The Fairy Stepmother Inc.

by Maggie Hoyt

  I dressed my most professional and set out for the Babcock estate. The Babcock family had been nobility for hundreds of years, but they’d never been more than small fish in a very large pond. Naive investing strategies meant they’d never increased their land holdings—and with that, their station. Previous generations had paid tribute instead of collecting it, always living under someone else’s thumb. Now, it appeared, they were beholden to Lord Piminder.

  When I arrived, their servant showed me into the sitting room, where both Lilla and Patrick waited. He shot up out of his seat as I entered.

  “Ah, Madam Radcliffe! Thank you so, so much for coming!” he said, wringing my hand.

  Lilla stood stiffly and nodded her greeting. Clearly, hiring me hadn’t been her idea.

  “I’m happy to help,” I said, rescuing my hand. He gestured to a chair, and we all sat down. “Perhaps you can tell me exactly what’s happened.”

  “This fool told Lord Piminder our daughter could spin straw into gold.”

  “Lilla, we’ve been over this!” Patrick Babcock was, at first glance, an ordinary middle-aged man. His pleasant face wore the laugh lines of a proud father, and he had the slight paunch common to men of his age. When he became animated, however, his whole body seemed to quiver, as if he were moments from jumping out of his skin.

  Lilla threw her hands up in mocking resignation.

  “And why did you promise this?” I asked.

  “I panicked! It was all I could think of! I was nervous—” He couldn’t seem to speak without waving his arms around.

  “Yes, that much I understand,” I said, hopefully stalling another domestic dispute. “It’s how you got yourself into such a situation that I’m having trouble with.”

  Patrick sighed and stroked his graying goatee. “Right, of course. My father, God rest his soul, took a loan from Piminder’s father—”

  “And I’ll tell you exactly where his soul’s resting,” Lilla spat.

  Patrick winced. “Anyway, my father accepted horrible terms, but then old Piminder died before he could collect, and I don’t think his son knew about it right off—I certainly didn’t. But eventually the man realized we owed him, and now interest had accrued, and we’d never paid a bit of it off.”

  “And that foot-licker wouldn’t agree to renegotiate!” Lilla said. “Even though we’ve got no chance of paying it back. So I said, he’s trying to put us in debtor’s gaol, so he can take our land! And then Pate said—”

  “Why not give him our land,” he finished.

  “So you tried to arrange a marriage between your daughter and his son?” I prompted.

  “They’re the same age, and they even fancy each other,” Patrick said. “She’s our only child, so whatever we’ve got would go to Piminder’s son. We thought it was a perfect solution.”

  “Not for Lord Piminder, I take it,” I said.

  “No, he said our Clarrie wasn’t good enough for his son,” he replied. “And here’s where I went wrong, I suppose, but she and I’d just been talking, and she’d told me how she wished she had a special talent like the girls in the stories, like spinning straw into gold, and so I just—”

  “Blurted it out,” Lilla said.

  “And did Lord Piminder give you a deadline?”

  “He said he’d give us until the end of the summer—pay the loan in full or prove Clarrie could spin straw into gold, or he’d turn us in to the moneylenders.” Patrick sort of slouched in his chair, his nervous energy completely drained. He looked utterly defeated.

  I fought back a sigh of disgust. Lord Piminder was toying with them: offering them a glittery ray of hope on a debt they couldn’t hope to pay off, while he bided his time until he could collect their property and marry his son to someone more valuable. The weasel. Well, I would enjoy seeing his face when fairies dumped a load of gold-covered straw on his porch.

  “Well,” I said, “the good news is, I think your story is definitely the sort the fairies are drawn to.” And not just because a certain one of them likes to see arrogant noblemen get their comeuppance. As far as I could tell, these stories all seemed to feature a sweet young woman who’d fallen near destitution.

  Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. “Is there something we ought to do?”

  This was the part I’d thought most about, ever since I’d impulsively volunteered to help the Babcocks at the wedding. I knew I could help them; I was quite confident I could fool Lord Piminder into believing the fairies had chosen his new daughter-in-law—and I didn’t really feel guilty about doing it. He was ruining these people to feed his own greed. He deserved what was coming to him.

