Princess of Athelia: An Unfinished Fairy Tales Novella (3 page)

“Kat! Oh, and Your Highness!” She sweeps into a deep curtsy. “What a wonderful surprise! I was bored out of my life, and I dearly wished to pay you a visit, but Jonathan is adamant that I remain home till I’m fully recovered.”

“Is it the morning sickness?” I ask. While she doesn’t look as bright and energetic as on the croquet field, she doesn’t look pale or sickly at all. “You’re not throwing up your food or anything?”

Poppy looks surprised. “How did you know that?”

Uh-oh. Another piece of knowledge that I, from the modern world, am not supposed to know. Even though I’ve told Poppy that I don’t come from Athelia, she hasn’t really believed me.

“I . . . I came across it when I was reading a book. You know how much I like to read.”

Poppy looks a little puzzled, but then she gestures to the dining room. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll ask Mary to bring some refreshments for you. Do you prefer coffee or tea, Your Highness?” There is a timid note in her voice as she glances at Edward. He isn’t a tyrant, but I guess he might still seem intimidating toward his subjects.

Edward shakes his head. “My apologies, but I must be going. Henry is expecting me.” He drops a quick kiss on my head. “I will be back in two hours. Do not leave without me.”

When he leaves, Poppy visibly relaxes. She sinks into her chair and lets out a sigh of relief.

I giggle. “You look like an ogre just left.”

“I can’t help it. He is the prince, after all. When I came to stay with Claire, she couldn’t stop talking about him, as though he’s a deity sent from heaven.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but he’s human. Like you and me.”

Poppy grins. “I could tell that he really loves you. There is this smoldering flame in his eyes when he looks at you.” She puts a hand on my arm. “I’m so glad that you accepted his proposal, Kat. I know this means you’ll have to sacrifice your chance of going back to your family, but we are here for you. We’ll be your family.”

I smile, touched, but I don’t bother to correct her. “Enough about me,” I say, bringing out the parcel I’ve been carrying. “Here—this is for you . . . I mean, when the baby is born.”

Poppy protests that there’s no need to be so generous, but I place the parcel firmly in her lap. “Open it,” I command in a tone that sounds eerily like Edward’s. Only a few weeks in the palace, and his authoritative attitude is already rubbing off on me. I’d better watch myself, or I’ll turn into someone like Bianca.

She unwraps the parcel and lifts out a delicate white baby dress suitable for a girl or a boy, a lacy nightcap, and a rattle.

“This is so exquisite,” Poppy gushes. “Did you make the dress all by yourself, Kat?”

“Yeah, I’m a genius with my needle . . . not. Of course I got someone to make it for me.”

“No matter. When the baby is born, you will be his godmother.”

Again I give her that fake, too-bright-to-be-sincere smile. By the time the baby is born, I will only have a few months left in Athelia.

I decide to change the subject. There’s a book lying on the table—at first I wonder what kind of stories Poppy likes to read, but then at a closer glance I discover it is simply a notebook, the pages scribbled with numbers.

“What have you been doing?” I indicate the notebook.

Poppy rubs her forehead and grimaces. “I’ve been trying to keep accounts on our household budget. You know, with the baby coming and all, Jonathan said we must record all our expenses. But it’s dreadfully hard, Kat.”

I remember Mom balancing our checkbook every month, her brow furrowed as she chews on a pencil and taps the buttons on the calculator. “Have you had trouble making the ends meet?”

Poppy shakes her head. “We barely go out for meals and parties, and Papa’s offered to provide assistance whenever necessary. Jonathan would prefer not to rely on Papa too much, but he’s more willing to accept help since I am with child.” She puffs up her cheeks, looking frustrated. “It’s the numbers that are darned difficult to keep tabs on; they make my head spin.”

If she doesn’t spend much, I wonder why she’s having difficulty with the numbers. “Can I have a look?”

There’s always a mundane side to getting married
, I think, as I run a finger down the column Poppy has drawn up. I have to learn an encyclopedia’s worth of royal etiquette and customs, while Poppy, whom I suppose you can call a middle-class housewife, has to deal with adding up the bills for milk, eggs, bacon, bread, sardines, and the like.

