Garden Princess (18 page)

Edward turned onto the street with the hospital. He slowed his pace as he approached the gate, feeling the panic rise again. It didn’t seem to make a difference how often he steeled himself to what he knew must be the truth about his mother. She was gone, and he would never be able to tell her the words he longed to say:
I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.

Inside the entrance of the stately building, a well-fed, bored-looking young man was sitting behind a desk marking a stack of ledgers.

Edward cleared his throat.

“Yes?”

“Are there any doctors here who make charitable visits to patients in Ragtown?”

The man made a face. “A few, maybe. Not many.”

“I’m looking for a doctor who might have visited a patient there about thirty years ago.”

“Thirty years!” The man looked as if he thought Edward was crazy. But a moment later he scratched his head. “Well, I guess it might have been old Dr. Harold. He worked here well before my time, mind you, but people still talk about him — soul of kindness and all that. I think he still sees a few patients from time to time over at his house on Lavender Lane.”

Based on the man’s directions, Edward had no trouble finding Dr. Harold’s home. His was the largest house on a street lined with large homes. Red brick with white trim, two stories, two chimneys, and a garden in front. Clearly Dr. Harold’s career had been a successful one. He couldn’t have spent too much time visiting patients in Ragtown.

He won’t know a thing about my mother, Edward told himself. He’s probably not even the right doctor. Those thoughts pushed away his fears, made it easier to knock on the door.

The serving girl who answered looked him up and down, taking in his worn-out clothes. Edward wondered if he looked more like a beggar than a thief. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Is the doctor at home?”

Her expression softened. “He’s out just now,” she said. “Would you like me to fetch the missus?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll come back later.”

But even as he said it, Edward wondered if it was true. Would he really have the courage to try again?

“The doctor will be back soon,” said the girl. “You can wait for him in the parlor if you like.”

It seemed he wouldn’t be forced to test his courage after all. Edward followed her into the house.

“I’ll tell him you’re here when he comes in,” said the girl, and left him alone.

He took in his surroundings: a pretty room with a flowered carpet and lace curtains at the window. There were books on the low table in front of the love seat, one of them open. Someone, perhaps the doctor, liked to read. And someone, perhaps his wife, had left a bit of half-done embroidery beside the books — yellow flowers stitched on a white background. Edward thought of dandelions, which made him think of the princess.

But only for a moment. He closed his eyes, feeling the panic again. He could picture himself, rising up from a chair to shake the doctor’s hand. He would describe his mother, and the doctor would look grave.
Yes, of course I remember the woman you describe. Her son had left her alone, and she was dying. Can you imagine? I did what I could, but . . .

Edward heard footsteps in the hall. Was the serving girl coming back? Then he heard a voice: “Never mind, Polly. I’m sure I must have left it in the front parlor.” A woman stood in the doorway. She was searching through a basket she held in her arm.

He couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth, and a choked sound came out.

The woman looked up. Her eyes were dark like his own, but her hair had gone white, and her face had grown older. The basket she was holding fell to the floor. She put her hands to her face.

“Neddy?” she said.

Adela was standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom and laughing. “I look ridiculous!” she said.

“No more so than anybody else, Your Highness,” said the dress designer, who was making the last adjustments to the dandelion costume Adela was wearing. Her name was Nora, and she was a cheerful, middle-aged woman whom Adela had come to know well over the past few weeks. Nora was good at her craft.
The best in the business,
as Cecile had put it, which was why the queen had hired her to create all the royal costumes for the masquerade ball. “Don’t tell Her Majesty or Lady Marguerite, but your costume is my favorite of the ones I’ve made,” said Nora. “You’re sure to have a wonderful time this evening!”

“I think I agree with you,” said Adela.

She couldn’t help but look forward to the ball — and the award ceremony that was to take place at it. Her father was going to bestow an honorary knighthood on both her and Garth.

“I never heard of a girl being named a knight before,” Cecile had remarked.

“I’m proud of my daughter, and I want to show it.” The king was not often so resolute, but when he was, Cecile knew better than to press her point.

As for the ball, Adela had asked Cecile to invite Bess and the other guests who had come to Hortensia’s garden party the same day as she, Marguerite, and Garth. Adela was looking forward to seeing them again and only hoped they didn’t mind wearing flower costumes. She had softened her opinion of the garden theme, thanks to Nora, who had made her see that this aspect of the evening could be entertaining. “Think of the ballroom floor as a living work of art, Your Highness,” Nora had told her. “Designers from all over the kingdom will be putting forth their best effort. Trust me, it will be a sight to see.” It had been fascinating to watch Nora at work, creating one costume after another. Marguerite had held true to her plan of coming as a daisy. Garth had wanted to come as himself — a gardener — but Marguerite had said no to that idea. Instead, she and Nora had secretly cooked up something
absolutely stunning.
At least that was Marguerite’s description of the costume. Garth’s was
absolutely ridiculous.
Adela couldn’t wait to see it.

The queen had wavered between dressing as a rare purple orchid or a delicate pink rose until Nora had settled the issue for her. “I would say the rose, Your Majesty, and I can make a lovely honeybee costume for His Majesty. Very romantic, if you know what I mean.” Cecile’s finished gown, made of rose-colored velvet and green silk, really was a work of art, and Adela’s father’s costume was a marvel of construction. “Not often you get to see a king dressed up like a honeybee,” Nora had remarked.