  Of course, I’d have to lie to the Babcocks as well, because the more people you let in on a ruse, the more likely it is to fail. And that was where I started to feel a pang of conscience. As soon as I’d heard the Babcocks speak, my instincts said I had a potential consulting firm on my hands. But it’s the very definition of fraud to charge someone for a service you won’t—and can’t—provide. On the other hand, I could give them a fairytale ending; I just couldn’t do it with magic.

  And now that I’d heard the full story, there wasn’t a chance I could stomach minding my own business. Lord Piminder had to be stopped, and the fairies could do it without filing an expensive and contentious lawsuit or selling off most of the Babcocks’ belongings. If you can help, you should. Right?

  “Our primary goal is to prepare Clarrie,” I said. “We must make sure she’s the kind of heroine the fairies like to help.”

  This was the heart of my business plan. As I’d thought about how much Fanchon had changed over the last few months, I’d had to reluctantly admit that perhaps all these fairy stories did have a purpose. They instilled values in these girls. It’s true, I wasn’t crazy about some of them, like “women are meant to clean the house until they are rescued by a prince,” but others, like “be kind and considerate,” are hard to criticize. What if I were able to help a few young women become sensible, good human beings?

  “What would you consider your daughter’s main flaws?”

  “Well, she’s a bit on the clumsy side,” Patrick said. “She does know how to spin and stitch and all, and she valiantly puts in the effort, but all her creations end up a little lopsided.”

  “Can hardly get through a doorway without smacking the side of it,” Lilla added.

  “Yes, she does run into things, doesn’t she?”

  “All right,” I said. “But she’s kind and hardworking?”

  “Oh yes,” Patrick said.

  “She is quite a sweetheart.”

  “That’s what the fairies like to hear. Is Clarrie home? May I meet her?”

  “Of course! I’ll go get her!” Patrick said. He leapt up and hustled out of the room.

  Lilla sighed minutely and for a moment let her tightly woven mask slip; the dark circles under her eyes deepened, and the corners of her mouth fell. She must be exhausted, I thought, and I understood the feeling completely.

  “Madam Radcliffe, may I present our daughter, Clarice?” Patrick reentered with the young lady in question.

  Clarrie looked like her mother, with a round face and a small turned-up nose, a dark complexion and a fountain of curls. She gave me a tiny wave and reached out to shake my hand.

  “Nice to meet you!” she said.

  “Clarrie, Madam Radcliffe is going to help us find your fairy godmother, so she can help you spin straw into gold!” Patrick said.

  Clarrie’s eyes widened.

  “In my experience,” I said, “fairies tend to help young women who have tried everything they possibly can. They become offended if you sit back and expect them to do all the work for you.”

  “Do you mean I should try spinning straw into gold?” she asked skeptically.

  “Not yet. First, we must be sure we’ve exhausted every possible alternate means to persuade Lord Piminder to let you marry his son.”

  The color drained from Patrick’s face. “I—I did talk to him �
��”

  “I know,” I said. “But your primary concern was your loan, correct? Have you ever read a fairy story about refinancing loan payments? Fairies like to help true love. They won’t arrange a marriage because it’s convenient for you. They’ll only do it if Clarrie truly loves this young man.”

  Particularly because I wasn’t going to push any young woman into a marriage she didn’t want.

  Luckily for her parents, Clarrie nodded her head enthusiastically. “We’ve been friends ever since we were small. We’re just right for each other. And he’s furious his dad won’t let him make his own choices.”

  “See, that’s the kind of story the fairies like. We need everyone to know that Lord Piminder is keeping these two young people apart.”

  “Everyone? Like everyone in Strachey?” Lilla asked. “I thought we were looking for a fairy godmother, not the gossipmongers.”

  Oops. “Fairies aren’t omnipresent. We must make sure that our actions are noticed.” I scrambled authoritatively.

