“Good eventide, Princess Esmeralda,” said the governess, who wore a permanently worried expression.
“Good evening, Mary,” replied Jenna, who had long since stopped telling Mary that she was actually called Jenna, as it had no effect whatsoever.
“I am glad to see you are still safe and well,” said the governess.
“Thank you, Mary,” said Jenna.
“Be careful, my dear,” said the governess as she always did.
“I will,” Jenna replied as ever, and went on her way. Soon she turned off from the gallery into a wide candlelit corridor at the end of which were the tall double doors that led to her room.
“Good evening, Sir Hereward,” Jenna greeted the Ancient Guard of the Royal Bedchamber, a disheveled and very faded ghost who had been at his post for some eight hundred years or more and had no intention of retiring. Sir Hereward was missing an arm and a good deal of his armor, as his entry into ghosthood had been the result of one of the last land battles between the Castle and the Port. He was one of Jenna's favorites and she felt safe with him on guard; the old knight had a jovial manner and a liking for jokes and, unusual for an Ancient, generally managed not to repeat himself too often.
“Good evening, fair Princess. Here's a good one: What is the difference between an elephant and a banana?”
“I don't know.” Jenna smiled. “What is the difference between an elephant and a banana?”
“Well, I won't send you out to do my shopping then. Hurr hurr!”
“Oh ... very funny. Ha-ha!”
“Glad you liked it. Thought you might. Good night, Princess.” Sir Hereward briefly bowed his head and stood to attention, pleased to be back on duty.
“Good night, Sir Hereward.” Jenna pushed open the doors and slipped into her room.
It had taken some time for Jenna to get used to her huge Palace bedroom, having slept in a cupboard for ten years, but now she loved it, especially in the evenings. It was a large, long room with four tall windows that overlooked the Palace gardens, and caught the evening sun. But now, in the cold autumn night, Jenna drew the heavy red velvet curtains across the windows, and the room was suddenly filled with deep shadows. She went over to the great stone fireplace beside her four-poster bed and lit the pile of logs in the grate, using the FireLighter Spell that Septimus had given her for her last birthday. As the warm light from the dancing flames filled her room, Jenna sat on her bed, wrapped her feather quilt around her and picked up her favorite history book, Our Castle Story.
Engrossed in her book, Jenna did not notice a tall, thin ghostly figure emerge from behind the thick curtains that hung around her bed. The figure stood very still, staring at Jenna with a disapproving expression in her bright beady eyes. Jenna shivered in the sudden chill cast by the ghost and pulled her quilt closer, but she did not look up.
“I wouldn't bother reading all that rubbish about the Hanseatic League,” a high-pitched voice drilled into the air behind Jenna's left shoulder. Jenna leaped up like a scalded cat, dropped her book and was about to yell for Sir Hereward when an ice-cold hand was placed across her mouth. The ghost's touch sent freezing air down into her lungs and Jenna subsided into a fit of coughing. The ghost seemed unperturbed. She picked up Jenna's book and placed it on the bed next to where Jenna sat, trying to catch her breath.
“Turn to Chapter Thirteen, Granddaughter,” the ghost instructed. “There is no need to waste your time reading about common traders. The only history worth bothering about is the history of Kings and Queens—preferably the history of Queens. You will find me there on page two hundred and twenty. Generally a good account of my reign although there are one or two, er, misunderstandings, but it was written by a commoner, so what can one expect?”
Jenna finally stopped coughing enough to take a good look at her uninvited visitor.
She was indeed the ghost of a Queen, and an ancient one too, which Jenna could tell by the old-fashioned look of her tunic and the starched ruff that she wore around her neck. The ghost, who looked surprisingly substantial for one so ancient, stood straight and erect. Her iron-gray hair was scraped back into two coiled plaits that were fastened behind her rather pointed ears, and she wore a simple, severe gold crown. Her dark violet eyes fixed Jenna with a disapproving stare that immediately made Jenna feel she had done something wrong.
“Wh-who are you?” stammered Jenna.
The Queen tapped her foot impatiently. “Chapter Thirteen, Granddaughter. Look in Chapter Thirteen. I have told you before. You must learn to listen. All Queens must learn to listen.”
Jenna could not imagine this Queen listening to anyone, but she said nothing. What bothered her was why the ghost had called her granddaughter. It was the second time she had used that word. Surely this horrible ghost could not possibly be her grandmother? “But ... why do you keep calling me Granddaughter?” asked Jenna, hoping that she might have misheard.
"Because I am your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great But you may call me Grandmama."
“Grandmama!” said Jenna, aghast.
“Indeed. That will be entirely suitable. I do not expect my full title.”
“What is your full title?” asked Jenna.
The ghost of the Queen sighed impatiently and Jenna felt her icy breath ruffle her hair. “Chapter Thirteen. I shall not tell you again,” she said severely. “I can see I have not come a moment too soon. You are in grave need of guidance. Your own mother has much to account for in her neglect of your royal teaching and good manners.”
“Mum is a really good teacher,” Jenna objected indignantly. “She hasn't neglected anything.”
“Mum ... Mum? Who is this ... Mum?” The Queen managed to look both disapproving and puzzled at the same time. In fact, over the centuries she had perfected the fine art of mixing every possible expression with disapproval, until, even if she had wanted to, she would no longer have been able to untangle them. But the Queen did not want to. She was quite happy with disapproval, thank you very much.
“Mum is my mum. I mean, my mother,” said Jenna edgily.
“And what is her name, pray?” asked the ghost, peering down at Jenna.
“It's none of your business,” Jenna replied crossly.
“Would it be Sarah Heap?”
Jenna refused to reply. She stared angrily at the ghost, willing her to go away.
“No, I shall not go away, Granddaughter. I have my duty to consider. We both know that this Sarah Heap person is not your real mother.”
“She is to me,” muttered Jenna.
“What things are to you, Granddaughter, is of no consequence. The truth is that your real mother, or the ghost of her, sits in her turret and neglects your royal education, so that you do appear to be more a lowly serving girl than a true Princess. It is a disgrace, an absolute disgrace, which I intend to rectify for the benefit of this poor benighted place that my Castle—and my Palace—has become.”
“It is not your Castle or your Palace,” Jenna objected.
“That, Granddaughter, is where you are mistaken. It was mine before and soon it will be mine again.”
“But—”
“Do not interrupt. I shall leave you now. It is well past your bedtime.”
“No, it's not,” said Jenna indignantly.
“In my day all Princesses retired to bed at six o'clock until they became Queen. I myself went to bed at six o'clock every night until I was thirty-five and it never did me any harm.”
Jenna looked at the ghost in amazement. Then, suddenly, she smiled at the thought of how relieved everyone else in the Palace must have been, all those years ago, when six o'clock came around.
The Queen misinterpreted Jenna's smile. “Aha, you are seeing sense at last, Granddaughter. I will leave you now to go to sleep for I have important business to attend to. I will see you in the morrow. You may kiss me good night.”
Jenna looked so horrified that the Queen took a step back and said, “Well, then, I can see you are not yet used to your dear Grandmama. Good night, Granddaughter.”
Jenna did not reply.
“I said, Good night, Granddaughter. I shall not leave until you bid me Good night.”
There was a strained silence until Jenna decided that she could stand looking at the ghost's pointy nose no longer. “Good night,” she said coldly.