put a hand over my forehead in case my blue light could be seen. I wished I had not been so hasty in following the raven into the room. Please, I thought, let him not speak. He must not talk. I did not want my fears to be confirmed.
‘Is the prince here?’ shouted the young woman.
‘He is on his way, Your Highness,’ replied the raven.
‘Hasten, Unwin, make yourself ready,’ said the figure in the chair.
‘That dress does not become me,’ whined Unwin as a waiting woman scurried into the room with a billowing cloud of white lace and satin. She started to pull at the dress so that the fabric ripped. The lady in the chair rang a bell and a chamber-maid rushed into the room.
‘I am not wearing it,’ said the bride, stamping her foot. She lifted the powder puff she had been playing with and hit it down on the dressing table so hard that a cloud of powder went everywhere, choking the poor maid. ‘Get out, you imbeciles,’ she shrieked. ‘See what you have done!’
The maids looked towards the wing-backed chair and I could see a long bird-like hand dismiss them. They curtsied and quickly made their escape.
The owner of the hand stood up tall and straight and walked over to the bride. I thought of the conversation on the cart. This then must be Queen Rosmore.
‘Be calm, my darling daughter. Such worries are not worthy of you. Nothing will go wrong this time. Trust me. Cronus and I have everything arranged.’
I knew then with a sickening certainty that I had met the raven before and that the lovely face of the Queen was only a mask. Behind it was the old witch I had met on London Bridge.
Queen Rosmore turned away from her daughter. She looked straight in my direction and said softly to the raven, ‘Make sure Medlar is kept away this time.’
15
The Fox Prince
I ran down the marble staircase and out on to the gravel drive, relieved to be away from the Queen and her raven. I stood there not sure where to go, watching more wedding guests arrive.
Oh, what was happening? I was in a world where I felt I belonged, yet I had no presence. I had been brought here by a strange man who said he knew my mother. I had to find him to ask one question at least: was it my mother’s shadow they were talking about? I had a sinking feeling that I knew the answer.
I felt cross with myself. I should be braver. I should be bolder, I should be fearless. But I could not. I was too bewildered by what I had seen.
I made my way away from the drive and slipped behind some clipped bushes. From my hiding place, I could see a woodland path that flickered with the scattered gold of sunshine. I followed it until I heard a sound I knew and loved. It gurgled, it lapped, it ebbed and flowed. There, down steep banks hidden by trees and shrubs, was the opal green of a river.
What is it about water, I wonder, that it always calms me? Maybe it was growing up near the Thames. Seeing the river felt like being greeted by a long-lost friend and I felt a sudden pang for my home and all that I had lost.
I rushed and tumbled down through a thick clump of purple foxgloves until very near the bottom I stopped, seeing a flash of brilliant white. I stood still, sure my eyes were fooling me. There, standing at the water’s edge, was a white stallion.
The stallion looked at me as if seeing me, nodded his head and drank at the clear water.
I edged my way forward. A little way off, I could see a young man. He walked up to the horse and buried his head in its neck. I took a step closer. A twig snapped under my foot and the horse started, all white, all glistening.
To my alarm, the young man drew his sword.
‘Who’s there?’
I had never been interested in boys and had no notion that I ever would, seeing being in love and loving as a great tangle in which you could lose your head as well as your heart. Yet standing there that afternoon looking at the young man, I could well see how such knots in life were made.
‘Who’s there?’ he said again.
‘Is the prince here?’ shouted the young woman.
‘He is on his way, Your Highness,’ replied the raven.
‘Hasten, Unwin, make yourself ready,’ said the figure in the chair.
‘That dress does not become me,’ whined Unwin as a waiting woman scurried into the room with a billowing cloud of white lace and satin. She started to pull at the dress so that the fabric ripped. The lady in the chair rang a bell and a chamber-maid rushed into the room.
‘I am not wearing it,’ said the bride, stamping her foot. She lifted the powder puff she had been playing with and hit it down on the dressing table so hard that a cloud of powder went everywhere, choking the poor maid. ‘Get out, you imbeciles,’ she shrieked. ‘See what you have done!’
The maids looked towards the wing-backed chair and I could see a long bird-like hand dismiss them. They curtsied and quickly made their escape.
The owner of the hand stood up tall and straight and walked over to the bride. I thought of the conversation on the cart. This then must be Queen Rosmore.
‘Be calm, my darling daughter. Such worries are not worthy of you. Nothing will go wrong this time. Trust me. Cronus and I have everything arranged.’
I knew then with a sickening certainty that I had met the raven before and that the lovely face of the Queen was only a mask. Behind it was the old witch I had met on London Bridge.
Queen Rosmore turned away from her daughter. She looked straight in my direction and said softly to the raven, ‘Make sure Medlar is kept away this time.’
15
The Fox Prince
I ran down the marble staircase and out on to the gravel drive, relieved to be away from the Queen and her raven. I stood there not sure where to go, watching more wedding guests arrive.
Oh, what was happening? I was in a world where I felt I belonged, yet I had no presence. I had been brought here by a strange man who said he knew my mother. I had to find him to ask one question at least: was it my mother’s shadow they were talking about? I had a sinking feeling that I knew the answer.
I felt cross with myself. I should be braver. I should be bolder, I should be fearless. But I could not. I was too bewildered by what I had seen.
I made my way away from the drive and slipped behind some clipped bushes. From my hiding place, I could see a woodland path that flickered with the scattered gold of sunshine. I followed it until I heard a sound I knew and loved. It gurgled, it lapped, it ebbed and flowed. There, down steep banks hidden by trees and shrubs, was the opal green of a river.
What is it about water, I wonder, that it always calms me? Maybe it was growing up near the Thames. Seeing the river felt like being greeted by a long-lost friend and I felt a sudden pang for my home and all that I had lost.
I rushed and tumbled down through a thick clump of purple foxgloves until very near the bottom I stopped, seeing a flash of brilliant white. I stood still, sure my eyes were fooling me. There, standing at the water’s edge, was a white stallion.
The stallion looked at me as if seeing me, nodded his head and drank at the clear water.
I edged my way forward. A little way off, I could see a young man. He walked up to the horse and buried his head in its neck. I took a step closer. A twig snapped under my foot and the horse started, all white, all glistening.
To my alarm, the young man drew his sword.
‘Who’s there?’
I had never been interested in boys and had no notion that I ever would, seeing being in love and loving as a great tangle in which you could lose your head as well as your heart. Yet standing there that afternoon looking at the young man, I could well see how such knots in life were made.
‘Who’s there?’ he said again.
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