Haven: A Story of Concordia, #4

By Mary Mager

Queen Gabrielle learns the true weight of responsibility when King Bartholomew must leave for a few weeks. A flood ravages Concordia, but what is worse is the treachery of an imposter nanny who kidnaps one of the baby princesses. While Gabrielle, Olive, and the women cope, Bartholomew, deals with a murderous gang of thugs who have taken Prince Jasper and Toby. Can these events be related?  The citizens of Concordia and Thisley unite to bring everyone home in this fast-paced adventure, the fourth book in the Concordia series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Mager
• Release date: Sep 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393634089

Mary Mager

Mary Mager is a Nevada – raised writer and songwriter.  She has been a registered nurse, a business owner, substitute teacher, and stay-at-home mom, which; she considers her most rewarding occupation.  Mary has always been a storyteller, and since retirement from the business world she has had the time to work on projects inspired by the special joy of having a grandchild on her lap. She has been a church musician for many years, and that experience led her to compose her own songs, culminating in release in 2014 of an album, “On Grandma’s Lap,” a collection of bedtime songs and lullabies.  At the same time, she has continued to imagine and write stories both long and short for her grandchildren. “Pretend Princess” is the first book in the Concordia series for middle-grade readers. "Under the Summer Sun" is the second in this engaging series. Mary has a Facebook page, On Grandma’s Lap, and a website:  http://www.ongrandmaslap.com. She is delighted to hear from her readers at [e-mail].

Book preview

1 ANGELINA FRIPP

ON A WARM DAY in late June, a solitary woman trod heavily up the steep road leading to the royal palace of Concordia. Perspiring freely and panting a little, the woman carried a bag containing all her belongings which she switched from hand to hand every few minutes. A deep bonnet hid her face, but she was wide enough that other passersby automatically stepped out of her way, as a rowboat made way for a man-of-war on the high seas. She acknowledged none of them.

At the palace gates, which were always open, a guardsman leaned against the shady side of the guardhouse, straightening and stepping forward as she approached.

How can I help you, Ma’am?

I have business with the Queen. A letter. The woman fumbled in her bag and eventually produced a crumbled envelope which she waved at the guard, who in spite of his poor posture took his duties seriously. He took it from her and examined it closely, squinting a little in the sun.

This is from Thisley? The envelope did indeed bear the royal seal of Thisley, and was addressed to Her Majesty, Queen Gabrielle of Concordia.

Now, may I pass?

No, wait here, if you please, he said, indicating a nearby bench in the shade. I will inform them of your arrival.

UPSTAIRS IN THE ROYAL NURSERY, four-year-old Prince Bartholomew Francis Bucklebottom Frederick, called Barty by the entire kingdom, was galloping around the nursery making horsy noises, as he imagined them. Watch out, Mommy, don’t step in the poops! He imagined those, also.

At the moment the Queen of Concordia was occupied changing the diaper of one her twin daughters, but she obediently lifted a foot, participating in the game.

Oh, that was close.

The maid, Hattie, who had seen a few years and had bad knees, was putting laundry away and stepped briskly into the room with a pile in her arms. Barty squealed, Watch out! and the poor maid, not seeing what she was watching out for, did a little two-step dance that nearly caused her to fall staggering into the Queen.

Gabrielle rushed to take her arm, still hanging onto the infant, who was startled into a loud wail. Unfortunately, the wet diaper being removed got caught up and removed itself to the front of her dress, leaving a wet smear.

It took a minute to sort it all out. The Queen sat tiredly in the nearby rocking chair, blotting at her dress with a dry rag and watching her toddler twins demolish yet another pile of blocks, scattering them everywhere, while Hattie finished putting away the clothes and Barty continued his ride around the nursery.

I’ll be so happy when they’re old enough to potty train, Gabrielle said, watching the girls begin another stack of blocks as they babbled to each other in a language only they could understand. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her energy. She was finding it more and more difficult to give her children the kind of attention they demanded and the kingdom the attention it needed from its queen.

Majesty, you look done in, if I may say so, Hattie commented kindly. Why don’t you go have a rest?

I can’t, Hattie. Too much to do. I promised Bartholomew I would look over those plans for the new bridge they’re building. He wants to know if I like the design, she laughed. As if I’m an engineer. She settled back into the chair enjoying the rest, however brief.

In many a royal palace, a maid wouldn’t dream of addressing her monarch so casually, but Hattie had served the family for many years and this was Concordia, where such matters were viewed less seriously. Here the lines of class and position tended to blur around the edges.

A knock on the door frame interrupted them, one of the household guard, who nodded respectfully to Gabrielle.

Majesty, there is a woman at the gate with a letter from Thisley. She is alone, he added, meaningfully.

