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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781742692661 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Allen & Unwin Pty., Limited |
| Publication date: | 11/01/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 240 |
| File size: | 877 KB |
| Age Range: | 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Triple Ripple
By Brigid Lowry
Allen & Unwin
Copyright © 2011 Brigid LowryAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-74269-266-1
CHAPTER 1
It was summertime when the girl glory came to the palace; a time of honeysuckle and bees. 'Her mother was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter,' said Mrs Blossom, the cook. 'But apparently the child has no magical powers, which is why she's been sent to us.'
'I heard her father drownded,' said elda, the scullery maid.
'yes, 'tis said he drowned,' sighed Mrs Blossom.
'I heard she has the reddest hair in all the nine counties,' added alice, the garden girl, who'd just brought in a tray of peas and radishes.
Rolf, the kitchen boy, said nothing. He was busy watching a wasp struggle in a spider web.
'we'll find out soon enough, no doubt. Look lively, Lad. Them peas won't pod themselves.' Mrs Blossom heaved a mighty sigh and began rolling out a big lump of pastry on the cool marble table.
Those peas, thought Rolf. He was a boy of few words, but he knew how to use them. Mrs Blossom was a great one for misusing words, Rolf had observed.
'They might not put her in the kitchens with us, anyway, it's all theorezzical, but there are many places a lively girl could be useful round here. A palace doesn't run itself, you know. She might be in flowers with Miss Hope, or ... Get on with it, Rolf; stop dreaming, Boy.'
Please let her be in the kitchen with us, thought Elda. Alice is all very well, but she doesn't have much laughter in her. Elda liked the sound of a girl called Glory who had the reddest hair in all of nine counties.
Glory had always known it was her destiny to leave her home and family, but it had seemed a far-off thing.
'One day you shall go and live at the palace, as I did,' her mother had said, ever since Glory was a tiny girl. Now the time had come. She was to go and live in the royal palace and take employment there. At least she would be able to send home some coins to help her family. Life was pinch and scrape since Glory's father, a sea captain, had been lost in a storm, and she was much burdened by her mother's thinness and worry. Some evenings, the widow took only a crust, denying herself curd and broth so that Glory and her brothers might eat. She took in sewing, and the coal her sons collected brought in a few coins, but times were lean. How Glory had loved her mother's tales when they were but fancy stories. Many was the long winter evening they'd sat by the hearth, darning socks, enjoying the warmth and the flickering dance of the flames, while Jakob and Ptolemy slept.
'You've been promised to the palace. It will be a great adventure for you, though many things will be different now. It is twenty long years since my time there.'
'Tell me, Mama.'
The widow's weary face softened as she drifted down the dusty corridors of memory.
'It is not a palace like a castle, made of stone and having moats, turrets and such things. It is a palatial mansion, with more rooms than you can count.'
'How many?'
'Eighty rooms or more. Two libraries, three kitchens, a grand ballroom, a star-gazing turret, and a small hospital. There are stately gardens with herbaceous borders, orchards, vines, a croquet lawn, vegetable gardens, a herb garden, gardens of flowers for picking to decorate the palace, and even topiary. It is a grander place than you could ever dream. It is a world within a world.'
'Topiary? Is that a beast like a horse, Mama?'
'Why would it be a beast? You are a funny girl, Glory. Topiary is the art of trimming trees into fantastic shapes, such as a giraffe or a teapot. The head gardener of my time, Mr Will, was a master of it.'
'You jest, Mama.' Trees cut into fancy shapes indeed. What silliness. Glory glanced around their humble cottage: an oak table, a stone fireplace, pots and pans, a closet for their clothes, two beds — one shared with her mother, one for her brothers. What, beyond this, would a person want or need? A little more food perhaps ... Surely her mother was spinning tales to make her laugh.
'You will see for yourself, Daughter, before too long. The grand ballroom has huge draperies of damask and crushed velvet, as ruched and fancy as ball gowns.
On the afternoon of the grand balls, servant boys polish the dance floor by grating beeswax upon it, then sliding about with auld sacks on their feet, skating and laughing most joyous, despite the admonitions of the head butler, whose face, as I remember, resembled a shrivelled prune. I do believe those lads had more fun readying the dance floor than the dancers did in the evening.'
