The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  “It isn’t the sewing that concerns me,” Marci said. “It’s who will be wearing those dresses once they’re made. That’s a great deal of extra work. You’d better be careful to do a good job—or you’ll have a whole crew of angry Girls to contend with.”

  The image of me in my new dress vanished, replaced by an outraged Francesca in a sky-blue disaster.

  By the time Gillian and I had supper, Roger was already gone. So we put on our coats and went looking for him. We found him in the stable, whittling with a group of Stable Boys. The sweet smell of hay mingled with the scent of wood chips and the aroma of growing grass carried in on the chilly breeze. I pulled my coat closer as we walked over to him.

  “What are you up to?” Roger said, flicking a wood curl at our feet.

  He sounded cool—not harsh, but not exactly friendly either. The other Stable Boys toyed with their pocketknives as if waiting for something to happen.

  “We’re going fishing,” I said with a grin.

  “We have a big fish to catch,” Gillian added, eyes glowing.

  “Which one’s your girlfriend, Roger?” a skinny Boy named Corley asked.

  Roger’s face burned so bright a shade of red that his freckles caught fire.

  “He’d choose that dark-haired one if he’s smart,” Eric said, as if they hadn’t all known us for years.

  “Or a can of worms for fishing—if he’s really smart,” Norman quipped.

  The Stable Boys slapped their sides and howled with laughter.

  Roger snapped his knife shut and shoved it into a pocket.

  “Don’t need a girlfriend,” he snapped. “No girl can hold a candle to Lady Marguerite’s horses.”

  The Stable Boys laughed harder.

  My cheeks blazed. My fists curled. How dare he imply that a horse was better than me?

  Not that I was his girlfriend. Or wanted to be. And I was just about to tell him so when Gillian spoke up.

  “It’s too bad you Boys are stuck out here with the horse manure,” she said with a sigh, and dug a toffee out of her pocket. “You must miss out on so much.” She peeled back the wax paper on the candy. Then she parked the toffee between her teeth while she folded the paper in a neat square and tucked it in her pocket.

  Every Boy’s eyes were on her as she popped the candy into her mouth and chewed.

  “You have toffee?” Corley asked.

  “Only for my friends.” She flashed her most dazzling smile. “Let’s go, Darl,” she said, turning on her heel.

  “Bye, guys,” I said, taking my cue from her and waving.

  Gillian and I strolled off arm in arm as if the Stable Boys didn’t exist. Once outside, Gillian pulled me into the bushes. Overhead, the stars burned crisply against the blue-velvet evening.

  “We’ll wait here,” Gillian said, parting the bush just enough to see through.

  I was about to ask what we were waiting for when Roger came walking out of the stable, whistling. He saw us but kept right on going. Gillian counted to twenty under her breath, and then she hauled me off after him.

  We found him on a bench around the corner.

  “What do you want?” he asked, crossing his arms.

  Gillian settled next to him and handed him a toffee.

  “Information,” I said, sitting down on his other side.

  I hadn’t exactly forgiven him yet, but the breeze had sharpened. I wanted a quick answer so I could get back to the warm kitchens.

  “We need a secret passage into the library,” Gillian said. “What have you got?”

  “I don’t think there is one,” he said. He pulled off his leather cap and dug a wad of papers out of the lining. He spread them on his knee. And then he fished a match out of his pocket and struck it on his boot heel. “See here,” he said, holding the flame over a series of squiggles. “This is the stuff I’ve found on the second floor so far.”

  Gillian studied the paper. “That’s not even close,” she said.

  “Nope, it’s not, but these here circles,” he said, showing her, “are passages I haven’t mapped yet.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Haven’t had time,” he replied. “Got any more?”

  Gillian dug out a couple more toffees for him. Then she pointed to a jumble of lines. “Do you have a compass? What if you went back here and looked for a branch that headed west?”

  “I don’t promise anything, but—” Roger began.

