Clare found herself muttering to herself as she climbed the backstairs of the royal manor, following the housekeeper. She had come to the Snoddleton fair excited to be included in the head royal baker’s party and had anticipated spending the time she was not helping with the baking, or working on her own entry for the fair, observing and learning from other bakers. Instead, she had been summoned by the housekeeper of the royal manor to come and help clean once more, and the head royal baker had suggested strongly she answer the summons. Was this some kind of punishment? Had she done something to displease her father, the head royal baker? She had won in her division. Did that not count for something? These thoughts kept going round and round in an unending loop in her head, until she reached the top of the stairs and almost ran into the backside of the housekeeper. What was so urgent about dusting and sweeping that she had not even been given the opportunity to take off her cloak and shake the raindrops off of it? Standing on the landing of the stairs, dripping onto the floors, only added to Clare’s concerns.
“Come along, lass. Don’t dawdle,” said the housekeeper.
Clare thought to herself that she was not the one who stopped abruptly on the landing.
“Come along, briskly now,” the housekeeper said, marching down the corridor past the royal guard outside the rooms of the Princess.
The royal guard was the one Clare knew, and he gave her a nod as she passed by. The housekeeper led Clare to a set of rooms across the hall. She told her to hang her cloak in the wardrobe and follow her into the next room, handing her a feather duster and a polishing rag upon entry.
“We need to get this room ready, so dust first and then use some elbow grease when you apply the beeswax to all of the furniture. I’ll be in the next room doing the same.”
“Yes ma’am,” Clare acknowledged and grudgingly went to work.
As an apprentice, Clare knew she was subject to the commands of the master she was assigned to, but she had expected to be covered this day with flour rather than dust and remnants of cobwebs, and there was a lot of dust. From the looks of the condition of the room, whoever had been in charge of housekeeping for this royal manor had not been working very hard. As time passed, Clare fell into the rhythm of rubbing wax on and rubbing wax off the tables, chairs, bedstead head and foot boards, and chest to the beat of the pounding rain upon the window pane. She decided being inside on a wet rainy afternoon rather than standing duty, trying to keep the baking ovens going, might be a good thing. She could hear the housekeeper working in the room next to her, catch words in conversations as other workers stopped by to ask the housekeeper questions, and then there was silence for awhile.
Just as Clare ran the final rub on the last area she needed to wax, and was about to go to the next room to ask the housekeeper what she wanted her to do next, the housekeeper walked into the room and looked around.
“Come along, lass, it’s time to quit. You’ve done a good job here. I will send my thanks to the head royal baker with strong praise for a job well done.”
Clare felt some relief that the housekeeper would let the head royal baker know that she had done well on this rather unusual assignment. She opened the wardrobe to grab her cloak, thinking that since the rain had stopped a short while ago, her walk back to the bakers’ area at the fairgrounds would be dryer than the walk over. She would only have to avoid puddles and being splashed by water thrown up by carts, wagons, or riders passing by and would not be drenched by a second heavy downpour. These scattered summer showers were great for growing things but a nuisance to have to walk in. Clare opened the door and reached for her cloak, only to discover it was no longer hanging there.
“Those dolt heads,” exclaimed the housekeeper when she noticed the wardrobe was bare. “I told them to leave your cloak and take only the moth eaten robes and other rags pretending to be clothes to the rag picker’s place. Well, there is nothing to be done about it now. Hope it wasn’t your favorite.”
“Well, ma’am, I would be hard pressed to say whether it was a favorite or not for it was my only cloak,” answered Clare politely, as she had been taught, all the while worrying about how she was going to explain the loss of her cloak to the head royal baker.
“This is just dreadful and not your fault,” stated the housekeeper, with a vexed look on her face.
Clare felt the housekeeper must have been reading her mind, for in the next breath she told Clare she would write a note for her, explaining that the loss of the cloak was not Clare’s doing. She told Clare if there were any negative repercussions, she should come immediately to her. Straightaway the housekeeper sat down at a small writing desk, took out paper, an ink well and a pen, and wrote the note for Clare. It did not occur to Clare at the time to question the availability of the fresh paper, ink, and pen in a room that looked to have been closed up for a long time.
Once Clare had been given the note, the housekeeper slipped her a small bit of coin with the suggestion that she treat herself to something at the fair to reward herself for her hard work, and Clare exited the room into the hallway. She looked for the royal guard she knew and waved to him on her way to the backstairs.
Gerta, the housekeeper from Crestbury, had not wanted to get the head royal baker’s apprentice in trouble and so hoped the note she had written had helped. An overly honest woman, it bothered her that she had lied to Clare, but she had needed the cloak. Everything now depended on timing and luck. Keeping an eye on the door across the hall, Gerta continued to look busy straightening and dusting the main room of the suite. As the hall clock stuck the hour, she heard the royal guards change in front of the Princess’ door and knew the time had come.
Just as Clare reached the bakers’ area of the fair and was about to report in, the sky opened up once again, and it began to rain. She dodged the raindrops and ducked into the royal bakers’ pavilion just in time to avoid to being thoroughly soaked.
“You, apprentice, get over here,” barked Master Bröt, the head royal baker. “You are late.”
