The Princess and the Page Page 5

  “Good heavens!” Mrs. Jones cries out. “What is the meaning of this? You scared my hair straight!”

  The woman responsible merely bats her eyes, holding both palms before her.

  “Apologies for startling you,” she says, and then clasps her hands together. “But I’m just so eager to meet our dearest Keira and her lovely friend Isabella. The princesses of the week. I’m Ms. Teppernat from Girls’ World. We talked on the phone.”

  Bella and I glance at each other. Bella lifts an eyebrow skeptically while I bite back a giggle. No one has ever called me “dearest,” and perhaps Bella could pass for a princess, but I most definitely am too much of a tomboy to fit into that category. But somehow I manage a polite smile once again.

  “And what a lovely drawing!” Ms. Teppernat exclaims as she leans over Bella’s shoulder to study the drawing. “It appears that we have a writer and an illustrator amongst us.”

  “Actually, I’m an interior designer,” Bella says, glowing from the compliment. “Currently, I’m redesigning the entire castle in my design book with a modern decor.”

  “Fascinating! Pleasure to meet you.” Ms. Teppernat holds out her hand and Bella shakes it.

  “Aren’t we so civilized,” Bella whispers to me. “Shaking hands and drinking from china teacups at eight in the morning.”

  Before I can answer, Madame raps her cane twice on the floor.

  “Enough!” Madame says darkly from her end of the table. She sits up straight, her arms positioned on the armrests like she’s a queen on a throne. I must say I’m impressed. In less than five seconds, the housekeeper has the entire table under her control. “Next time you come for a visit, do remember to knock.”

  “Naturally, of course,” Ms. Teppernat says, but her smile wanes and her eyes narrow at Madame. Then she clears her throat and snaps her fingers to a lady beside her who I guess to be Ms. Teppernat’s assistant.

  Promptly, the assistant hands over a folder and clipboard. Her long black hair is tucked up into a bun and three pencils are jammed into it. She wears a tight blue shirt and pencil skirt with brown walking shoes. A pink apron full of pockets protects her outfit. The pockets brim with spools of thread, mini scissors, and sewing needles. A notepad swings from a string attached to her apron.

  “Miss Keira and Miss Isabella,” Ms. Teppernat says. “We have a rigorous schedule set out for you and less than one week to accomplish our prestigious agenda. I hope you’re prepared for a week of royal elegance and entertainment. Cheryl, go ahead and pass out the lists to our princesses.”

  I swallow as Cheryl, the assistant, places a list before Bella and me.

  “I’d like to have a copy of that list as well,” Mom says eagerly.

  I glance over the schedule:

  Saturday: Reenact arrival at the castle. Lost slipper on castle steps. (Cinderella theme)

  * Order ice sculpture for ball. Something fairy taleish. Pumpkin, slipper, spinning wheel, apple …

  Sunday: Horseback riding! (The Goose Girl theme)

  * Confirm guest list

  Monday: Boating (Weather report calls for rain) French cooking class (Snow White theme)

  * Ball gown fitting

  Tuesday: Boating and picnic (Little Mermaid theme)

  Wednesday: French etiquette and cultural study (Beauty and the Beast theme)

  Thursday: Dance lessons (Twelve Dancing Sisters theme)

  * Note: still need to find a suitable instructor

  Friday: The grand ball!

  I stare at the list, my stomach twisting at the rigorous schedule. “But when do I get to see the sights here?” I say.

  “I love this!” Mom says. “I’ve always said no good trip comes without a well-laid-out plan of action. I’m thrilled to see how organized and thorough you are.”

  “That’s what we do best!” Ms. Teppernat beams as if she had just kissed Prince Charming. “And for the rest of you. Please do know you are all welcome to join us for the grand fairy-tale ball this Friday. It’s destined to be absolutely magical!”

  “I’ve always wanted to attend a ball,” Bella says, her face shining. “It sounds divine.”

  “Perhaps we shall have our very own designer restyle the ballroom for the event.” Ms. Teppernat focuses on Bella. “How does that sound to you?”

