The Snow Queen by Eileen Kernaghan Read Free Book Online Page A

stories like that.”
    â€œI should hope she does not! ” said Madame Eriksson. “But my dear Princess, I must confess I have come to beg a favour.”
    â€œAnything,” said the princess, refilling her friend’s glass, “if it is in my power.”
    â€œHave you a coach and driver you could spare for a week or so, do you think?”
    â€œBut of course . . . my dear, how exciting! Are you off on another one of your journeys?”
    â€œOh, I am not asking for myself. Not this time. No, it is for Gerda, who is sitting here so quietly and demurely, like the well-bred young lady she is. She has this wild scheme, you see, to go off into the northern lands in search of her friend, who has managed to become mislaid.”
    The princess turned to Gerda with lively interest. “All on your own? Surely not!” She glanced down at the dog, who was nosing his way into Madame Eriksson’s open carpet bag. “Odile, for goodness sakes take that creature outside and amuse him.”
    â€œHe smells my supper,” said Madame Eriksson, amused.
    â€œYour supper, indeed! I think we shall manage something better than that,” said the princess. “But now, Gerda, you must tell me the whole story, before I die of unsatisfied curiosity. Here, give me your glass.”

    That evening Gerda dined on salmon pâté, and wild duck in madeira sauce, and cloudberry mousse. She ate alone at a little lacquered table in her bedchamber, for Madame Eriksson declared they were both too exhausted from their trip to be good company. The plates and tureens were willow-patterned Chinese porcelain, and the heavy silverware bore the princess’s family crest. Gerda fell asleep beneath a swansdown counterpane, in a bed hung with rose-red silk damask. She did not wake until a maid in a stiff lace cap came in with her breakfast tray.

    In the morning room the princess handed round pastries, and coffee in delicate chinoiserie cups. “My driver will take you north along the coast road to Lulea, and then on to Boden — it’s a garrison town, and my nephew is an officer there. But beyond Boden is wilderness — two hundred miles of it, to Vappa-Vara. I don’t suppose you ride?”
    Gerda shook her head.
    â€œNo, I thought not. Well, I dare say you will have to travel by cart, then. You’ll find it dreadfully uncomfortable.” She looked at Madame Eriksson, who nodded in grim agreement. “Well, perhaps you can go part of the way by boat. I’m sure my nephew can arrange something. In the meantime, dear Ingeborg has stripped my cupboards of fur coats and hats and flannel petticoats. We shall have to find you a trunk for them all.”
    The princess, and Madame Eriksson, and the child Odile, and two parlour maids and the white dog all crowded behind Gerda on the manor house steps as the coach-and-four pulled up. The carriage was lavishly gilt-embellished, and had the princess’s coat of arms on its door.
    â€œI have drawn you a map of the road to Vappa-Vara,” said Madame Eriksson, “and perhaps you would like to put this book in your portmanteau. It’s one of mine — I’ve taken the liberty of signing it for you.”
    â€œMay God be with you, my brave Gerda,” said the princess. “You must promise me, if you ever need help, you will send me a message.”
    â€œI promise,” called Gerda through the carriage window.
    â€œDid you pack those pairs of flannel drawers?” Madame Ericksson shouted out, indelicately.
    â€œEvery one,” cried Gerda. They all went on waving and calling out advice as the coachman rattled the reins, the coachman’s boy leaped up beside him, and the coach moved off. Gerda peeked curiously into the enormous picnic basket the cook had packed for her, then settled back with a sigh into the velvet cushions.

    North of Uppsala, it was never entirely dark, nor entirely light. There was mile after