Clare knew better than to mouth off to her father, but she did think it was a little unfair to be reprimanded for being late when it was he who had sent her off to the royal manor and had not told her to be back at any certain time. Now she was feeling just a touch of dread, for here she was soaking wet, apparently late, and he had just reprimanded her in front of a great many folks. It was when she noticed who those folks were that she wanted to find a convenient hole to crawl into. Standing with the head royal baker were at least half a dozen other master bakers. She could only hope he did not notice she did not have her cloak.
“Front and center, lass, and be quick about it,” Master Bröt demanded.
Clare swiftly did as he asked, trying not to show how very nervous she was. When Master Bröt started very seriously saying, “It is the learned opinion of the Bakers Guild . . .,” the real panic set in. Was she being asked to leave the guild because she had lost her cloak? No, that was ridiculous, she thought. It took a moment for her mind to click back in and really pay attention to what he was saying.
“. . . that you have achieved a level in your craft to warrant the title of journeywoman.”
All Clare could think about in light of Master Bröt’s announcement was thank goodness, she would be eligible for a new cloak now. As she thought that, Master Bröt, looking as pleased as could be, slipped a journeywoman’s cloak around her shoulders. Clare could hardly wait to find Evan and show it off.
Yesterday had been like coming abruptly out of a very deep fog into a blazingly bright afternoon, or at least that is the only way Princess Esmeralda would describe it later. One moment she had been feeling far distant to the world around her, and the next, she was right in the moment, and everything was crystal clear. Clare, the head royal baker’s apprentice, had handed her a pastry she did not think she wanted, and after one bite, the world began to change. While she had been in the fog, she had been aware of what was going on around her but powerless to do anything about it. Now that she felt her mind clear again, she found herself both angry and scared. She did not know who to trust and was afraid to eat or drink anything. What worried her most was that she would not been able to fool someone, anyone, into thinking she was still under the influence of what they had been dosing her with. It was fortunate that she did not have any official duties until later this day. That was giving her cause for great concern. She seemed to be fooling her maid, but then the lass was pretty much a ninny most of the time and afraid of her own shadow.
Fortunately, her maid had left a short while ago to spend the afternoon at the fair, giving her time to think. She needed to get out of here to someplace of safety, but how and where? If only Lady Celik were here to advise her, but Regent Klingflug had sent her away, back to her estate. The Princess would just have to try to figure it out on her own.
Gerta gathered the fresh linens she had placed earlier in the chest at the foot of the bed and went back into the sitting room. Keeping her back to the door to block anyone from seeing what she was doing, she pulled a pillow off the chaise lounge and placed it under the linens. She then walked to the small desk, and again keeping her body between the desk and the door, took out a square flat box and placed that on top of the pillow and below the linens. Taking a deep breath, Gerta turned and headed out of the sitting room, into the hall, and towards the Princess’ door. The royal guard stepped forward, and Gerta thought she might be denied entrance, but the royal guard reached out to take the bundle from her. Gerta knew that her plan would not work if the royal guard discovered the pillow she was carrying was not really a pillow, but a baker’s apprentice’s cloak stuffed inside the pillow cover.
“Ach, now, don’t you bother with this,” Gerta told the royal guard. “I’ve been hauling linens and things since before you were born. If you would get the door for me, that I would appreciate.”
For a moment, Gerta was afraid that the royal guard would refuse, but she did as asked, and Gerta passed swiftly into the room. The Princess was sitting in a chair staring out the window, seemingly not aware that someone had entered. Good, Gerta thought, the lass was a good actress after all. That was a skill that was going to help.
“Your pardon, Your Highness,” said Gerta, dropping a curtsy. “I am here to change the linens. Can I get you a cup of tea while I’m here?”
Princess Esmeralda waved a languid hand, which could have meant either a yes or a no. Gerta quickly took the pot of hot water that was hanging over the coals in the fireplace, poured water over some tea leaves in a small colorful teapot, and let the tea steep. When it was ready, she brought the tea and a cup and saucer to the Princess and set it on a small table next to the Princess’ chair. Reaching into her ample bosom, Gerta pulled out a slip of paper that had a seal affixed to it and set it on the table next to the tea cup.
In a very low voice, Gerta addressed the Princess and said, “A letter of introduction from Lady Celik, Your Highness. Read it quickly, and then I would suggest you throw it in the fire.” Gerta then stepped away from the Princess and headed to the bedroom to change the linens.
Princess Esmeralda did not know what she should do. If she were still under the influence of the concoction that someone had been feeding her, would she have reached for the letter? Was this some kind of test? Was someone suspicious? Was it a coincidence that she had just been thinking about Lady Celik, and now here was a note from her? On the off chance that this letter really was from Lady Celik, she needed to take a gamble. She reached for the letter and broke the wax seal, unfolded the page, and read what was within. In a few short sentences, Lady Celik wrote that Princess Esmeralda’s life was in danger from the Regent, or those who followed the Regent, and she needed to get out from under his influence. In addition, she wrote that the housekeeper who was delivering the note was to be trusted, and she would help in any way she could. Lady Celik knew Princess Esmeralda would question whether the note was really from her, so she had included a short sentence about something that was private between them. Princess Esmeralda felt the note was genuine, but was the housekeeper? Could she trust her?