Gillian came swinging in from her evening’s adventure with a fat book tucked under her arm. She slapped it on the table, setting the swans aflutter.
“Children should be kept in cages,” the Pastry Chef muttered, rescuing a swan from falling.
“What have you got there?” the Head Cook asked Gillian.
“The Perils of the Indigo Isles,” Gillian said. “It’s a memblar.”
“Memoir,” the Pastry Chef corrected.
“Yeah,” Gillian said. “It’s written by a ship’s cook, all about pirates and stormy seas and—”
“Sounds interesting,” Jane said.
I folded my arms across my chest. It sounded like Gillian had spent the evening doing everything but trying the key.
“Just the sort of thing that fills young minds with nonsense,” the Pastry Chef said, clipping the marzipan to resemble feathers.
“Where did you get that?” the Head Cook asked.
“The royal library,” Gillian said. “I had permission,” she added quickly as the Head Cook’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.
“I hear there are a great many books there,” the Head Cook said.
Gillian scooted in next to me and stood the book on its spine.
“Thousands,” the Pastry Chef said. “Next time, look for something improving.”
“History,” the Head Cook suggested.
“Or something practical,” Jane said. “Like cooking or gardening.”
“Gardening!” the Pastry Chef exclaimed. “Digging about in dirt! Where is the artistry in that?”
“I like flowers,” Jane said, clicking her knitting needles.
“You’ll like this page.” Gillian nudged me.
I glanced at the book she’d opened a crack. The key was tucked in the center, along with a scrawled note: Top row, nothing. Relief washed through me. She hadn’t found it without me. And only five more rows to go.
“Sounds like a good book,” I said, eyeing how thick it was. “You’ll have to read fast so you can get another.”
“As fast as I can,” Gillian said, beaming.
I smiled back, but all I could think about was my turn with the key.
* * *
—
Iago and his family were nibbling on a feast of bread crusts and cheese when I interrupted them.
“Good evening,” I said. “You have to stay away from the wardrobe hall and the closets.”
Iago twitched his whiskers. Bonbon batted her lashes. And others quivered in fear. Sleeping Girls rustled and snored around us.
“Marci put mousetraps everywhere,” I said. “And I mean everywhere. They’re loaded with cheese.”
The mouse I’d named Éclair chattered excitedly to Anise and Flan.
“You can’t eat it, though,” I said. “If you touch it—” I gulped, not knowing how to tell my little mouse friends what happened when the trap snapped.
But I didn’t have to. Iago pointed his bread crust at his children and let loose. His tiny brow furrowed. His voice rose in pitch. And the four mouselings shrank under his scolding.
When he’d finished, I bid them good night and went back to bed.
The next morning, despite my warning, the enamel button from the watercolor dress again sat on Marci’s desk. Along with five other buttons.
* * *
—
Princess Mariposa hummed as Marci helped her into her new pink-and-white-striped dress. Her cheeks glowed. Her eyes shone.
“You are a picture in pink,” Lady Kaye observed.
“Everything is falling into place,” Princess Mariposa said. “The Royal Dress Designer sent word that the dress is nearly ready for fitting. The Head Cook reports that exciting new culinary ideas are simmering in her brain.” She paused to laugh at her own pun. “The musicians are practicing a new waltz. The roses are blooming in the greenhouses. Teresa is here! And best of all, I have the most perfect slippers ever made.”
“Indeed,” Lady Kaye replied.
“This will be the—the most enchanted wedding of all time,” the Princess exclaimed.
“I’m sure it will,” Marci agreed, buttoning a cuff.
I stood, sodden with misery, a lace shawl draped over my arm and a fake smile slapped on my face. I dipped my spare hand in my pocket. The key was my only comfort. Maybe I could discover my inheritance before the wedding and somehow save the day.
If that was going to happen, that inheritance had to be something more powerful than a deed to a moldy old mansion or a string of rubies.