“If a pound of sugar costs three shillings, then you’d spend nine shillings for three pounds, not eight.” I point out a spot where she made a mistake. “Also, see here. If the grocer gave you a 20 percent discount on a pot of strawberry jam, which costs five shillings, then you should have paid four shillings, not four and a half.”

I draw a diagram to illustrate, and Poppy’s eyes widen. “And I even thanked him for giving me a big discount! Kat, is there anything you don’t know about?”

I mumble something about reading too much.

“I wish Papa had let me read more when I was a child,” Poppy says ruefully. “He used to say that trashy novels would corrupt my mind, and he limited my reading to guidebooks for young women.”

Given the kind of education I had endured since arriving at Lady Bradshaw’s house, I can’t say I’m too surprised.

The doorbell rings. The maid gets the door, and in comes a stocky young man and a lovely young woman with honey blond hair and baby blue eyes.

“Jonathan!” Poppy exclaims, rising from her chair. “Look who’s come to visit us!”

Mr. Davenport kisses the top of her head and makes her sit down. He gives me a warm, friendly smile and asks how I’m doing. Once, he had bowed to me when he accompanied Poppy to visit me in the palace, but I told—ordered—him to treat me as a friend. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this Royal Highness stuff.

“Good morning, miss.” Elle starts to drop into a curtsy, but I stop her.

“It’s Kat,” I say firmly. “Don’t let me catch you saying ‘miss’ again. You aren’t my servant anymore.”

Elle lets loose a pretty, tinkling laugh like wind chimes. She takes off her bonnet and hangs it on the rack. She must have been here before, judging by the familiarity with which she moves about the house.

“Mary, get us a fresh pot of tea and bring two more teacups.” Poppy leans forward, her eyes bright and inquisitive. “Did the case go well? Do tell us that the judge listened to you!”

Elle nods. She settles on a chair and clasps her hands together. “The judge has ruled that I am indeed the daughter of Earl Bradshaw, and that Madam—Lady Bradshaw—should yield the earl’s manor in the country and two-thirds of his fortune to me.”

I give an unladylike whoop of joy. Luckily, everyone is too excited about the news to be concerned about my behavior. Poppy claps her hands like a child, while Mr. Davenport grins like he’s the one who inherited a fortune.

“I’m so glad for you, Elle. Now you won’t have to worry about your mother and Billy, and Lady Petunia won’t have further reason to object your, um, association with Henry.”

She doesn’t look as overjoyed as we are. “I’m afraid his mother still needs convincing.”

“But it’s proven that you are the daughter of an earl,” I say. “What more does she have against you?”

Elle shakes her head. “I am no longer a servant, but that doesn’t mean she thinks I am good enough for Henry. There are plenty of better choices than me.”

“But it’s you he wants,” I say.

Poppy nods fiercely. “You deserve each other.”

The maid brings us a steaming teapot. Elle pours herself a cup and takes a sip before speaking.

“I want to wait a while. I want to make sure that what Henry feels for me isn’t simply an infatuation.”

Somehow I am reminded of Mr. Bingley (Henry) and Jane Bennet (Elle). Only in this case, Darcy (Edward) isn’t scheming to separate them, and Henry’s mother resembles Lady Catherine de Burgh.

“Besides, everything happened so fast.” Elle pinches her bottom lip and looks downward. For a moment she looks lost, vulnerable, afraid. I feel like giving Henry a good shake for making her feel this insecure. “It’s only a few months ago that I left the Bradshaws’ and started working at the palace. Then I learn that I’m the daughter of an earl, and suddenly I’m an heiress?” She shakes her head and releases a deep breath. “All I want now is to take some time and think it over. There are some things I know I need to do—I want to send Billy to school and have Mamsie quit working. Or at least buy her a sewing machine; we’ve never been able to afford one.”

“If you need further assistance with legal matters, I will be happy to provide it,” Mr. Davenport says. “I can also refer you to an accountant if you need one. Anything I can do for a friend and cousin.”

Elle smiles at him gratefully. “You have done so much for me already. All of you.”

“Well, I’d say if the duchess remains adamant, there’s always Ruby Red.” Poppy smirks, her eyes twinkling.

Elle looks scandalized, but Mr. Davenport laughs. I laugh as well, but I can’t help feeling a bit sympathetic for her. I had assumed that once Elle regained her title, she would no longer be considered inferior to Henry, but after encountering Lady Petunia, it’s unlikely that Cinderella’s fairytale ending is going to arrive soon.

