NOT LONG BEFORE Peony’s thirteenth birthday there was a great event. A new royal baby was born – and it was a boy. King Thoroughgood and Queen Dilys were ecstatic. Barrels of weak ginger ale were sent to every village and posters were pinned on trees, inviting everyone to rejoice with the Royal Family.
The Royal Christening was to be a truly glittering party.
“We will invite all the most important people in the kingdom and beyond,” the king said.
“And the Fairy Godmothers,” said the queen. “I believe they bring wonderful gifts.”
The king looked doubtful. “What kind of gifts?”
“The usual kind of fairy gifts, dear.” The queen waved a hand. “A splendid singing voice, or a never-ending supply of jokes, or a crock of gold that never runs out.”
“That could be useful,” the king agreed, “although I’m not so sure about the singing. And certainly not the jokes. I can’t stand jokes. Had a dreadful fellow here once – wanted to be a jester, or some such thing. Had to get rid of him, of course. Gold, on the other hand, is always acceptable. Very well then – we’ll invite the Fairy Godmothers. How many are there?”
“Three, I believe.” Queen Dilys frowned. “And there’s a rather doubtful sort of person who lives in Scrabster’s Hump. She’s called the Hag.”
It was King Thoroughgood’s turn to frown. “We don’t want anyone like that. Make sure she’s not invited. We only want guests of quality, Dilys. And wealth, of course. I’ll be delighted to welcome the important, the grand and the wealthy.”
“And I’m sure they’ll be delighted to come, dear,” the queen said soothingly.
Peony’s six older sisters were less than delighted.
“What about us?” Azabelle demanded.
“We don’t ever get a party!” said Bettina.
“Will we have new dresses?” Clothilde wanted to know.
“I’ll only kiss that baby if Mother buys me new shoes.” Donnetta folded her arms.
Emmadine scowled. “Well, I want a new dress and new shoes before I kiss ANYTHING!”
Fabrizia ran to ask her mother and came back beaming. “We’re to have new dresses AND new shoes,” she reported. “And Mother says lots of handsome princes have been invited to the christening breakfast.”
This news cheered the princesses, and it was decided that the new baby wasn’t altogether a bad idea.
“Are we allowed to cuddle him?” Peony asked.
Azabelle snorted. “Cuddle him? Why would he want to be cuddled by you?”
“I like babies,” Peony said. “And he is our little brother.”
“And WE’RE his big sisters.” Bettina glared at Peony. “We get to cuddle him first. You’ll have to wait your turn; you’ll be last.”
But the older sisters never asked to cuddle the little prince. Peony tiptoed up to the royal nursery, but Miss Beef was on guard and would only allow her the merest peek at the baby. Peony just had time to see that he had flaming red hair and a button nose, and she sighed as she walked back to her room.
“I’d love to sing him songs. And tell him stories. If I could ever get back to that library I could borrow a book on knitting, and I could knit him the dearest little green jacket…”
But the baby’s nurse, instructed by Miss Beef, declared he needed Peace and Quiet and No Germs until after he was christened. The next time Peony came tiptoeing to the door she was told to go away, and not to come bothering everyone again. Disappointed, she walked down to the orchard and collected several handfuls of cherries before wandering back to sit on the palace steps. There, as she sat eating her cherries, she was joined by the palace cat. The cat sat down beside her, purring.
“Hello, puss,” Peony said. “I haven’t seen you for quite a while.”
The cat’s purr grew louder, and Peony smiled at him as they sat comfortably together in the sunshine. “I wonder where you go to when you’re not here? Somewhere nice, I hope.”
Miss Beef, who happened to be bustling past, sniffed loudly. “All cats are vermin,” she snapped. “Riddled with fleas, without a doubt. Shoo! Shoo! Be off with you! And do NOT leave those cherry stones on the steps, Peony.”
As Miss Beef went one way and the cat fled the other way, Peony picked up the cherry stones with a sigh and put them in her pocket. “Miss Beef spoils everything,” she said crossly. “She won’t even let me be friends with a cat.” She looked round, but there was no sign of her furry acquaintance. “And now I won’t see him again for ages. I do wish he were mine…”
The cat had been in and out of the palace for years. Sometimes he was to be found in the stables, or the kitchen, or strolling through the royal apartments, and at other times he simply vanished. He occasionally allowed Peony to stroke him, but mostly he remained aloof. He particularly liked to sit in high places where he could see, but not be seen.
The youngest housemaid, who had twice found him crouched on top of Peony’s wardrobe, was wary of him. “It’s like he’s spying on us, Miss.”
Peony had laughed the idea away. “I think he’s just being a cat. What would he find to spy on here?”
But the housemaid was right: the cat was indeed a spy.
