The Ugly Stepsister (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 1) (12 page)

“That’s all? Is there anything else your mother remembers?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Nah.” He coughs.

I fish out a handkerchief for him, but he waves me off. “Can’t ruin somethin’ so fine.”

Sunlight pours down at us, illuminating the pavement. I am reminded that it should be nearing noon. “Is it your day off today?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Lunchtime. I’d best be going soon.”

“When do you get your day off? Sunday?”

“Never,” he replies placidly. “Can’t afford to, miss. We’re paid by how much work we do.”

A chill runs down my spine. Not just because he revealed that he doesn’t have any vacation, but that this boy, who can’t be more than ten, is stating his job situation in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he’s just telling me the weather’s fine today.

“Jimmy,” I say faintly. “How many hours do you work a day?”

He looks surprised but answers, “Twelve hours, miss. Sometimes up to fifteen, when it’s high season.”

I stare at him, numb with shock. I effing cannot believe this.

A shout comes from within the household.

“Miss Katriona, where are you? Lunch is ready.”

“You’d better go, miss,” Jimmy says, looking alarmed.

I nod. But before I start to head back, an inexplicable urge hits me. I reach out and give him a hug. His body, as expected, is just like a bag of bones, thin and brittle.

“Take care,” I say. “And don’t mention to Elle your coming to see me, okay? I can’t tell you at the moment, but I swear I’m doing all I can to help her.”

Jimmy looks surprised and a little embarrassed. “You shouldn’t…your dress is dirtied, miss.”

“Just promise me not to tell Elle,” I say.

He nods and shuffles off. Before disappearing round the corner, Jimmy trips and almost loses his balance. I wish I could call our hansom cab for him, but I can’t. Van is reluctant to drive me unchaperoned. I can’t imagine how he would react to this request.

“How do you find a gardener in a city of three million? Oh wait, he isn’t even in the city. Dammit! Can’t you even help me out here? Your goblin king is driving me nuts. It isn’t even fair when I don’t have magic like you do.”

I pace up and down in my room, foaming with rage. A new flat-wicked kerosene lamp burns on my dresser. I should be practicing sewing, but who cares about a lady’s accomplishments in a time like this?

Krev perches on the mantelpiece, his ugly knobby feet dangling before the hearth. I whirl upon him and fix him with the most intimidating glare I can manage. Maybe if I glare hard enough, he’ll come up with something other than cackling or crowing.

“Do you know how to find this Adam Snyder?”

Krev shrugs. “Have you ever heard of a gardener in
Cinderella
?”

“No, but also it’s never mentioned that Cinderella has a mother and two brothers! Look, I’m sick and tired of playing this silly game. Can’t you do some magical equivalent of Google search?”

Krev disappears for a second, then reappears on the window sill.

“Well, here’s an idea,” he suggests cheerfully. “We know Adam Snyder is a gardener who doesn’t live in the city, but he has a daughter who does, and he has visited her years ago. Most likely, if their relationship has not deteriorated to the point that they’re estranged from each other, he’ll keep coming to the city.”

“You’re not being helpful,” I say. “Are you telling me I have to look for his daughter?”

“What I meant is that Snyder could have other acquaintances in the city. He might purchase more seeds or tools, or bring in some wild species from wherever he works. Why don’t you ask at the shops and see if they have a clue?”

“Me?”

“‘Course, my dear. Even if I’m feeling benevolent enough—which I’m not—to do it for you, they can’t see me. And even if they could, they wouldn’t listen to me.”

He’s wearing that infuriating grin again. The grin that likes to see me suffer.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, crossing my arms. “First, it’s like combing for a needle in a haystack. Second, isn’t it kind of strange for a noble lady to step inside a gardening store where they sell fertilizers and spades and rakes?”

“Now she’s worrying about propriety!” Krev cackles. “This from a girl who drove to the poorest neighborhood unchaperoned and allowed her servant to ride in the hansom with her. And took off her shoes in the royal garden and snored in the theatre and…”

“Oh shut up, you,” I snap. If he couldn’t fly or disappear, I’d wring his neck.

There’s a knock on the door. “Miss Katriona?”

