by Patty Jansen
Johanna glanced at the strange curly writing on the side of the boxes. She was pretty sure, from the lessons Father had made her take, that it was Lurezian. Each box was a work of art in itself, made from fine board, with carefully painted patterns and held closed with a coloured ribbon.
Mistress Daphne picked up the first box, set it down on the couch, pulled the ribbon and took off the lid. Inside lay a shimmering dress in vivid blue, all lace, frills and ruffles. Johanna saw noble girls walk the streets in dresses like this sometimes—that airhead Julianna Nieland for example—and thought they looked like sugar cakes.
Mistress Daphne held it up.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” Nellie said. “Try it on, Mistress Johanna.”
That thing? She’d look like a dressed-up troll. Frills and ruffles were for shapely girls, but courtesy of her mother’s Estlander blood, Johanna was tall for a girl and didn’t have much shape, unless you counted “barge pole” as a shape.
“I’m not sure about the colour,” she said, eying the other boxes and hoping they contained something less frilly.
“Blue is all the fashion this year,” Mistress Daphne said, running an experienced and critical eye over Johanna’s long legs. “If you would just try it on, I can guarantee you will look stunning in this dress. This is a very special one I had shipped straight from Lurezia. It’s from the modistes of the House of Giron, their latest design collection.”
It meant nothing to Johanna, and worse, she couldn’t get excited about it. She pretended to look interested, but just couldn’t pretend any longer. “Can I see the other ones?”
Mistress Daphne seemed disappointed, but did open the other three boxes she had brought: two of the dresses were frillier than the blue one, and one of them was even pink. The third one was a dark red, rather plain number. Plain and simple, like her.
“I like that one the best,” Johanna said.
“Well then, let’s try it on.”
Mistress Daphne laid the dress out while Johanna took off her overclothes, placing her house shoes discretely behind the couch, and hoping no one would say anything about them.
Mistress Daphne came to help her into the dress, doing up the countless fiddly little buttons on the back.
“This itches,” Johanna said. “And it’s too loose.”
“I know. We can fix that.” Mistress Daphne took a box of pins and started pinning the sides of the bodice together.
“You look so pretty,” Nellie said.
Johanna snorted, standing there with her arms spread. She didn’t want to look pretty. All those noble girls would only gawk at her. She understood that Father wanted to go to the ball because there would be foreign people to talk business, and of course he couldn’t go alone, and he had no handy widow friends to accompany him, so she would have to do. But it would be terrible, and boring. And no one would want to talk to her.
“There are rumours Prince Roald is to attend the ball,” Mistress Daphne said at her back.
“Is he really?” Nellie said.
“That’s the rumour. There was a Burovian ship in port this morning that’s said to have brought him, but it arrived late last night and no one saw the passengers disembark.”
“I saw that ship.” Johanna remembered the sloop she’d seen in the harbour, the sleek one with the cabin and the red curtains.
Prince Roald, really?
“It looks like the King is trying to keep it a surprise,” Mistress Daphne said, in a conspiratorial tone. “I’ve heard it said that, last night, the Shepherd even locked the church doors when the royal family came in for prayer, so that no one would see the prince.”
Johanna wondered where Mistress Daphne got that information. Did she see things in willow wood, too? Surely Johanna could have told if that was the case. The gift of magic wasn’t common in Lurezian people anyway.
Nellie’s eyes were wide. “Does that mean Prince Roald is cured?”
“That depends on what’s wrong with him,” Johanna said. There were rumours about that, too. That the king didn’t control his son’s tempers and had sent him away so that he could be disciplined and taught manners by monks, or that the prince had some incurable illness.
“Sickly children will often end up growing into healthy adults,” Mistress Daphne said primly. “Given plenty of food and fresh air.”
Whatever she knew about it, not having children herself. “Roald is past childhood.” Johanna was born in what was termed “the prince’s year” and she was reminded often enough that she was fast getting too old to be married. Roald was a month older than she was.
“Maybe the king has decided that Roald is well enough to take his position as crown prince,” Nellie said.
“It’s not as if he’s got another option. With Celine—”
“Mistress Johanna, why do you always have to think the worst of people?”
Johanna turned around to face Nellie. “I don’t, providing those people do their job. If King Nicholaos chose to make his second child his heir, then there must have been a reason for it. If he chose to send Roald away, even after Celine’s death, there must be something going on. Roald is his only remaining child. Why hasn’t he been at the palace learning how to rule the country? There has to be a reason. And I’m not sure if I like it. If Roald was too ill to learn, then why hasn’t one of the King’s cousins come to take Celine’s place? That’s all I want to know.”
“Stand still,” Mistress Daphne admonished, her mouth full of pins.
Nellie blushed. “You mustn’t speak of the king like that, Mistress Johanna.”
“Tell me then what else I should think. I’m worried. The royal family is small. If Roald can’t do the job, then one of his cousins should. King Nicholaos is not getting any younger.” Or, for that matter, any saner. Rumours about how much money he gave to the Church were hard to miss. And the conversation she had overheard in her father’s room only added to her worry.
