Page 12 of Charmless
I blinked in surprise. I recognized the king’s second eldest son, Prince Kendrick, just as Mrs. Crumpet whipped around the counter, brandishing a rolling pin.
“Thief!” she cried. “I’ll send for a Scutcheon officer and have you clapped in irons.”
Kendrick shrank back and he appeared ready to bolt for the door. Mrs. Crumpet seized him by the front of his shirt. The woman looked so angry, I feared she was about to whack the prince with her rolling pin. Recovering from my astonishment, I hastened to intervene.
“Mrs. Crumpet! Stop!”
Keeping a firm grip on the prince, the baker turned her head to glare at me. “You stay out of this, Ella Upton. Just look at him!He is clearly one of those feckless idle lads from the Heights. I am sick to death of them thinking they can prance into my shop and help themselves to whatever they please just because they are sons of aristocrats.”
“But he is not a feckless, idle— ” I hesitated. From what I knew of Kendrick, he likely was feckless and idle. But he was feckless, idleroyalty.
“This is His Royal Highness, Prince Kendrick,” I said.
Mrs. Crumpet snorted. “He doesn’t look like any prince I have ever seen.”
“And exactly how many would that be? I danced with His Highness last night at the ball and I assure you this is indeed Prince Kendrick.”
Mrs. Crumpet paused, looking uncertainly from me to the prince who bobbed his head up and down to assure her of his identity. When it dawned upon Mrs. Crumpet how close she had come to assaulting royalty, she dropped the rolling pin, her face draining of color.
She sank to her knees. “Oh! Please, forgive me, Your Highness. I didn’t know who you were, or I would never have?—”
Her voice broke into a sob. “I have nine children so please, please don’t send me to the Dismal Dungeons or have me executed.”
“No, I would never do a thing like that. Um—nine, you say?” The prince’s brow furrowed in confusion.
I had noticed that Mrs. Crumpet tended to exaggerate the number of her offspring when she was stressed. Or perhaps the poor woman really did have so many children, it was difficult to keep an accurate count.
By this time Mrs. Crumpet was weeping too hard to speak. Kendrick looked far more discomfited by her sobs than when she had threatened him. His eyes turned to me in mute appeal.
Placing my hands on her shoulders, I managed to coax the baker to her feet. “Pray, calm yourself, Mrs. Crumpet. I am sure His Highness realizes this was all just a huge misunderstanding. He has taken no offense.”
“No, indeed I have not,” Kendrick put in eagerly. “And I will happily pay you although my father never trusts me with money. But I could give you my shirt.”
He examined the frills adorning the lawn fabric and frowned. “I appear to have spilled some wine on it. But what about the silver buttons on my breeches? I am sure they must be worth something.”
“No!” Mrs. Crumpet and I gasped in unison as the prince lifted his shirt and appeared ready to start undoing his breeches’ flap.
Mrs. Crumpet recovered herself enough to stammer. “No payment necessary. It’s my honor to - to serve Your Highness.” She mopped her eyes. “Would you like another roll or perhaps a scone or I have some bread fresh from the oven?”
Kendrick left off undoing his buttons and lowered his shirt. “Well, I do rather like bread, but?—”
“Good. I shall fetch Your Highness some at once.” Mrs. Crumpet retrieved her rolling pin and backed away, curtsying until she turned and fled through the door that led to her kitchen.
“What a nice woman,” Kendrick said. “Although I have never been menaced with a rolling pin before. Still all good fun and a bit of an adventure, eh?”
The prince beamed at me, and I remembered that I ought to be curtsying as well. Before I could do so, Kendrick grabbed my hand. After what I had endured with his brother, I braced myself to fend off another wet, sloppy kiss.
Instead, Kendrick shook my hand with such fervor my elbow ached from the bruise I had sustained in Mrs. Biddlesworth’s garden.
“Thank you, Miss Upton for recognizing me. That was quite amazing!”
“Was it?” I asked as I tried to pry free of his grasp. His enthusiastic handshake caused my shawl to slip from my shoulders. Mercifully he released me as he bent to retrieve the garment.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I am always so delighted when anyone remembers me. Most people don’t, not even the king. My father usually just refers to me as the spare or the idiot. But with great affection, of course.”
“Of course,” I murmured. As he handed my shawl back to me, I had to swallow my true opinion. Far from being affectionate, the king struck me as monstrously cruel, even to his own son.
Although he was never seen outside the royal palace, Kendrick had somehow acquired the reputation for being the amiable, cheerful prince. He was handsome in a bland sort of way, but his features were undistinguished. He was also shorter than his tall, strapping brothers. I could see how Kendrick might feel overlooked, so I reassured him.