“Why are you glum?” Lady Kaye asked, poking me with her cane. “Jealous?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I’m thrilled that the Princess is happy.”
“You don’t look it,” Lady Kaye said.
“Darling’s a bit overworked these days,” Marci said, coming to my rescue.
“Ooh, Darling, are you?” Princess Mariposa asked, her brow wrinkled in concern.
“No, Your Highness, I’m fine,” I said.
“She’s been doing her chores and sewing for Rose,” Marci said, straightening the Princess’s collar. “Working after hours to get everything ready for the Girls.”
“She has!” The Princess’s cheeks grew a deeper shade of pink.
“I volunteered,” I said quickly, not wanting to get Rose into trouble.
“Did you?” The Princess’s sea-blue eyes turned sapphire with tears. “Darling, I don’t deserve an Under-assistant like you.”
“Give the child the day off, for heaven’s sake,” Lady Kaye said. “Before you get water spots all over that bodice.”
Princess Mariposa took the handkerchief that Marci offered, and dried her eyes.
“Do,” she said. “Take the day off and get some rest.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I said. More miserable than ever.
What would Princess Mariposa say when her wedding day dawned and the starlight slippers ruined it?
* * *
—
I chewed on my thumb as I stared out the closet window at the bright spring morning. A day off was a pickle. Where to go? What to do? I was liable to be shooed out of the kitchens—and everywhere else. Both the Upper- and Under-servants were busy. And not one of them would be glad to watch me sit idly by while they worked.
There was nothing to do in the Girls’ dormitory.
I wasn’t allowed in the library.
Jane wasn’t a Picker anymore, so I doubted I was welcome in the greenhouses or the gardens.
And while Roger had forgotten he was mad at me, I hadn’t quite recovered from the sting of being unfavorably compared to one of Lady Marguerite’s horses.
Lyric whistled at me. Startled, I turned around to find the entire closet trembling with anticipation.
“What do you think I should do today?” I asked the dresses, stealing a glance at One Hundred.
It hung from its hanger like an icicle of indifference. Clearly, having ruined the starlight slippers with magic, it had no further interest in my adventures. I cast my attention on the other dresses. Ninety, a sunshine-yellow dress with a garden of ribbon flowers scattered across the skirt, fluttered in an imaginary breeze.
“You want to go out?” I said.
The weight of the starburst key in my apron pocket tugged at me. I could sprint over to the Duchess’s rooms and try the key out on Lady Amber’s armoire, but I was pretty sure that Aster was doing all those things Lady’s Maids did when their mistresses were busy. And Aster was not someone I cared to tangle with. Not even in a dress.
Ninety fluttered faster.
“But where would we go?” I said. “I can’t use the key until this evening, and I’ve got the whole”—I swept my hand dramatically to emphasize my point—“day to fill.”
Ninety jerked so agitat
edly that it knocked itself off its hanger. As I bent down to scoop it up, a flash of gold outside the window caught my eye. Holding Ninety, I went over and peered out. The Footmen were putting up the canopy Princess Mariposa liked to use for entertaining outside. I’d attended a luncheon out there with her last spring—well, I had as Lady Teresa.
“I have a marvelous, fantastic, stupendous idea,” I told Ninety, slipping it on. “Let’s go spend the day with the Princess.”
Ninety swooped me up in its folds with a giddy abandon. Obviously, the dress liked this plan. And it occurred to me that while Marci couldn’t convince the Princess not to wear the slippers, and I couldn’t, somebody more important might be able to.
“I need to talk to Her Highness,” I told the dress before I looked in the mirror. “I need to be someone she’ll listen to.”
Ninety waved a ribbon rose.
I glanced over my shoulder at the mirror.
Madame Zerlina blinked back at me.
I hovered behind a bronze peacock at the edge of the garden, where Princess Mariposa chatted with her guests. The chink of china sounded from the open-sided tent as the Footmen set the cloth-covered table. I straightened my shoulders. Ninety rippled gleefully in the breeze; the petals of its silk flowers trembled with excitement.
