“I said,” he repeated, “will I be the next? And yes, I have returned.” He straightened and, I’m sure, noticed the blush as he smiled an annoying half smile of someone who knows he’s the cause of discomfort.
“I’m sorry, the next for what?” I asked, hoping he hadn’t seen the notes I’d just shoved in my pocket and wasn’t referring to “next on the list to die.” I took my hand back, confused and possibly a little flustered again at his proximity. Not to mention the hand kiss.
“For singing, of course,” he replied. “Will you be making a choir of the royal family do you think?”
“Ha!” I said, scooting past him, and continuing my walk up the path. Relief flooded me. OK, he hadn’t seen the notes. Whew!
“I should hope that won’t be necessary,” I replied to his question, feeling much better now that there was some distance between us. This was not good, not good at all. I liked it better when he was mean. He was a lot easier to dislike then. Probably I just wasn’t used to him being around; that’s why I was feeling this way. He’d been gone for weeks. Genevieve had become downright mopey. I had actually been relieved in a way. Out of sight, out of mind. Although, I’ll have to admit I did think of him. A lot. I may or may not even admit to having a little bag of rocks under one of the many pillows on my bed.
“I heard ladies singing through the hallways just now. I think I may have even heard one of the chambermaids humming. I think you’ve bewitched the castle.”
“Oh come now,” I rebutted. “I haven’t heard da Vinci singing yet. Until that happens, I’m sure my work is not complete!”
“No, but he was whistling in his gardens this morning when I dropped by for a visit. He said you had just been there.”
It’s true, I had. After my new role as music teacher began, it had been a while since I’d had time to go visit da Vinci. He loved asking questions about the future, and I loved telling him and seeing his eyes light with awe when he imagined the things that would come after his lifetime. Very carefully, he had taken apart my iPhone, sketching each step so he knew exactly how to put it back together. The thought crossed my mind that I’d probably have to grab those drawings and burn them someday, fairly certain Steve Jobs would thank me.
Not being much of a science or technology buff myself, it took forever just to explain exactly what a battery was, and why it was important for making the phone function. I also had to explain how important it was to keep dust out of the phone...can’t say that the 16th century was very dust free. He kept it under a cheesecloth to keep it clean while it was open. I had also remembered watching various YouTube videos where people had successfully charged their phones using fruits or vegetables. I didn’t know whether it really worked or not, but it was worth a try, right? I’d started filching fresh fruits and vegetables whenever I could to take them to da Vinci. The only problem was, I didn’t have a cord. Which is why he needed to take the phone apart. Aside from curiosity, I’m pretty sure his scientific brain had to figure out how such a thing could work. I’d left him mumbling something about copper and zinc and making wire of some sort. I hoped he had covered up his work before the prince had stopped in. I wasn’t prepared to share that information with anyone else yet.
“Whistling in the garden, you say?” Whew, that meant the prince probably hadn’t gone inside. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t take credit for that. I can’t whistle to save my life,” I told him, and demonstrated by puckering up my lips and blowing nothing but air through them. “See?”
But the look on the prince’s face didn’t look like he was thinking about whistling. Dang it, why did I draw attention to my lips? I slapped a gloved hand over the offending projection.
“So,” I said, as I turned to walk on the path once again and somewhat hide my embarrassment, “where have you been? Or is that too forward of me to ask?” I called to him over my shoulder to see if he’d follow. Catching up to me, he matched his steps to mine as we continued walking.
“It is forward, yes. I was on errands for my father.” I dared a glance in his direction and noticed his brow furrowed in thought. His hands clasped tightly behind his back as he walked.
“That bad, hmmm? Doesn’t he have other people to send on errands?”
“Yes, of course. But the king sends whom he wants at any given moment.”