'It does sound wondrous indeed; this world within a world. Is the palace a happy place, then?'
A strange look came over her mother's face.
'It is a place like any other. You'll find good and bad there, as you find anywhere else.' Her tone was sharp, as if her daughter had spilt milk or forgotten to light the fire. 'Come now, Child. It's time for bed,' she continued, more gently.
Glory lay quietly, but sleep was a long time coming.
It was not the moon outside her window — round and yellow as the yolk of an egg — that kept her from slumber, but excitement. The very next day she was to travel far away, to live in a palace.
The Reader
Today had egg in it, and too much blue. It had Nigel Brown's smelly farts and Dylan Carmody's shitty behaviour. She is such a bitch to me. In Media she stuck a Post-it note on my back saying Nova is a Poo Head. I took it off straight away, but it was humiliating. I'm glad to be home, hiding in my room, reading my book. My mother gave me this one. I thought it would be crap because it's not my usual sort of book, although I liked fairy stories when I was little. I remember magic shoes and dancing swans that turned into princesses; Snow White and Rose Red; crotchety dwarves who turned straw into gold; enchantments and strange elixirs and dragons. I liked those stories because they were full of love and fear, and extraordinary things could happen.
THE WRITER
It's easy to begin a book, inside your head. You start with a sparkly good idea. Then the real work commences. You create a place, an imaginative landscape, inviting the reader in. Then you add characters. Not boring ones. Your characters have to be interesting. The reader must turn the pages avidly to see what becomes of them. It's not enough to have a place and people. Things have to happen. One thing must lead to another. There have to be problems worth solving, and interesting adventures, big and small. Exciting, dramatic things are good in a story, but so are small, subtle things. If the writer thinks much more about this stuff, her head will explode.
She asks everyone she knows what a good fairy story should have in it. Tamsin says a pink princess. Sometimes it does not pay to ask Tamsin things. The writer lugs books home from the library and studies myths and legends. She doesn't want a troll in her book, because they are evil-tempered; nor a brownie, for they have no noses. But what if one sneaks in? The writer finds that the more she tries to think sensibly, the less her creativity creates. It's only during an afternoon spent on her bed, drinking tea, or in the middle of baking poppy seed cake, that her ideas arrive. The writer decides Tamsin was right about the princess, though perhaps not a pink one.
CHAPTER ONE AND A HALF
Queen petronilla had ordered Princess Mirabella to sort her jewels, but the princess was not in the mood. The peacocks were screeching horribly outside her window, and her chambermaid, Cherry, had a warty sore on her face. The princess could hardly bear to look at her. furthermore, the peach on the princess's golden breakfast tray was as hard as a cannonball. 'You know my fruit must be ripe, Cherry.' 'I can't do nothing about it, Princess Mirabella. I just take what's given me by the kitchen. The kitchen just gives me what's given by the tree. If you isn't happy, I could bring you a napple.' 'I don't want an apple, you foolish creature. I want a juicy ripe peach, not a hard rock with fuzz on it. This peach just will not do.'
'Oh no, it just won't do. But there it is. I am so very sorry, Mistress.'
Cherry's tone was insolent, but she slinked from the room before the princess had time to reply. Mirabella would have liked to give her a good slap, but that wouldn't do either. She found it very hard being a princess. Life felt most unbearable.
Arlo, the page, brought her jewellery casket: a rosewood box inlaid with mahogany. It sat like a large, daunting frog, glaring at her. The princess felt grumpy about her mother's constant requests. As far as Mirabella was concerned, the queen had far too much time on her hands, especially when the king was away. She amused herself by ordering the staff about very energetically and concocting tasks for her daughter. Rarely did the princess wish to oblige, but this time she would obey; it was either that or stare out the window until she died of boredom. Oak, her horse, was being shod, so she could not ride. The long hours of the day hours stretched ahead like a dreary rope.
