I've started work, now, on my four novel revision of Odalisque. Today, I completed writing Chapter 1 of the first of the four. (Although I have yet to polish it, so it's subject to change.) It is entitled:
In which Nanny Spenser tells me stories, but is also known to spank me.
Most of the chapter is entirely new material, including much story-telling. There follows the end of the chapter, in which Nanny Spenser tells Princess Margaret a bedtime story. I'd be very interested to know what people make of this.
Sent to bed as the adults were broaching the wine, I thought it unwise to protest. Other than the candied flower petals, I’d managed to eat a pleasing proportion of the seasonal treats. More than one spanking had been narrowly averted that day. It was well not to chance my luck too far.
“Thank you, nanny.” I said “for not telling mother too much about my Lifenbud embroidery.”
“That’s all right, my treasure.”
“Will you tell me a bedtime story, please, nanny?”
“Of course I will, preciousness. Just you hop under the covers, now.”
With a little leap, I mounted the bed and wriggled inside. The sheet, on which I nestled my chin, was crisp and smelt of lavender. Under my head and back, the feather pillows and mattress were soft. Pale light flickered from a solitary candle.
“Once upon a time, oh best beloved,” nanny began, “in a high and distant land, there lived an old widow and her granddaughter. They were poor, but honest. The woman took in washing, working far into the night.”
“What about the little girl, nanny?”
“Ah you would ask about her, my darling. She was bonny as a springtime meadow, and happy as a songbird. She was the life of the neighbourhood, and you can imagine how she looked forward to Lifenbud.”
“Bunny cakes, nanny.”
“That’s right, sweetheart, and all the other treats. Only her grandmother was very poor, and had no money for sugar. Can you think of a Lifenbud treat with no sugar?”
“No, nanny, I can’t.”
“Nor could the poor old widow, my love. She went far and wide, asking or extra washing, just so that she could buy a bit of rootpulp. She’d hoped for honeycake, but might as well have dreamed of gold.”
“Ooh nanny! Please say that she got some sugar!”
“Wait and attend, my love! The widow came at last to a great palace. Usually, she wouldn’t have dared to knock there, but the idea of her sweet granddaughter with no bunny cakes for Lifenbud…”
“So she knocked?” I asked, hoping to move the story a little more quickly.
“That she did, Margaret. And an under-chamberlain answered the door – a lean man with a long nose and cruel eyes. He made the widow shiver, but she told him what she wanted. The queen may have a piece of washing for you, he said, in a nasty kind of voice that made her more afraid than ever.” Nanny Spencer’s impression of the under-chamberlain’s voice made me giggle.
“That’s a funny voice, nanny,” I said.
“Well, darling, the real under-chamberlain’s voice wasn’t at all funny. He took the widow through to see the queen. And the queen showed the widow a sheet with blood stains. Clean this, she said, and you’ll be richly rewarded – fail and you’ll have your head chopped off!”
“Why didn’t the queen just give the sheet to the laundry slaves, nanny?”
“She had done, my dear, but they could do nothing with it. For she was a wicked queen who had murdered her husband, the king.”
“Was it the king’s blood, nanny?”
“It was, sweetheart. Every day, the slaves washed away the blood – and every night the king’s ghost put it back. Well, the widow scrubbed at the sheet with soda ash, and the blood came out. She took the sheet back to the queen, who was delighted. Give her fifty pounds in gold, she commanded the under-chamberlain. Then the ghost laid his hand on the sheet.”
“His bloody hand, nanny?” I asked, thrilled with this idea.
“Yes, my love, his bloody hand, leaving his bloody handprint. Off with her head! the queen screamed, meaning the widow. But, before the executioner could strike, a little mouse ran up his trouser leg and made him drop the axe.”
“Nanny, that’s funny! It makes me think of mother… about to punish me… and a mouse running up inside her skirt… making her drop the cane.”
“Margaret! That’s not funny at all! I’m sure you’ve deserved every spanking you’ve ever had – and a few extra, into the bargain. But the widow didn’t deserve to have her head chopped off.”
“No, nanny, she didn’t,” I agreed, leaving the justice of my punishments an open question.
“Now, Margaret, the mouse wasn’t an ordinary mouse – he was the steed of a faerie knight. You see the king had been a friend to the faeries, and the knight had come to avenge the murder. But how was he to do that? The faerie knight was only two inches tall.”
“Faerie magic, nanny. It has to be faerie magic.”
“The faerie knight had a sword the size of a needle, but he didn’t have any magic, my sweet.”
“What, then, nanny?”
“While everyone flapped about the mouse, sugar, the widow managed to leave the room with the sheet. She washed it again, and it was clean. When the king’s ghost came back with his bloody hands, the faerie knight galloped in on his trusty mouse roaring, in a very tiny voice, No! Don’t bloody the sheet! Not yet!” Her attempt to roar in a tiny voice was one of the funnier things I’d heard.
“Did the ghost hear that, nanny?”
“Of course he did, my sunshine. Ghosts have very sharp ears. They can hear a child breathing a mile away. That’s one of the things that make them so terrible.”
“Ooh, nanny!” This idea frightened me.
“What? the ghost said,” she adopted a deep booming voice for this, before shifting to a squeaky one. Fetch me a hundred faerie men at arms, the knight replied, all mounted on dragonflies, and I’ll soon show you what.”
“Did he, nanny?”
“That he did, beautiful child. In the meantime, the widow took the clean sheet back to the queen. Just as the queen was inspecting the work, the faerie men at arms flew through the window, all mounted on dragonflies – and using their swords as needles – sewed that wicked, wicked queen into the sheet. Then the ghost soaked it in blood, and the queen died of horror, while her under-chamberlain fled in terror.”
“But did the widow get any sugar for the bunny cakes?” I asked, in a businesslike way.
“The faeries released the crown prince – who was now really the king – from the dungeon where the wicked queen had locked him. He gave the widow enough gold to buy a mountain of honeycake.”
“Did she buy a mountain of honeycake, nanny?”
“No, sweetness, she didn’t, but she bought enough to make as many bunny cakes as her granddaughter deserved – which was a great many. And the new king gave her slaves, too, so that she would never have to do the washing again, and could live in idleness for evermore.”
“Except, nanny, that she probably needed to whip the slaves, sometimes.”
“Well, Margaret, we all have at least a little work to do. And yours, for tonight, is to go to sleep like a good girl.”
“And did the widow and her granddaughter live happily ever after, nanny?”
“Of course they did, my love.”
“And what about the ghost, nanny?”
“Mortalia took him to the world to come, sweetheart, where he was happy – and never again bothered the living. She took the wicked queen to the Dark Place where vengeful souls cut off her toes, and made her dance in red hot iron boots… and that’s all… Nighty night, my precious treasure – and sweet dreams for the last night of Lifenbud.”
“Nighty night, nanny. And happy last night of Lifenbud.”
The candle still burnt, shadows flickered on the wall. A waxy smell mingled with the lavender that scented my sheets. From downstairs, adults laughed loudly – closer to hand, a cat purred. Bunny cake sweetness lingered in my mouth as I sank into the soft feather mattress, fast approaching the land of dreams.