“Ah, well. It was rather dull around here without Genevieve throwing imaginary darts in my direction every time she looked at me. She’s been impatiently awaiting your return.” Hmmm, imaginary darts. Maybe they weren’t so imaginary. Could Genevieve actually be cruel enough to kill small animals and leave nasty threats? I’d have to think about that.
“Genevieve. She isn’t,” he started, then stopped, trying to explain himself. “I mean to say, she and I,..” He seemed to be having trouble getting it out. “We are not…” He stopped walking and grabbed my hand, turning me toward him. That familiar tingle went up my arm again.
“You aren’t...what? Betrothed?”
“No. We are not,” he said, noticeably relieved at having said it. He looked down at our clasped hands.
“I know. Nicole told me. However, I don’t think anyone has told Genevieve,” I said, with a chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. His eyes met mine then, and my heart started beating double-time again. Just then, as if on cue, the very person we’d been discussing came into view.
“Prince Charles! I didn’t know you had returned,” she said with forced cheerfulness through a fake smile. I wondered if she could see our hands together and I tried to extricate mine from his as delicately as possible, but he held it firm.
“Yes, just,” he replied to her. “I was saying to M’moiselle Blanchet how I’d heard she had the entire castle singing in my absence.”
She nodded in my direction and said, “As a matter of fact, M’moiselle Blanchet, I came out to find you. The Queen would like a word with you in her day room.”
“I’d better go then,” I said, turning to the prince as he reluctantly let go of my hand. I curtsied and thanked Genevieve for the message, then quickly walked up the pathway back toward the castle, hearing her voice fade in the distance. “Why did you not come find me upon your return?” she was saying.
“A moment please,” he said to her. He raised his voice so I could hear. “M’moiselle Blanchet?” he asked, stopping me in my tracks before reaching the door.
“Yes, your Highness?” I asked, turning.
“You never answered my question.”
“I’m sorry, what question was that?” I returned, trying to remember a question I might have forgotten.
“Will I be next?”
Oh goodness. Next for what?! What was he talking about? Why was my brain so foggy around him? I tipped my head and looked at him quizzically.
“Next for what, sire?”
“To learn how to sing,” he stated.
“As you wish,” I answered with a slight bow, sounding very much like a Wesley to his Buttercup.
* * *
I hurried to the queen’s rooms, trying not to think of what might be going on back in the garden. Trying not to think that Genevieve might actually be threatening me just when I thought we could become friends. And trying even harder not to think about the prince and those darn piercing eyes. Upon entering the room, and finding the queen, I bowed in front of her.
“You called for me, your Majesty?” I asked, keeping my head down, eyes on the floor until she gestured for me to rise.
“Yes, Mademoiselle Blanchet. I wanted to know how well goes the music lessons?” she asked.
“Very well, your Majesty. I am quite pleased with my, beg pardon, your students.”
In the subsequent weeks that had followed our first lesson, music practice continued every afternoon. Little by little, the queen’s ladies-in-waiting learned to sing parts, how to harmonize, and even began picking at certain instruments. I had to teach them rhythm and how to count a beat. Not having any percussion instruments on hand, we rummaged in the kitchens
to make some ourselves. Finding a hollowed out gourd and adding grain made a great little shaker. Louise was our best rhythm keeper. She took to it like she’d been hearing a beat in her head her whole life. Nicole was learning the basics of the smaller lute. Genevieve proved that she was quite proficient at the harpsichord, having had lessons before. Chantal loved plucking chords on the harp. Most surprising of all was Fleur. She chose the violone, or stand-up bass. Timid thing that she was, she also had good rhythm and so I taught her chords on the bass that she plucked with the gusto of an accomplished jazz musician. She was like a sponge, soaking in every lesson like she couldn’t get enough. I didn’t know a lot of all bass songs, but one of my favorites was “Crazy for You” by Adele. So I started teaching it to her and she was nearly ready to play back-up for me. I had to admit, it was kind of astonishing. I couldn’t ever remember reading much about women of the 16th century, but this group was truly talented.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” the queen was saying, snapping me out of my reverie. “Do you think they are ready to perform of an evening?”
