THERE WAS TROUBLE in the palace as well. One of the boxes delivered that afternoon was full of dresses and shoes, and the six sisters were fighting over them.
“I’m the oldest, so I get first choice!” Azabelle declared.
“But that’s not fair! You ALWAYS get first choice!” Bettina’s face was very red. “We should take turns!”
“All right,” Azabelle agreed. “I’ll have the first turn at choosing!”
There was a protesting wail from her sisters, and Emmadine snatched up a dress from the pile on the floor. “I want THIS one!” she said.
“But that’s the one I want!” Fabrizia seized the dress and tugged. Emmadine refused to let go, and a moment later there was a ripping noise.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Fabrizia glared at her sister. “You’ve ruined it! Now there won’t be enough to go round!”
“Yes there will.” Clothilde counted out the remaining dresses. “One two three, four five six! They must have sent an extra one.”
Donnetta looked doubtful. “What about the freak?”
“Peony?” Azabelle shrugged. “Mother gave her a dress for her birthday. She can wear that.”
“But these are all blue and white,” Donnetta objected. “Peony’s birthday dress is pink.”
“Whose side are you on?” Clothilde frowned at her sister. “If you’re so worried about Peony, give her your dress! And then YOU can explain why you don’t look like the rest of us!”
“The freak doesn’t need to know,” Bettina said. “We’ll just tell her Mother’s expecting her to wear pink.”
This seemed to Donnetta to be a happy solution, and she joined in the scrum to choose the prettiest dress. Further inspection revealed that the dresses were all very pretty, and the bickering died away.
“Who’s going to tell Peony?” Clothilde asked once peace was restored.
“Fabrizia ought to tell her,” Emmadine said. “She tore the dress.”
“No I didn’t.” Fabrizia was outraged. “You did!”
Emmadine shrugged. “We’ll both go.”
The two princesses were surprised to find Peony’s door was locked.
“Peony! Open the door!” Fabrizia ordered.
“I can’t.” Peony had her eye to the keyhole. “Miss Beef locked me in and she took the key away with her.”
“So you won’t be coming to the christening tomorrow?” Emmadine could see an answer to their problem.
“Yes I will!” Peony was indignant. “She’s got to let me out before then.”
“Oh.” Emmadine, disappointed, sagged against the door. Fabrizia pushed her out of the way.
“Peony? Listen! You’re to wear your birthday dress tomorrow – the pink one Mother gave you.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then Peony said, “I thought Father wanted us all dressed the same. Blue and white dresses … I’m sure that’s what he said.”
“He must have changed his mind,” Fabrizia began, but Emmadine seized her arm.
“You don’t need to explain,” she said. “Come on!” And she and her sister sped away.
Peony was left staring at the keyhole. “Bother,” she said. “I hate that dress. It makes me look like a boiled prawn.” She opened her chest of drawers and pulled the dress out. It looked even worse than before, as it was now creased and wrinkled. “Oh dear. I’ll have to try to borrow an iron. I do wish it wasn’t so terribly frilly!” She tweaked at a frill and it came away under her fingers. She gave another tentative pull and yet more of the frill unravelled. “It’s not very well made,” she said disapprovingly, and she looked more closely. “It’s just tacked on! It’s yards and yards of ribbon held on with a single thread! I wonder… Oh, I do wonder. Let’s see if I’m right!”
Peony gave a hearty tug and was rewarded with handfuls of frilled silk. It took her five minutes to remove enough for her plan. Plaiting three lengths together made a substantial rope; the princess tied it to a bedpost, then heaved on it. “It looks strong enough,” she told herself. “And there’s only one way to find out if it is…”
She went to the window. Another couple of carts were being unloaded outside the kitchen door, and Peony was forced to wait until they were empty. As they rattled away she pulled the ribbon rope across the room and tossed it over the balcony. She was pleased to see it almost reached the ground. At least I won’t have to jump the last bit, she thought. I do wish it wasn’t roses down there, though. They look horribly prickly!
After one last tug to test the rope’s strength, Princess Peony began to climb down.
On the other side of the courtyard, Basil was watching. “Interesting,” he said thoughtfully. “Very interesting…”