Martha comes in with a load of fresh laundry. She squints at me, a suspicious glint in her eyes. “Were you talking to yourself?”

Now, if she asked me that question when I first arrived in this world, I might have stuttered and stammered, or just played dumb, but now I am ‘much improved.’

“Actually, Martha, I was simply rehearsing a piece of poetry I would like to perform in the next soiree,” I say, lifting my chin. “Since my piano-playing is dreadful, my singing horrible, and I dance with two left feet, I figure the only way left is to hone my elocution.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse Krev nodding with approval.

Martha dumps the load of cotton chemises and drawers on my bed, and starts sorting them into neat piles, folding with expert efficiency.

“By the way, I need to go shopping today. I’d like to decorate my window sill with flowers.”

She pauses, a sleeve dangling in her hand. “Flowers, miss?”

“Why yes.” I give her a winning smile. “After visiting so many beautiful homes, I’d like some flowers in the room.
The Ladies Domestic Journal
says a little gardening will benefit our health, because of the fresh air the plants provide. Wouldn’t you like a nice, colorful flowerbed in the window?”

Martha stares, then shrugs. “Whatever you say, miss. I say ever since you hit your head and lost your memory, you’ve never been the same. This request is at least normal.”

I smile. “Good. Prepare my cloak and boots. I leave at once.”

I cannot freaking believe this. I actually lied in such a perfect manner that I’m impressed with myself.

But as the hansom bumps along the street, my mood becomes less cheerful. While Krev’s suggestion has some sense in it, it just doesn’t seem practical. But it’s what I can do now, so I might as well make the most of it. Better use of my time than piano-practicing, anyway.

The gardening stores are actually nicer than I imagined. Mrs. Thatcher’s hut is definitely hell in comparison. When I push open the door, I realize that the stores cater to the middle-classes and above, and so most of those I go to are clean and well-kept and frankly speaking, quite lovely with elegantly carved window boxes and baskets overflowing with ferns and flowers.

But even though the stores are nice, no one has heard of Adam Snyder, and honestly, it isn’t surprising. Judging by Elle’s age, he came to the city at least fifteen years ago. Some of the store clerks look barely older than fifteen themselves. And annoyingly, everyone seems to think that the only reason a lady will ask after a man is because he is A. her fiancé B. her husband C. her brother or D. her father.

Finally, a white-haired clerk, upon hearing that Snyder possibly worked for Earl Bradshaw, suggests that I go to the palace and ask the head gardener, Galen.

“But he mayn’t see you, ma’am. He hates women. Especially young, pretty ladies like you.”

“Why?”

He smirks. “Since the prince is greatly interested in gardening, a number of young women have tried to attract his attention through Galen.”

“Oh.” I remember Mr. Wellesley had asked Henry if he would like to purchase some gardening magazine for the prince. “Um, I assure you I only want to find Mr. Snyder.”

“Best of luck, miss.”

THIRTEEN

When I arrive at the palace, I ask Van to tell the entrance guards that Lady Katriona Bradshaw has an important matter to discuss with the head gardener. I thought I phrased myself quite well; I’m beginning to get the hang of Story-World-speak.

The clerk wasn’t kidding me about that Galen guy. I’m told that the head gardener is currently occupied and it is advisable that I leave a written message instead.

Dang. I’ve no idea how to convey my question. Then someone taps on the side of my hansom.

“Lady.”

It takes me a moment before I recollect where I’ve seen him. It’s the large, muscular man who drove Henry’s carriage on the day I first met the prince. I’m surprised that he is actually quite young—probably even younger than me. His cheeks are still round with baby fat, which contrasts bizarrely with his gorilla-like body. Right now he’s grinning at me like I’m a cute puppy.

“Pardon me, but you are…”

“Bertram, milady. I am His Highness’s personal equerry.” He puts a hand on his heart and bows. For a man built like a football player, his movement is surprisingly graceful. “His Highness is currently occupied, but he should be able to see you in a quarter hour.”

I tell him that I’m actually here to talk to the head gardener. His brow furrows at my request, but he asks me to step off the hansom and follow him.