“Oh!” I thought, looking around the room, imagining them there. “Well, I suppose they might be,” I began, not sure at all if that was something they wanted to do. Playing among your friends is all well and good, but who knew how they would do in a performance?
“That is to say, I could ask them,” I stated a little more resolutely. Maybe the queen was testing me? Or maybe she was testing her ladies? I never quite knew.
“Please do. Tell them the king and I would like to hear them all perform in two days time. Will that be sufficient?” Uh, like you could say no to a Queen?
“Yes, of course, your Majesty. We will be ready by then.”
“Very well.” She said, and waved me off with her hand. “You may go.”
I made a beeline to the music room, hoping to find someone there. More often than not, it was occupied before I could even get there. Sure enough, I could hear the strings of the bass being plucked before I entered the room. As I rounded the doorway, I saw that Fleur wasn’t alone. Chantal and Louise were also with her.
“Oh ladies! I’m so glad you’re here,” I exclaimed as I came into the room. “I’m just returning from a visit with the queen.”
“Is she very upset that we don’t sit with her as long in the mornings?” worried Fleur.
“No, no. Not at all. At least, she didn’t say. However,” I began, not quite knowing what the reaction would be, “She did ask if…”
“Who asked what?” Nicole interrupted, bounding into the room in her usual way.
“I was just about to tell the others. The Queen has asked if you are all ready to, well, ready to perform with me for the king and queen?” There was a collective gasp and a look of horror on Fleur’s face.
“Surely not!?” she questioned. I could see the color draining from her face.
“Really?” Nicole asked. “They would like to hear us?”
“Well,” I replied, “I was half wondering if it’s to test my ability to teach.”
“Hmmm,’ Nicole answered, nodding her head thoughtfully. “That just might be. One never knows with the queen. Do you think we’re ready?”
I looked around the room at each lady-in-waiting, quickly assessing each one.
“You know,” I looked back at Nicole “I do think you are. But we would have to work hard between now and then.”
“Between now and when?” asked Chantal suspiciously.
“Oh, I suppose I didn’t say, did I? It would seem that the queen would like us to perform in two day’s time,” I dropped the bombshell. For a split second, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. But then, the cacophony!
“What?”
“Two days!”
“Has she lost her mind?”
“Are you sure?”
Followed by a loud CLUNK as Fleur hit the floor in a dead faint. Louise jumped up in time only to catch the violone before it fell on top of her. Chantal rushed to fan Fleur’s face and pulled a vial of smelling salts from her pocket. Oh dear. They didn’t take that too well. I wondered how I was going to be able to convince them.
“What is going on in here?” demanded Genevieve, as she came upon our lovely scene, which, had it been an impressionist painting would have been titled ‘Fainted Lady Amongst the Strings.’ Just then I noticed that the prince was with her too. He assessed the situation and went straight to Fleur’s assistance by lifting her and placing her on the sofa. Oh, well, that made for a much better impressionist painting, I must say. Trying not to giggle out of hysteria, I turned to answer Genevieve.
“I was just saying that the queen wishes for you all to join me in performing in two day’s time,” I got out all at once, and maybe spoken a little two fast.
“What?” Genevieve exclaimed. “In two days?”
“Yes,” I gestured toward Fleur. “Hence the fainting bout.”
“It could have been worse,” Chantal interjected, “if Louise hadn’t caught the violone.”
“Quite,” Nicole nodded as she handed a damp cloth to the prince she had fetched from the sideboard. Fleur’s eyes fluttered open as she came to.
“Are you alright?” asked the prince.
“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you for coming to my aid, sire,” she said, trying to sit up.
“Slowly,” he reminded her, so the blood wouldn’t rush to her head again.
“I am fine,” she countered, rubbing the back of her head as if to rub away the bump that was undoubtedly forming. “Just a shock, is all.”