  “An excellent idea.” The assistant nods vigorously, relief flooding her features. She pulls out her notepad and a pencil from her bun and starts scribbling down notes. “We could feature her designs in the magazine.”

  “Wow,” Bella says. “That would be grand. I can already envision the palette of colors I’ll use.”

  “Perfect!” Ms. Teppernat sighs in delight. “It’s all settled, then.”

  “Hold on. A ball?” Madame rises from her throne. “I never authorized a ball.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Ms. Teppernat says. “I did. Monsieur Monteque approved it. He said it would be good for others to see what a lovely château you all have here.”

  “That’s preposterous!” Madame says. Honestly, I’m surprised flames didn’t burst out of Ms. Teppernat’s mouth at Madame’s response. Who needs TV when you can watch real live dragons in action? “He would never authorize such an event. I must speak to him at once before you go gallivanting about.”

  “Fine!” Ms. Teppernat practically snarls. “Talk to him. And then you’ll see I was right. Come along, Keira. It’s time for your makeup and costume.”

  “Makeup and costume?” I stand ever so slowly. Bella cringes and clasps my hand, knowing how I’m not into that kind of stuff.

  “You can do this.” She squeezes my hand as Cheryl whips out a measuring tape and begins to measure all my body parts.

  “Man,” Chet tells me, whistling, “that’s rough. But after you’re done, come find me. I think I discovered something you’ll find interesting.”

  Fact about Dragons: Dragons aren’t real,

  so we won’t waste our time discussing them.

  So I’m sweating on the castle’s front steps in a dress that looks like something from Romeo and Juliet. (Don’t ask.) Waiting.

  It’s all Ms. Teppernat’s fault. She’s the lead from Girls’ World on this article. When she marched into the castle this morning unannounced and appearing like Maleficent, I actually considered canceling this whole thing. The massive itinerary has me freaking out. And I’m to be filmed and photographed at the grand ball! There’s a whole crew of people to photograph me, and all the fuss makes me want to dive off the drawbridge. The only time I’m ever been photographed is either for school pictures or when my dad takes pictures during my soccer tournaments.

  As Cheryl instructs me on basic poses, all I can think about is what happened last night and the strange similarities to the girl I met and the one in my story. Maybe I had been sleepwalking. Or dreaming. But honestly, I think I really did enter a secret passageway in the castle. And even though I can’t remember exactly how that strange girl opened the fireplace, I’m determined to find out.

  “Hurry, everyone!” Ms. Teppernat yells to the crew. “Let’s get this shot wrapped up.”

  But everything comes to a halt when Madame struts out to meet Ms. Teppernat on the bridge, fists clenched as if she were marching into battle.

  “You are disregarding my rules!” Madame says.

  “I told you on the phone, the shoot won’t last more than an hour.” Ms. Teppernat looms over Madame in her spike heels.

  “I am hardly worried about your measly photography shoots.” Madame lifts her chin as if she’s the queen of France. “It is Friday that is bothersome.”

  “Bothersome?” Ms. Teppernat yanks her sunglasses off and glares down at Madame as if her eyes have a special power. “You should have checked the calendar before booking us. I’ve already arranged a whole crew. Events must proceed as planned.”

  “I will call Monsieur, then.” Madame’s tone carries with it a threat as she reenters the castle.

  “Then call him!” Ms. Teppernat snarls as the gi
ant door slams shut.

  Pivoting on the points of her heels, Ms. Teppernat clicks her way across the bridge toward me and the camera crew. Her sunglasses sway at her side as her lips stretch into a victorious smile.

  “Wonderful!” Ms. Teppernat claps her hands lightly. “Everyone is ready and waiting. But, Keira, please, the slouching is so unprincess-like.”

  Cheryl hands Ms. Teppernat her clipboard, which Ms. Teppernat in turn reads and begins shouting out orders. This was the deal. I get to come on a magical holiday with my best friend and Mom as long as I model for the fairy-tale spread that Girls’ World will print along with my story. I really have nothing to complain about.

