Meadowstar
I have to dip into my savings to pay rent; I don’t like doing it, for I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t touch that money for any other reason than bringing Mum and Dad here, but since Mistress Corthope had left her shop by the time I arrived, I had no other choice.
The next day is rainy, too, and Chemmy and I stay indoors instead of exploring the city. I write a long letter to my parents, telling them cheery news about working at the palace and describing Hugh’s fine horse, although I omit the owner’s name. I add a special note for Mum, asking her to tell me how Dad’s rheumatism is; he doesn’t like me to worry about him, but since he can’t read, he won’t know I’m asking.
I wish I could tell them I had the money to get a place for them. I wish I could say “very soon.” But that too-light money bag weighs on my mind, and I close the letter with only vague hopes.
Monday dawns clear, though frost sparkles on the cobblestones and hanging street signs. I leave the boardinghouse even earlier than usual. Chemmy, bless her heart, walks with me even though she doesn’t need to leave yet. Her face is lined with concern .
“Mistress Corthope keeps you too late. You’ve not been home before dark since you started working for her—and then you’re doing chores for Mistress Mungon all evening! You’re going to run yourself ragged, Hester.”
“I’m fine,” I say, yawning into the back of my hand. “I’m lucky to have a job at all.”
Our steps slow as we pass the butcher shop where Ungus works. He spots Chemmy through an open shutter and waves at her with a face-splitting grin. She blushes and waves back.
“One of these days, I’m going to lose my roommate to the heroic Ungus,” I say.
“One of these days, I’m going to lose my roommate to the charming Prince Fitzhugh,” Chemmy shoots back.
“I’d almost rather take my chances with the Folk,” I laugh. Besides, other than our brief meeting in the rain, he hasn’t sought me out recently; finally tired of me, I suppose. I won’t complain.
Chemmy smiles and waves as I enter Mistress Corthope’s, bell jingling, and I rub my chilly hands together.
“I need my wages, ma’am,” I call, and Mistress Corthope appears from the back room.
Her eyes narrow. “Didn’t I give them to you on Friday?”
“You weren’t here when I came to collect them.”
“Are you sure?” She taps a finger on her pointed chin. “I remember counting them out for you.”
“You didn’t,” I answer, stomach tightening. “I still need them.”
“Hmm.” She pulls the moneybox out from beneath the counter and unlocks it with a little key from a chain around her neck. She counts up the coins, taking her time, while I curl and uncurl my toes. Finally, she consults the ledger on the counter and shakes her head. “No, your wages aren’t here anymore.” She points to the figures in the ledger. “I’ve noted the amount I withdrew for you, you see.”
I can’t feel my hands. My eyes dart from the ledger to Mistress Corthope’s face. “But—I didn’t get them!”
She closes the ledger and the moneybox. The clang rattles in the quiet shop. “I’m not to blame if you’ve misplaced your coins, girl.”
“You didn’t give them to me!” My voice is growing shrill, but before Mistress Corthope can reply, the doorbell jingles again and Jinna enters the shop.
“You were here when I paid Hester, weren’t you?” Mistress Corthope asks.
Jinna doesn’t meet my eyes. “I—I don’t remember, ma’am. Maybe.” She squinches her face apologetically.
“You—” The rattle of a carriage interrupts me, and Mistress Corthope gives me a mocking smile before she stalks toward the door.
“Don’t be late,” she says over her shoulder. She exits, and I glimpse a carriage through the open door before it slams shut behind her.
A whole week’s wages.
I glance at the counter where the moneybox is. Even if I had the key, Mistress Corthope would accuse me of thievery if I helped myself. I’d be arrested—or worse. Jinna rattles around the back room, muttering to herself. I’d be angry at her for not standing up for me, but she’s just trying to survive here, too. What else could she have done? What can anyone do?
I suppose a—a prince could do something, if I were foolish enough to apply for help.
I draw in a shaking breath and wipe the back of my hand over my eyes. This is my responsibility, and I’ll fix it by myself. I haven’t been working hard enough. I have to do more. I have to be better.
