The Snow Queen by Eileen Kernaghan Read Free Book Online

her husband is only a count . . . why, what’s the matter with you, child, your eyes are as big as dinner plates.”
    â€œI’ve never met a princess,” wailed Gerda, aghast. “I wouldn’t know what to say to her. I wouldn’t know how to behave.”
    â€œNonsense,” said Madam. “A more down-to-earth, common-sense sort of princess you’d never hope to meet. If you’re going to make a habit of travelling, my girl, you’ll learn to get along with people of all sorts, from peasants to princes. And what’s more you’ll learn to sleep wherever you put your head down, whether it’s a skin tent, or a goat hut, or a royal palace.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” said Gerda, chastened. Madame Eriksson drew a book out of her bag and settled back in her seat to read. Gerda rode the rest of the way in anxious silence, wondering if she would be expected to curtsy. Whatever would the ladies of her village say, if they knew that Gerda Jensen had been entertained by royalty?

    The princess sent her landau to the hostelry at Gavle to collect them. They drove through birch groves, and pine woods, and down a long avenue of lime trees, at the end of which stood a copper-roofed manor house surrounded by terraced formal gardens. On either side of the granite-pillared portico, rows of mullioned windows were set in an imposing red-brick facade.
    A maid in starched cap and apron greeted them. “The princess will see you in her drawing room,” she said. She led them through a high-ceilinged entry hall hung with shadowy tapestries, past rows of bronze sculptures on marble plinths, and along a carpeted corridor. In the drawing room there were crystal chandeliers, tall mirrors in gold-leaf frames, solemn portraits of ancestors in old-fashioned clothes, vases of flowers, an elegant green-tiled stove, and airy white curtains caught up in swags and festoons. At the far end of the room French doors stood open, with a view of green lawns and rose gardens.
    â€œMy dear Ingeborg,” said the princess, rising to greet them. “How splendid to see you!” She took hold of Madame Eriksson’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. “How well you look!” And she gave Gerda a wide, encouraging smile.
    â€œThis young person’s name is Gerda Jensen,” said Madame Eriksson. “She is a young woman of more courage than good sense, a quality one meets far too rarely these days.”
    â€œI’m inclined to agree,” said the princess. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Gerda Jensen.”
    Gerda rose from her nervous curtsey, and looked shyly at her hostess. She was small, full-bosomed, tiny-waisted, olive-skinned. Clusters of glossy black curls nestled at her ears and the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a velvety brown, with thick black lashes, her cheeks flushed with good health and high spirits. Her gown was exquisite — simple of line, but made of a soft rose-coloured silk brocade. Little rose-pink slippers peeked out from under the hem.
    â€œWill you both take a glass of wine?” asked this enchanting creature.
    â€œWith pleasure,” said Madame Eriksson, sinking into a silk-upholstered armchair. And Gerda, who never until this day had drunk anything stronger than coffee, found herself sipping wine from a crystal goblet.
    Just then a little girl of five or so, a miniature version of the princess in pink and white muslin, burst into the room. A small white dog leaped excitedly at her heels.
    â€œOh, maman ,” exclaimed the child, when she saw the two visitors, “it is the lady who was chased by wolves!”
    â€œOdile, my poppet, I should never have told you that story,” laughed Madame Eriksson, scooping the little girl into her capacious lap. “I’m sure I must have given you nightmares.”
    â€œOh, no,” the child assured her. “It was a wonderful story. My governess never tells me