  In truth, I really had meant everyone—at least, every noble here in Strachey. This campaign needed the court of public opinion to turn on Lord Piminder, and no one was better suited for the job than Clarrie Babcock. She was, in a word, adorable, which was probably her blessing and her curse. She wasn’t gorgeous like Ella, and she was too sweet for many to take her seriously. But it would be impossible to dislike those dimples. If Strachey knew she was a star-crossed lover, they’d turn on Lord Piminder in an instant, making it that much easier for me to manipulate him.

  “It makes sense, Mom, if you think about it. Fairies surely don’t follow Dad to every meeting he has. They’ve got more important things to do. But if word spreads, they’ll have to find out!”

  Bless you, Clarrie, I thought. “What we need is a public proposition, ideally from one of you,” I said to Patrick and Lilla.

  “But—surely I can’t ask him again. He’ll be even harsher!” Patrick said.

  “That’s why—”

  “Well, I can’t do it,” Lilla interrupted. “I’m her mother! How embarrassing would it be if her own father won’t negotiate for her hand!”

  Actually, the more pathetic the better, I wanted to say.

  “But he’s already given me his terms,” Patrick said before I could interject. “I’ve got nothing new to offer. Have you met Lord Piminder, Madam Radcliffe? He might demand payment now! He could take me to court on the spot!”

  “Which is why we’re making this public. He may be rude, but I don’t think he’ll dare prosecute you in front of the entire nobility.”

  “You think, or you know?” Lilla demanded.

  Oh, rookie move, Evelyn. Thinking loses negotiations. My instructors would have laughed me out of town.

  “There’s got to be another way,” Patrick said. “I just don’t see how we can talk to him again!”

  Clarrie’s face fell, and she looked at me hopefully.

  I pursed my lips. “It’ll be difficult, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” Lilla said haughtily.

  “I’ll look into a few things, and I’ll be in touch,” I said, rising to leave. They shook my hand and showed me out, and I walked back to the road cursing myself.

  Really, Evelyn? I still had to get this to take hold—I had to have some leverage over Lord Piminder. Now I’d have to hope that spreading rumors could cause enough of a stir he’d start to feel worried.

  Two slips of the tongue in one meeting. That wasn’t like me at all. You’re probably rusty, I told myself. You’ll pick it back up. At least, I hoped I would. What if I’d lost my touch? What if, after all this time, it turned out that I really couldn’t consult?

  Stop it, Evelyn. These were first-day jitters, that’s all. There would be wrinkles to iron out. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to make this an official gig. I didn’t know if it was viable. Or if I would like it. I needed to calm down and see how it went.

  When I came home, Fan was sitting at the dining room table, her arms crossed on the table and chin resting on her forearms as she stared down a dish of what had to be shepherd’s pie. I noticed the queen’s missive sitting next to the pie.

  “Do you want some?” she said as I walked in. “It turned out pretty well.”

  I sat down opposite her, picked up her fork, and ate a mouthful. You have to do this with children; my mother had explained this to me when I was pregnant with Fan. You have to take what they offer you, and be happy about it. I’d only had to turn Fan down once to know my mother was right.

  “Well done,” I said. “You’re really coming along! Was it very difficult?”

  She shook her head. “No, I think I could make it again without help.”

  “Excellent!” I said. She smiled faintly and continued to stare at the dish. I waited.

  “I can’t turn this down, can I?” she said finally.

  “Fan, if I thought this would be bad for you, I’d fight the queen until she had to banish me. But this is an opportunity you can’t really argue with.”

  She sighed and put her head down.

  “It doesn’t have to change a thing about how you live your life. We just have to get through this summer. And honestly, it’ll be worse for me. You can be your beautiful, charming self and enjoy the parties and make friends, and I’ll be stuck talking to boring old people. If you’re worried, we can have a signal. You tug on your ear and then scratch your nose, and I’ll know to come rescue you.”

  She lifted her head back up, and I caught a little grin.