But my feet remained planted where they were. Madame Zerlina was tall, taller than the Princess and much taller than I was. When I put on Ninety, I hadn’t picked a dress with shoes. So although I looked like Madame Zerlina in a taupe silk dress with chocolate beading on the skirt and a wide chocolate sash tied in a dramatic bow at the hip, I felt as if I were Bonbon’s size. Whatever I did, I couldn’t let anyone get too close to me.
“Madame Zerlina!” A buxom lady with a reddish complexion accosted me. “How good of you to come! Her Highness said you were so occupied with fittings today that she doubted you would.”
Which immediately reminded me of the other problem with being Madame Zerlina Trinket: every lady in the court knew her, and she knew all of them.
But I did not.
“What a beautiful day!” I spoke with gusto, impersonating the Royal Dress Designer. “How lovely you look!”
“Oh, do you think so?” The lady quivered with emotion, swishing her mint-colored lace dress. “I got this last year in Boquebec. Not as good as anything you’d create, but still—” She broke off to giggle nervously. “Rather fetching, I thought.”
“Indeed,” I agreed, edging away.
A lady in a violent green-and-purple-striped dress grabbed me.
“Oh, Madame Zerlina, you must tell me what shoes I should wear to the royal wedding,” she said with a pout. “Everyone says buff would be best. But you know I can’t abide pale-colored shoes. They give me fits.”
Without any idea what this lady was going to wear, I looked right in her eyes and announced, “This is a spring wedding! So you must wear robin’s-egg-blue shoes!”
“Oooh,” she breathed. “What genius! Oh, but don’t tell anyone else! Please, Madame Zerlina, I beg you.”
“My lips are sealed,” I assured her, hoping that whatever color her dress was wouldn’t clash too badly with robin’s-egg blue.
I sidled through the press of guests toward Her Highness. Eager ladies waved at me and shook fans my way, vying for my attention. I pretended not to see them, but a determined woman caught my elbow and began quizzing me about her wedding attire.
“Low heels or high heels?”
“Low,” I guessed, wiggling loose.
“What about a camellia in my hair?” another joined in as a group of fashion-hungry women encircled me.
“Flowers wilt so easily,” I said, thinking that her elaborate arrangement of curls didn’t need any adornment.
“Green goes with my eyes, don’t you think?” a blue-eyed lady demanded.
“Well…” I glanced around, anxious to keep moving, to talk to the Princess before the real Madame Zerlina made an appearance.
“You aren’t wearing stripes!” an elderly woman in a black-and-white-striped gown complained. “I thought they were all the rage.”
I felt a stab of sympathy for Madame Zerlina. I looked about for a way to escape.
“Should I wear opals or diamonds?” an orange-haired lady asked.
Before I could respond, a tall lady squealed, “Opals are bad luck!”
That gave me an idea.
I took a step backward, thinking it might be easier to retreat and work my way around to the Princess than to wiggle through the crowd.
“I’m told a train would make my waist slimmer,” yet another told me as the group pressed closer.
“Is there still time to change my gown? I thought perhaps I should add a few ruffles,” a stout woman asked.
One woman—in a skirt so full that she knocked another lady out of the way—demanded, “Will four petticoats be sufficient? Or should I wear five?”
I gaped at her, at a loss for words.
“Ladies,” Prince Sterling said, stepping between them to rescue me. “Madame Zerlina is available for consultation at her salon. Here, she is the Princess’s guest.”
“Well!” the wide-skirted woman snorted. “I see how it is. Too important.”
“Keeping her best ideas for the Princess,” another exclaimed knowingly.
“Stingy,” a third muttered darkly.
“Ladies!” I snapped, losing my patience.
Prince Sterling stifled a grin.
Several ladies blinked at me in surprise. One or two blushed.
“Of course,” the lady worrying over ruffles said. “Please accept my apologies. I shall direct my secretary to make an appointment.”