We pass through the entrance gates, cross well-kept gardens, and make turns at a hedge or fountain until my head starts spinning and I ask Bertram to please slow down. Presently a row of greenhouses comes into sight. Bertram opens a door and steps aside, indicating that I should go first.

Inside, it is warm and humid. Rows and rows of potted plants line the long wooden tables. Bertram leads me to a stout middle-aged man with a bushy mustache and ruddy cheeks. His arms are quite thick—I guess it comes from his job. He does not look up when we approach; apparently he is deeply engaged in pruning a tomato plant, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

“Galen, a lady has come to see you,” Bertram announces. “Lady Katriona Bradshaw, the second daughter of the late Earl Bradshaw.”

It is then that he lifts his head and a quizzical look flashes across his face.

“What can I do for you, lady?” His lips are tightly compressed, his eyes narrowed. You’d think I was begging a miser to donate five bucks.

I take a deep breath. Here goes. “Pardon me, sir, but I would like to ask you if you’ve heard of a certain gardener who worked for my father. His name is Adam Snyder.”

Galen draws his brows together. “A gardener called Snyder who worked for the earl?”

“Yes.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “That name sounds familiar, but it’s a long time since I’ve heard it. Why do you wish to find him?”

I draw myself up to my full height. “That is a matter concerning myself and my family.”

He looks surly. “I am a busy man, lady, and if you can’t tell me your motives for finding this person, I am afraid I cannot help you.”

I’m biting my lip, racking my brain furiously for a suitable explanation, when the greenhouse door swings open. My mouth falls open at the sight of the prince carrying a large flowerpot. Bertram hovers a few paces away, looking pleased with himself.

When the prince sees me, he stops abruptly.

“Miss Katriona. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Galen is still wearing that surly expression. Suddenly a brilliant idea hits me.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” It comes out too fast, and I muster a cough. “Er, do you have some time to spare? I would like to speak to you in private.”

He sets the flowerpot on the table. There’s dirt on his arms and face and hair—he looks nothing like the immaculately-dressed prince that day at the presentation. But it doesn’t make him less attractive. Sexiness simply oozes from him, especially when he has his cuffs folded back to the elbows and his shirt front gaping open, showing a sheen of sweat on his collarbone. He could be a male model—minus the flowerpot.

“By all means,” he says. “Galen, see that the new plants are brought in and cataloged. Have the pansy seeds arrived yet?”

Galen grunts and points to a sack on the table.

The prince nods, then turns toward me. “This way, Miss Katriona.”

I follow him out of the greenhouse, past rows of flowerbeds, past those maze-like hedges where he bandaged my foot. I banish the memory and ponder what I should say to him. My palms grow moist; I’m sure I’ll make a fool of myself in front of him again, but I have to do something if I want to return to my family.

He pauses briefly at a rhododendron bush. “Your mother and sister are somewhere in the palace?”

“Huh? No, they’ve gone shopping on High Street. Bianca needs a new pair of gloves—again.” I make it sound like she’s committing evil. You see, I’ve made up my mind to use every chance I have to deride Bianca in front of the prince. “As if the dozen pairs in her drawer aren’t enough.”

Surprise crosses his features. “Do you mean that you are here alone? Without a chaperone?”

“Why would I need one? I can get around perfectly on my own, thank you.”

His eyebrow twitches. Crap, I’ve probably done something wrong again. Something that a lady isn’t supposed to do in Athelia.

“I’m not actually alone,” I quickly say. “Van, our coachman, drove me. Besides, it’s not as if I’m heading toward a gambling house or someplace dangerous. I had something important to ask Galen, so I couldn’t be bothered with this chaperone thing.”

Still he regards me with a curious stare. A moment later, he turns and continues to walk. I’ve got to get back to the real world, fast. A country where a girl can’t go anywhere without a matron hovering around—it’ll drive me crazy.

Finally he stops in front of a large stone wall with ivy and honeysuckle crawling over it. He takes a key—a huge fancy golden key even bigger than my hand—and inserts it into a door in the wall. Add a chirping robin, and this could be the perfect set for a film adaptation of
The Secret Garden
.

“After you.” He steps aside. I don’t mind if he goes first, but hey, it’s kind of nice being treated like a lady sometimes. I could do without the endless rules of conduct, though.