Ch. 26: Jackpot

The room was silent once Emma had left and all of a sudden, very heavy. I could feel the weight of Marie’s stare on my shoulders. It is to be expected, even from the sweet, yet not particularly bright woman. A small child boldly defacing a gift from the empress with a smile on her face, for someone who had worked in the palace all her life, it was probably a shocking scene.

“You may leave too, Marie,” I say, feeling a little down now from the suspicious air emanating from her. She exits without another word and I am left alone, a feeling I’m all too comfortable with now.

I flop onto my bed, my face buried in the blankets. It hurts a bit as I think of Marie’s weighty stare. I rub my chest a bit, a gesture that is uncomfortable since my chest is lying on the bed, hoping the twinge in my chest will go away.

historical

It doesn’t and only grows heavier as the hours tick down to the Spring Ball. I rub my chest again as I sit on the sofa for my last lesson before the ball and my eyes are brushed by sandpaper every time I blink. Sleep was very hard to come by and this stupid world doesn’t have any equivalent to coffee as far as I know.

“Pay attention!” Mrs. Laroche snaps, unsympathetic to my suffering as usual.

Today was a lesson entirely focused on greeting fellow nobles. We had spent the first part of the morning memorizing various names and houses, a part I naturally excelled at regardless of how sleep deprived I am. But remembering names and remembering how to properly greet different ranked nobles is a different ball game.

For certain elites, I must curtsey fully and for others, a simple nod will suffice. Coordination is not my strong suit in the youthful body and I have received an earful of all morning.

“Straighten your back!”

.....

“The toe must touch the back of your heel properly.”

“A nod! Not a bow! You are of much higher rank than a Count!”

I follow through the motions obediently, mentally counting down my minutes to freedom. But I’m interrupted by Mrs. Laroche bending down to her knees in front of me, surprise causing me to raise an eyebrow. The permanent frown lines around her mouth and brows that keep her perpetually looking irked soften a tad. This is... unprecedented.

“Yes, Mrs. Laroche?” I ask right away, warry that she might launch into another bout of scolding, only right into my face.

“You must... take care not to infuriate the wrong person,” she warns, a light breeze of spring onions and other unmentionables making me fight to urge to curl my nose.

I force Marie to dedicatedly bring me mint leaves and charcoal to scrub the inside of my mouth in an attempt to retain some of my modern hygiene habits. But in this day and age, it is not popular to clean out your mouth as often as I do, an unfortunate aspect that gives me much grief every time someone speaks too closely to my nose.

“Yes, Mrs. Laroche.”

“And I know I’ve taught you the etiquette of mingling with other noble girls, should you encounter them, but for this Ball, I think it would be best for you to stay close to your nursemaid and observe how the ball proceeds,” she instructs in a stern tone that is somehow gentler than anything she has ever said to me. Her eyes are clear and honest as if I can see all her intentions behind her slightly rheumy eyes.

“Yes, Mrs. Laroche,” I answer again, touched but slightly mistrustful at her switch in her persona. Perhaps she has been possessed by kind aliens? Mrs. Laroche misses the suspicious look in my eyes entirely, only packing up rapidly and exiting with the same haste as always. Her full skirt hardly swoops out the door of the Rose Palace before a hand settles on my shoulder, making me jump out of my skin.

I whirl around, the jump scare making my voice even higher than usual.

“Emma!” I gasp out, grabbing my chest in a weak attempt to keep my heart from escaping. My playmate was too good at this, always appearing out of thin air to frighten the living bejeesus out of me. At this rate, I will perish of heart problems before Empress Katya schemes a way to get rid of me permanently.

“Your highness,” she says in her typical monotone, her short hair obscuring her eyes today so I can’t look at them and see whether or not she is mocking me.

“I ‘ave sold them dresses for the highest price I could get.” Her hands are tucked behind her back and it reminds me of a soldier standing at alert.

“Have,” I say absentmindedly correcting her the way I would a younger sibling.

“...’Ave.”

I mentally shrug, I’m sure she will grow out of her accent someday. She is still young after all. But more importantly, her hands are empty of any purse or bag.

“Where is the money?” I ask. It sounds more like I’m smuggling drugs rather than reselling my ugly dresses.

“I shall take you to it, your highness.” She turns and starts walking abruptly, causing me to nearly stumble as I follow through winding halls I’ve never navigated before.

**********

Emma had always possessed a natural sense of direction.

It had been a necessity in order for her to survive in West End, the unforgiving, poverty-stricken neighborhood ill-suited for raising a child. Her mother had been a courtesan who’d met an early demise at the hands of an incurable disease she had acquired with an unclean customer. Since courtesans were free people who engaged in a slightly dolled up version of prostitution, Emma hadn’t been forced to work in the same Red House after her mother had succumbed to the illness.

But that Red House, an unassuming name for the courtesan filled brothels that catered the various clientele throughout the Empire, had ruthlessly kicked Emma out without any of her mother’s hard-earned money.

“It wasn’t too difficult for you, was it?”, the princess asked anxiously behind Emma, completely unaware of her thoughts.