So she tipped the box, letting the contents tumble onto her cream silken coverlet. 'Twas a most fine coverlet, embroidered with roses and the royal crest, but made grimy by dust that had gathered amongst the royal jewels over the years. The princess saw by Arlo's haughty gaze that he considered tossing them down onto her bed a poor way to treat her jewels. He was quite handsome, Arlo, but he thought too well of himself, in Princess Mirabella's opinion.
'You may go,' she ordered, and he did. His shoes tapped all the way down the long corridor. Now that she was listening, she heard the sleepy buzzing of the bees in the hedge outside her window. A sweet sound, but overlaid by the cries of the infernal peacocks and — oh no, here was her mother, squawking even more annoyingly, if such a thing be possible. The queen was most displeased by the tangle on the bed.
'Oh, don't fuss, Mother. They're only things.'
'What do you mean, you stupid girl? How dare you treat your precious jewellery so carelessly?'
Princess Mirabella responded with silence, which oft proved to be the best way to lessen the wind in the royal sails. Queen Petronilla sighed mightily, then changed tack.
'This was your grandmother's wedding bracelet, you know. Amethyst carries the meaning of devotion.'
'Devotion. How amusing,' Mirabella muttered. Her grandparents had not been the happiest of couples. She'd heard the whispers about King Randolph's womanising ways and Queen Fortuna's fondness for wines and spirits — purely medicinal, you understand. Her mother's hearing was needle sharp. The princess should not have muttered thus, for now her mother was cross again.
'You will stay in your chambers until all the jewellery has been properly attended to. Set aside any pieces that need cleaning or mending. Try on each one carefully and select a necklace, with earrings to match. You must look your very best at the ball. I'll arrange for the tiaras to be brought to your chamber. We must see which one flatters your pretty complexion.' The queen tried to sweeten her daughter into compliance, which only served to annoy.
'Who cares about the stupid ball? I hate being paraded like a pony. You know I have no wish to make a match with any royal idiot, however great his fortune, however influential his parents.'
'You are a rude, ungrateful girl, and I am weary of your vexing ways. The king shall hear of it on his return.'
The Reader
I'm not sure where the story is going but I like books with a bit of mystery. Anyway, my book is more interesting than my life right now. School is dreary, and it's a great pity my mother didn't sort herself out a bit more before she decided to accept herself just the way she was. She pounces on me before I'm even halfway in the door. Hello, Nova darling. How was school? Anything interesting happen? I don't want to share my day. It's private. The other worst thing about my mother is how she's always trying to improve me: a little tidying here, a small suggestion there. Because Dad's away all the time, she focuses on me far too much. She can't allow me the dignity of being myself. I wish she'd accept that sometimes I'm grumpy and pessimistic, muddled and messy, lazy and lost. She should stop reading all those self-help books. They aren't doing her much good.
Dad is gone again. The house is strangely quiet. Mum's having a cleaning frenzy, and is snappy with me because she misses him. Go figure.
THE WRITER
The writer goes for her daily walk, hoping for a line, a good thought, a solid idea, a small miracle. She has no idea where her book is heading. She urges herself not to panic, but to get back to her desk. Sit down. Take a breath. Write the next bit. Let the story arrive.
CHAPTER 2The day of Glory's departure from the village of Myddle styx was a sad one. Her mother wept softly, her brothers howled and snivelled, glory sobbed in noisy bursts. Even Mr Hobbs, the coachman, blew his nose into his large red handkerchief.
'when will i see you again, Mama?'
'Try not to think like that, Chickadee. This is the beginning of a great journey for you. Enter your new life fully and don't look back. Courage, my beloved girl. All will be well.'
At that, Mr Hobbs gave his horse a great wallop, and they set off. Plum blossom fell dainty as snow as they travelled along the sunny riverbank, but it was not long before the dappled, leafy light faded and their carriage entered the gloomy woods. As her mother had instructed, Glory did not look back. There were no other passengers. Mr Hobbs sat like a giant at the front, and a load of boxes rattled and bounced on the wagon behind, as they tumbled onwards into the blackness. The fat moon rose. Glory fell asleep in a dreamy muddle of anticipation and fear.