  Right then a shadow blotted out the stars. We looked up in unison.

  “Good evening, ladies, gentleman,” the Stable Master said. “What have we here?”

  Roger scrunched the papers in his free hand, speechless.

  “Nothing,” Gillian said, smiling. “Just some drawings.”

  But either it was too dark or the smile was wasted on the Stable Master.

  “Allow me,” he said, holding out his hand. “I like a good drawing, same as the next man.”

  Miserably, Roger handed over the papers. The Stable Master held them up to the starlight to study. Then he said, “I think this requires an explanation, Roger, me lad.”

  The matchstick in Roger’s fist snapped in two. The match head dropped to the ground. He hurried to stamp it out.

  “It’s a treasure map,” I said quickly. “Sir.”

  The Stable Master’s eyes widened. “Do tell.”

  “Not a real one,” I said, wondering what possessed me to say something so stupid. “A make-believe one.”

  The Stable Master stared at me.

  “It’s just a game we were playing,” I finished in a small voice.

  “I see,” the Stable Master said, folding the papers and tucking them into his jacket. “If you have time to play, then you have time to work. Go on in, Girls. Young Roger here has business to attend to.”

  Roger shot me a dirty look as Gillian and I made a hasty retreat.

  * * *

  —

  I was woken by a tickling on the end of my nose. Bonbon blinked at me from her position on my pillow. A button sparkled in her paws.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked.

  She wiggled her nose at me.

  “From the dresses?” I guessed.

  She shook her head and scampered to the end of the bed.

  “Are you going somewhere?” I whispered, conscious of the roomful of sleeping Girls around me.

  Bonbon slid down the counterpane and dropped to the rug below.

  I threw back my covers. Maybe Iago needed me. But when I knelt to pull the crate out from under my bed, Bonbon leaped up and down excitedly.

  I paused, hand outstretched.

  “Does your dad know where you are?” I asked.

  She screwed up her whiskers, considering.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  She shook her head. Then she held up the button with a hopeful gaze.

  “Do you want me to follow you?”

  At that, Bonbon scurried off across the room. I hurried after her, but I lost her in the corridor when she squeezed under a baseboard.

  “Hey!” I called in a loud whisper. “I can’t fit in there.”

  Nothing.

  I hunched down and knocked softly on the wood. Silence. I waited awhile, but it was still early enough in the spring that the cold crept into the soles of my feet. Yawning, I got up and went back to bed.

  In the morning, I’d ask the dresses if there was a button missing.

  * * *

  —

  But when the morning broke out in a sunny spring glow and windows all over the castle flew open to take advantage of the weather, the Princess took it into her head to breakfast in the dew-drenched gardens. Which threw the Upper-servants into disarray.

  Mrs. Pepperwhistle took charge of us Girls and sent us scurrying
. Hampers had to be packed. Clogs dug out. Pillows and rugs and trays assembled. Parasols unfurled. A group of hastily attired Footmen stood ready to escort it all outside.

  The only thing missing was the Princess.

  Marci was beside herself, running from closet to closet.

  “What on earth do Princesses wear for much-too-early-in-the-morning meals out of doors?” she exclaimed.

  I trotted at her heels, a pile of shawls, sashes, and stockings over one arm. “Something green?” I suggested. “Or yellow? For spring?” I added when she scowled at me.

  “Something floral!” she proclaimed, and flung open the door to closet number four, where the Princess’s day dresses were kept.

  Madame Zerlina had designed three new spring gowns: the shimmering jade that Princess Mariposa had worn a few days earlier; a pink-and-white-striped dress; and a watercolor floral, a jacquard of misty flowers strewn across a pale blue background. It had the most delicate lace trim and two rows of enameled buttons at the waist, three on each side.

  “Excellent idea,” Marci said, whipping it off its hanger.

  Which was when I noticed the thread hanging off the front.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Marci gaped at the dress—one of the enamel buttons was missing.

  “Madame Zerlina!” she cried. “What does she mean by this?”