Lucas’ voice echoes in my mind. “That sounds like a difficult way to live.” What if I just … ask someone for help? Other people do that.
Ah, but Mum would kill me. We don’t need help. We don’t accept help. Mum and Dad would rather starve than know that I stooped so low.
I suck in one last shuddering breath and leave the shop. Someday, I’ll find a new position doing something I’m better at, something that pays more. But until then, I’m late for work, and if I want any chance of increasing my wages, I’d best try not to give Mistress Corthope cause for displeasure .
I’m out of breath when I arrive at the palace, and later than usual. The place is always bustling, it seems, and I nod to a few recent acquaintances as I hurry past the stables to the back entrance.
A familiar figure stands ready to mount a pretty gray horse, and I duck my head, hoping to avoid his notice. Not that I dislike Lucas’ notice, but he is the prince, and I am late for work. I can’t resist one glance as I skirt around the groom holding the reins to his mare, and our gazes meet.
His face pinks slightly, and his brows draw together. “Miss Flanders,” he says. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Your Highness,” I murmur and curtsy, not stopping.
“Why are you walking again?” His voice is a bit stern as he calls to my retreating figure, and I stop and turn slowly to face him.
Why am I walking? “My carriage is out of commission, sir,” I deadpan.
His frown deepens. “There is one sent for you and your employer each day. Why do you not ride in it?”
“Mistress Corthope hasn’t been hiring a cab?” I say slowly before understanding dawns. That wasn’t a cab I saw this morning. My fingers clench into tight fists.
Lucas’ expression flickers, and he moves a tiny step closer to me, bending his head toward mine. “Is your employer—unkind to you, Miss Flanders?”
I will not cry in front of the crown prince. I sniff and raise my chin. “I have no complaints.”
Oh, what a lie! I have many complaints!
“You can tell me.” Lucas’ dark eyes bore into my own, so gentle and compassionate that I have to blink back unbidden tears. “I can help.”
“I need to get to work,” I say. “My mistress will be displeased that I’m late.” I wrap my arms around myself.
His hand twitches toward mine, but stops before he touches me. “Tell me what I can do for you. ”
My smile is bitter, and it’s not fair to be bitter at the prince. He hasn’t done anything besides insult my mum’s story. “Thank you, but I’m fine, Your Highness.”
I emphasize the title just the tiniest bit. My heart craves his proffered friendship, the warm compassion in his face, but it cannot be for me. All I’ve known—all I’ve been taught to know—is work and stubbornness and a bitterly proud self-reliance. I can’t change my whole worldview just because one man thinks he can solve any problem.
Lucas steps back and nods, a flash of sorrow crossing his face before his expression shutters. “Forgive me for keeping you, Miss Flanders.”
There is nothing else to say, so I bob my head and hurry on into the palace, ignoring curious looks from the grooms and servants. I choke down the tears that will rise, despite my best efforts, and I arrive in the workroom red-faced and sullen. Mistress Corthope greets me with ill-natured scolding, and I bite back the retorts I want to make.
It’s a long, querulous sort of day, and everyone is out of sorts. I sew faster than ever in a mad attempt to make up for my tardiness, but Mistress Corthope is not pleased with my work and makes me pick out a long seam and redo it.
“These must be done by the end of the week,” she snaps. “Don’t make me dock your wages, Hester!”
I’ll beat the rugs for Mistress Mungon this evening with extra vigor.
I’m still re-sewing the troublesome seam when Mistress Corthope is ready to leave. She puts away her work with an oily smugness. “My carriage will be waiting,” she says. “Hester, mind you have that done before you leave.”
I bite back a bitter laugh. Done! There’s at least an hour of work here, and I’ll be walking home in the dark. “Of course, ma’am.”
One of the palace maids gives me a pitying glance as Mistress Corthope leaves, but I ignore it. I want money, not pity.
I’ve only done a few more stitches when she reappears. “Come, Hester,” she orders peevishly. “You’re to ride with me.”