“Let’s not keep the Princess waiting,” Prince Sterling said, offering me his arm.
I slipped my hand around his coat sleeve, holding on as lightly as possible. As he threaded me through the crowd, I chattered about the weather, hoping to distract him from my Darling-sized hand. And being kind—and handsome—and having the warmest brown eyes and the nicest smile, Prince Sterling offered his opinions about how blue the sky was and how fine the day. I slipped free from his arm as soon as we reached the Princess.
Her Highness glowed in her pink-and-white gown, from her cheeks to the deep rose of her lips to the sparkle in her sapphire eyes. I had no idea how I was going to talk her out of wearing those shoes, but I had to try.
“Madame Zerlina!” she said. “I’m so pleased you’ve come. You must meet my dear cousin Teresa.”
Lady Teresa blushed a deep crimson, fluttering her dark eyelashes and setting her dark curls dancing. She looked as though she wished she were somewhere else. She wore a white silk dress embroidered with violets and trimmed with green ribbons, which she toyed with nervously.
“A pleasure,” I said, curtsying.
“I was just telling Teresa all about the wonderful wedding gown you are making,” Princess Mariposa continued, “to match the starlight slippers.”
“Indeed,” I said.
“She talks of little else,” Prince Sterling said.
Princess Mariposa laughed.
“The starlight slippers are so very lovely,” I said. “But I am concerned.”
“About what?” Princess Mariposa asked.
“Omens,” I said ominously, lowering my voice.
“Omens?” Princess Mariposa echoed, startled. “What sort of omens?”
“Oh, never mind me,” I said. “It’s just…”
“Yes?” the Princess asked. “Just what?”
“My dear,” I said, drawing her aside, “suspicion hounds me. My heart is troubled over these”—I dropped my voice to a whisper—“opals. I don’t like to say so, but they’re terribly unlucky. Perhaps you should not wear them to your wedding.”
“But—” she began.
A tal
e of doom and disaster—embroidered out of Master Varick’s dire hints about the ghosts of Umber—bloomed on my tongue.
But before I could tell it, Princess Mariposa shook her head. “Opals are mere stones, nothing more,” she said with an understanding smile. “You mustn’t trouble yourself, Madame. I shall be perfectly safe! My grandmother, Queen Candace, wore them. Nothing bad ever happened to her.”
“If you’re sure…,” I said, casting around for another reason she shouldn’t wear the slippers. “But then you can’t wear the shoes I’d imagined for you.”
“Oh?” the Princess replied.
“Lace slippers trimmed with pearls and butterflies. So enchanting! So…you!” I stopped. Even if I could interest Princess Mariposa in another pair of slippers, how would I get Madame Zerlina to whip up my idea?
“You are such a dear, Madame.” The Princess patted my arm. “You probably slaved for days designing dozens of marvelous shoes just for me, but my heart is set on the starlight slippers!”
A gong rang, and the Princess, turning back to the crowd, invited everyone to join her for lunch. My shoulders sagged; I’d had my chance—and I’d mucked it up. I followed a few steps behind, slowing as I walked, thinking now would be a good time to slip away. But a short gentleman in a lavender cutaway coat snagged my arm and buoyed me into the tent. Once there, I had no choice but to find the place card with Madame Zerlina Trinket’s name on it and sit down. To my chagrin, the lavender-coated gentleman sat next to me.
The menu by my place setting read:
Mariposa’s Spring Feast
Cucumber Soup
Spinach Cheese Soufflé
Cod Fillet in Escarole
Lobster Salad with Avocado Cream
Minted New Peas
Roasted Asparagus
Lime Tart
Last summer I’d eaten the Ruby Luncheon. Evidently, Her Highness liked her meals color-coordinated. And loaded with vegetables.
“It all sounds divine,” the lady next to me said, fluttering her menu in my direction. “Don’t you think so?”
“It sounds delicious,” I said, thinking I would eat only a course or two and then excuse myself.
The Starlight Slippers Page 11