Serial Fun...Installment One

 I am so very slowly getting to do some sewing/ fitting.  But I came across a bit of fairy tale fiction I wrote years ago.  And I thought, well, it does mention sewing here and there.  And it's been in the dark for ever so long.  So...I'm just kinda chopping it up into pieces and I'll put it up here whilst I work on having some actual sewing content.  For your amusement...with a picture one of my kids took on last year's family Disney trip so the Facebook link isn't all weird...

Part One -- The Problem

 

            The day was not going at all well for Her Royal Highness the Princess Gwendolyn Marguerite Prudence Genevieve Anne.  She began the late June morning by daydreaming on the balcony of her palace suite too long and was late for breakfast, then her dancing instructor had become exasperated since she could not seem to remember the steps to the complicated minuet he was trying to teach her (Stupid old-fashioned dance anyway, she thought).  Noontime brought luncheon and the wonderful news that her brother was returning home from his final year of study in Paris, but the Princess had been listening so intently to the message that she paid no attention to what she was doing and set her water flagon down on the edge of her plate.  Of course, it toppled over and drenched her dress.  That had brought a scolding from her mother and a stern look from her father and the ‘I-can’t-do-anything-right’ feeling that seemed to descend on her so often these days.  Finally, on top of everything, she had dressed in her riding habit and walked out to the stable only to find that her mother and one of the palace guests had just gone out riding, and Lady Mousebaton had ridden the Princess’s favorite horse, Zephyr.  Now, the anticipation of an afternoon horseback ride had been the Princess’s sole consolation through the earlier disasters, and when she confronted Zephyr’s empty stall in the stable and realized that bit of pleasure was taken from her, she did what any other fourteen-year-old might have done: she ran away.

            Oh, she didn’t go far, and she planned to be back in time to dress for dinner, but she was simply overcome with the adolescent need to get away from everyone else.  Since the stable master had assumed she would return to the palace, she found herself in one of those rare moments when no palace servants were escorting her.  So, still dressed in her habit, she struck out across the pasture by the stables.  She walked on for quite some time, feeling very sorry for herself and scarcely noticing where she was.  She clambered over a couple of rock fences, skipped over a shallow brook and suddenly found herself in an old, overgrown orchard in front of a great, gnarled apple tree.  She realized, with a bit of a shock, that she was no longer on the royal property.  --Well, she thought, --I’ll rest here a little while then go back home.  There was a particularly inviting branch on the tree -- low and broad and nearly straight out, with a bit of a bend in it just the right distance out from the trunk.  The Princess hitched up her habit and, with only a little difficulty, settled herself into the crook of the branch.  “Now what I need,” she told herself out loud, “Is a really good book.”

            “Oh, really?” said a female voice not too far away, so suddenly that the Princess nearly startled off her perch.  She looked around and saw a young peasant girl, perhaps four or five years older than she was, peeking around the edge of a blackberry bramble.  The other girl was wearing a faded, carefully patched blue work dress and had long, dark brown braids wound around her head, with airy wisps pulled free where the briars had caught it.  She was fairly tall and slender and looked at the Princess with steady gray eyes and a faintly amused smile.  She was holding a basket half full of blackberries. 

            The Princess lost what very little bit of royal demeanor she possessed as she scrambled down from the branch.  “I didn’t know anyone was around...I don’t even really know where I ...oh, bother!”  The last exclamation came as she caught the hem of her habit on a twig and ripped about an eight-inch length loose.  The Princess ruefully looked at the damage and sighed.  “It figures.  My mother’s going to have a fit when she sees this.”  She dropped the hem in disgust.

            “Hm.  Let me see.”  The other girl set her basket down, knelt and looked at the drooping hemline.  “It’s not so bad -- the fabric isn’t torn.”  She let go of the habit, sat back on her heels and smiled up at the Princess.  “If you’ll help me fill my berry basket, I can whipstitch that down for you when we’re finished.”

            The Princess hesitated, weighing the scratches on the other girl’s hands against facing another scolding from her mother for tearing her clothes.  She glance up at the sun.  “I really don’t have much time...”

            The gray-eyed girl gestured toward a thick line of evergreen trees just across the orchard.  “The manor house is just behind those trees.  It shouldn’t take too long.”

            The Princess took a deep breath.  “Well, all right.”  As they walked around the bramble to pick the berries, she continued, “I just took off walking across the fields; I had no idea I was this close to someone’s home.  Who owns it?”

            The other girl smiled grimly as she carefully moved the briars and picked a few berries.  “It doesn’t look much like a country estate, does it?”  She dropped a handful into the basket and sighed.  “It all belongs to my stepmother now.”

            The Princess had gingerly picked three berries and dropped them into the basket to cover her surprise.  She had taken the girl for perhaps a kitchen servant or a laundress, but certainly not a member of the landowner’s family.  She mentally went down a list of the nearby landowners and drew a blank for any possibilities of the girl’s identity.  She dropped a few more berries into the basket.  “Do you mind if I ask you your name?”

            The other girl chuckled.  “No, I don’t mind...,” the chuckle died, and just a trace of bitterness edged her words as she continued, “But, do you want to know my name or my nickname?”

            The Princess was puzzled.  “Well, your name, I guess.  Isn’t that what everyone calls you?”

            Her companion dropped her berries into the basket.  “My name,” she said, making a deep curtsey as if they were being formally introduced, “Is Isabella Amanda Charlotte Savoy.”  She stood up straight and began picking berries again.  “But nobody calls me Isabella,” she sighed.

            “Everyone calls you by your nickname?”  The Princess was getting more and more curious about the young lady...and the name ‘Savoy’ did seem somehow familiar, but she couldn’t place it.  “Only my brother calls me by my nickname.”  She dropped a handful of berries into the basket as she remembered that he was coming home in about a week.  “You know, I always wanted a friend who would call me by my nickname...”

