Pearls

by L. M. Pruitt

  “I think both Mama and Papa would be happy enough knowing you are still around to provide me with the sort of service you are so well-renowned for.” Tucking my gloves in my reticule, I rested a hand on his shoulder and began steering him toward the section of the store I knew contained his most precious fabrics. “Now, I’m sure you’re heard the gossip about the upcoming visit from Prince Nicolae.”

  “Oh, it seems as if I’ve had all the ladies of the Court in here at some time or another this past week.” Pulling out a handkerchief only a few shades lighter than his own ghost-like pallor, he dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead. “That Countess Lefebvre was raising all kinds of holy hell in here only yesterday, demanding the very best of my products.”

  “Poor dear.” I smiled, unable to help myself. “She’s having quite a difficult time lately.”

  Harold chortled, his sagging jowls trembling. “The Countess was most unhappy when I was unable to provide her with anything.”

  “I’m sure she was.” Patting his shoulder, I sighed as we stepped in to the private section separated by a plain black curtain. “Why, Harold—if I didn’t know better, I would think you had purposefully been withholding from me.”

  “Never, Miss Marguerite, never.” He shook his head forcefully. “I received a shipment from Paris only two days ago. I’d planned to send you a message this morning, as a matter of fact.” Striding forward as much as his massive bulk would allow, he hefted up a bolt of pure white silk shot through with threads of silver. “As soon as I saw this, I knew you’d have someone in your school who could make use of it.”

  “You are quite correct.” I’d received a note from Gaston giving me a free hand in deciding the particulars of Harriet’s trousseau, something for which I was secretly thankful. I had already noticed the Prince had a terrible habit of disintegrating to something very close to a bumbling idiot when in the presence of his future bride. Forcing him to attempt to carry on an intelligent conversation involving dresses and petticoats and gloves while Harriet stood only feet away in a nearly naked state would be torture for us both. “I have three—no wait, four—young ladies and one young gentleman I need to outfit with full wardrobes, in addition to formal attire for the entire school.”

  “You do know how to warm the cockles of this old shopkeeper’s heart, Miss Marguerite.” Harold laughed, dabbing at his forehead again. “In that case, let me see if Amalie can spare a few minutes from her Bible to help us gather everything together. I hope you brought one of your footman as well.”

  “While you do that, I’ll begin pulling any bolts of fabric which catch my eye.” I’d already spotted a deep, dusky blue which would look wonderful with Lottie’s red hair and porcelain skin and a sunshine yellow which would make a perfect walking dress for Esther, complimenting her ebony skin and chocolate curls. Waving one hand absently, I said, “I believe I shall be more than somewhat occupied.”

  I wandered around the room, humming under my breath as I plucked out yards of shimmering gold, a rich, blood-red ruby, a pale, misty grey. I was examining a bolt of emerald green velvet, rubbing it between two fingers, when I heard the dividing curtain lift behind me. Without looking up, I said, “Harold, do you happen to have any more of this in storage?”

  When he didn’t answer, I looked over my shoulder, my smile freezing in place. “Lady Báthory. My apologies.”

  “I didn’t quite announce myself, now did I?” Her words carried only the slightest trace of her native Hungary as she tugged off her dark gloves, slapping them on her open palm, her gaze darting around the room before finally landing on me. Her dark eyes widened, her lips spreading in a sly smile as she studied me. “Ah. Lady Saint-Laurent. I thought I recognized your carriage outside. Are you here for business or pleasure?”

  “A little of both.” Moving slowly, making sure to keep her within my line of sight, I continued selecting materials for purchase. I hesitated over some delicately yellowed lace, chewing on the inside of my cheek before deciding against it. Glancing at the Countess, I said, “And you, my lady?”

  “Elizabeth, darling—there’s no need to stand on formality.” Her smile grew wider, the tips of her fangs peeking out at the corners. “Especially when you outrank me.”

