On a cold and stormy night, there was a desperate knock on the castle door. The housekeeper scampered to answer it while pondering the purpose of the call at such late hour. Stood beneath the pale moonlight, was a young lady in an old hooded cloak, soaked to the skin.
“I lost my horse in the storm. May I impose on you for shelter, least till morning breaks?” The young lady implored.
“Oh my. You poor dear, do come in,” the kind servant invited. “I will have the maids fix you up with dry clothes while I inform the mistress.”
The lady of the household was Lady Gillian, Duchess of Everington. Once dubbed the name ‘the old tortoise’ by villagers who felt that her ladyship has inappropriately outlived almost all who were kin to her. A most peculiar lady, even by standards of royalty, who has a certain insistence that her rose garden remained blossomed, even in winter. Some said that she would have slumbered in her deathbed, if not for a dying wish to see her only grandson, Prince Marius, wedded to a true princess and honour the royal lineage.
“She may stay. Though the room in the east-wing is only where she shall slumber”, the Duchess instructed with such an air of authority that the servants scurried upon her very last word.
The room in the east-wing was as intimidating as it was majestic. Stretching over three stories high, it seemed almost like a great hall if not for the lack of furniture, save a single structure that rested staunchly in the middle of the room. Framed within four wooden posters with carvings of forest trees and creatures, were mattresses, piled high enough to reach the ceiling. The young lady counted. There were twenty mattresses in all.
The housekeeper ushered her to climb to the top, using a splinted pole ladder that did not command much confidence. It was upon the twentieth mattress that the young lady slept, till the break of dawn.
“I do trust that the night was kind to you,” the duchess queried when the young lady offered her greetings the following morning.
“Let nothing take away my gratitude for your generosity my lady. But last night was a night I found no rest, no slumber and no cheer. While the castle slept, my body carped of discomfort. And so it was a night of unrest, like the storm that battered the castle walls.”
Silence suddenly fell upon the castle. It was an uneasy silence which seemed to have lasted an eternity. And then what appeared to be a veil of despair was lifted by a single smile. A single smile that ushered in a sense of hope and faith not felt since the birth of the young prince.
The old duchess finally spoke, “then it must be, as I have hoped through the many winters that I have hoped. You are the one! As only one fair by birth and virtuous in upbringing would have found discomfort, by a single pea concealed beneath her sheets and mattresses of twenty. A single pea indeed, and from a single pea, I have found a princess!”
The castle erupted in cheer and rejoicing. Lady Gillian strolled towards the young lady and clasped her hand with approval, “what say you my dear?”
“It was haemorrhoids,” the young lady replied.
~~ The End ~~
“I lost my horse in the storm. May I impose on you for shelter, least till morning breaks?” The young lady implored.
“Oh my. You poor dear, do come in,” the kind servant invited. “I will have the maids fix you up with dry clothes while I inform the mistress.”
The lady of the household was Lady Gillian, Duchess of Everington. Once dubbed the name ‘the old tortoise’ by villagers who felt that her ladyship has inappropriately outlived almost all who were kin to her. A most peculiar lady, even by standards of royalty, who has a certain insistence that her rose garden remained blossomed, even in winter. Some said that she would have slumbered in her deathbed, if not for a dying wish to see her only grandson, Prince Marius, wedded to a true princess and honour the royal lineage.
“She may stay. Though the room in the east-wing is only where she shall slumber”, the Duchess instructed with such an air of authority that the servants scurried upon her very last word.
The room in the east-wing was as intimidating as it was majestic. Stretching over three stories high, it seemed almost like a great hall if not for the lack of furniture, save a single structure that rested staunchly in the middle of the room. Framed within four wooden posters with carvings of forest trees and creatures, were mattresses, piled high enough to reach the ceiling. The young lady counted. There were twenty mattresses in all.
The housekeeper ushered her to climb to the top, using a splinted pole ladder that did not command much confidence. It was upon the twentieth mattress that the young lady slept, till the break of dawn.
“I do trust that the night was kind to you,” the duchess queried when the young lady offered her greetings the following morning.
“Let nothing take away my gratitude for your generosity my lady. But last night was a night I found no rest, no slumber and no cheer. While the castle slept, my body carped of discomfort. And so it was a night of unrest, like the storm that battered the castle walls.”
Silence suddenly fell upon the castle. It was an uneasy silence which seemed to have lasted an eternity. And then what appeared to be a veil of despair was lifted by a single smile. A single smile that ushered in a sense of hope and faith not felt since the birth of the young prince.
The old duchess finally spoke, “then it must be, as I have hoped through the many winters that I have hoped. You are the one! As only one fair by birth and virtuous in upbringing would have found discomfort, by a single pea concealed beneath her sheets and mattresses of twenty. A single pea indeed, and from a single pea, I have found a princess!”
The castle erupted in cheer and rejoicing. Lady Gillian strolled towards the young lady and clasped her hand with approval, “what say you my dear?”
“It was haemorrhoids,” the young lady replied.
~~ The End ~~