come along and I’ll show it to you.” They strolled off, Hortensia’s voice fading until the only sound was the quiet splash of the marble fountain in front of the portico.

  Where was the princess? Krazo wondered.

  He had his answer not five minutes later when a carriage rolled up the drive. The princess leaned out the window. “Stop beside the fountain, please, Axel!” she called to the coachman.

  “Whoa!” The coachman pulled up on the reins and climbed down. The princess opened the carriage door, and the coachman helped her down.

  Krazo leaned forward. He could see a necklace — a small blue stone. Was that all she was wearing?

  Now the coachman was helping a second young woman out of the carriage. “Diamonds,” Krazo muttered at the sight of her necklace. “Much better!”

  “Where is Garth?” said the girl with the diamonds. “He promised to meet us.”

  “He was only going to walk ahead and see how much farther it was,” said the princess. “It wasn’t far. He must be nearby.”

  But what was this? Krazo saw that another girl was climbing out of the carriage. It was the dairymaid. She yelped as she stepped to the ground, and the princess rushed to her side. “How’s your ankle, Bess?”

  “It hurts something awful, miss,” moaned the dairymaid. “I can’t believe I twisted it!”

  “It was lucky we saw you sitting beside the road. Here, let me help you to the fountain. You can soak your ankle in the water. It’s cold and might keep the swelling down.” The princess spoke in a soft voice that Krazo liked.

  Then his gaze darted back to the girl with the diamonds. Krazo stared, fascinated, as she fingered her necklace. A moment later, she reached up to touch her earrings, one after the other.