Every Goose A Swan: Tales Retold, #4

By Pamela Sherwood

Of Magic, Music, and Mistaken Identities

 

Orphaned as a child, despised by her bitter grandfather, Tallie grows up lonely and neglected. But even poor orphans can dream—and one day, Tallie receives the chance to make at least one dream come true. Accompanied by her best friend, Silas the gooseherd, she sets off to attend the grand festival honoring the Crown Prince's homecoming. But what starts as a light-hearted excursion becomes the adventure of a lifetime when a handsome stranger joins them on the road. Will Tallie find the courage to claim her rightful place and the happy ending she deserves?

 

Inspired by "Tattercoats," Every Goose A Swan is the fourth entry in the Tales Retold series.* There's more than one road to Happy Ever After. 

*Two companion tales--"The Faun and the Fae" and "Tea with the Godmothers"--are included in this edition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Castle Publishing
• Release date: Feb 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215301326

Book preview

Every Goose A Swan

Every Goose A Swan

A Tale Retold

Pamela Sherwood

Blue Castle Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Every Goose A Swan

Tea with the Godmothers

Copyright © 2022 by Pamela Sherwood

’The Faun and the Fae"

Copyright © 2022 by Pamela Sherwood and Isobel Clary

Published by Blue Castle Publishing

Cover design by vikncharlie/VC Book Covers

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All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For all of us who are more than we seem

When all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen...

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—Charles Kingsley, Young and Old

Author’s Note

According to the British folklorist Marian Roalfe Cox, there are more than 3oo variants of Cinderella in existence. Tattercoats, the inspiration for Every Goose A Swan, is among the lesser-known ones. I did not discover it until I was a young adult, but the similarities and differences between Tattercoats and its more familiar counterparts intrigued me.

A selfish grandfather, instead of a wicked stepmother? A mysterious gooseherd, instead of a fairy godmother? A hero who asks for directions? Not to mention all those unanswered questions throughout. So when this Muse came calling, I could not possibly ignore her—and Every Goose A Swan is the result. I hope readers will enjoy my retelling of this unusual Cinderella story.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

Thank You

The Faun and the Fae

Tea with the Godmothers

Augustine: Excerpt

The Story Behind the Story

Acknowledgments

Also by Pamela Sherwood

About the Author

Chapter 1

In the morning sunlight, the gilding on the coach shone like new-minted gold. The coachman and stableboys had spent the last three days cleaning and polishing it inside and out, greasing its axles and wheels so they would once again turn smoothly… after more than fifteen years of disuse.

Nearly as long as Tallie herself had been alive. Not that it mattered. She had never ridden in that coach, nor ever would. Not as long as Earl Seward lived.

Now, she stood in the shadows of the gateway, watching as a pair of sturdy manservants escorted their master down the tower stairs and across the courtyard. The earl was more grandly arrayed than Tallie had ever seen him, though the rich velvets and furs he wore did not disguise his gauntness or his almost deathly pallor. But his white hair and beard had been neatly trimmed, and jeweled rings gleamed upon his thin fingers. One hand wielded an ebony-handled cane as he made his slow progress towards the waiting coach.

Not for the first time, Tallie watched him and willed him to see her. Just once, Grandfather. Look at me, just this once.

But she knew he would not. He had sworn as much from the moment she took her first breath, followed almost at once by her mother’s last.

There weren’t many Milord loved, old Martha had told Tallie once she was old enough to understand. "Nor who loved him, for that matter. But your mother was chief among them. His only child and the apple of his eye. He’d have kept her from marrying at all, if he could, but she was headstrong, and once she and your father set eyes on each other… She shook her head, smiling, though sadly. A landless knight with only his name and his sword! But he was a man among men, and she’d have only him and no other, so rather than lose her altogether, Milord let them wed. Perhaps he’d have made peace with it in time… if it hadn’t been for the war."

The war that had taken Tallie’s father months before she was born. And the tragic news that had brought on her mother’s travail several weeks early. And Earl Seward’s grief and rage that had led him to vow that he would never look upon the face of his infant granddaughter or show her a moment’s care or affection. A vow he’d kept for sixteen bitter years, and would likely keep until he himself was dust.

Once, Tallie might have wept over that: the knowledge that her only living kin hated her for something completely beyond her control. Now, despite her aching heart, she watched dry-eyed as Earl Seward’s men assisted him into the coach, which set off with a rattle of wheels and a clopping of horses’ hooves. Tallie had a last glimpse of her grandfather’s stern profile at the window as the coach passed through the gates, but he never turned his gaze in her direction.

Where’s Old Misery off to, then?

Her spirits rose at hearing that familiar voice at her shoulder. Turning, she smiled into a pair of warm brown eyes, the eyes of one of the few friends she had in the world—certainly at Castle Seward. You’d better not let anyone hear you calling him that, Silas!

The gooseherd shrugged. "I’m not saying anything I haven’t heard myself, scores of times, since first coming here! But where is he bound? I’d thought him tied to his throne and his self-pity for what remained of his life."

Tallie sighed. According to the castle servants, there’s to be a festival in the town of Riversedge, in honor of the king’s son, who’s coming home today. All the nobles in the kingdom were invited, including Grandfather—and their families too.

