Still singing "Pheasant pie," the three girls served it, a plateful apiece, with some asparagus, and spooned some hollandaise on top.
The Birthday Ball
"Sauce! Sauce! Sauce!" they sang in chorus.
"Now that I have your attention, Mother and Father, I would like to talk about the Birthday Ball," the princess said as the plates were served.
"Move closer so that I can hear you," the queen suggested. Then she turned to her husband. "You too, dear. Let's sit side by side and discuss the Birthday Ball.
"Girls?" she said, turning to the three serving maids, who curtsied, one by one, in reply. "Move our plates and forks and everything here together. Then, if you would, please hum lightly while we finish our dinner. It soothes my nerves and makes the meal seem festive."
***
"The entire village?" the queen asked, disconcerted. "To your Birthday Ball? Did I hear you correctly?"
"Yes, please, Mother. I'd like that." Princess Patricia Priscilla touched the tip of her silver fork to the pale yellow sauce. "The villagers are all poor peasants and they have never been to a ball. Think how they'd enjoy it."
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know," the queen murmured. "It's so not done."
"Father? What do you think?"
The king had begun to tire of talk about the ball and his mind had wandered off to contemplate rare butterflies. He frowned. "What do I think. About what. I don't know. No idea. Not a clue."
"Might I invite the villagers to my Birthday Ball?" the princess asked him patiently.
"Villagers. Ball. Whatever." The king's mind was on the rare butterfly that was missing from his collection. Perhaps if he arranged a jungle excursion...
"We would have to order them to wash first," the queen mused.
"Peasants are clean, Mother—truly, they are." The princess took a small bite of asparagus. "But of course we could mention bathing, in the invitation, if you think we should."
"Mention what? What was that? Baiting? Oh, I don't think so, dear. There was a terrible sport in the old days, called bearbaiting. Your father outlawed it years ago."
"Bathing, Mother. We could say that the invitation is for all well-bathed villagers." The princess enunciated clearly.
"Yes, of course. Bathing." The queen nodded. "I'd hope they wouldn't bring gifts, though, dear. Think what they might bring. Piglets, I'm afraid ... things like that."
"We would tell them gifts aren't necessary, Mother. In fact..."
"The suitors will bring gifts, of course. Oh my, I make myself nervous and excited, just thinking what incredible gifts the suitors might bring!" The queen shivered.
The princess did not want to think about, or talk about, suitors. "In fact," she went on, "I would like to give gifts to the villagers."
"Eh? What was that? Gift gifts? Give gives? Give gloves? Lift cloves? Oh, dear, I can't think what ever you are talking about."
"Father?" The princess turned to the king. "May I have your permission to give gifts to the villagers?"
"Gifts. Permission. Yes. Whatever. I'll skip dessert." The king took his linen monogrammed napkin from his lap and gestured to the serving girls, who hurried to the table to remove his plate.
The queen wiped her lips daintily with her own napkin and then nodded to one of the triplets. "Do hum a bit more," she said. "Or sing. I did enjoy that."
Holding a tray with the waiting dessert dishes on it, the alto sang, "Apricot ice cream..."and the other girls joined in:
"Apricot ice cream..."
"Apricot ice cream ..."
The king changed his mind. "Changed my mind. Dessert. After all."
The three serving girls continued singing as they served the ice cream and then left the dining chamber, carrying trays of empty plates, and descended the stairs. Their harmony grew fainter as they walked to the kitchen.
From far below, in the antechamber to the kitchen, the sound echoing through the pulley passage, the princess heard the pulley boy join in with his deep, rich baritone. I do hope Tess is down there, hearing that, the princess thought, thinking of the freckled chambermaid.
Then she heard a sweet female voice join in and knew that Tess was right there in the middle of the music.
11. The Conjoint Counts
When the conjoint counts were born and were revealed to be joined at the middle, which was quite astonishing to their parents, a royal decree was issued almost immediately. It seemed fairly simple, not designed to cause hardship.
Everything in the domain was to become plural in name. The word cow, a word commonly used in the area because there were many farms, was now to be cows.
It was sometimes difficult for the peasants. They were accustomed to saying "Do your lessons," or "Pull up your trousers," but they had a hard time remembering to say, "Go milk the cows" when the family owned only one. Now, instead of weeding the garden, they had to weed the gardens, even though they were tending only a small patch of carrots and potatoes. And when a peasant mother told her little ones, "Go and kiss your granny," she was required to say, "Go and kiss your grannies," which confused the tots and made them cry, often, and refuse their supper.
Even now, though years had passed since the decree, and though the parents of the conjoint counts were long dead, the language of the domain continued to make use of the superfluous plural. No one was ever quite certain what verb to employ. In speaking of a single tree, for example, should one say "The trees is large" or "The trees are large"? Small children had trouble learning to talk. It was a nuisance and a bother—sometimes worse—but it was the Law of the Domain.
Count Colin and Count Cuthbert were adults now, and ruled the domain in which they lived. But although they were joined at the middle, always had been, always would be, it did not make them the best of friends. They agreed on only one thing, and that was jokes. They both laughed uproariously at bathroom jokes, or jokes involving underwear, though as soon as they finished laughing, they argued about who could tell a joke better, and sometimes made rude noises at each other with their lips, and said "Nyah nyah" and "I'm rubber, you're glue, everything you say bounces off me and sticks to you" in a singsong, whiny voice.
They had a particular annoying prank that they played on each other. One would wait until his brother's face was turned toward his own, and then belch loudly at it and cry, "Gotcha!"