Neither Nellie nor Mistress Daphne dared venture a further opinion. They all knew why none of the other royals had helped out. None of Roald’s cousins lived in Saardam and Johanna was sure any of his cousins would be deeply unpopular with the genteel folk of Saardam.
Bah, nobles.
Mistress Daphne finished pinning up the dress and stepped back, looking Johanna up and down.
Johanna cringed. She hated it when people judged her looks, and those dresses made her resemble a dressed-up garden rake.
Mistress Daphne wheeled the mirror across the room, that one where Johanna could almost see her little fingerprints on the glass and hear her mother say, “Don’t touch,” in her Estlander accent. She’d been four or five then.
The young woman that looked back at her in the mirror didn’t seem familiar. The dark dress made her look stern, and the parts where Mistress Daphne had taken in the sides the skirt didn’t sit properly. She tugged at it.
“That will be fixed,” Mistress Daphne said. Judging by the small shake of her head, she didn’t seem to like the result.
To be honest, Johanna didn’t like it either. The sleeves were long and tight, the neckline was high, and the dark red made her look very old.
She admitted defeat. “I guess I should try a different dress?”
Mistress Daphne sighed a little happy sigh. “Your exuberance does not deserve something so . . . dour. You are not a matron; you’re a maiden.”
“Did I mention I don’t like wearing frilly dresses?”
“You are truly different from the other girls, Mistress Johanna.” Johanna didn’t know if that was meant as an insult or a compliment. Probably both. “Given approval by their fathers, the other girls would choose the frilliest, the finest dresses I have. Will you just humour me and try on the blue one?”
“Yes, try it,” Nellie said.
Johanna eyed the box, still open, on the table. Horrible. Frilly. Like a sugar cake.
She didn’t want to go to the ball. She hated pomp. But going to the ball was obviously important for Father
. She let out a frustrated breath. “All right.”
Mistress Daphne undid all the fiddly buttons and helped her out of the red dress into the blue one. The colour was exquisite; she had to hand it to the weavers and their experimenting with exotic ingredients. The fabric was a material that looked to her like silk, but Mistress Daphne said it was something called taffeta, a material that was much stiffer than silk and allowed the puffed-up sleeves to stay puffed up by themselves. The bodice was embroidered with tiny beads and silver thread.
“Hold your hands up, Mistress Johanna.”
Johanna did and Mistress Daphne tightened the lace at the back. The bodice drew tight around her waist.
“Does it have to be so tight?” She put her hand on her side. Her hand met taut and stiff fabric threaded with whalebone straps to keep it in place. The top of the corset squeezed her breasts so that they were pushed together in a way they normally weren’t. And very visible. Johanna put her hand on the bare skin of her chest.
“I modified the dress. The Lurezian version has a much lower neckline, showing more skin, but the palace wouldn’t approve of that at all.”
“Even more skin?” Johanna could see right down into the slit between her pale breasts where sunlight never came and where her skin was free of freckles.
“Yes, sometimes you can even see the indecent parts—who are you taking to the ball, Mistress Johanna?”
“I presume I’m only there so Father doesn’t have to go alone.”
“Pfaw, don’t be silly,” Mistress Daphne said around the pins in her mouth. “You should look at every young man there. You are not getting any younger.”
Except they would all be nobles and would look down on her, not to mention insufferable bores who could only talk of the latest spoils of hunting expeditions. Johanna would be required to talk to the even more boring women, who only cared about who wore what.
Mistress Daphne stepped back. “Now, how is that, Mistress Johanna? Of course, you will have to do your hair, and add jewellery.”
Nellie looked dubious. “It does show a lot of skin.”
Mistress Daphne dragged the dressing mirror across the floor. Johanna had been right: This dress did make her look like a sugar cake. She pulled at the frills on her shoulders, secretly wishing they’d all come off.
Mistress Daphne nodded. “Don’t you think that looks much better?”
Johanna turned around in front of the mirror. Frills everywhere, even on her back. It was horrible. But she had to admit that this dress fitted better. And in a rebellious way, she liked the low neckline. The bold colour made her eyes come out. The dress was a bit rebellious against everything. A bit like wearing clogs to church. The Shepherd told the flock in church that women had to cover up and be modest. The same Shepherd who said that all magic was evil.
“Don’t you think it looks gorgeous on her?” Mistress Daphne said.
Nellie nodded. “You look like a princess, just like your father wanted.”
“You think so?” Johanna looked at Mistress Daphne.
Some part of her still hoped that either of them would say that she couldn’t possibly wear this in public.
They didn’t.
Mistress Daphne nodded appreciatively. “It looks very good. Julianna Nieland tried it on, but she was too short to wear it.”
And with that, she sold it. Johanna would do anything to annoy Julianna Nieland.
Chapter 5
* * *
MISTRESS DAPHNE packed the other dresses away, and then got into taking serious measurements. Johanna stood barefooted, with her hands spread wide, while Mistress Daphne put pins on every panel of the dress, until Johanna wondered if there would be anything left of the original design when she finished. Mistress Daphne and Nellie talked about fashion and fabrics, and Johanna was keen to be let out of the pincushion prison.