I sat down next to her, taking her hand into mine. “Fleur, you of all people are the most ready. You practice day and night. You have a wonderful talent. All of you do.” I included them all, looking at them each one at a time. “We can just sing, if that makes you feel better. We’ll all sing together, and not worry about instruments at all.”
“But Isabelle,” Louise interjected, “look what I had made in town.” She pulled out what looked to be little hand drums: two small cylinders with animal skin stretched tight over each. One was slightly bigger than the other, so when she tapped one and then the other, they made different sounds. I couldn’t believe it. I was staring at 16th-century bongo drums!
“Louise, that’s wonderful!” I exclaimed with delight.
“I do feel more comfortable playing the violone,” Fleur added. Looking around the room expectantly, the others started to chime in.
“I’m always game,” added Nicole. “It’ll be fun!”
Chantal agreed as well. “If you think we can do it,” she echoed.
All that was left was Genevieve. Six pairs of eyes turned to her expectedly.
“Oh fine,” she responded, sounding exasperated. “If I must. Though, I’m sure my father would not approve.”
“Well then,” said the prince as he rose from the chair he was sitting on next to Fleur, “I will get out of your way so you may all prepare.”
“Unless you’d like to stay and listen?” I suggested hopefully.
“As much as I would like that,” he replied, “there is much for me to do since my return.” I looked at the floor hoping to hide the disappointment on my face.
“But…” he added, as he took my hand and helped me to stand, “I’ll stop in and listen whenever time permits.” I nodded. He turned to everyone in the room and bowed. “Ladies, until next time,” he said, then turned back to leave the room. I felt the slight pressure of a squeeze on my hand before he let it drop. I would have thought I’d imagined it, but inside my palm was a scrap of parchment. I slipped it into my pocket before I clapped my hands and, with a voice filled with excitement masking my own fears, said, “Ladies, come. We have a show to put together!”
It wasn’t until I entered my own chamber, hours later and exhausted from the demanding afternoon, that I remembered the scrap of parchment in my pocket. I sat down on my bed, so tempted to curl up and sleep rather than muster the energy it would take to dress for dinner. I pulled out the scrap an
d carefully opened it up. It contained two scribbled words: stables midnight.
My heart skipped a beat. Meeting the prince at midnight sounded like a challenge I wouldn’t be able to resist. But right at this very moment, I couldn’t resist my pillow any longer and laid my head down, thinking a quick nap was all I needed before supper. I curled up in the soft comforter, the note held tightly in my hand, next to my heart.
Chapter 13
“Hello?” I whispered. “Is anyone here?”
I wasn’t sure what time it was. Just moments before I had awakened with a start, wondering where I was, so deep had been my sleep. For a few hazy minutes I had even thought I was back in my own room in 2014, clothing heaped upon it and pushed to one side. I could almost smell the Bounce dryer sheet mixed in with my clothes–until the sleep cleared from my eyes, and a shiver ran up my spine from the cold room. The moonlight poured in from the window, and there was no fire in the grate. Nope. I was still in a cold castle. I wondered how long I’d been sleeping. Obviously, I’d missed dinner since the castle was quiet. My stomach rumbled its complaints. Too bad, I told it, it would have to wait for morning...unless I got up the nerve to make my way to the kitchens on my own. Another grumble. Oh, so tempting. Something niggled at the back of my mind, like something I was supposed to remember. Midnight! The Stables! I remembered the parchment I’d had in my hand, but it was no longer there. I searched all over the bed, thinking it must have fallen out while I slept. But I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t a dream, was it? The prince really had put it in my hand earlier, right? I looked out the window to see if I could determine how high the moon was in the sky. I’d bet it was nearing midnight, or past it. So I jumped from the bed, finger-combed my hair, which had escaped its neat up-do, and ran to the door to peek out into the hall. All was clear. Now, just where, exactly, were the stables?
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