THE CAT’S NAME WAS BASIL, and he was newly returned from Murk, where the Fairy Godmothers lived – a journey he made every two or three months. There he was expected to report on the latest doings of the king and the Royal Family. He had never been complimentary about any of them, with the exception of Peony.
“Peony’s – how shall I put it? Different,” he explained, after ending a boring account of daily events at the palace. “She’s unusually kind, and she’s thoughtful as well.”
“Interesting.” Fairy Jacqueline made a note.
“Poor child,” said Fairy Geraldine. “The rest of them sound shockingly selfish.”
Fairy Josephine sighed. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: they ought to have asked us to the girls’ christenings. We could have done so much for them, especially the plain ones.”
“Beauty isn’t everything, Josephine.” Fairy Jacqueline snapped. “But you’re right. We should have been asked.”
That the palace had never asked the fairies for anything was the subject of much discussion and disapproval. Without practice the fairies’ magical powers were withering away; even a request for the removal of a wart would have been appreciated, but no such request ever came.
Fairy Jacqueline shook her head. “I’ve almost forgotten how to turn rags into satins and silks.”
“I practise on the kettle,” Fairy Geraldine said brightly. “Last week I filled it with daisies entirely by magic!”
“So you did,” Fairy Jacqueline said sourly. “And you meant it to be gold, so you can hardly count that as a success. Besides, it made the tea taste dreadful for days.”
Fairy Geraldine looked sulky, and Fairy Josephine turned back to the cat. “So, friend Basil – is anything else happening at the palace?”
“Merrow!” Basil had been saving the most important item of news until the end. “Ahem. There’s a new baby – and it’s a boy!”
“A boy?” Fairy Josephine gave a little trill of astonishment. “Oh! Oh my goodness me – a little prince!”
Fairy Geraldine forgot to be sulky. “Surely they’ll have a Royal Christening for a baby boy…”
“Really, Geraldine!” Fairy Jacqueline was disapproving. “You sound as if you think a boy is more important than a girl. To my mind, a princess has all the value of a prince.”
“Of course, dear,” Fairy Geraldine agreed. “But after all those girls … they’re sure to be a little pleased, don’t you think?”
Fairy Jacqueline sniffed. “King Thoroughgood and Queen Dilys sound exceptionally foolish, so I expect you’re right. We’ll see.”
“We will go if we’re invited, won’t we?” Fairy Geraldine asked anxiously.
“Naturally.” Fairy Jacqueline nodded. “But we have yet to hear if a christening is to take place.”
Basil, who was cleaning his whiskers, looked up. “Oh yes,” he said. “Didn’t I say? There’s to be a wonderfully grand Royal Christening Breakfast. No expense spared. ‘A truly glittering party’, the queen said. And you’re all to be invited.” He stretched and jumped down to the floor. “But now I must be off. Things to do … princesses to check up on.” And away he went, leaving the fairies in a state of huge excitement.
“What wonderful news!” Fairy Geraldine clapped her hands. “When the invitation arrives I shall accept at once.”
“Of course,” Fairy Josephine agreed. “And we must think what gifts would be suitable for the new prince. What a shame our magic isn’t a little more up-to-date; a straight nose and a noble profile are so very appealing.”
“Hmmm.” Fairy Geraldine looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. I was wondering about a magic porridge pot. One needs to be practical these days…”
Fairy Jacqueline gave her a sour look. “After what happened to the kettle, my dear, I think you should leave kitchen utensils alone.”
“What FUN!” Fairy Josephine twirled on her tiptoes. “I do love parties.” She paused mid-twirl. “Oh! Do you think they’ll remember to invite the Hag? There’s bound to be trouble if they don’t.”
“I’m sure it’ll be all right,” Fairy Geraldine said. “Scrabster’s Hump is miles and miles away. I don’t expect the Hag even knows there’s a new baby.”
But Fairy Geraldine was wrong. The Hag was, at that very moment, studying the poster pinned to a tree on the top of Scrabster’s Hump.
“So there’s a new baby prince,” she muttered, “and we’re ordered to rejoice. Huh! We’ll see about that. What have that fancy lot ever done for me? Nothing, that’s what. Nothing. There’ll be a Royal Christening, no doubt, and I expect I’ll be forgotten. Always am. I’ve a good mind to go anyway…” She peered more closely at the paper. “Ha! How very convenient! They’ve given the date: Midsummer’s Morning. Well, well, well. I’ll be there, invitation or no invitation – and if there’s no invitation, I’ll make them very, very sorry!”
And she went to look out her books of magic and a large iron cauldron.