  “My lady, we both know your title carries more weight than mine in the eyes of the King and the Court.” Even if it didn’t, saying so was one lie nobody would fault me for telling. And I had spent enough time in the company of the infamous Countess to know a small display of manners would go a long distance with her. Clearing my throat, I said, “Are you looking forward to Prince Nicolae’s visit?”

  “The little preening rooster?” She snorted and rolled her eyes before beginning to make her way down an aisle, trailing her fingers over the rainbow of fabrics. “If it were not for an express wish from dear Bienvenu, I would find a reason to take myself to Europe for a few weeks.”

  “I believe the Prince will be introducing his future bride to the Court.” I moved when she did, keeping at least half the length of the room between us. I didn’t worry if my actions offended her—everyone at Court, with the exception of the King, made sure to give the Countess a wide berth. One was never quite certain when she would have an explosive temper tantrum. “Chastity, I believe.”

  “Yes, the little twit who has such a distaste of roses.” The Countess snorted again. “Or a supposed distaste. I personally believe the entire thing was a simple effort to attempt to erase any reminders of Marcella.” She heaved a heavy sigh before chuckling. “As if such a thing could be accomplished with a little redecorating.”

  I kept silent, continuing to select fabric, ribbon, and lace. Although the Countess seemed friendly enough, I had no doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to repeat anything negative I said. Stirring trouble and creating feuds were two of her favorite things.

  “I happened to speak with the Vicomte Balogh on his last day at Court.”

  At that, I gave her my full attention. “Oh?”

  “Yes. He was most… distressed at what he felt was quite an unjust punishment.” She flashed her fangs again, raising her auburn eyebrows and widening her eyes. “In case you were wondering, he spoke most unkindly of you and the Duke.”

  “Hmm, well, I suppose that is to be expected.” I continued smiling, even as I wondered what could be taking Harold so long. “The Vicomte has never been entirely fond of either of us and I doubt that will change with his current situation.”

  “Very true.” She nodded solemnly, the sudden downturn of her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “At his age, Balogh should know better than to poke a stick at a pair of lions.” The amusement in her dark gaze died away, leaving her face a blank, expressionless mask. “And the lions should know to beware of the hyena, no matter how inconsequential such an animal might be.”

  Before I could even begin to think of a response, the curtain parted and Harold bustled in, his tiny wife trailing after him. He drew up short when he spotted the Countess, blanching for a moment before forcing a smile. “Lady Báthory. What an honor it is to--.”

  “Oh, dear, I believe I’m late for an appointment with Silas.” The Countess flashed a smile at the shopkeeper before gliding toward the exit. She paused at the curtain, glancing my direction. “I’m looking forward to your upcoming ball, Lady Saint-Laurent. It promises to be quite… entertaining.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning, the Duke frowned as he tugged on his gloves. “Sophie, where are your shoes?”

  She screwed up her face and hunched her shoulders, kicking her legs back and forth. “I do not know, Papa.”

  “Grace, please be a dear and run up and see if they are in her room.” Kneeling in front of the sofa, I winced and pressed a hand to my stomach when my corset bit in to my ribs. Sucking in a deep breath to loosen some of the pressure, I began tidying Sophie. “Darling, how is it possible for you to make such a mess of yourself when all you are doing is sitting?”

  “It’s all the squirming she does
.” The Duke glanced at the clock and sighed, tapping his foot. “We are going to be late.”

  “Dearest, we are less than ten minutes from the church. We have plenty of time.” Smoothing down a stray blonde curl, I turned my attention to her tights. Clucking my tongue, I shook my head. “Truly, Sophie? You know how difficult it is to launder these properly. And is this grape jelly?”

  “Blackberry.” She giggled. “Because I was good for Addy and Emily the other day.”

  “Here they are, Miss Marguerite.” Grace hurried back in to the front parlor, clutching a tiny pair of kid slippers. Passing them to me, she twisted her apron in her hands, her brow creased. “I am so sorry, Your Grace, my lady. Addy asked me to watch her so she could speak with Cook about lunch and--.”

