Undercover Princess Page 2

  ‘You can’t open the letter until you’re on the train.’

  Lottie nodded with an exasperated smile and he slowly placed both gifts in her hand. It was a photograph she’d seen thousands of times: the two of them at the beach, their noses covered in ice cream and beaming grins on both their greedy faces. Even though the colours had begun to fade to sepia, you could still see the tiara on Lottie’s head and the horns on Ollie’s. As children, the two had demanded to wear these fancy-dress items every day and everywhere. Ollie had declared he was the fairy Puck from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream after they’d watched an open-air performance at the beach one evening. He’d been completely infatuated with all the mischief the character got away with and assumed he too could get away with being naughty so long as he was wearing his horns. Lottie’s tiara, on the other hand, had a less happy-go-lucky origin. Her thumb lingered over the accessory in the photo, a little pang striking her heart as she remembered the day she’d received it.

  ‘I’ll give you some time to say goodbye,’ he said, before effortlessly picking up both her suitcases and carrying them down the stairs to the car. When he was gone she thoughtfully placed Ollie’s gifts with the rest of her most important belongings, which she’d laid out on the now-bare bed so as not to forget them. She put each item into her handbag: first the weathered Polaroid and letter from Ollie, followed by her favourite sketchbook, her most loyal stuffed companion, Mr Truffles, a framed photo of her mother, Marguerite, in her graduation gown, and, finally – looking very out of place among the other objects – a crescent-moon tiara, her most valued possession. It had taken Lottie all of sixty minutes to pack her entire life into two pink suitcases, one denim backpack and a small over-shoulder handbag with a sturdy white strap. She looked over the now-empty room.

  I did it, Mum, she thought. I got into Rosewood just like I promised.

  2

  To Lottie (the Honorary Princess of St Ives),

  Feels like I barely saw you this past year you were studying so much, and now you’re off to live on the other side of the country. It won’t be the same without you, but I’m sure you’ll have enough adventures for the both of us.

  I wanted to get you a fairy-tale book as a goodbye present as I know how much you love them, but I fear you own them all already so I figured I’d give you this Polaroid to remind you of my existence every day.

  Can’t wait to hear about all the crazy things you get up to at Rosewood. I’m so proud of you for getting in, but I’ll miss you a lot *pauses to shed a tear* AND HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME ALONE IN THIS TOURIST TRAP!!! TRAITOR!! (See how I turn my difficult emotions into anger as a defence mechanism??)

  Your friend, Ollie

  PS Bring me back a gold crown or something – I assume you get one upon arrival ;)

  Lottie smiled as she reread the note from her best friend and allowed herself a moment to feel a little sentimental about leaving her humble life in Cornwall. She gazed out of the train window at the lush countryside thundering past and thought back to the day last year when she had submitted her application to Rosewood Hall. Five years ago she’d promised her mother that she would find a way to go there. There had been a storm the night before and the world outside was soggy and wet. Her mother lay wrapped in four different blankets, her body skinny and weak from the sickness that had consumed her, but an unyielding strength persisted in her eyes. She’d looked at Lottie and smiled her familiar warm smile.

  ‘You can do anything you put your mind to, little princess.’

  The submission process had been arduous and intimidating. Rosewood rarely accepted applicants on a bursary unless they showed outstanding potential; it was a school that prided itself on excellence. Rosewood was not the type of school one just decided to go to; you couldn’t simply pick up a brochure and say you wanted to attend. And, as Lottie lived alone with her stepmother in her late mother’s bakery, there was no way she could pull together the funds to pay the school fees. But Lottie had persisted. She’d worked tirelessly, forgone social activities and hobbies, waking up early to do the chores before locking herself away in her room to study relentlessly. All the while she dreamed of the day she would walk through the gates of Rosewood and take her place among the children of the elite. Ready, of course, to make a positive impact on the world.

  ‘We are now approaching Rosewood Central. Please ensure you take all your belongings with you as you leave the train.’