5

I sit on the balcony, half-concealed behind a polished oak pillar. I’m swathed in a dark silk dress, which makes me look at least five years older. Black elbow-length gloves, a black lace veil, and a black fan complete my outfit. The whole ensemble gives me an eerie sense of being like some Gothic romance heroine. It’s actually kind of fun, if you ignore the fact that the reason for the costume is that a woman isn’t supposed to be here. I’m in the Chamber, where the members of the parliament (MPs, as Edward tells me) gather for the last session. Second-to-last session, to be exact, as the last session, normally known as prorogation, consists merely of a summary of the year’s achievements.

Like the palace, the Chamber is a breathtaking construction. It adheres to the red and gold theme of Athelia’s monarchy, with a magnificent golden ceiling and throne, while rows of red leather seats line up before the throne. Above the throne are huge paintings depicting famous monarchs. I recognize most of them, thanks to my industrious studying under Madame Dubois. Behind me, stained-glass windows rise to the ceiling, casting daylight into the room. As it’s rather cloudy today, the four golden chandeliers are lit to compensate for the lack of sufficient lighting.

Because it’s so damn stifling in my Gothic costume, I start to fan myself. If the MPs notice me, then so be it.

Edward appears in a formal black suit and trousers, carrying a scroll tied with a red ribbon. He strides to the throne and waits for the members to quiet down. His steadfast gaze and straight posture remind me that although Athelia is a constitutional monarchy, he still carries himself with this majestic, commanding air. Most of the members cease their chatter and sit in silence, their gaze fixed upon the prince. It’s kind of a double standard for me, because while I don’t hesitate to let Edward know I will never behave like a spineless subject, I find it amusing that the MPs are subdued in his presence.

After Edward presents an opening speech, which sounds just like a boring recital, the Prime Minister goes up to the podium and gives an annual report from various departments and agencies. He is a dumpy man wearing a wig—the long, fake, white kind worn by judges in civil court. It’s a pity Edward doesn’t have to wear a wig, because I’d certainly die of laughter. Then several MPs come forth to deliver local and national presentations of papers, all of which sound extremely dry and tedious.

Just when I’m in danger of falling asleep, the Prime Minister adjusts his glasses and reads from a scroll.

“Now let us commence the Third Reading of the eight-hour bill. For those who wish to express an opinion, will you please raise your hand?”

I sit up and lean forward in my chair, my heart pounding. Edward had told me that with a landslide victory in the Second Reading, plus the growing attention from the public and continued reports from investigators and novelists, it is hardly probable that the Third Reading will be rejected. Still, it doesn’t mean that all members will cheerfully pass the bill without further comment. Several MPs are invested in the cotton trade, which is considered one of the largest industries of Athelia.

A man raises his hand and is granted permission to speak. He is quite passionate about the bill, stating that eight hours is still too much that any child can bear. He cites evidence from a medical report written by Dr. Jensen, whom I remember is Henry’s mentor.

“I would even go further and propose that the working hours should be reduced to half a day in the morning, which leaves the afternoon free for mandatory education.”

I could hug him, if it weren’t that I was supposed to stay out of sight.

Another man stands up and expresses an opposing opinion. He says that with the rapid advancement of technology, Athelia has transformed into the most powerful nation in the world. The country will fall behind if the supply cannot keep up with demand. While he acknowledges that there are problems with the child workers, he is confident that as long as the children are carefully monitored and no violence is inflicted upon them, there is no reason why the factories cannot continue as before.

Bullshit
. I wonder if he has ever been inside a factory himself.

The debate continues for a while, but much to my disappointment, it looks like the hours cannot be further reduced. Most of the members, while willing to concede that it’s harmful for children to work long hours, are also unwilling to cut down the hours from twelve to four. Edward wasn’t kidding when he told me that the parliament is reluctant to drastic change.

Edward puts up his hand, causing everyone to stop squabbling right away. “I propose amendments to go with the bill,” he says, instead of arguing for further reduction of the hours. “Inspectors must be appointed to ensure that the working conditions are at least tolerable, and heavy fines must be enforced should the factory owners fail to comply with the rules.”