Free The Rat Prince by Bridget Hodder

with a broom.
    I smiled at him as we went back into the kitchen.
    Unfortunately, at this moment Cook emerged from the scullery carrying a copper pot. She didn’t like it when I smiled. “What do you have to smirk at, lazy wench? Miss Jessamyn needs you in her bedchamber. Go quick. Here, you, boy!” she yelled to Pye. “Make the luncheon trays ready for the family. Remember, Miss Eustacia can’t abide watercress, Lord Lancastyr gets no soup, for he might spill, and Lady Wilhemina gets the dish of mustard with her sliced ham.”
    Pye always had trouble remembering which dishes went on which tray—and his preparations inevitably ended in scoldings and tears. He threw me a beseeching glance.
    I rushed to aid him. “Oh, Cook, please allow me to arrange the trays for you before I go upstairs,” I said. “It will take but a moment.”
    â€œDon’t you argue with my orders, girl! If I say the boy does the trays, he does the trays. Now step lively and see to Miss Jessamyn.”
    I nodded, while Pye put down his broom and moved to obey with an air of resignation.
    I hastened to Jessamyn’s suite.
    â€œDear Sister!” She stuck her small head out her bedchamber door as I drew near. “Hurry!”
    I followed her inside and gave her a hug.
    â€œI’ve been waiting for you,” she said, wiggling with nervousness as soon as I released her. “I worked through the whole night on a plan to bring you to the ball with us.”
    My conscience pricked me. “You shouldn’t have! What is it, darling?”
    â€œLook.” She led me to her pink-and-cream dressing room. There upon a small sofa lay one of her own gowns. She had unpicked the hem of the skirt so that it was a full two inches longer than it had been before. “What do you think?” Jessamyn asked. “I did it myself. Could you wear it? I am just a little girl, but I am quite chubby, and you have become so thin that perhaps it would do. Oh, try it on, do try it on!”
    A lump rose in my throat, but I managed to say at last, “You are a gentle and generous child.”
    I knew just by looking that it would not fit, but she had labored upon the garment with such love that I agreed to try it. And, as I thought, I could not ease it down over my bosom, nor would it rise past my hips when I attempted to step in and pull it up.
    â€œOh, Rose!” Jessamyn began to cry.
    I felt awash in guilt. I almost broke down and confessed everything that had taken place with the rats the night before, but I worried that in her excitement, she might slip and reveal the secret to her mother.
    Thank goodness, at that moment Pye appeared at Jessamyn’s doorway with her luncheon tray. I accepted it on her behalf and tried to cheer her with tea and sandwiches. After a while I was able to convince her to eat a few bites; then I fairly flew back to the kitchen.
    â€œSo your fine ladyship at last decides to join us!” Cook snarled at me. “It’s past time for you to give Miss Eustacia her milk bath. The buckets are over there in the corner, fresh and warm from the cow. Hop along! And when you’re finished, Lady Wilhemina wants you to brush her hair.”
    Oh, lovely. My favorite task.
    I hauled bucket after bucket upstairs to fill the deep, shell-shaped bathtub in Eustacia’s sunny bathroom, which had once been mine. With my mother, on a long-ago visit to the Anglish coast, I had collected the starfish and scallop shells that still lay scattered across the lip of the tub. In some ways, it was easier for me to live in the attic than it would have been to dwell in these family chambers, haunted by the ghosts of a happy childhood.
    â€œFaster, Cinderella, you laggard!” Eustacia stood by in a ruffled white satin wrapper and poufy feathered slippers with an impatient frown on her red face. “I must be ready soon, and you are late, late, late! I shall tell Mamma.”
    â€œAs you