There was the sound of voices in the hall, and then at the door. Father’s visitor was leaving, and it frustrated her that she still had no idea who he was. A bit later, she heard the distinctive tread of Koby coming up the stairs, and then the sound of the tableware cupboard being opened and plates being put on the table. She’d been locked up in this room talking clothes all afternoon.
“I think dinner is ready,” she said. She wanted to be out of that dress. She needed to go to see Loesie as she promised. Loesie would want to know what Johanna had done about her warning, and she couldn’t tell her any good news. I spent all afternoon being measured for a dress, or No one would believe me, wouldn’t be statements Loesie understood. People from the land never questioned wind magic and willow magic. That was also why Johanna liked Loesie: because she didn’t have to explain her magic or apologise for it.
“It’s done,” Mistress Daphne said, and she started unlacing the back of the dress until Johanna could step out. “I’ll work on this, and have it ready for you tomorrow night.”
After stiff fabric and all those pins, Johanna’s old clothes felt like a comfortable blanket. She felt like she never wanted to take them off again, never mind what people said about them.
She left Nellie and Mistress Daphne to their gossip and went into the hall.
The smell of tobacco and spice still lingered in the air. The door to Father’s study was open, but there was no one inside the room. The black coat with the Carmine House pin was gone from the coat stand. A fire burned low in the hearth and the scent of brandy and tobacco lingered.
They called this the Green Room. On one side, there was a table surrounded by chairs with silk cushions. The entire left-hand wall was taken up by a glass-fronted cupboard with shelves full of books. Most of those were Johanna’s, bought for her by Father on his travels. Above the hearth hung a portrait of Johanna’s grandfather.
Father himself sat at the table in the dining room, while Koby ladled soup in a gold-rimmed soup plate.
Johanna took her place opposite him and Koby came to fill her plate, too. Leek soup. It smelled heavenly. “Thanks, Koby.”
Koby nodded and walked out, leaving behind a woolly sort of silence that stretched while they both ate. He had changed into the comfortable woollen vest which his sister Aunt Dianne had knitted for him. His short beard was now more grey than blond, and the hair that he so carefully combed over his bald spots hung down his neck in a greying ponytail.
“You sorted yourself out with a dress?” he asked. “I presume you’ve seen Mistress Daphne?” So, he wasn’t going to tell her who the mystery visitor had been.
“I have.”
“Has she made sure you got something pretty?” The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled with a brief smile.
Johanna shrugged. She wanted to show her displeasure over his avoiding the subject of the visitor, but he would probably get angry with her. “I got a dress.”
“What colour?”
“Blue.” The dress would probably turn a few heads, even if only Julianna Nieland’s.
“I trust she’ll have you looking like a real lady.”
“Don’t you start, too, Father.”
“It’s becoming more important that you take life a bit more seriously, young lady.”
Something about that remark made Johanna shiver. He wasn’t going to talk about this getting married thing, was he? “How did you get an invite to go to the palace?”
“It was a stroke of luck,” he said, thoughtfully spooning soup out of his plate. “Mind you, I’m not going for fun. Most of the ball will be to conduct business.”
“Did you apply to the council of nobles again?”
He put his spoon down, and seemed to deliberately avoid her eyes. Eventually, he said, “No. As long as the old Nieland is alive, there’s probably little point in trying that avenue again. But, there may be another way.”
“Another way into the nobility?”
Koby came in with a tray that contained gold-rimmed platters with carved duck and mash gravy, and another platter with sliced bread. Father said nothing while she set the things out on t
he table.
He spoke again only after she left. “This is not common knowledge, so I prefer you told no one about this—”
“Do I ever gossip about things you tell me?” He infuriated her so much. The twists and turns he took, the avoidance, the right angles in his conversation. Why couldn’t he just talk straight?
He sighed. “Prince Roald is back, and will be confirmed as the king’s successor at the ball tomorrow night.”
“Tell me something new. He came on that Burovian ship that’s still in the harbour, didn’t he?”
Father smiled briefly. “I should have known that you were smart enough to figure it out.”
“Is he cured?”
He flicked his eyebrows and continued eating his soup, in that infuriating way he would go silent when she most wanted him to speak.
The old clock on the wall went tick-tick-tick. Next to it hung a portrait of an elegant brown-haired woman. She wore a beautiful green dress—buttoned up to the neck—and a string of pearls. Lady Sara Aroden, Johanna’s mother. How would she have coped with Father’s infuriating silences?
Eventually he said, “Prince Roald will assume his duties as of tomorrow night.” As if she had asked nothing.
“What was wrong with him? Why has he been away for so long?”
Father held up his hands. “Johanna, none of this is meant to be public knowledge. There will be royal announcements about this at the ball, and you will be there to hear it from the king’s mouth.”
She restrained a snort. As if the king would tell the good nobles all the details about his family. If he hadn’t done so when they first decided to make Celine the crown princess, he certainly wouldn’t do so now.
“Why were we invited?” Mother and Father had been to these balls at time, but usually that was because of some business thing, like that time when Father had opened up trade with the lands beyond Estland and some of those people happened to be guests at the palace.