  So I pose with a suitcase in front of the castle, reenacting my arrival. Next, I run up the stairs, pretending to lose my shoe. Who knew it would be so hard to purposely lose a shoe?

  “It just won’t come off by itself,” I try to explain.

  “Mercies!” Ms. Teppernat says. “Shoe loss shouldn’t be this difficult. Keira, you must channel Cinderella. Feel how she must have felt. Cheryl! Get this girl some heels or something that will fall off easily.”

  While Cheryl races off to the Girls’ World trailer, I attempt to channel Cinderella, but all I can think about is last night. I need answers.

  Solid, hard facts. Which is very bad because now I’m sounding just like my mom!

  “Not a frown, dear,” Ms. Teppernat calls out. “A look of awe. There, that’s better.”

  Click, click. The photographers move around me.

  “Lovely! Now let’s get a picture of you standing without the luggage in the front of the castle. Nice.”

  I turn and spy Chet flying down the path on some kind of contraption that resembles a skateboard. Knowing him, he made it himself from scavenged parts. His arms are stretched out for balance and his tongue touches his upper lip as if he’s in deep concentration. He must have hit a rock or an upturned cobblestone, because just as he rounds the garden path, the board jerks upward, sending him sailing into the perfectly squared hedge of bushes edging the entrance to the bridge.

  He lands with a grunt and then there’s a loud screech. A person pops out of the bushes beside him with flailing arms. The hat covering curly white hair and the sunglasses may have hidden the eyes, but there’s no mistaking who it is.

  Old Mother Hubbard.

  But why is she hiding in the bushes? My sleuthing instincts kick in. Could she have been spying?

  “Insolent boy!” Mrs. Jones brushes leaves from her paisley-patterned dress, all the while muttering under her breath.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on?” Ms. Teppernat asks, frowning at Chet’s two sneakers sticking into the air.

  Chet rights himself, springs to his feet, and flourishes a grand bow to his newfound audience. A grin stretches across his face. The camera crew bursts into applause.

  “He’s a daredevil, that boy.” Ms. Teppernat taps her manicured finger against her lips. “Might be useful.”

  No one spares an awfully spry Old Mother Hubbard a second glance as she scrambles out of the bushes, hops over the hedge, and darts across the lawn toward the east garden, binoculars dangling around her neck.

  No one, that is, except me.

  Fairy-Tale Tidbit: In the Grimm brothers’ Frog Prince,

  he turns into a prince not through the princess’s kiss but

  when she throws him against a wall in utter disgust.

  “Keira! Keira!”

  Bella is running wildly across the pristine lawn, her dangle earrings bobbing against her shoulders.

  “Hey,” I say. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes!” Bella bends over, panting. “I mean no. Well, sort of. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “I just finished that photo shoot. What’s going on?”

  “Everyone’s talking about it back at the castle.” She scrunches up her nose. “Did you hear yet?”

  “No! Spill it already.”

  “One of the maids went missing last night. Everyone’s looking for her.”

  “You don’t really believe she went missing.” I brush the grass from my medieval-style dress. “Maybe she decided to quit. I wouldn’t blame her. I think I’d die if I had to work under Madame.”

  “She is scary, isn’t she? I’m starting to think she really is the Wicked Witch of the West.” Bella sighs and hooks arms with me. “Maybe you’re right. Still, isn’t the thought of the castle being haunted deliciously creepy?”

  “Um. Actually, no.” A shiver slides down my spine as I remember the terror of racing through the secret passageways last night.

  We head to the low wall that looks over the Cher River and perch ourselves on it. Just before us, the castle’s white walls scrape against the blue sky. Gables and fluted turrets emit a romantic air, and I can totally imagine a princess standing on the balcony, waving to her prince.

  “Speaking of strange things, something odd happened during the photo shoot,” I say, and then I tell her about Mrs. Jones’s strange behavior.

  “Sounds like she was bird-watching or studying plant life.”

  “Maybe.” I jump down from the railing. “But I’m going to find out.”

  “Find out what exactly? You’re scaring me.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m just going to do a little investigating.”