  “It had all six buttons when it arrived.” I was certain because I’d been fascinated by the tiny ladies painted on them.

  “How could this happen? Mariposa hasn’t even worn it yet!”

  I’d never heard Marci forget herself to the extent that she neglected to give the Princess her proper title.

  “Um,” I said, remembering Bonbon, “mice?”

  “Mice!” Marci shrieked. “Where?” She hopped from foot to foot as if besieged by an army of the creatures.

  “I didn’t mean there were any here,” I said, surprised. I’d never known Marci to be frightened by anything.

  She staggered to a stop.

  “But one might have gotten in. Like late at night or something,” I said.

  “Do you think they could get in all the closets?” Marci swayed on her feet.

  “Oh, no. Of course not,” I said, prying the dress out of her hands. “That daisy-sprigged cotton will do nicely.”

  Distracted from the ongoing threat of mice, Marci peered at the dress in question.

  “Oh,” she said, and pulled it out. “Good work. Let’s go.”

  I trailed after her, pausing just long enough to lay the watercolor dress across her desk. I was going to have a word with Bonbon the first free minute I had.

  Roger was still sore at lunch.

  “Can’t ride today,” he said, clutching his cap in a white-knuckled grip, “ ’cause I got to clean out the stable attic.”

  “At least you won’t have to shovel anything,” Gillian told him.

  “Girls,” he retorted, making girls sound suspiciously like snakes, “who cost a fellow hours of extra work—not to mention their map—are no friends of mine.”

  I pretended I hadn’t heard him as I sliced my roast beef. He took himself off to eat with the Messenger Boys.

  “Boys,” I said after he’d gone.

  “He’s just doing that to prove to the other Boys that he doesn’t like you,” Gillian said.

  “Thanks,” I said, buttering my bread.

  “Because he really does,” she added. “Like you, I mean. Lots. Gobs. Kissy-kissy bunches,” she added with a smirk.

  I was just about to tell her what a load of nonsense that was when Dulcie piped up.

  “He’s cute. I like his freckles,” she said.

  If she hadn’t looked at me with that admiring, wide-eyed gaze, I’d have dumped the gravy over her head.

  Selma, the Head Laundress, came stalking into the kitchens and cornered the Head Cook, who was busy assembling a platter for the Princess.

  “You should have seen those aprons!” Selma complained. “We send them upstairs pure white—spotless! Oh, the amount of scrubbing that requires!”

  “I can imagine. Nut?” the Head Cook said, holding out the bowl she kept handy. With her other hand she garnished the platter with a spring of parsley. “Cora, take this up!”

  Cora swept the platter off the table and raced off to the Footmen’s station, because only the Footmen were allowed to serve the Princess directly.

  “Obliged to you,” Selma replied, selecting a walnut. “And we got those pretty whites back in such a state.” She paused to crunch. “My Laundresses woulda kept ’em cleaner. And you know how hard they work. And ooh—that miss, that smug little piece…what’s her name—”

  “Francesca?” the Head Cook guessed.

  Gillian perked up.

  “Yes, Francesca! She waved a ring under my nose and said—”

  “I suspect she’s just excited. It’s a nice little ring,” the Head Cook said. “No doubt her mother was quite pleased to see her noticed by the Princess like that.”

  “Indeed,” a voice as mellow as an oboe replied. “A signal honor. Of course, it’s only what Francesca deserves.”

  That voice sent shivers down my spine. I glanced up at Mrs. Pepperwhistle, who stood right behind me.

  “D-deserves?” Selma sputtered.

  “And,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle continued, “if you have complaints, Selma, you should address them to Marci. She’s responsible. I thought she had better sense. The idea of sending the Girls to the high attic.”

  Selma choked on her nut.

  “It’s a messy job, no matter what. Who would you have sent?” the Head Cook inquired, pounding Selma on the back.