            Isabella dropped a few more berries into the basket.  “Well, I hate my nickname.  Ever since shortly after my father died, that’s all I’ve been called.  My mother’s name was Isabella -- she died when I was five -- and I have always wanted a friend who would call me ‘Isabella’.”  Inspiration seemed to hit her and she turned to the Princess and said, “Shall we grant one another’s wish?  If you’ll call me Isabella, I’ll call you by your nickname...if you’ll tell me what it is.”

            Suddenly, the Princess realized that most of her restlessness was actually loneliness.  She had family, and servants, and subjects, but no friends.  She also realized that, for whatever reason, Isabella was lonely, too, and was offering her the gift of friendship.  Surprised and delighted, she replied.  “Rita.  My brother -- and only my brother -- calls me Rita.  But I’d be very pleased if you would, too.”  She dropped a few more berries into the basket.

            Isabella looked down at the basket as Rita dropped in her berries; it was nearly full.  “I think that will do it.”  She picked up the basket and tipped her head toward the manor house with a smile.  “Shall we go mend your hem, Rita?”

            Rita smiled back, suddenly happier than she had been in a long time.  “Oh, do let’s, Isabella!” she said gaily.  As they headed across the orchard, she found herself thinking, --A friend!  So this is what it’s like to make a friend!  Then, her eyes widened slightly as another thought crossed her mind. --Isabella doesn’t know who I am.  I wonder if it would matter if she did....  She realized she couldn’t bear it if Isabella deferred to her with a meek “Your Highness.”  --I won’t tell her, Rita decided.  --Not yet.

            Rita was surprised as they came through the line of trees at the edge of the orchard.  Despite the overgrown, unkempt appearance of the pasture and orchard, the lawn around the manor house looked neat and well-tended.  Isabella saw the expression on Rita’s face and explained.  “My stepmother has a circle of friends with whom she socializes quite frequently.  She spends just enough of the estate’s income to keep up the appearance around the house.  The rest of it goes to keep her and my stepsisters fashionable.”  Isabella opened the scullery door.  “I’m afraid the only reason I could offer to fix your hem is that they’ve all gone into the village to pick out fabric for new dresses.  There are rumors flying about that the Prince is returning home soon and they want to be ready for any parties that might possibly happen.”  Isabella put the blackberries in a dishpan, then picked up a small basket in the corner by a rocking chair.  She gestured toward a small bench, and Rita sat down.  Isabella knelt on the stone floor in front of her, opened the basket, picked up a needle and a length of thread and deftly began re-sewing Rita’s hem.

            Rita watched for a moment, until her curiosity overcame her manners.  “Isabella, I don’t want to pry, and you don’t have to answer, but...”

            Isabella interrupted her.  “But why am I picking berries while they are out shopping?”  She glanced up and smiled her grim, sad smile once more as Rita nodded solemnly.  Isabella went back to her sewing as she continued.  “You could ask other questions, too, like, why am I the cook, butler and maid, serving my stepfamily in what should be my house?  Why do I sleep on a straw mattress in the attic instead of a featherbed in the bedroom?  Why do I go about in worn out clothes, while they spend my father’s money on fine dresses and jewelry and dinner parties?”  She tied off the thread and broke it with a jerk as Rita listened, astonished.  Isabella stood up and put her sewing things away.  “It’s a long story, and you’ve got to go.  Thursday is their usual day to go visiting;  if you can come back then, I will tell you the story.”  She frowned for a moment, thinking, then continued, “Come through the orchard again.  I’ll tie a red scarf to the scullery door if they’re gone and I can visit.”  Rita nodded and Isabella sighed, “I’m glad you wandered over here.  It will help to have someone to talk to.”  Then, as Rita went out the door and turned to say good-bye, Isabella suddenly turned anxious.  “Rita...,” she hesitated, then went on in a rush, “Please don’t tell anyone about me.  Don’t say anything -- I’ll tell you why when I talk to you again.”  She looked so worried that Rita felt she had to comfort her.

            “Don’t worry -- I won’t breathe a word.  Honest.”  Isabella looked a little less frightened, so Rita reached out and squeezed her hand.  “I’m glad I wandered over, too.  I’m not sure I can come Thursday, but I’ll do my best.”  Then she grinned widely.  “Thanks for fixing my hem!  You’ve saved me from a great scolding!”  She waved gaily and set off across the lawn.  She paused in the orchard just long enough to pick three blackberries, which she ate as she passed the gnarled apple tree.  She was deep in thought, trying to remember why the name “Savoy” sounded so familiar, but couldn’t remember anything.  Poor Isabella.  It almost sounded as if she were a prisoner in her own home.  Rita wondered what kind of story she had to tell.

            Rita was so taken with the mystery that she once more spent too long daydreaming about it and was late for dinner.  Fortunately, her mother and father were both engaged in conversations with some of the nobles who were dining with them, so she was able to slip quietly into her seat without comment.  For a few moments, she actually thought she might have gotten away with it, but just as the servants were bringing in the fowl Lady Felicia Mousebaton, the very one who had unknowingly instigated Rita’s adventure by riding Zephyr after lunch, felt compelled to remark, “Why, Your Highness!  I didn’t see you come in.”

            The Queen happened to catch the remark and looked up sharply, her brow knit in a frown.  “Gwendolyn, this is the second meal today to which you have been tardy.  I think you and I should discuss this in my apartments at eight o’clock.”

            Rita sighed.  Nosy old Lady Mousebaton, anyway.  She hadn’t gotten away with anything.

To be continued...