  “It is all right.” Fitting one shoe and then the other on Sophie’s feet, I huffed out a breath as I turned to the Duke. “A little help, if you please, Your Grace?”

  Reaching down, he lifted me up with one hand, keeping tight until I was steady on my feet. I chuckled and rolled my eyes when he began giving me the same treatment I had subjected Sophie to only moments before. “Really, dearest? I believe I’m quite past the age where I need to be tidied up.”

  “One can never be too tidy when attending Mass with the King.” Apparently satisfied with my appearance, he handed me my own gloves and reticule before tucking my hand in the crook of his elbow. Glancing at Sophie, he said, “Come, daughter. I believe you are in more need of the priest’s good words than usual.”

  The church bells were just beginning to toll when I descended from the carriage. I didn’t even attempt to conceal my smirk when I looked at the Duke. “I do believe this proves my point, Your Grace.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the proverb about pride going before a fall, darling.” Clasping Sophie’s hand with his free one, he strode toward the cathedral entrance, weaving through the crowd with purpose. He nodded at the doorman, only slowing when we had entered the cathedral proper. We paused to anoint ourselves with holy water and perform the Sign of the Cross before continuing down the aisle. Finally reaching our pew, he ushered us ahead of him, huffing out a breath when he sat down. “With minutes to spare.”

  I started to chide him about worrying before the tiniest of movements on my other side caught my eye. Sighing, I turned to Sophie and placed a hand on her knee. “No wiggling, ma cocette. You will ruin your pretty dress.”

  “And it is quite a pretty dress.” King Bienvenu smiled as He entered the row ahead of us. Reaching in His pocket, He pulled out a small wrapped candy and offered it to Sophie. “Perhaps this will help keep you occupied while the good Father Beniamin tends to our souls.”

  Waiting until I nodded, Sophie slid off the pew, reaching up on tiptoe to take the candy from the King. She glanced at Him and curtseyed before whispering, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah, ah, ah, little one.” Bienvenu wagged His finger before pinching her chin. “If you do not address me properly, you will make me very sad.”

  “Thank you, Parrain.” She smiled shyly, her dimple appearing for a moment before winking away. When the King bent and tapped His finger on His cheek, she giggled and complied, pressing a quick kiss to His lightly rouged skin before climbing back up next to me.

  “Lady Saint-Laurent, Duke Barthélemy, We are most pleased to see you on this fine Sunday morning.” Nodding at us both, He settled Himself on the thick cushion, adjusting His waistcoat before shifting to address us. “We would like to extend an invitation to join Us for a private performance by the Royal Acting Troupe this evening—they are rehearsing Romeo and Juliet in preparation of Prince Nicolae’s arrival.”

  The Duke gripped my hand tight, cutting off any protest I might have been able to spawn. “We thank You for the invitation, Your Majesty. We would be delighted to attend.”

  I unfurled my fan, using the snap of my wrist and the lace edging to obscure some of my false smile. The King was well aware the Duke and I paid no social calls and conducted no business on the Sabbath, reserving the day for Sophie and ourselves. He was also aware the Duke would not disobey an order, even when it was couched in the pleading tones of a request.

  Instances such as these reminded me why spending the summer in the country house was not really a bad thing at all.

  A series of racking coughs emanating from the front of the cathedral drew my attention away from my own annoyance. Father Beniamin took the plain wooden chalice offered by one of the altar boys, drinking deep before returning it to him and facing the full church. “Peace be with you.”

  “And also with you.” The reply rang out in perfect harmony, not one individual off by even a half beat. It was always so when a large enough group of vampyres was gathered in one place. At one time I had found the synchronicity unnerving. After being exposed to it for so long, however, I simply found it amusing.

  The service continued onward, the show of religious devotion no more sincere for many than the manners they exercised in social settings. The Court attended Mass because the King attended Mass. The King attended Mass so as to remain in the favor of the Church.

  The only individual in the room who showed any true enthusiasm for the songs and the prayers was Sophie. I had little doubt by the time she was formally presented to the Court she would be as disillusioned concerning the power of the Church as I was.

