The King awoke one morning to the sound of great commotion coming from the drawing room beneath his bedchamber.
“Oh bother,” thought the King, “whatever can be the matter?” And without further ado he swung his legs out of the bed, slid them into his royal slippers and reached for his royal dressing gown.
On entering the drawing room the King was confronted with the most distressing of scenes. The Queen was sat between the two Princesses, both of whom were a-wailing and a-howling as if the sky had just fallen down. The poor Queen was trying to calm them with kind words, but seemingly to no avail. “Things break, my darlings,” she was explaining to her daughters as the King entered the scene, “things always break.”
“Now then!” announced the King gruffly (for there was little that pleased the King less than being roused from his slumber by the silliness of his Princesses), “what in heaven can have caused such a terrible hullabaloo?”
“Oh Papa,” cried one of the Princesses, whose name was Lauren, “our shoes, Papa!” She was scarce able to speak through a face that was a veritable mask of misery and mucus. “Look at our shoes!”
The King cast his glance in the direction of Princess Lauren’s outstretched finger and there he beheld two pairs of little dancing shoes, each shoe in the most wretched state of disrepair. He crouched down to inspect them at closer quarters.
“And pray what,” he inquired at length, “has turned your little Highnesses’ royal shoes to such sorry, ruined articles, as might be found in any of the paupers’ houses down in the village?”
There was a pause and then the other Princess, whose name was Hannah, said quietly, “Dancing, Papa. Too much dancing.”
The King thought for a moment. As a ruler he was feared throughout his Kingdom, but he had rather a soft spot for his little Princesses, and he had to admit, their dancing did always seem to fill his heart with the lightest and warmest of feelings.
“Tell me,” he said to the Queen, “does not the merchant in the village, Mr Tesco, sell dancing shoes?”
“I believe he does, my dear,” replied the Queen, but behind her the two little Princesses were nodding so vigorously that the King could tell at once that the answer was beyond doubt.
“And please, Papa,” said Princess Hannah, “I believe that Mr Disney in the centre of Trafford also sells the most beautiful dancing shoes!”
“Yes,” chimed her sister, “at eight ducats a pair!”
“Eight ducats?!” exclaimed the King. “Do you believe me to be made of money? Perhaps you fancy that, when I turn the tap in my bathroom of a morning, it is not water that flows forth from it but ducats!”
The Princesses went rather quiet again. “Well my dear,” said the Queen, “you are the King.”
“Very well,” sighed the King, “so be it. Have one of the servants ride down to the village and inquire at the premises of Mr Tesco and Mr Disney about new dancing shoes.”
But his pronouncement was not met with the joy the King had expected. Indeed, he had rarely in life seen a threesome of more downcast faces.
“But my dear,” said the Queen, “we have no servants.”
“No servants?!” roared the King. “What madness is this? I am the King!”
The Queen responded with an embarrassed shrug.
“Very well,” said the King, “in that case fetch my valet, Richards. He will not receive the news at all well, but Richards will have to ride down to the village to fetch the shoes.”
“Richards does not exist, my dear,” said the Queen, scarcely meeting his eye. “He is a mere figment of your imagination.”
The King looked about him in sheer astonishment. He was beginning to wonder if he had indeed been woken up at all this morning, or whether he was in fact still in his warm feather bed in the grip of some horrendous night fright. He rubbed his eyes and pinched himself firmly on his royal rump, but alas, none of it seemed to alter the situation. At length he groaned in despair.
“I can see I have no choice,” he grumbled. “Princesses, dress yourselves promptly. I shall ride you into the village myself, to the premises of Mr Tesco and, if need be, Mr Disney.”
And there was great rejoicing.
