The Black Swan (19 page)

He folded and sealed it, and left it on the tray outside his mother's chambers. She'd get it with her other household missives in a few hours.

As for Trinka, his light-of-love at the inn—he had an idea or two about her, as well. But those could wait until afternoon. For now that he had made the initial steps toward redeeming himself, he felt a modicum of relief, and with that relief all the exhaustion of the last day was catching up with him.

He undressed himself without waking any of the servants, fell into his bed, and knew nothing until afternoon.

Q
UEEN Clothilde had grown accustomed to the dull routine of her morning household business, so the letter from Siegfried that she found waiting for her came as a complete surprise. She read the astonishing note from her son for a second time, trying to fathom what was behind it.

There had to be an ulterior motive; she couldn't imagine Siegfried making this request just because he had noticed this poor little sparrow lurking about the Court, picking up whatever crumbs fell her way. It wasn't possible that Siegfried wanted to take this Adelaide as a lover himself—he knew better than to try to place such a woman within her personal household. Clothilde closely supervised her women and her few fosterlings; this was
not
the sort of loose household where ladies and female foster children could get into escapades, and everyone knew it. Her son also knew what her wrath would be like if he tried to meddle with her ladies.

Still. He'd all but declared that her brother-in-law was open to such immoral suggestions—by all that was holy, he'd all but accused Sir Hans of being open to auctioning off his sister-in-law to the highest bidder! Could it be that some young friend of his had an eye to the woman with honorable intentions, but couldn't get his family past the lack of dowry?

He can be generous, so long as his generosity doesn't cost him much in the way of personal exertion,
she reflected, lips pursed, and scanned the lines about the girl's expected loyalty and gratitude. Well, that was certainly true—and was why she preferred to get her ladies from among those in much the same case as Lady Adelaide. When you couldn't get a husband because you had no dowry, and very few holy orders would accept you for the same reason, the promise of a comfortable life in exchange for much the same tasks that you would be doing anyway was very enticing.

And if you had to put up with chastity and the queen's temper—well, that was no worse than being in a convent, and at least you didn't spend most of your time on your knees.

In the rare event that a man was willing to brave the queen's gaze long enough to properly court a lady in her household, then was bold enough to ask her for permission to wed the lady, she actually had given her permission—provided, of course, that the lady in question was still going to be free to continue most of her services to the queen.
If one of his friends
does
wish to wed this lady, I'm sure he'll provide a dowry, without my saying a word.
She nodded; clearly she had already made up her mind, provided that the girl had the proper skills.

“Send a page to find the Lady Adelaide, the sister-in-law of Sir Hans,” she ordered one of the others. “Bring her here to me.”

The woman went off to find a page; the queen had made the deliberate decision not to reveal why she wished to see Lady Adelaide, for if there was something underhanded going on, the girl's behavior would likely reveal it.

There was nothing else on her plate concerning household matters this morning, and as she waited for Lady Adelaide to appear, she reflected that there actually was plenty of room in her household for another set of hands. This was particularly true if the woman had skill with the needle. In fact, it was possible that taking her in would solve an ongoing situation before it actually became a problem. . . .

The page entered and bowed, interrupting her thoughts; he was no more than seven or eight years old, but clearly took his duties very seriously. “Lady Adelaide, Majesty,” he said, in a piping soprano, and the lady herself hurried in at his heels, flushed and shabby, to sink to the floor, skirts spread about her, into a formal court curtsy before the queen.

Well, she knows her manners, at least.
Clothilde surveyed the woman dispassionately for a moment.
Too young and too pretty for her own good. Far too easy for her keeper to find someone willing to take her off his hands, as long as marriage isn't involved. I wonder how she feels about that?

“You may rise, lady,” she said aloud, “And as we are not in formal court, you may take a seat.”

The girl did so, properly taking the lowest stool in the room for her own chair, and waiting with her hands folded gracefully in her lap, her large, blue-violet eyes fixed on Clothilde's face. Clothilde fingered her son's letter, and decided to come straight to the point. “The prince has seen fit to bring you to my attention, and recommend you to a position in my household,” she said bluntly. “Have you any notion why he should do so?”

The surprise in the guileless blue eyes told her that this was not something that the two of them had brewed up between them. “Why—no!” Adelaide stammered. “I c-cannot imagine why he should take such trouble—I have not so much as spoken to him—n-not that I would dare to—b-but—”

Clothilde, waved her hand, cutting off the flood of words. “Siegfried knows that pretty women with insufficient protection are vulnerable,” she replied casually, watching the girl out of hooded eyes. “Especially if their male relations consider themselves to have been—how shall I put this gracefully?”

“Burdened with their keeping?” The girl replied a touch bitterly, having recovered her composure, and showing more sense than Clothilde would have given her credit for. “I am dowerless, Majesty, and my good brother-in-law has made no secret of the fact that he wishes that Rolf had never wedded me. He would be far happier if his brother had died a bachelor. And—he
has
given some hints about the prince's possible interest that I chose to believe were merely a coarse jest—”

The girl now blushed such a deep crimson that it must have been painful to her fair, transparent skin, but Clothilde thought there was a touch of anger there as well as embarrassment. “And you felt—what?” she asked, leaning forward. “You may be frank here, child. We are alone, and my son's history with women is no secret to me.”

Adelaide dropped her eyes to her clenched hands. “I told him that the prince's interest was of no consequence to me, as his wife I could not be, and his leman I
would
not be.”