Emma shook her head, a smile on her face that Princess Winter would not be able to see. In her short past, she’d already participated in much more despicable means to acquire money, selling rejected dresses was very above board compared to her past exploits.

The shadowed corridors began to reveal they were exiting the main part of my palace and venturing towards where the maids resided. The light wash pink walls faded to a dull gray and the floorboards, which did not receive much maintenance, creaked generously.

Emma was certain the young princess who she was coming to view as a younger sister must be curious about where they were going, but her curiosity was well hidden as she only obediently followed Emma. The few maids who meandered the back halls jumped at the sight of the palace’s mistress running around with a young maid, dropping into abrupt curtseys.

Neither girl paid it much mind, Emma finally leading the princess past the official kitchen that prepared her meals to the smaller, less upkept servant’s kitchen. Princess Winter’s bright hair and sky blue dress stood out like a splash of white on a dark canvas. Emma turned around, giving the princess a significant look and Princess Winter read in between the lines, instantly clasping her hands in front of her and strictly ordering all maids out of the kitchen.

“You may all leave,” she announced, her voice sounding more and more proper with each passing day. Emma found it amusing how Princess Winter always acted as if she were much older than she truly was. Even though Emma wasn’t fond of expressing her feelings, she often chuckled internally at the sight.

“What do you want to show me?” Princess Winter asked, the curiosity in her eyes undeniable.

The run-down servant’s kitchen, with its dingy floor and grease-stained walls was an unusual location to hide money. Emma eyed the piled bags of potatoes unfavorably, as she had done more than her fair share of this before she was promoted to serving the princess personally. But her past enmity with potatoes made for a wonderful hiding place.

The young maid did not beat around the bush, pushing back her black sleeves before dispersing the tall pile of bagged potatoes, the rough burlap scratching at her calloused hands. Before long, the entire pile was now spread out around the kitchen, leaving one last bag that jingled when Emma picked it up.

The sound was pure heaven to Emma’s ears and a sneaky emotion snuck past her guard, filling her face with a smile like a sun peeking out behind clouds.

“There it is! The money smile!” Princess Winter sang playfully. “It was clever of you to hide it within this bag, then no one would know that you were carrying something else.”

The younger girl was such a doll, Emma could not help but bop her head to Winter’s surprisingly angelic voice. If the illustrious princess had instead been a child sent to train in a Red House, the courtesans would feel jealous that such a young child would no doubt eclipse them in talents and looks in the future.

“Aye your highness, that was my intention,” Emma said slowly. Without preamble, she loosened the knot around the mouth of the burlap sack and allowed a few of the coins to spill into her hand. Gold, bright gold coins. Her most favorite. She had not made a mistake in wholeheartedly serving Princess Winter as her mistress.

Emma had sensed earlier that Princess Winter seemed down about something, the corners of her little, bow-shaped mouth turned downwards the entire time she had looked at her. But at the sight of the gold coins, the princess had perked up immeasurably. Emma felt a twinge of gladness in her heart from seeing Princess Winter, who she viewed as a friend, display a happy expression.

“How much did you get?”

“2000 gold coins, your highness.”

The princess nodded appreciatively, her eyes growing clouded as she immediately began to wonder what she would do with the money.

“Investments... definitely investments,” the princess mused as Emma poured in the coins she held in her hands back into the bag.

Emma turned to the princess with an expectant expression. It had been hard work sneaking the generous pile of clothes out of the palace and bringing back the money without being robbed. She wished to be compensated.

The princess, who had been lost in her thoughts and already wandering back to her room turned around when she felt Emma wasn’t standing at her back and quirked up an eyebrow. Emma looked down at he burlap potato sack then up at the princess, her shameless smile widening as Princess Winter’s brows rose incredulously.

“Once we take it to the room! I promise!” she said with a sigh. Emma nodded cheerfully and began to follow the princess, carrying the sack like a dog carrying a treat.

In the end, Emma was rewarded 20 gold coins for her troubles and accompanied the princess silently by refilling her teacup as Princess Winter read a book nearly the same size as herself. The princess was truly unusual, to be so gifted at reading and speaking when she was younger than Emma. The young maid found her mistress to be a bit unusual, but her years on the streets had given her an extremely discerning eye for others’ intentions.

Princess Winter was an odd one, but quite sincere.

Marie was sweet and a little stupid, but she fed Emma the same yummy snacks as Princess Winter so she couldn’t complain.

But that strangely beautiful, violet-eyed man who had taken the dresses without any haggling and offered her too much money for them, he was someone Emma’s street-hardened self had never encountered before and never wished to meet again.

Her mind replayed the moment he had given her some flowers, white camellias.

“For your mistress,” he had said with a wink.

Emma had suppressed a shudder as she had looked at the snow-white flowers in disgust, wanting to throw it further than her eyes could see. But her rough hands had clutched the stems of the camellias tightly, not loosening their vise-like grip until she had unwillingly placed them in a vase in Princess Winter’s room.