At the palace, preparations for the grand ball were afoot. The invitations had been sent, the menu had been planned. The king and queen had arranged many suitors for Princess Mirabella to look at or, rather, many suitors to look at her. It wasn't true love her parents had in mind for their only daughter. In recent years the royal fortune had lessened considerably. There was the ill-fated battle in which they lost the river border, and the plague of locusts which decimated the wheat crop, but the main reason for their current predicament was that the king lacked the necessary skills for strong leadership. Easily flustered, he fumbled the affairs of state and lacked critical focus when it came to important decisions. If Mirabella could be married off to a rich prince from another kingdom, the royal fortune of the House of Hanover would be doubled. There'd be twice the army, twice the power. Princess Mirabella had no desire to be a pawn in this ancient game, but she saw no escape from it. The king had gone hunting, as usual, in order to avoid the queen's ranting about ruin.
'So I'm left here with these ridiculous baubles.' Mirabella sulked for a while, but then her vanity sneaked in on tiny rabbit paws. 'It will be the most horrid ball in the world, but I might as well look my best,' she decided. The princess set aside a necklace with a missing ruby, a teardrop earring without a partner, a sapphire and silver brooch which needed polishing. She tried on some necklaces but none of them appealed. Arlo delivered a towering pile of tiara boxes — eight of them — then lingered in the doorway.
'Yes? What is it?'
'It's Cherry, Milady. She's been taken ill.'
'I'm sorry to hear it. You can go now.' Really, she thought, he is the most annoying person. Fancy expecting her to be concerned about her maid's little troubles when she had these tiaras to deal with. The princess didn't bother trying them all on — it would have been too dreary for words — but she quite fancied the Razzle Dazzle Tiara. She twirled around in front of the mirror and found her reflection reasonably pleasing, yet perhaps she could do better? The Dancing Duchess Tiara was horribly heavy, the Blue dream Tiara was far too big, the stardust Tiara made her look like a wedding cake, the wistful rose Tiara had three rubies missing, and the sugar-Plum Tiara was somewhat ordinary. The final box contained the Magic Blossom Tiara, which belonged to her eccentric aunt agatha, duchess of amberly. It was a delicate crown of diamonds and pearls set out in an intricate pattern of fleur-de-lis. It fitted perfectly, and the princess looked enchanting, but all this hard work tired her, so she decided to take a little nap.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Triple Ripple by Brigid Lowry. Copyright © 2011 Brigid Lowry. Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
CHAPTER ONE,CHAPTER ONE AND A HALF,
CHAPTER TWO,
CHAPTER TWO AND A BIT,
CHAPTER TWO AND THE NEXT BIT,
CHAPTER FOURAND THREE QUARTERS,
ANOTHER CHAPTER,
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN AND THRUPPENCE,
A BIT THAT IS TOO SMALL TO BE A CHAPTER,
A CHAPTER WITH A BAD MISTAKE IN IT,
A CHAPTER WITHOUT A MISTAKE IN IT (HOPEFULLY),
A CHAPTER WITHOUT A BORING BIT IN IT (HOPEFULLY),
A CHAPTER WITH VOMIT IN IT,
CHAPTER 74,
A FLOWERY CHAPTER,
A CHAPTER WITH A KING IN IT,
A CHAPTER WITH A KING IN IT,
CHAPTER WITH BALL GOWN AND TUMBLES,
A VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER,
CHAPTER THURSDAY WITH SURPRISES AND STARBLOSSOM,
CHAPTER MOONBEAM AND A QUARTER,
A ROSE PETAL CHAPTER,
A CHAPTER CONTAINING TEA-LEAVES AND SUGAR-DUSTED INSECTS,
A CHAPTER CONTAINING FURTHER DOINGS OF A SOMEWHAT DODGY CHARACTER,
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN AND SIX SEVENTHS,
A CHAPTER CONTAINING VARIOUS EXCITING EVENTS AND SEVERAL ADJECTIVES,
CHAPTER CONTAINING MERRIMENT, LIFE, AND DEATH,
CHAPTER NEARLY THERE AND A BIT,
CHAPTER WITH DRAMAS, DANCING AND DOUBTS,
CHAPTER MIDNIGHT,
THE LOVEY-DOVEY CHAPTER,
THE WEDDING CHAPTER,