  I frowned at the cynical direction of my thoughts, quickly inverting the expression back to a pleasant smile when the Duke coughed. There was little the King or Father Beniamin detested so much as an obvious sign of not listening to the sermon. Sophie might have her tender age to excuse any social missteps but I did not.

  “Our reading today comes from Romans, chapter thirteen.” The priest cleared his throat before lifting his voice, the powerful baritone spreading to every corner of the cathedral. “‘Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.’” He paused, his gaze scanning the assemblage before continuing. “But what of us, brothers and sisters? The true Church has said we have no souls, that our very existence flies in the face of God.”

  A low murmuring swept through the crowd and I glanced at the Duke to find him clenching his jaw. Much as he had done to me earlier, I squeezed his hand, although my gesture was more for comfort than correction. He exhaled deeply, the tension in his jaw relaxing as the priest spoke again.

  “If we are to believe this—and indeed, as baptized members of the Church, we must—than we must also believe there is none among us better or more worthy than the rest.” Father Beniamin did not look our direction; if he had, he would have noticed the sudden stiffening of the King’s spine and perhaps have discontinued his sermon. Instead, he barreled onward, apparently oblivious to the whispers and chatter underscoring his lecture. “There is none ordained by God for in the eyes of God we do not exist! We are unnatural!”

  Now he did look our direction, his wild-eyed gazed lighting on Sophie, huddled against my side. Raising one arm, he brought it down swiftly, a single finger pointing at us with unerring precision. “We create more unnatural things! We create abominations!”

  “Silence!” The King surged to His feet, the single word cutting through all the noise in the cavernous room, seeming to grow in volume as it echoed off the stained glass windows and marble walls. “We are most displeased by your choice of reading material this morning, Father. We believe you are unwell. Perhaps you should seek the solace of your own chambers.”

  Father Beniamin blinked once before the color brought on by his sudden zealotry began to drain from his face. Nodding slowly, he said, “Yes, Your Majesty. That would be most wise.” He stepped away from the pulpit, descending the dais on shaky legs before hurrying through a side door.

  An uneasy silence filled the space before the King spoke again. “I believe Mass is finished for today.”

  The move toward the exit by the majority of the crowd was not quite a rush but it was very close. I would no
t be surprised to hear of dropped handkerchiefs and ripped hems and unwelcome groping when the gossip surrounding the morning’s events began. All too soon, the church was empty with the exception of the King and his guard, the Duke, Sophie, and myself.

  Huffing out an exasperated breath, the King threw Himself down in His pew. “That was most unpleasant.”

  Instead of answering, I shifted Sophie to my lap, not entirely surprised when she held out her arms to the Duke in a silent plea. He cuddled her against him, stroking her hair and whispering in her ear, the pitch of his voice far too low for me to hear. Whatever he said caused Sophie to sniffle only once before taking the handkerchief he offered her and drying her face.

  “I will have to speak with Cardinal Reilly about having Father Beniamin assigned to another district.” Bienvenu drummed His fingers on the top of the wooden bench, His brows drawing together in a frown. “I did not shepherd My people for almost four hundred years, through almost a half-dozen countries and a war which cost us thousands of lives for one man with an overabundance of Catholic guilt to attempt to incite rebellion with inflammatory speeches.”

  “Forgive us, Your Majesty, but we beg leave to be excused. Both Sophie and the Lady Saint-Laurent are very upset.” The Duke didn’t so much as glance at me before making his pronouncement. I could only assume after all our years together he was able to read my silence with the same skill he read my body. “We will still join You this evening if You so wish.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Bienvenu granted the Duke’s request with an irritable wave of His hand, His attention clearly elsewhere. “We expect to see you this evening at seven.”

  “Your Majesty.” Rising, the Duke pulled me with him, Sophie still firmly in his embrace. He guided me out into the aisle none too gently, the press of his hand against my back only further restricting the flow of air in to my lungs. Leaning down, he whispered, “Move somewhat faster, dearest. I would like to be far away when the King finally loses control of his temper.”