  “But I have to be sponsored,” she said. “I don’t know a single noblewoman who would do that. The queen would have to make someone, which is so embarrassing. And I have to make sure I dress properly, and no offense, but I don’t think you’re the best person to help with that.”

  “Well, you’re right on the last count, but that’s why we hire a dressmaker. I’ll just make sure they don’t overcharge you. And the first part is easiest of all. Maribelle will be so excited to sponsor you she’ll probably try to sew you a new wardrobe. And the queen will be pleased with her, since her husband is such a good friend of Aiden’s.”

  Fan sat up and nodded, forcing a smile. “Maribelle’s nice,” she said. “I suppose I should respond to the queen.” She stood, picking up the letter, and turned to leave the room.

  “You’ll be wonderful, sweetheart,” I said as she left. I knew her confidence had taken a hit after the frogs fell on her, but maybe the Season would be just the boost she needed.

  I covered her shepherd’s pie and returned it to the kitchen. It hadn’t been bad actually. It probably would have tasted better hot, and it wasn’t what I’d choose to eat in the late morning, but all in all, at least she had more ability than I did.

  I was just heading toward the study to research the best way to put a gold coating on something, when I heard a knock at the door.

  “Miss Babcock!” Clarrie Babcock stood on my porch, hands tightly clasped. “Come in,” I said.

  She shook her head. “That’s all right, Madam Radcliffe. I just wanted to ask, could I do it? Could I ask Lord Piminder to let me marry his son? Because I will. If Mum and Papa won’t, I will.”

  I stared for a moment in surprise. Apparently, I’d underestimated Clarrie. I wasn’t expecting her to have guts.

  “Yes,” I said. “But you do know this will cause a stir, right? And he will not be kind to you.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. But a stir is what we need, isn’t it? For the word to spread. And I know he’ll be mean, but if people see him rejecting true love, I think they’ll be on my side.”

  That was, in fact, exactly my point.

  “Besides,” she continued, “I was thinking about what you said about fairies liking young ladies who do their best. And if I didn’t try this, well, I wouldn’t be doing my best.”

  “You’re very brave, Clarrie. You’ve got to pick your moment carefully.”

  She nodded. “People have to see it, s
o that the word can get out.”

  I reached out to shake her hand. “Good luck.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “THIS IS LIKE a practice tonight, right?” Fan asked nervously as I tugged on the laces of her corset.

  “Oh no,” Maribelle said. “It’s a real ball!”

  Fan blanched. “But I thought you said it was practice for the garden party!”

  “Everything is practice for the garden party!”

  “You told me this was a fancy house party,” I said.

  “Oh, silly Evelyn! It can’t be a house party because there’s no dinner!”

  “So it’s a full-on ball, dance floor, everything,” I replied.

  “Dancing?” Fan said weakly.

  “No, well, the Courtenays don’t have a huge dance floor, so it’s not really a ball-ball—more like a partial ball …”

  “How much dancing is there going to be?” Fan interrupted urgently.

  “Not as much as a whole ball-ball,” Maribelle said, drawing a huge circle with her hands. “But the boys do like to ask girls to dance, so if this is a real ball”—she drew the circle again—“then tonight is like a tiny mini-ball.” She made a little circle with her hands. “Well, maybe not that tiny …”

  “Can I avoid it? Can I just stand somewhere so I don’t have to dance?”

  “Oh, but if someone asks you, you can’t say no!” Maribelle’s eyes widened in horror.

  “But I can’t actually dance!”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “You went to the prince’s ball—there was dancing there. And I saw you dance at the wedding!”

  “Yeah, with Ethan Kingsley! Who happens to dance … no better than I do. And I’d have been willing to dance with the prince if my legs were broken!” She looked like she might hyperventilate.

  “All right, now calm down. There’s nothing we can do about it tonight, so you’ll just have to do your best. But I promise we’ll have dancing lessons—starting tomorrow, if you want.”

  Fan nodded and took a deep breath.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Fan! It’s going to be just magical, you’ll see!” Maribelle said, removing Fan’s dress from its hanger.