Now, in front of the full-length mirror, Adela turned slowly, admiring her own costume. Nora had made the bodice and skirt of the dress look as if they were made of large dandelion leaves. The effect was dramatic and even rather flattering. The skirt had a jagged edge that fell just above her ankles. Below the skirt, she wore stockings of light green and comfortable, dark-green satin shoes decorated with bouquets of silk dandelions.

“Very daring to show off her ankles like that,” Cecile had told Nora.

“No one will mind at a masquerade ball, Your Majesty, and if I may be so bold, Her Highness does have a pretty pair of ankles.”

Adela liked the way Nora spoke to Cecile — always respectful but completely confident about her work and her ideas. That was how
she
wanted to be about gardening.

The gown’s neckline was formed by two long silk dandelion leaves that wrapped around Adela’s arms just below her shoulders. But the crowning glory of the costume was the headdress. It consisted of a tight-fitting muslin cap with dozens of long, thin, and nearly invisible wires poking out of it. Each wire had a tuft of white feathers at the end, so that when Adela pinned up her hair and pulled on the cap, she looked as if she were wearing a cloud of dandelion seeds ready to blow away in the wind. Nora now checked to see that the cap was pinned securely in place. “Let’s see it with the mask,” she said.

In contrast to the rest of the costume, the mask was quite simple — leaf-green silk strengthened with muslin. Nora had spattered the silk with touches of real gold paint and then decorated it with tiny emeralds. “Stunning!” said the dressmaker as she tied the ribbons of the mask behind Adela’s head.

Adela smiled at her reflection. “I’ve been a dandelion once before in my life, and I can assure you that this second time is much better than the first.”

“Your Highness seems to have been born to play the role,” said Nora. “Dandelions are my favorite flower, if you must know.”

“You don’t think of them as weeds?”

“Goodness, no! Dandelions mean springtime and sunshine! There’s nothing that makes me as happy as seeing a field full of them. Daisies in summer give me the same feeling — oh, but that makes me think I’d better go check on Lady Marguerite’s costume. She was having trouble with that collar. All those petals — I warned her that dress would be a challenge to wear.”

As the dressmaker bustled out of the room, Adela sank into a chair. Nora’s comment had made her think of Edward. It had been exactly six weeks and three days since he had disappeared, and she still had not completely purged him from her mind. Working in her garden helped. So did making plans for her upcoming plant-collecting expedition. Her trip had become official now; her father had said she could go in the summer. There were still details to be worked out, though. In Cecile’s mind, the expedition was a garden tour, during the course of which Adela would visit the estates of wealthy families around the kingdom. She would travel by coach with a female chaperone and be treated with the appropriate royal deference wherever she visited.

Somehow, between now and the time she actually set out, Adela knew she would have to set her stepmother straight. She wouldn’t be traveling by coach but would go on horseback. She wouldn’t stay at Lord and Lady So-and-So’s castle but would find a room at an inn. She might even camp out in the open if it suited her. She had already done as much on Flower Mountain, and she was none the worse for sleeping outdoors. As for a chaperone, Adela could see the sense in taking along a few knights in case she ran into trouble on the road. Though now that she had begun taking fencing lessons, even they might be unnecessary.

It was thanks to Cecile that Adela had taken up fencing.

At dinner one night, the queen had said, “I wonder if we shouldn’t have the medal award ceremony on the day
after
the masquerade ball.”

“Certainly, my dear, if you like,” Adela’s father had said. “Though I can’t see why it matters.”

“It’s just that I’m afraid the award ceremony might color people’s opinions of Adela. A medal for bravery and a knighthood seem so
masculine.
We don’t want the guests to wonder if she’ll be taking up sword fighting!”

People’s opinions. Guests.
By which her stepmother meant
men’s opinions
and
male guests.
Adela had felt the need to make a stand. “You’re so thoughtful to be concerned, Cecile. But it seems like such an inconvenience to you and the servants — not to mention the guests — to change the plans now. I insist that we keep everything as is.” Then Adela had smiled broadly and added, “As for sword fighting, I think that’s a marvelous idea! Just the sort of training I should have before I head off on an adventure.”

“But I didn’t mean —”

“May I take lessons with the fencing master, Father?”

“Certainly, my dear, if you like.”

Adela’s forthright attitude was an outcome of her adventure with Hortensia, and Cecile was slow to react. Before the queen could recover, everything was arranged: the medal ceremony would take place at the masquerade ball as originally planned, and Adela would take fencing lessons. These now took up the time that had once been allotted for her dancing lessons. “It’s the only time the fencing master has available,” Adela had told her stepmother. “But he does say that fencing will improve my overall coordination, which will in turn improve my dancing.”

Whether that was true had yet to be seen. What Adela liked about fencing was that it made her feel powerful and capable. And it kept her mind busy. It was impossible to think about Edward when she was fending off an attack by one of the other students in class. It was impossible to miss him or daydream about love when she had disarmed an opponent, sending his sword flying across the room.

Adela rose from the chair and stood in front of the mirror again, this time adopting a proper fencing pose. But at that moment, there was a knock on the door. It was Nora. “There you are!” she said. “Her Majesty has sent me to escort you down to the ballroom. You’ll be announced just after the king and queen.”

Adela relaxed her stance and took a final look at her costume.

If I had a garden, it would be only dandelions.

She sighed. Six weeks and three days — soon to be four, she thought.

“I’m ready,” she said.