  Darting ahead, Bella blocks the door of the castle. “Oh no, you’re not. Your curiosity always gets you—or should I say both of us—in trouble.”

  Bella may have a point. When a dress collection of Ms. Francois’s went missing, my first guess was that the neighbors were the culprit. I decided to conduct my own investigation. Bella helped me tie a rope from her second-story room. I planned to use it to swing across to the neighbor’s house and grab their drain pipe. Unfortunately, my grip slipped and I swung backward and barreled through the Francois’s kitchen window. It took nearly a year of my allowance to pay for damages.

  I sidestep Bella and pull on the thick door handle, only to find it quickly opened by the butler, who bows low as we enter.

  “Merci,” we say in unison.

  But the butler merely moves away to the sitting room in silence. Bella frowns at his retreating form.

  “That guy is creepy,” she whispers in my ear.

  “I don’t think he talks. Come on.”

  All the rooms downstairs are empty except the dining room, where we spy Mr. and Mrs. Jones talking to Madame.

  “This is such a worry!” Mrs. Jones is saying, waving her knitting kneedles through the air. “The cook said she was here one moment, and the next—whoosh! She simply vanished!”

  “Highly irregular.” Mr. Jones nods in that rooster-pecking way of his. “We are deeply concerned for our safety and that of the other guests. Have you ever considered closing this château to visitors?”

  “Of course not! I am sure that is not what happened,” Madame says drily. “Cook has a tendency for dramatics.”

  “They’re distracted,” I whisper. “Perfect.”

  I rush back down the main hall and then up the staircase with Bella at my heels.

  “What are we doing?” She squeaks out her words. “And do you think we should worry about one of the maids going missing?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. The maid probably got sick of hearing Mrs. Jones complain all the time. Besides, Mrs. Jones is up to something and I’m going to find out what.”

  “Don’t even go there. Remember the time when you thought Mrs. Nickels killed her cat? Or when we were sent to the principal’s office for sneaking into the cafeteria?”

  “They were serving outdated food!” I peek into the upstairs hall. It’s empty. “We’d never have gotten caught if I hadn’t accidently spilled the chocolate pudding.”

  Bella snickers. “That was kinda funny. You sprawled on the ground, covered in chocolate. Even your face—”

  I glare at her. She bites on her lips to stop giggling, but it really doesn’t work all that well.

 
Since the hall is clear, I tiptoe to outside the Joneses’ room and turn the doorknob.

  Locked. No biggie. Locks never stopped me before.

  I hurry to our room and dig through the desk. Thankfully, I find a paper clip stuck at the back of the top drawer. Back at the Joneses, it doesn’t take long before I wiggle the paper clip into the lock, and Bella and I slip inside their room. There are two suitcases tucked in the corner. The bed is crisply made, not a hint of wrinkles. The dresser holds a lamp, hairbrush, and two books. I pick one up. Manuel de l’immobilier. Boring! I put it back in place and look at the other. The World’s Scariest Ghost Stories. Cool.

  They’re both library books. Overdue ones at that.

  I check the library location. Paris, France? But I thought the Joneses were from England. It could mean something. Or it could mean that this book was left here by a random French guest.

  Other than that, the room appears annoyingly barren. I slide open one of the dresser drawers to find a pile of shirts, folded in neat rectangles. I check out another drawer. Socks. I wrinkle my nose. Not so clean socks actually.

  “I still don’t get why we’re going through the Joneses’ stuff.” Bella rubs her hands together nervously. “I don’t know about France, but it’s against the law in the States without a warrant.”

  “Evidence.” I drop to my knees and slip under the bed. Dust balls and sneakers. “Hard-core evidence.”

  The door creaks, startling me. I bang my head on the underside of the bed.

  “Ouch!” I mutter.

  “Don’t tell me,” a boy’s voice says. It sounds painfully like Chet’s. “You’re hunting for rats. If so, you’re in the wrong room. There is one room downstairs that’s got a whole nest of them.”

  “A nest?” Bella’s voice quivers. “Of rats?”