  As she grabbed her two suitcases, Lottie wondered momentarily if she would be the only Rosewood student travelling to the boarding school on public transport. She assumed most of the students would have private cars, but on the school map she and Ollie had spent hours unravelling they’d seen what could only be a landing pad – did students really travel by helicopter? Should she have made the effort to also travel by helicopter? She knew it was a silly thought, but it succeeded in reminding her how different she was from the other students.

  Suddenly feeling very anxious, she felt around in her bag for her crescent-moon tiara. Her mother had been a fantastic storyteller and had read to Lottie every night before bed. The Glass Slipper was Lottie’s favourite tale and she had asked her mum to read her every version of the story they could find, fascinated by how different they all were. Her mother had explained how fairy tales, like most things in the world, had evolved and adapted, but what Lottie was most drawn to was the prevailing sense of putting goodness out into the world. No matter which version of the story she read, the kindness of the princess remained, and more than anything that was what Lottie wanted to emulate. And so, for her seventh birthday, Lottie’s mother had given her a silver tiara heirloom with a crescent moon on top. It had been handed down through generations of Pumpkins, sharing the legacy of Rosewood Hall.

  Lottie watched as the scenery outside the train window blurred into the memory of her seventh birthday party.

  ‘This was gifted to one of our ancestors, who had the privilege of attending Rosewood hundreds of years ago. He passed it down, and eventually my grandfather bestowed it to me. One day, if you have children of your own, you can pass it on to them.’

  Lottie barely took in her mother’s words, unable to pull her eyes away from the object in the box.

  She delicately placed the tiara upon her crown. But, alas, her tiny seven-year-old head had been simply … too tiny. The tiara had fallen almost immediately, landing on the hard wood of her living-room floor and looking very out of place among the sea of birthday-cake-stuffed children. Being the sensitive girl that she was, Lottie had proceeded to cry. It was not necessarily the fact the tiara didn’t fit that had the young Lottie feeling so overwhelmed, but that the tiara – this pristine object of magnificence, so incongruous in her humble home – made everything surrounding it seem so painfully ordinary. It appeared to glow with a glittering grandeur, yet its light only succeeded in illuminating quite how plain the world around it was.

  ‘Lottie’s crying again,’ grumbled one of the party attendees.

  ‘Shut up, Kate,’ Ollie said. ‘Don’t be mean just because you didn’t win Pass-the-Parcel.’

  ‘THE SONG STOPPED ON ME!’

  This sharp exchange had only served to make Lottie more upset – now her party guests were unhappy too. Just as Lottie had been ready to escalate into true floods of tears at the end-of-the-world scenario, her mother appeared at her side to save the day.

  ‘OK, settle down, everyone. Kate, there’s a special treat for you, if you let Thomas keep his Pass-the-Parcel prize, and, Lottie darling, you can clip the tiara on with these.’ Marguerite reached into her apron pocket and presented her with two crocodile hair clips.

  ‘Now, everyone – this tiara is actually very special.’ She picked it up and Lottie noticed how natural it looked in her hand. ‘You see, this tiara has magic powers.’

  All the children calmed down instantly, eagerly awaiting one of Marguerite’s enchanting stories.

  ‘Whoever wears this tiara can achieve anything they pu
t their mind to, and touching it grants the wearer all the good qualities of a princess.’

  As she spoke, Marguerite Pumpkin carefully clipped the tiara on to Lottie’s head, delicately sweeping her hair back to cover the clips.

  ‘Now, what are three good qualities princesses have that we can think of?’ She looked at the children, but they went shy, as children often do when put on the spot. ‘How about brave? Do you think princesses are brave?’ They nodded their heads. ‘Now what else?’

  ‘Oh, oh, they’re pretty!’ Ollie blurted.

  Marguerite chuckled softly, impressed by his innocent sincerity.

  ‘Well, yes, they are often pretty, but that prettiness comes from within because they are …’ She put out her hand, inviting someone to fill in the blank.

  ‘They’re kind!’ said Kate, smiling at Lottie.

  ‘Yes, good, Kate, what else?’

  Lottie, feeling encouraged by Kate’s smile, decided to add her own thoughts. ‘They never give up on their dreams.’