Silas’s brows rose questioningly at the last.

Suppressing another sigh, Tallie continued, Martha begged him over and over to take me. She said I was old enough to be presented at court, like every other young lady of good birth. He threatened to have her whipped or thrown in the dungeon if she so much as raised the subject again. Her hands clenched with fury over the threat to her dear old nurse; her own regrets at being once again denied her rightful place seemed such a minor thing by comparison.

Silas snorted, his expression darkening at her account. A bully as well as a fool! And a dog in the manger to boot.

A dog in the manger? Mystified, Tallie was about to ask her friend what was meant by that, when his eyes lit up and he exclaimed, "I know just what we should do!"

What’s that?

You and I, little gosling, should go to the festival ourselves.

Tallie’s eyes widened. The festival? Us? But how will we get there?

Silas grinned at her. We’ll walk, of course. We’re young and fit enough not to need a carriage or even a horse.

Tallie bit her lip. But isn’t Riversedge very far away?

If we set out soon enough, we should still arrive before evening. Besides, with a royal homecoming in store, I’ll wager that every village up and down the coast will be celebrating the prince’s return in some fashion. Why shouldn’t we go and see the sights? Silas crossed his arms, his expression turning contemplative. It shouldn’t be so different from taking my geese out to the common. Just—a slightly longer distance.

"You’re taking the geese?"

Why not? They’ll still need to forage. And the fresh air and exercise will do them good.

Tallie shook her head a little dazedly, imagining the sight they would present. We’ll make quite the procession…

His gaze sharpened. You’ll do it, then?

Tallie hesitated, temptation warring with trepidation, then the spark of rebellion with which she’d become increasingly familiar in the last year flared up and reduced the latter to cinders. "Well, why shouldn’t we see the festival if we want to? It’s not as though anyone would miss us. Except Martha, of course, she added hastily. I should tell her where we’re going—I don’t want her to worry."

Fair enough. I’ll round up my geese, and we’ll wait for you just outside the gates.

I won’t be long, she promised as she turned back towards the castle.

Smiling to himself, Silas watched her go. He hadn’t missed the flash of defiance in her eyes; indeed, he liked to think he’d played a part in putting it there. High time his little gosling stopped accepting the neglect and mistreatment that had been her lot for too much of her young life. If it weren’t for Martha and her fierce devotion to her charge, Tallie might have died as an infant… or grown into such a weak, frightened, broken-spirited thing that she might as well have died.

As it was, she’d been a shy, timid child, given to hiding away in corners when Silas had first come to Castle Seward. Most of the castle servants, seeing that their lord did not value her, tended to ignore her, though some had been actively cruel. Fortunately… Silas’s smile broadened at the memory… the worst of them had been sent packing, thanks to his and Martha’s secret contrivance.

That same contrivance had led to eleven-year-old Tallie venturing out of the castle to the meadow, where she had met him and his geese for the first time. The fresh air and sunshine had brought color to the child’s cheeks, but Silas thought actual companionship had helped even more. And much to his relief, she had been still capable of laughter, as her response to the geese’s antics had proved.

She liked music too, listening eagerly whenever he played his flute, sometimes even jumping up to dance when the tune was especially lively. He suspected Martha had been trying to teach her some of the skills a gently born young lady should have, though without formal instruction, Tallie could only go so far. Still, she had a light step and a natural grace that Silas thought would please all but the most critical onlookers.

Or those who refused to look at her at all, like her self-absorbed grandfather. No, Earl Seward, wallowing in his bereavement, would never see or understand what solace he could have found or what blessing he might have come to cherish in the child his daughter had left behind. And now, unless Silas much mistook the matter, Old Misery had just squandered his very last chance.

The charm he wore around his neck—an intricate knot wrought of pewter—had been warm this morning, and not just from its proximity to his skin. More, he could feel a sort of tingling along his veins, a sense that change was coming. The change for which he had waited these past five years? The change that would transform Tallie’s life and bring her the happiness she deserved?

He could but hope—and prepare to meet the moment. With his geese, of course: they had waited for this day as long as he had. Straightening his tunic, he went to fetch them.

Fancy Tattercoats at court! They’d have to send her down to the kitchen to eat—no, to the back gate where they feed the beggars!

The spiteful remark drifted out from the kitchen as Tallie passed, followed by a titter that set her teeth on edge nearly as much as the remark itself. Not that she hadn’t heard such things—or worse—about herself before, and this particular maid never had a kind word to say about anyone. For the most part, Tallie avoided her and did her best to let her mean-spirited comments roll off her—like water off a duck’s back, Silas would have said. They were only words, after all, not blows or cuffs like some might have tried when Tallie was younger and smaller.

Nonetheless, the hated nickname still stung and she could not help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction when she heard the cook’s sharp reprimand, About your work, girl—and no more gossip about your betters! Quality’s quality, even dressed in rags!

The tightness about Tallie’s chest eased. The cook was often impatient and short-tempered, but he was not unjust, and he saw to it that she and Martha had enough to eat. Plain fare, always—no point in setting a feast before Earl Seward that he would just ignore—but pottage and brown bread were far better than starving.

Just as rags and patches were better than no clothes at all, she reminded herself as she started up the stairs. Tallie’s mother had