Chapter 23

Ch. 23: Bamboozled

She is a quiet girl.

After deciding for her to be my playmate, I went up to my room and ordered all the maids out of it. Now that I’m seated on my bed and looking at this child, she seems even more pitiful and forlorn than I was when I was living with Bianca.

Her little black eyes and sunken into her head and the small portion of dark hair I can spy under her white cap is desperately in need of a thorough brush through.

“What’s your name again?” I finally ask, unable to bear the silence.

“Emma, your highness,” she said with a curtsey.

Then the two of us just stared at each other until Emma looked away first. I’m at a bit of a loss. It is hard enough being a child, but now I must somehow find out how to befriend another kid. I can feel a headache coming and I rub at my temples.

“Your highness, would you like me to give you a head massage?” Emma asked. I ponder for a moment, then nod. Physical contact usually helps people feel closer, right? I pat the bed and Emma tentatively climbs on before her nimble fingers begin to draw circles on the side of my head. It surprisingly feels nice and we fall into a comfortable silence while I close my eyes.

So much has happened today, yet it is still early in the afternoon. I think about Sir Finn, who pledged his sword to me, my first etiquette lesson, and kicking that insignificant Janice out of the house and feel a warmth bloom in my heart. That is 2 out of 3 things that have gone well for me today. If I can successfully win Emma over, then it shall be 3 out of 4.

.....

“Where are you from, Emma?” I ask after a few minutes.

“West Bend,” she replies. Curt replies seem to be her strong suit.

The West Bend is a messy neighborhood that is only a few blocks down from the start of the slums. I’m not surprised at all by her admission. I throw a few more questions at the girl, but it’s as if I’m speaking with a brick wall.

“What do you like to play?”

“Nothin’, your highness. I never play, always workin’.”

“Any favorite food?”

“Grits.” It was an easy, cheap source of nutrition and a constant in my last childhood. I think of the oatmeal wannabe and grimace on the inside.

“Do you have any other young friends in the palace?”

“No, your highness.”

“Do you enjoy working at the Rose Palace?”

There is a break before she speaks and I open my eyes to look at her curiously.

“Erm... no, your highness,” she admits almost in a whisper.

I feel a faint blush of embarrassment. Since I’ve been brought here as a princess, even though my presence is not appreciated in the palace, I have been treated the way princesses in the stories I’ve read are. Marie gently wakes me up in my generous bed. My breakfast contains sweet pastries that would cost a lot in my own world. My shoes and dresses are clean and fill the armoir they are stored.

I know that this is the era before worker’s rights and insurance, working in such an environment where there is no liability for your superior or clear guidelines from a union must be difficult.

I look at Emma with a renewed vigor in my eyes. It would be pointless asking her if she wants to work elsewhere because I have learned enough in my weeks at the palace to know that working at a royal’s palace is one of the most desirable positions one can hold.

I have been silent for too long and Emma’s fingers slow on my face as she believes she has said something wrong.

“I’m quite sorry, your highness,” she says in her West Bend accent, “I did nay mean that.”

“No, I’m sorry that I haven’t made this an environment for you to feel comfortable in,” I say, hoping to reassure her with a few pats to her hands, which are only marginally larger than my own.

“If you tell me what you don’t like about working at the Rose Palace, I will work hard to fix it.” I’m as resolute as I sound. Since I’m the ‘boss’ of this palace, I should at least make it a decent environment for everyone regardless of how unwelcoming all the staff have proven to be.

Emma doesn’t say anything, but a sound of affirmation comes from her throat. I frown, afraid she just thinks that what I said is an empty promise and that I don’t mean what I said. Time will show her that I am willing. Perhaps if I make Rose Palace the ideal place for any maid to work, I will draw more people to my side.

“Well, what do you like, Emma?” I ask, a little exasperated by her 2-word answers.

“Money.”

“Money?”

“Yea, your highness.”

I rub my chin, an idea coming to my head. Money is an excellent source of motivation, how could I not have thought of it until now? If I can’t make any friends in the palace, I should just buy them.

“Marie!” I barked out, startling Emma from her reassuring pace of massaging my head. I don’t think my nursemaid expected to be called in so soon because she has a bewildered expression as she walks in on Emma massaging me rather than us playing with the expensive dolls in my untouched toychest.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Do I have money?” I ask her shyly as I don’t want to appear money-hungry. Then I remember that young children don’t have to worry about appearing this way. Being stuck inside the body of a child is very frustrating.

Marie perks up. “As a matter of fact, you do, your highness. Every month you receive a monthly stipend of 150 silver coins.”

Emma must be surprised by the number because I hear her gasp a bit above me.

“Please bring it here, Marie,” I request, and Marie marches off happily to fulfill what I’ve asked. She arrives promptly with two bags of money within small, silk drawstring bags. One of them is handed to me and I marvel at the weight in my hands.

“Thank you, Marie!” I say sweetly and my nursemaid’s eyes disappear into her face as she smiles cheerfully at me. She is such a kind lady.

The moment Marie shuts the door behind her, I spin around to Emma in excitement. Telling Marie to bring my cash over was not in vain. Already I can see a shred of joy in her originally sunken eyes and I want to make the shred bloom so I magnanimously gift her some with flowery words so it feels extra special. The child who shares the most snacks in elementary makes the most friends. I’m only substituting Oreos for money, but it should have the same effect.

“Emma.” We are facing each other on our knees and I take her hands in my own. “Your bravery that day at Sunset Palace truly touched my heart. I appreciate how you tried to pull me free under the hedge and argued for me. Since you were kind enough to do that, please keep these 50 coins.”

