A Lady of Exquisite Sensitivity, Pt II

The man who opened the door was back-lit, so of course I could not make out his features at once. Nonetheless, I gave him my most winsome smile and apologized for calling so late, then explained that I was a foreign princess in need of shelter for the evening.

“When morning comes,” I said, “I shall need to meet with the king and queen to discuss private matters. But it would not do to disturb them at this hour and in such a state, and so in the meantime I require a place to rest and refresh myself.”

For a moment I doubted that the man would let me in, but eventually he gave a little half-shrug, and stepped aside with an inviting gesture. Once in the entryway I saw that he was near the end of his prime, fairly good-looking but with something of a simpleton air to him. At least he appeared well dressed and cared-for.

“You’re a true princess?” he asked, puzzled.

“I truly am,” I replied.

“You don’t look like a princess,” he said, slowly, and reached to stroke the head of a nearby dog as though for comfort. “You’re all wet. And your feet are muddy.” I stifled an urge to sigh impatiently- a lady is always gracious, no matter how ungraciously she herself is treated.

“I know I’m all wet and muddy,” I explained gently, “But that has nothing to do with me being a princess. You wouldn’t say your hound had become a fish just because it swam across a river, would you?” This was apparently too much for him, for instead of replying he led me to the kitchens, where he left me to stand dripping by the fire. I did my best to wring out my slip and hair while I waited for whoever was going to come for me.

I was kept waiting rather longer than I felt appropriate, but someone did eventually come. An old serving woman led me to a bed chamber which held the most extraordinary bed I’d ever seen. What I mean to say, rather, was that while the bed frame itself was normal enough, it had piled on top of it what appeared to be about twenty each of mattresses, quilts, and feather-beds. Some thoughtful soul had leaned a ladder up against this mountain of fluff so that I might actually climb atop it. The woman looked at me expectantly.

“Oh my, that certainly looks… quite comfortable,” I said, wracking my brains for local sleeping customs. I didn’t recall having read anything about an obsession with padding, but it just goes to show that scholars don’t always know everything. Or if they do, they fail to write it all down.

There was a large tub of steaming water by the fire, and a plain but clean gown draped over a chair. I allowed the servant to assist me into the water and to scrub my back, and then dismissed her. I certainly didn’t want anyone to witness what was sure to be an awkward scene as I tried to get into- or, rather, on to- bed.

I did manage it, in the end, although I accidently knocked the ladder over in the process. I allowed myself a full thirty seconds of wondering how I was expected to get down in the morning, before rolling over and doing my best to sleep.

It was a long night. Not literally, of course- the sun was up not even five hours later- but I did not manage even an hour of uninterrupted rest. For starters, the pile of mattresses kept swaying in the most alarming fashion, which led to me jerking awake convinced I was about to tumble to my death- or at the very least to my broken bones. Secondly, for all that it should have been impossible for me to feel anything other than downy softness in such a bed, it seemed to me that some cruel person had sewn a jagged stone into the upper-most feather-bed, right where my spine was. Roll about as I might, there was no escaping the hard little lump, and it made true sleep impossible.

When the cocks began their morning revelry I abandoned any attempt at slumber and instead turned my attention to a safe descent. I had just decided that the best method would be to carefully roll one mattress off the pile at a time, thus slowly but surely decreasing the mound to a reasonable heap, (as well as providing a soft place for me to land on, should I grow impatient and choose to jump) when the door opened and the servant from the previous night popped her head in. Seeing my predicament, she hastened to reset the ladder, and held it steady as I gingerly made my way back to the blessedly firm floor. She then helped me dress my body and my hair, and although I was in plain garb and without any marks of rank (and had indigo smudges beneath my eyes) I felt a great deal more regal than I had when I’d arrived. Thus renewed in spirit (if not body), I straightened my spine and asked to be taken to Their Majesties.