What? How strange! Bring her in and then fetch my husband and have him join us. Thoughts of disaster filled Gabrielle, but most of all she was puzzled. A royal messenger would have been sent with any official news. Why was this person traveling by herself, presumably all the way from Thisley?

King Bartholomew was found in his study, reading a report on the anticipated cost of new uniforms for the Civil Protection Corps. The young king was conscientious when it came to his responsibilities, but nevertheless was relieved when the summons from his wife allowed him to abandon the paperwork for a while. He stretched his long legs and ran his fingers through his thick, curly hair before gratefully heading downstairs, wondering what it was all about.

In the reception room used for such visits, King and Queen waited while their guest was brought in. One look at her flushed face and Gabrielle sent for a cool drink and offered a chair, which was politely declined. One did not sit while royalty stood, even in Concordia.

Your Majesties. My name is Angelina Fripp. I best give you this, she said, handing Gabrielle the letter while managing a curtsey.

Bartholomew tried to read over Gabrielle’s shoulder as she read the short note. It was of a personal, unofficial nature and was clearly from Gabrielle’s mother, who was Queen Constance of Thisley. Queens ran in the family.

Well, it seems my mother thinks I need an official nanny to ‘take charge’ of the nursery. She says I have too much to do with the twins and Barty and can’t properly be the Queen when I’m changing diapers all the time. She absently brushed at the damp spot on her dress.

Bartholomew knew enough about the sometimes-prickly relationship between his wife and his mother-in-law to refrain from comment. Secretly, he agreed with the latter. Gabrielle was tired all the time and had a hard time delegating child care, even to those she trusted. With Barty, and the birth of twins, management of the children had become a huge task, more so now that they were old enough to get into real mischief.

Both monarchs looked over the woman before them. She was broad and stocky, with large, strong hands and a massive bosom that seemed to have a life of its own. A few graying curls escaped her bonnet, and watery blue eyes blinked back at them. She was neither young nor old but somewhere in between, and appeared strong enough to handle two toddlers and a four-year-old.

It says you were my sister, Laura’s, nanny to her boys, Gabrielle addressed the woman. She had a vague recollection of the name, though not the person. They’re old enough now you’re not needed, and Laura and my mother thought you would suit us here. Gabrielle felt herself being cornered. Why didn’t my mother let me know her plans? And why are you traveling alone?

I can’t say, Ma’am. But if you want me to leave, I will do so, and no hard feelin’s. She began to reach for her bag on the floor, ignoring the second question.

Oh, no, Mrs. Fripp. Bartholomew interceded. Of course you must stay, at least for now, he said, interpreting the warning glance from his wife. Let’s just see how it goes, shall we?

Shortly after, Mrs. Fripp was shown to a pleasant room suitable for her traditional position, which was somewhere above servant and below everyone else. Gabrielle was convinced to give the woman a chance, and the balance of power shifted in the nursery of Concordia.

2 PARTING AND DISAPPOINTMENT

THE SKY ABOVE the Kingdom of Concordia was a cloudless blue, the deep blue seen only in the clear air of the mountains in late summer. Far overhead, a hawk glided effortlessly and watched the activity below with a beady eye.

The royal palace shone white where the sun fell on it, chasing away any remaining shadows as the morning advanced and bringing to life the green and gold of the banners, the gleaming metal on the horses’ harnesses, and the earth-toned uniforms of the men assembled in the courtyard. Pink petunias in pots decorated the wide steps before the massive wooden doors, ordered by the flower-loving Queen Gabrielle.

A mounted troop of some two dozen men of the Civil Protection Corps was gathered, waiting to depart. The Corps was both Concordia’s army and its police force, commanded by the capable Captain Michael Hawke, who had proven himself in more than one crisis. This mission, however, was expected to be trouble-free and something of a vacation. The lucky men chosen to go along grinned and bantered with their less fortunate fellows, who stood around pretending not to care.

Horses stomped and tossed their heads restlessly, while their riders held them in check and waited just as impatiently for their monarch, King Bartholomew, to take charge. Voices called farewells and last-minute good wishes from families of the men and the household staff, gathered to see the expedition off. Expectation and excitement filled the air. It was not every day that the King led such a festive group on what would be a momentous occasion.

Just behind the wooden doors, which stood ajar, the aforementioned King and Queen were having a private moment.

I’m sorry, Gabby. I know how badly you wanted to come along.

Quit saying you’re sorry, Bartholomew. I know it’s not your fault. It can’t be helped, that’s all. Sammy and Riley are just too small for me to leave them at such a time. Gabrielle’s attempt at indifference was spoiled by the catch in her voice. I’ll miss you too, she added, giving up all pretense.

At her side, young Prince Barty peeked around the