  ‘Excellent, Lottie. What’s a word we could use to describe that?’

  ‘DELUSIONAL!’ Ollie shouted. Everyone laughed, except Lottie, who simply rolled her eyes.

  ‘Er … helpful?’ offered Charlie. There was a moment of silence as the children continued to hum and haw, all trying to think of an appropriate word. Until it came to Lottie like a lightning bolt. It was so clear; this word suddenly seemed the most powerful and important word in the world and it would change Lottie’s attitude forever.

  ‘Unstoppable.’

  Lottie knew as soon as she’d spoken it that this was the power she wanted the tiara to grant her: the power to never, ever give up, to be an unstoppable force of good whether the world liked it or not.

  To think it was now seven years since she’d received it seemed so odd. Her life had become vastly different after her mother passed away only two years later, and sometimes she still struggled to believe it wasn’t all just a terrible, sad dream. She shook her head, forcing the bad feelings away, and put the Polaroid back in her purse before her fingers located the tiara in her bag. She took a moment to squeeze it, lightly caressing the little gems along the front. She would have preferred to put the tiara on, but touching it would have to do while she was on the train.

  She then recited to herself her personal mantra. ‘I will be kind, I will be brave, I will be unstoppable.’

  She could do this. She would fit in. She would succeed at Rosewood, just like she’d promised her mother.

  ‘This station is Rosewood Central. Alight here for Rosewood Hall.’

  Lottie picked up her suitcases with a flood of determination. She was ready to start the next magical chapter of her life and she would prove she belonged in this world.

  3

  Lottie took one of the shuttle cars from the station. It dropped her off at the school entrance, a grand double set of cast-iron gates, ornately embellished with the letters R and H, set in the massive wall that enclosed the front grounds of Rosewood Hall. The open gates led to a large canopied structure, under which all the incoming students were gathering. The roof was supported by stone pillars that were adorned with carved intricate thorns and roses. The wind through the pillars made an odd siren call, the noise sending a strangely pleasant shudder down her spine.

  She gazed around and felt a pang of nerves as she took in the other students and their incredible array of luxury cars. Lottie recognized a few of the vehicles from spending so much time with Ollie; she was sure he would be drooling if he could see them. None of the other students seemed to be carrying their own luggage and most of them were enthusiastically chatting or intently tapping away at their phones before they would have to hand them over for the start of term.

  Rosewood was open to students from the age of eleven, so many of these children would know each other already, making Lottie feel even more like an outsider. Lottie went to thank her driver but an unexpectedly strong breeze blew through the pillars, drowning out the sounds of the student chatter. That’s when she saw her.

  A mysterious figure on the periphery.

  Behind the car that had brought her here was a girl – tall and lean with cropped, jet-black hair and clad in a beaten-up black leather jacket, a guitar case casually slung over her shoulder. She was not like the other students; something about the girl screamed of passion – she was like a dark brooding storm cloud. She was pulling suitcases out of the back of a private car with ease; the chauffeur tried to help but was met with dismissive hand gestures, so he stood to the side looking distressed. Lottie couldn’t see the girl’s face properly as it was covered by a large pair of sunglasses. She felt a sudden instinctive need to get a closer look at the girl. It felt as if there were an energy between them – something was drawing her towards her. But before she could come to terms with this strange sensation of familiarity, her view was cut off by a pile of books with legs.

  ‘Excuse me, sorry, coming through!’

  Lottie hurriedly pulled her pink suitcases out of the way. She’d never seen such a small person carry so much stuff. It looked as if she should topple over at any moment and yet somehow she managed to appear balanced and composed. Clearly this girl was much stronger than her size suggested. Even though her face was hidden behind piles of books and cases, Lottie could see masses of tight dark ringlets. How on earth she knew where she was going was a mystery. She stepped around Lottie just as a group of Year Sevens raced past, as if she’d timed it perfectly.

  ‘Greetings!’

  Lottie jumped as a girl’s face popped out from the side of the books and cases with a beaming grin, revealing two large brown eyes magnified by a thick pair of round spectacles. Lottie’s brain immediately conjured up the image of an owl.

