Anne, also, was now at the Court, a grown-up girl and Second Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen Mother. It was about six weeks ago that she had first arrived. Giles was glad to see her and to get news of their parents and their native town. He also asked her about Agnes; and was deeply disappointed to find his sister had not seen the Applewoman, nor heard of her, since he had left nearly nine years ago. Often, when he yet had the shell, he had listened for her voice in it. But with no success. He felt a great wish, almost a need, to see and talk with her at this time. Now he wondered sadly if she could be dead.
Anne soon settled down into the grand life of the Royal Household. But she could never quite seem to get used to her brother’s important part in it. She twitted him with first hiding all the things he found for the King. This of course she only did, sister-like, to tease him. She had known well, even when they were both little, this great gift of his for finding which had now made him famous throughout the land. And the last few weeks she had seen him performing at his best.
For never before had Giles been kept so busy. With the palace packed and teeming from morn to night; with new servants and guests who didn’t know their way about; with princes who brought with them dozens of grooms and horses and coaches filled with wedding presents, the poor Finder didn’t know which way to turn. It was now persons as well as things he had to find. Often in the same hour he had not only to look for a lost piece of a guest’s baggage, but would have to go hunting a bishop or a prince who had gone astray. So great was the turmoil in the castle.
But Giles did not grumble at the extra work. He was indeed glad of it—to keep his mind from brooding on his own trouble. Ever since that day at the Lower Lake he had carefully kept out of the Countess’s way. He still could not trust himself to talk with her lest he speak of his love; and he was still desperately determined not to be untrue to the King, his friend.
He saw her but seldom, even at a distance, during those busy days of preparation. When he did, he noticed she seemed the least excited of all, still serious, still quiet. He supposed that it was merely that marriages interested her no more now than they had done when she was very young.
Not even to Luke had he ever spoken of the great longing in his heart, though the two talked of other matters freely enough. Nor had the esquire ever mentioned Barbara’s name again to his master since he had brought him the news of her betrothal. It was as if that understanding friend, who had guessed the way the Finder’s heart was yearning before he knew himself, felt that this was a matter for no more words.
But if Giles now saw very little of the Countess Barbara, he saw a great deal of the Princess Sophronia. In the last nine years that lady had not grown any younger—nor any better looking. The prince who was to have married her had changed his mind and gone elsewhere to seek another wealthy bride. So the flattering courtiers did not sing her praises any more. Shortly after that Sophronia’s hearing had grown worse; and she was now quite deaf.
At the announcement of the King’s betrothal she had appointed herself Mistress of Ceremonies, and took general charge of all the preparations for the wedding. She had to do something to keep her self-importance. And a great nuisance she was to everybody. She pushed her nose in everywhere, and kept changing this, or altering that, as soon as the others had completed some specially hard piece of work. And again, because she was the King’s aunt, no one dared complain. But, oh, the things they said behind her back!
Her greatest joy and treasure was still the Whispering Shell. This, after her promise to Giles, she never brought out or showed in public. But secretly in the privacy of her bedroom she spent long hours with it, holding it, waiting for it to grow warm. And it often did, about that time, wax boiling hot. Which made the King’s aunt very happy. For whenever anyone in the busy palace cried in despair, ‘Drat that ugly old fuss-box! I wish she’d mind her own business!’ a gleam of joy would light up the face of the deaf Princess. And she would whisper to herself:
‘Ah, there they go! Still talking of my beauty. Patience, Royal Sophronia! Another prince will come.’