I count out 25 coins from one silk bag and then hand it to her, feeling oh so pleased with myself. But if I were a bird flying high in the sky, what Emma says and does pierces my chest like an arrow and sends me tumbling back to the earth.

Emma takes the bag from me without expression and counts out each and every coin. All 50. They are lined up in two neat rows of 25 and she looks over them without expression.

For so long does she inspect her money that I finally ask, “Is there something wrong?”

There is a slight bite in my tone, but I try to cool the growing flames of annoyance by reminding myself that she is a child who never received proper education and thus does not know how to act when she acquires something good.

Emma looks like, the daze clearing over her eyes. “No, your highness. Thank you, your highness.”

I nod, feeling slightly mollified as I tuck the 25 coins I took out from the bag and tuck them into the second pouch that is still with me. Emma tucks them back into the bag and shoves it into the string of her apron with an unreadable expression. Overall, it was far more disappointing than I envisioned it in my head. Should I have given her more?

I tentatively ask Emma, “Is that a lot?”

Her reaction was so lackluster, I’m starting to get a bad taste in my mouth. 1/3 of my monthly salary sits in her hands and this is the expression I see on a maid. It is my good fortune that Emma is young and not good at feigning fake excitement the way fawning maids do.

“Shall I be honest with ya, your highness?” she starts carefully.

Emma looks up at me for the first time and I feel as if I’m seeing a difference in the young maid. She suddenly seems more alert and present than she did when I first dragged her into my room and it sets me on edge in a good way.

“Please.”

“This,” she waves her not only over the pouch tucked in her apron, but my stash as well. “is not a lot of money at all.”

I narrow my eyes. Don’t tell me these silver coins have the same worth as a nickel in my world?

“My monthly salary is 100 silver coins a month. Because I was on duty when I was chasin’ after you to Sunset Palace, half of my salary was deducted and I only got 50 silver coins this month. The amount you have now given me, 1/3 of your salary, now fulfills my full amount.”

My mouth drops. I was wondering when the other shoe would drop. The treatment here at Rose Palace, while not the best, was too good for there not to be any drawbacks. But here they are, these two bags of silver coins that is little more than the amount maids get. The insult only becomes greater as I further inquire about what I can do with these coins in front of me.

“Ummm,” Emma taps a finger on her chin, which looks surprisingly adorable. “You can buy a bushel of potatoes for 30 silver coins. Rent in the West Bend will cost you 100 coins. But for a young lady such as yourself, if you are shoppin’ in East Bend-”

“East Bend?” I interrupt.

“The nicer part of town where noble little girls like prancin’ around in fluffy dresses and buy whatever catches their fancy. If you’re shoppin’ there, you’re nay gonna find nothin’ but a pastry with that amount.”

I’ve been played, absolutely bamboozled like a fool. A grimace mars my cute face as I think about what Emma has told me and all my excitement from earlier in the day fizzles out. In the webnovel, Winter was disrespected because she appeared more like a pauper rather than a princess. Now that I know it is because they barely allotted her any spending money. I will have to put my plan of buying more ‘friends’ in the palace on hold until I find a way to snatch more money for myself.

“And who decides how much money each palace is allotted?” I ask through gritted teeth, already dreading the answer.

Emma gets a funny look in her eyes and I grip my hands in my skirt. She smirks at me, the most vivid expression I’ve seen on her face.

“That will cost you, your highness,” she says sheepishly.

“Huh?” I’m not sure if I just heard her right.

She sticks out her hand rubs a few fingers together, the multiversal signal for money. A frugal lifestyle has been beaten into my brain since I was little in my past life. Now that I know how small my stipend actually is, giving away my money feels like cutting off a limb. I let out an incredulous cough, but just count out the original 25 coins I placed in my other bag and give them to her. Emma gives me a petulant look, but I hug my other bag to my chest, feeling as broke as I was in college.

She sighs, but carries on speaking. “Her Majesty, Empress Katya.”

How bold of that woman to so quickly cut off my funds when I’ve just arrived. She must desperately want me to make a fool of myself with no money to my name.

“How much does my sister get? Half-sister, I mean.” Calling that insane brat my sister does not sit right in my chest.

“3,000 gold coins.”

I almost tumble off the bed at that number. The difference between my measly allowance and hers is as great as the distance between the sky and dirt.

“Holy fuck,” I mutter when I right myself to a sitting position, falling back to my bad habit of swearing like a sailor. Emma doesn’t react and I’m not surprised, as the men in West End are hardly gentlemen and probably say many foul words just like many of Bianca’s clientele.

When I get over my shock, I look at the young maid before me with newfound respect.

“You know an awful lot for a child,” I muse.

Emma shrugs. “People talk. I listen. No one notices me.”

That is true. As we grow older, people tend to forget how good listeners children can be. I look at Emma and she looks at me, perhaps already guessing at what I’m thinking. Such a clever girl. To think my long-desired palace insider would fall into my lap in the form of my savior.

In desperate need to be further assuaged at my sudden gain and loss of monetary funds, I pull Emma in close as if we are the best of friends and request for her to tell me whatever juicy pieces of gossip she thinks will interest me. Over the haggling of 25 more precious silver coins, the fascinating palace gossip tinged by her lively West Bend accent become my own.

By the time Marie comes in an hour later with tea, Emma and I appear to be good friends in cahoots with one another, murmuring and giggling. The sight warmed Marie’s heart, her gentle heart unknowing of despicable matters the children were actually discussing.