Well, there was a real spirit there! “Brave words, child. Did you consider your keeper's possible anger? Sir Hans
does
have the right to determine your conduct,” Clothilde pointed out, interested now. The girl showed sense and courage as well as intelligence. She might well be a good acquisition, better than the queen had anticipated. “He can dispose of you however he chooses, and if that disposition meant that you were provided for, very few would chide him, no matter how unconventional that disposition.”

“He does
not
have the right to determine that I be thrown into a life of sin!” Adelaide replied, leaving the queen with no doubt that she considered her virtue to be more important than her poverty. “I had made up my mind that if he attempted to force me to such a pause, though I have no vocation, I would go to the Poor Claires. At least there, my soul would be safe.”

And the Poor Claires would be the only ones willing to take her dowerless,
the queen reflected without pity. The Poor Claires were a religious order that accepted any woman regardless of the poverty or lack of it that she brought with her—and expected every member to work at every task, however lowly, however mean, however difficult. They labored in leper hospitals, they nursed beggars, they owned nothing, not even the habits they wore. They
were
known for the excellence of their embroidery, but that was the only genteel occupation they practiced.
So she is willing to drudge herself into an early grave, nursing lepers and scrubbing pots, if she must. This
is
promising.

“Have you any skill with the needle, child?” she asked, changing the subject.

Adelaide's flush faded, and she looked up again. “Tolerable, Majesty,” she replied with confidence. “I kept myself and Sir Rolf well clothed, to the limit of his purse at any rate, and I was taught fine work by my aunt as a child—my aunt served the Empress.”

“Here—” the queen rose and extended her hand, drawing the girl to her feet and leading her to the Queen's own embroidery frame at the window. “Let me see what you can do.”

Without hesitation, the girl sat at the frame and began where the queen had left off, in a band of silk and goldwork intended for a sleeve. She worked neatly and precisely, taking care with each stitch to conserve the precious materials—in fact, she took more care than the queen would have. Every stitch was beautifully and perfectly set, following the pattern that had been pricked into the precious damask. After that, there was no question in Clothilde's mind.

“That will do,” the queen said, when the girl had finished the leaf she'd begun. Adelaide looked up to see the queen smiling, and smiled in return. “The prince was right to recommend you. I assume you have no other duties and no real responsibilities to Sir Hans?” Adelaide shook her head. “Very well, you can begin at once as a member of my household, and have your belongings brought to my ladies' rooms.” She turned to the oldest of her women, the aging Lady Gisele, homely as a plowhorse and just as poor as Adelaide. “Gisele, take this child in charge. Put her in with you, and teach her to share your duties.” Gisele looked pleased and grateful—at near fifty, she was finding it increasingly difficult to embroider and complete her other duties, as her hands stiffened and her joints swelled in the winter. Adelaide looked equally grateful; Gisele looked, and was, kind to the younger women. Adelaide would be able to run the errands that Gisele no longer could.

“What state is your wardrobe in, child?” the queen continued, eyeing the much-patched and darned, rusty black gown she wore. True, the patches and darns were made so cleverly as to be
almost
invisible, but not to the practiced eye of the queen. Again, Adelaide blushed.

“I have only this gown and another,” she whispered. “And the other—is not so good.”

Ah. An opportunity for earning more loyalty inexpensively.
“Gisele, take her to the storeroom and draw out linen for shifts and chemises, boiled wool for a cloak, fabric for a winter gown, and something lighter for a summer gown,” Clothilde ordered, “Then take her to the shoemaker and get her well-shod for now and for winter. If my ladies appear less than well-gowned, it reflects poorly on us all.”

The girl's flush of embarrassment mingled with a look of pleasure, and a melting gratitude that inspired a little more generosity from the queen.

“And as she is in mourning—give her the black gowns from my chest to remake for herself, the ones from my first year as Queen Regent. That should see her through her mourning period.”
I shall never wear those mourning gowns again, old as they are. I doubt I could fit them, these days, since they are from eighteen years ago.
“You and I are of the same size—or you are as I
was
when I was in mourning for the king,” she told Adelaide, who now looked bedazzled by her good fortune. “I think they will serve you for now, with some slight alterations, quickly and easily done. That will give you the time to sew your own gowns properly.” The gowns in question were of an older, fuller cut; worn seams could be cut back or the fabric turned to look as good as new. If the girl was careful, there was a great deal of black-on-black and white-on-black silk embroidery on those gowns that could be picked out, the threads reused. Or, alternately, the bands of trim could be cut off when the gowns were too worn to be turned and remade, and the trim could be applied to her new gowns.

“You may go with Gisele now, child, and fetch your things, then get settled in and begin your duties,” the queen finished, and the girl stood quickly, making a briefer curtsy before leaving with the older woman. The queen settled back, well content with the results of her son's request. There had been no question of a wage, of course; Lady Adelaide would have been insulted had the queen mentioned one. The queen's ladies were unpaid—but in return for their service they lived in the Royal Quarters, ate at the High Table, got regular allotments of fabrics from the Royal Stores, got the queen's cast-offs to make into garments for themselves, and received regular presents from the queen herself in the form of pin money, jewels, and other small luxuries. She was a
great
deal better off now than she had been a mere moment ago, knew it, and would work herself to the bone to show it.

Clothilde settled back in her chair, well pleased with the morning's work.