  The tiny owl girl glanced down at Lottie’s cases. ‘You must be a Rosewood fledgling – how exciting!’ She looked up at Lottie, considering her curiously before her grin burst back on to her face and she laughed. ‘I appreciate your commitment to the colour pink,’ she said, nodding at Lottie’s outfit, cases and accessories.

  Lottie felt her cheeks going hot, a reflex she’d been cursed with since she was little.

  ‘Thank you, I …’

  ‘That’s quite a prominent idiopathic craniofacial erythema you suffer from.’

  The owl girl leaned forward to scrutinize Lottie’s face, causing her to involuntarily lean back and blink. She considered herself to have a pretty good vocabulary, but this was beyond her.

  ‘Blushing, that is. It’s quite charming really; although it can be an early symptom of erythematotelangiectatic rosacea …’

  As the owl girl continued on like this, Lottie followed her along the path towards the school entrance, nodding dumbly.

  Already Lottie felt like she had entered another world as she looked around. The pathway was framed by three stone arches. As they walked through them, Lottie could make out an intricately engraved copper portrait mounted at the top of each arch. She recognized the figures as the patrons of the three legacies to Rosewood: Florence Ivy in the middle, Balthazar Conch to the left, and the last one on the right was occupied by the twins Shray and Sana Stratus. They glared down at the students, the weight of their expectant gaze causing Lottie to gulp involuntarily.

  Be brave! she repeated to herself.

  ‘I personally think it’s cute, but if you were also prone to erythrophobia that could be a problem.’

  The owl girl giggled to herself and turned to Lottie, smiling. It took her a moment to realize the other girl had finished talking and that she needed to respond.

  ‘Erythrophobia?’ she asked. Should she know this word? Had she just exposed herself as stupid?

  The owl girl stared at her before unexpectedly bursting into laughter again. The sound of her giggling was so adorable that Lottie felt as if she were being licked by a puppy.

  ‘Sorry, I was definitely rambling. Here …’ The girl did a strange shimmy, transferring her luggage to one hand.

  Lottie was su
re everything would topple this time, but to her amazement it stayed upright, like some kind of bizarre circus performance. The owl girl reached into her pocket with her newly freed hand and pulled out a small piece of paper. ‘I’m Binah.’

  Lottie took the offering and quickly realized it was a business card. A BUSINESS CARD? They were fourteen; what could any fourteen-year-old possibly need a business card for?

  Binah Fae

  Volunteer library assistant

  For study advice and tutoring

  please send all requests by mail to:

  Binah Fae, Stratus 304B, Rosewood Hall, Oxfordshire

  Lottie was momentarily overcome with dread; did she need a business card too? Was that the done thing for children of the ‘elite’?

  She struggled to speak for a moment before replying.

  ‘Hi, Binah. I’m Charlotte … but please call me Lottie.’ She prayed that her first name alone would be sufficient and, to her relief, Binah smiled with total sincerity. All thoughts of the enigmatic leather-clad girl melted away as Lottie took in her warm expression.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lottie.’

  The two girls stepped out through the final archway and Lottie followed suit as Binah left her luggage with a woman in a golf buggy, giving her name and year and watching her luggage disappear up the huge hill towards the main school buildings. Lottie slowly turned a full circle, taking in the boundary, which enclosed the school grounds. Behind her was the massive wall; to her right and left, disappearing round the back of the distant buildings, were the ancient rosewood trees that gave the school its name. The path was lined with roses of all different colours and species. They didn’t simply flourish; they appeared to glow with a hidden magic.

  The uphill path took them to a stone archway that gave entry to a courtyard in front of the reception hall. The entrance to the reception was a vast pair of oak doors, framed by a stone arch that was carved with a thorny pattern. The delicate thorns escalated upward to reveal the name of each Rosewood house – Ivy, Conch and Stratus, their order reflecting what they symbolized in the school motto: ‘Righteous, resolute, resourceful.’ Above this was a huge gold engraving that read ROSEWOOD HALL: ACADEMY OF REMARKABLE ACHIEVEMENT.