  Mrs. Pepperwhistle glanced down and caught my eye. She had a dilemma. If she said that some of the Under-servants should have gone, she’d be accused of playing favorites. If she said the Sweepers or the Dusters, then she’d be asked why she hadn’t volunteered their services in the first place.

  Instead, she patted me on the head.

  “As I was saying,” she continued, “three of my Girls had the sense not to wear their white aprons. Marci should have insisted that the others do likewise.”

  I knew she hadn’t been saying that at all, but Selma grunted in agreement. “Order extra lye; we’re running low,” she said.

  “I’ll do so,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle replied. “Eat your lunch, Girls. There is work to do.”

  We nodded and ate faster.

  Mrs. Pepperwhistle turned to the Head Cook. “It has come to my attention that the Baroness has taken a bit of chill after this morning’s outing. Please see that a tray is sent to her rooms.”

  “What?” the Head Cook said, brandishing a sprig of parsley under the Head Housekeeper’s nose. “Haven’t I enough to do? See these platters? The lot of them have to be filled and garnished for Her Highness’s table. When will I have time to make up something special for the Baroness? And which of my kitchen staff has time to take it all the way across the castle when they’re all needed here?”

  “We’ll do it,” Gillian said. “We’re almost finished. And we have to go back upstairs anyway. We’d be glad to help.” She poked me. “Right, Darling?”

  “Sure,” I said, massaging my ribs. “Glad.”

  “That’s settled, then,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle said. And she almost smiled.

  * * *

  —

  “Thanks a lot,” I said, lugging a tea tray up seven million steps to the Baroness’s rooms in the west wing.

  “You can thank me later,” Gillian said, balancing a covered soup tureen. A bread basket swung on her arm.

  The Head Cook had outdone herself. She’d loaded us down with enough luncheon for six Baronesses.

  We turned into a peach-colored corridor with white wainscoting. A frieze of plaster mice lined the
wall. They were alive inside the castle’s magic. I knew because Iago and his children had come out of the wall.

  “I like this wing,” Dulcie said, bringing up the rear. She carried napkins folded over her arm as if they were royal tapestries. “It has lots of nice mouseys.”

  “That’s mice,” I said. I’d meant to take a quick trip back to the dormitory after lunch to pounce on Bonbon for the whereabouts of that button. But now I’d have to wait until after everyone was asleep.

  “Here we are,” Gillian said. “Knock, Dulcie.”

  Dulcie used her free hand to rap on the door, which flew open to reveal the Baroness’s Maid, Aster.

  “About time,” she said, fussing with her ruffled collar.

  “We hurried,” Gillian said, pushing past her into the suite. “And this is heavy.”

  Aster gave herself airs; she believed that being a Baroness’s Maid elevated her above the castle’s servants. I wanted to retort that she might have done the fetching herself, but the Baroness called from another room.

  “Is that the Girls I hear?” Lady Kaye cried. “Send them in.”

  Aster screwed her lips into a frown but motioned us to follow her. She led us into a spacious bedroom done in pastel pink, ruffles, and lace and dotted with bows. I couldn’t have imagined a less Baroness-like décor if I’d tried.

  “You brought me a feast,” Lady Kaye said. She wore a quilted pink satin bed jacket that matched the room, ruffles, bows, and all. She appeared almost grandmotherly—almost, had it not been for her sharp gaze. “Evidently, the Head Cook believes I am in imminent danger of starving.”

  “She thinks that food cheers people up,” I said, setting down my tray on the table Aster pointed to.

  “Oh? Did you bring dessert, then?” Lady Kaye inquired.

  “No, ma’am,” Dulcie said. “Just soup and bread and jam and tea and—”

  “I get the idea; thank you, dear,” Lady Kaye said.

  “What a pretty room,” Gillian said.

  Beside the pink-canopied bed stood a dressing table. There were three wardrobes, and numerous jewel cases were scattered everywhere—everything from small leather cases to carved chests to fancy armoires on spindly legs.