"No, no—I mean your real name."
A blush darkened the chambermaid's freckled face. "Tess," she whispered.
"And you're a peasant girl, right? From the village?"
"Yes, miss. Born there."
"Did you play on that path?" The princess pointed through the window.
The chambermaid went to the window and looked down. She nodded. "Yes, miss," she whispered.
"And went to that school?"
"Till I was thirteen. Last year, that was."
"You're only fourteen? You're as tall as I am, and I'll be sixteen next Saturday."
"Yes, miss. I'm a great galoomph of a girl. My pa said I was tall as a tree, and should be cut off at the knees." The girl stood awkwardly, trying to shrink herself.
"Don't do that. Stand up straight and tall. That is a command."
"Yes, miss." The girl straightened her shoulders and bobbed in a curtsy once again.
"Stop that bobbing up and down. It makes me dizzy to watch it. I want you to tell me about your life, Tess."
"My life? But I haven't even got one yet!"
"Of course you do. Everyone does. Where were you born? Look down through the window. Can you see your house? Or I suppose it is called a hut, or a hovel?"
The chambermaid peered down. "Over there," she said, after she figured it out. She gestured. "Past the schoolhouse, past the graveyard, through them trees. You can see only the thatch of the roof from here. I was born in that very cottage.
"We call it a cottage, miss," she explained apologetically.
"Cottage, then. So you were born right there, and you have a father, I know, because you mentioned him—"
"Pa," the chambermaid said in a small voice.
The Birthday Ball
"And a mother? A ma, I suppose you'd call her?"
"Died," whispered the girl.
"Oh, pity. But I suppose you go back to visit your pa? Do you have days off from the castle?"
"I got my free day every second Tuesday. But I don't go back. Pa never wants to see me again. He said that." The girl lowered her head and sniffed.
"Oh, dear. I do hope you are not going to whimper. My head aches when people whimper."
"No, miss. I won't." The chambermaid bit her lip.
The princess picked up the hairbrush and began to brush her own hair again, absentmindedly. "So you were born right there and lived there for thirteen years, and went to school—"
"I did love school, miss."
"—and then you applied for the castle job—"
"My ma's brother's widow works in the castle kitchen, and recommended me."
"—and you left school, and your parents—"
"My ma was dead. Withered away when I was born."
"Oh, yes, sorry. I forgot that. Your mother died. Pity. And your pa said he never wanted to see you again and your knees should be cut off—"
"No. My legs. At the knees. 'Cuz I was a great galoomph and he didn't want me around."
"So you left school, and—"
"I was doing fine," the girl said earnestly. "Not like some. Knew all my letters and numbers. Could read good. And knew music, too! The schoolmaster said I sang like a lark."
"A lark? Indeed! And do you sing, still?"
"Only down in the kitchen. Not allowed any-wheres else in the castle."
The princess set down the hairbrush and took off her dressing gown. She opened the door of the large wardrobe to examine the long rows of frocks and gowns in many colors and fabrics. She frowned in indecision.
"In the kitchen," the chambermaid went on, her excitement increasing in the telling, "we all sing! The three serving girls, they can sing in parts! They practice all the time. And sometimes Cook, she beats time with a wooden spoon, and even the serving boy, though he's old and has false teeth that whistle, even he comes in on the choruses and the tra-la s. And the pulley boy!" The chambermaid closed her eyes and sighed.
"Pulley boy?" The princess turned from the wardrobe.
"Yes, miss. Him that pulls the food up from the kitchen. He's the fastest boy on his feet! And steady! Never a drop spilt! He can't read, but he sings like an angel," the chambermaid added, blushing, "and he's handsome, too."
Princess Patricia Priscilla began to laugh. "I expect I'll be hearing more about the pulley boy. But not now."
"No, miss, now you must dress." The chambermaid reassumed her attentive attitude. "Have you decided what gown?"
"I have. And now I am going to give you a command."
"Yes, miss?"
"And what must you do when given a command?"
"Obey. And curtsy first."
"Even if it is an odd command?"
"Yes, miss, I suppose so." The chambermaid looked a little uncertain.
"Tess," commanded the princess, "take off your clothes."
4. The Disguise
"Miss! I couldn't!"
"Don't be silly. Of course you can. First the apron. I want to see what dress you wear beneath the apron."
Nervously the chambermaid untied the sash of her starched white pinafore and let the wide apron fall loose. She pulled her arms free from the ruffled shoulders, folded the apron, and laid it on a pink damask chair.
"It's quite ordinary, isn't it? The dress, I mean." The princess examined it and felt the homespun brown fabric between her thumb and forefinger.
"I think it's nice." The chambermaid spoke a little defensively. "I never had one so nice till I come here to work."
"Of course it's nice. I simply meant that it is quite ordinary compared to the satins and organdies I have to wear every day. Tell me something, Tess. Would this be the kind of dress a village girl might wear to school?"
Tess wrinkled her face, thinking about it. "Aye," she said, "I guess. Maybe more raggedy and patched, for most. And not with shoes." She looked down at her own feet, shod in sturdy buckled leather over thick black stockings.
"No shoes?"
"No, miss. Not in this weather, at least. In winter, when it's cold, maybe clogs. But these"—she pointed to her feet with a certain amount of pride—"these here are castle shoes."