1
A Grand Plan
“Ooow! You are torturing me!”
These are the pained and angry words that echo across the fair lands of Fleetwood to break the tranquil dawn and accost early morning travellers near and far. No, it is not the anguished wails of a prisoner being lashed deep within a castle dungeon; it is merely Princess Rose being readied to meet the day.
Her shrill squeals of protest laced with an equal measure of indignation easily eclipsed the sounds of chattering teeth and the clattering of knees knocking together in fear as her personal attendants: Mildred, Alice and Evelyn endured the Princess’ angry tirade.
Sadly, it had become a daily ritual for these three ladies to tolerate, as best they could, these unruly outbursts as they attempted to brush the Princess’ flaxen tresses after a night of sleep.
“You useless fool!” scolded Rose, her alabaster complexion turning many shades of red as her perfect features grimaced. “You must be gentle with me. Being a princess, I am as delicate as a peach!”
“A rotten peach, I’d say!” Alice muttered beneath her breath as she readied a gown for her to wear.
“I am sorry, Princess Rose,” apologized the youngest of the handmaidens. Poor Evelyn had the misfortune of drawing the short straw amongst her peers this morning and was relegated to the task of brushing the Princess’ hair. “I am trying to be gentle.”
“Well, not gentle enough!” snapped Rose; snatching the brush from Evelyn’s trembling hands. “You are utterly useless! If you cannot handle this brush as you should, then surely you have it in you to hold this looking glass for me.”
“Of course, my lady,” responded Evelyn, shrinking beneath Rose’s angry scowl and scathing tone as she attempted to hold the mirror steady while the Princess preened.
As the morning sun bathed the bedchamber in a warm, golden hue to wash the Princess in its glorious light, Rose admired her features: the flawless, porcelain skin; the dewy lips; the pert, little nose and the striking violet eyes accentuated by impeccably plucked and shaped brows.
“I look lovely!” declared Rose, smiling demurely at the reflection she so admired as Evelyn tried to hold the mirror just so.
Soliciting no words to confirm this declaration, Rose cleared her throat as she announced once again and a little louder, “I look lovely!”
“Ye- yes, you do, my lady,” squeaked Evelyn.
“Then say it! Do not stammer like a complete ninny. State the obvious,” ordered Rose, glaring at the three harried servants.
“You look lovely!” chimed the trio, smiling with forced affability as they cowed yet again to her demands.
“You are absolutely correct!” chirped Rose, sweeping the soft boar bristles through the golden strands that glimmered in the sun. “Mind you, I do not like this light. It makes my skin look sallow. Do something about this light, Gwendolyn.”
“Evelyn, my lady.” A timid voice whispered from behind the looking glass.
“What did you say?” snorted Rose, her nerves bristling with impatience.
“Evelyn, my lady. My name is Evelyn.” She remained hidden behind the mirror, too nervous to correct the Princess to her face.
Rose scowled in annoyance as she snapped at the girl, “Gwendolyn, Evelyn, dolt, fool… I shall call you whatever I please! I am a princess, after all.”
“Yes, my lady, however, if this light does not please you, then perhaps you should move away from the sun?” suggested Evelyn. Her slight frame seemed to shrink all the more under Rose’s harsh words.
“The sun should move for me!” grunted the Princess, scrutinizing the pores on her cheeks that became more visible in this light. “It is unbecoming on my natural skin tone.”
“I dare say, my lady, it gives your lovely complexion a warm, sun-kissed glow,” offered Mildred, the oldest of the three servants. However, these kind words did little to pacify the Princess.
“Well, I do not like it! I am supposed to be the fairest in all the lands,” pouted Rose, her feet stomping the floor like a spoiled child. “It makes me look like a lowly commoner who had spent too many days toiling in the fields under the brutal summer sun.”
“Well, this should do wonders for you, my lady,” offered Alice, holding up a silk and crinoline gown. It was adorned with dainty bows and encrusted with glistening crystal beads. “There is not one commoner I know of who owns a dress as lovely as this.”
Rose’s perfect nose wrinkled in disgust as her dainty, well-manicured hands that had never known a day of work waved off the gown. “That will simply not do!”
“But it is absolutely beautiful,” insisted Alice, admiring the dress she had selected from Rose’s extensive wardrobe.
“It is old.”
“You have worn it only once, for your father’s birthday gala but two months ago,” reminded Alice.
“I know when that was. And if I’ve worn it once, then consider it old,” reasoned Rose, pushing the gown away with certain disdain. “Find me something new to wear!”
“But all the gowns in your wardrobe have been worn at least once,” responded Mildred, her hands rifling through the racks of fine dresses custom designed for every occasion imaginable. “And they are all in absolutely perfect condition!”
“That may be so, but I want some new gowns made for me.”
“But that will take time,” groaned Mildred, exasperated by this new order. “And the dressmaker, she is already busy creating the special gown for your sixteenth birthday celebration.”
“But, but, but!” snapped Rose. “The only butt you will have to consider is my silk brocade slipper to your backside if you do not make it so! Now get me a new wardrobe! Do so now!”
“Yes, my lady,” gulped Mildred, as she motioned for Evelyn and Alice to back away to the door. It was as though they were trying to escape from a frothing mad, pit bull terrier waiting to attack. “Right away, my lady.”
“And be quick about it!” growled the Princess.
With frightening accuracy, Rose lobbed one of her shoes at the door just as it slammed shut behind the fleeing women. With such an accurate aim that comes with years of practice, the heel of this shoe added to the grouping of indentations marring the door.
Rose listened for a moment. She could hear her attendants as they rushed off, scurrying away down the corridor.
Alone with nothing more to comfort her than the grand opulence of her bedchamber, Rose slumped down on the plump, goose-down counterpane, leaning dejectedly against the gilded post of her elegant canopy bed. The Princess sulked, plucking at the crystal beads. Each one had been painstakingly hand-sewn by the royal dressmaker, but they were now doomed to meet the floor as the Princess brooded.
“I suppose this will have do for today,” whined Rose, resigning to the fact she would be condemned to wearing this glistening rag until some new gowns were made for her.