I look at her with confusion, my hands stilling in my lap.
“Well! Put your work away! I don't want to be kept waiting!”
I follow her instructions slowly. “I thought you wanted me to finish this.”
“The coachman said he can’t leave if we don’t go together.” Her voice is sullen and she presses her lips in a thin line.
A tiny bit of warmth eases through me, and I finish folding my work and brush tiny threads off my skirt before I follow her out.
Mistress Corthope doesn’t so much as look at me as we rattle gloomily back to her shop. I’ll still have to walk to the boardinghouse, but it’s not far from there. We pull up to the shop, and she pushes her way out of the carriage first. I step out and walk to the front where the driver sits. “Thank you,” I call. I recognize him; he drove me home after the ball.
He nods at me with a friendly smile and grabs a paper-wrapped parcel from the seat next to him. “For you, miss.”
I have to stretch up on my tiptoes to reach it, and I accept it with another thanks. I hope Mistress Corthope is not watching. I step out of the way as the driver snaps the reins and jolts off, and I tuck my parcel into the pocket of my cloak. I’m tempted to open it right here in the middle of the street, but I force myself to go home first.
When I get to the boardinghouse, Chemmy is sitting in the common room, darning a pair of stockings. She looks up and brightens when I enter. “Hester! You’re earlier than usual!”
“The palace sent us in a carriage,” I say, unwinding my scarf. I omit the fact that apparently, they’ve been sending us a carriage all along, and my mistress neglected to inform me.
“A royal carriage! Imagine! I’m almost jealous that you’re working for Mistress Corthope.” Chemmy sighs dreamily. “I’d love to see the palace up close.”
I grit my teeth. Chemmy doesn’t need to be burdened with my gripes about my employer. “Why don’t you go to the Commoners Ball next year? ”
“I don’t have your gumption,” Chemmy says, laughing.
“Come upstairs with me.” I drop my voice. “I have something.”
Chemmy lays down her darning, and we hurry up to our room. “What is it?”
“I don’t know yet.” I pull the rectangular parcel from my pocket and Chemmy crowds in close to see. We tear the paper off to reveal a box, and we open the box to find a book and a paper-wrapped cluster of tiny white flowers.
“,” I say, and if my voice is quivering, it’s probably because I’m out of breath from running up the stairs. I bury my nose in them and close my eyes. They smell like sunshine and freedom and home, and I let the bright fragrance fill me.
“I’ve never seen them before.” Chemmy breaks my reverie, and I hand her the nosegay to admire.
“They grow all over back home. I used to fight the hogs for them— they wanted a snack, and I wanted a centerpiece for the dinner table, and great was our quarreling.”
“Hogs can’t quarrel, Hester,” Chemmy objects.
“Imagine if they could, though.” I peer back into the box and pull out the book, a narrow, cloth-bound volume. When I open it, I find a folded note. I swallow, and my heart beats just a tiny bit faster.
Dear Miss Flanders,
I must start with an apology: the tales in this book are neither terrifying nor horrible. I read them as a child. Perhaps I am only trying to prove to you that I have read more than economic texts, or perhaps the pastoral nature of these reminds me of you; either way, I hope you get some enjoyment from them.
I found the meadowstar in the greenhouse. I hope it cheers you.
Yours,
I. L. C.
Chemmy’s eyes are wide. “And I thought Prince Fitzhugh was going to offer for you!” She fingers the meadowstar. “How did you manage to get both princes to fall in love with you? And Prince Inglebert’s rumored to be marrying some foreign princess, too!”
“No one is in love with me!”
“I suppose Prince Inglebert gives cheese and books and flowers to every peasant he meets?”
“He shouldn’t give them to anyone,” I grouse as I take the meadowstar from Chemmy and place it into our cracked jar. “I told him all about the dangers of debts!” Chemmy plops onto the bed, grinning, but doesn’t say whatever else she’s thinking. I survey the delicate flowers for a moment before turning away with a sigh. “I need to go beat the rugs.” And come up with a way to pay Lucas back—again.