Keeping the Castle - By Patrice Kindl Page 0,19

a real horsehair mane and tail, we could not complain. Indeed, Alexander brought him all his other toys, in hopes that he would break them too.

“You must allow us to express our indebtedness for the repairs made to the castle,” I said in a low voice to Lord Boring, bending over my embroidery so as to avoid his eyes, “which have encompassed far more than was injured by Mr. Fredericks.” I halted, wishing that I possessed a tactful tongue. I could have expressed thanks without mentioning Mr. Fredericks—I did not want to sound as if I were reproaching Lord Boring for his friend’s loutish behavior.

“I pray you, speak no more of it to me. I did nothing of any importance,” said Lord Boring, looking rather self-conscious. We both glanced out of the corners of our eyes at Mr. Fredericks, who was running the little cart back and forth on the carpet, testing out the new wheels and entirely oblivious to our embarrassment on his behalf. As His Lordship seemed not to want further thanks, I changed the subject.

“The dog,” I ventured, looking down at the animal in my lap, “is affectionate. Remarkably so, in fact.”

Indeed, the dog had proved to be faithful almost to a fault. He had taken up the attitude that he should accompany me at all times, even on the most private of occasions. When I sat, he was on my lap. When I walked, he was at my heels. If I made any effort to exclude him, he behaved as if I had struck him. His small face became a picture of woe: his soft lips wobbled and his enormous brown eyes bulged tragically at me.

While my stepsisters shared a bed (mostly to keep warm—there were eighteen bedrooms in the castle, some even furnished with beds, so there was no need to share from lack of accommodation), I had been accustomed to sleeping alone since childhood. The dog refused to allow this arrangement to continue: the moment I lay down he would commence pawing at the side of the bed and whining, demanding to be lifted up to join me. Once his desire was achieved he would stretch out, managing (tho’ very small in his person) to take up most of the available space.

Sometimes while I slept he was stricken by an overwhelming compulsion to express his devotion, an urge frustrated by the fact that nearly all of my anatomy was submerged in bedclothes. He would therefore drape himself over my head and sigh into my ear, causing me to dream of being engulfed by an infatuated fur-lined hat. Most mornings I found that I had been cuddled and cosseted right up to the edge of the bed and was on the brink of falling off.

In addition, he snored.

However, as irksome as this may have been, I will confess that on those few occasions when I awoke and did not feel his little body pressed up next to mine, I sat bolt upright feeling quite offended until I had located him on the bed.

At my words Mr. Fredericks looked up from his repairs to my brother’s toy. “Oh, do you like him? He’s from an excellent stud. He ought to be a fine animal when he is grown.”

This being by far the most amiable remark Mr. Fredericks had ever addressed to me, I took care to respond graciously. Apparently he had assisted Lord Boring in the procurement and choice of the puppy—to judge by his behavior one might think he alone was responsible—and when I asked a few questions about proper feeding and handling, he proved well equipped to answer them.

“And what is the puppy’s name?” enquired Lord Boring.

I blushed. I’d thought of calling him “Sidney,” but feared this would be too presuming. And should Lord Boring and I ever find ourselves on intimate enough terms to address one another by our first names it would be quite confusing, as well.

“‘Dog’ is what I mostly call him,” I admitted.

The assembled company began to propose names. Prudence and Charity favored such suggestions as Trouble and Nuisance. I will confess that he did leave a puddle in their room, but as I myself cleaned it up as soon as it was discovered I did not see why they should so dislike him.

“Call him ‘Fido’—meaning faithful, you know—since he is so attached to you,” said Mr. Fredericks in the tone of voice which ends a discussion. “And now, Boring, we must go. Or I must, at any rate. You