The Diamond Slipper (42 page)

They had so little experience of the world outside their shuttered apartments on the rue du Bac that they were tongue-tied, staring at their feet, when they reached the king. They only remembered to curtsy when they saw Cordelia sweeping into a deep obeisance at the king’s feet.

Toinette leaned forward in her chair, beckoning them to her. “I have some sweetmeats,” she said warmly, gesturing to a flunky holding a silver salver of cakes and pastries. The children looked up at Leo and Cordelia, too shy to move a muscle. The king laughed, selected two marzipan roses from
the salver, and gave one to each child, then with great good humor turned to Madame du Barry, signaling that the audience was over.

Toinette rose from her chair. “Let us walk with the children, Cordelia. Do you accompany us, Viscount Kierston?” This last was a trifle imperious, breaking into Leo’s conversation with Madame du Barry, who stood at the king’s right shoulder.

Leo smiled politely but his eyebrows lifted a little as he bowed to the young woman, whose nose was definitely in the air, her eyes studiously averted from the king’s mistress. “I am yours to command, of course, madame.”

“Then I command that you accompany us,” Toinette declared, now trying to sound lighthearted and teasing. But the attempt was too late to reverse the effect of her outright snub to Madame du Barry, who stood glaring, her mouth pinched, her cheeks white beneath the rouge. The king was looking most displeased, but Toinette appeared not to notice.

“I do not believe
madame ma mère
would expect me to mingle with whores,” she said in a defiant undertone as they moved away from the circle fawning at the king’s feet.

“I imagine the empress would expect her daughter to behave with courtesy,” Leo said. Despite his own wretchedness, he couldn’t stand aside and see the child make such a dreadful mistake. “If you make an enemy of the du Barry, madame, you will play into the hands of those who would use you to cause trouble at court. That will not please the king.”

“I follow my conscience, my lord,” Toinette declared loftily. “And my conscience is answerable only to God.” She gave a short nod of her head in punctuation. “Let’s go into the gardens and show Amelia and Sylvie the peacocks and the fountains.”

The girls, who were beginning to recover from the ordeal of the king’s audience and to examine their exotic
surroundings with more interest, exclaimed with delight at this prospect, tugging on Leo’s hands.

Leo bowed with more than a hint of irony and gave up. He had far more pressing concerns. “If you’ll excuse me, madame.” He strode away.

Toinette seemed barely to notice. “I am having a concert this afternoon, Cordelia; you must bring the children. Signor Percossi is to play for us. And there’s to be a dancer too.”

“A dancer?”

“Yes, she’s called Clothilde, I believe. He requested it most specifically.”

“Oh.” Despite everything, Cordelia smiled with pleasure. Christian must have summoned up his courage to approach the dancer. “Do you have music lessons, Sylvie?”

Sylvie’s nose wrinkled. “Madame de Nevry teaches us.”

“But we don’t think she can play,” Amelia interjected. “She makes a terrible noise.”

“Yes, all thumps. It doesn’t sound a bit like music,” her sister continued. “And she makes us go up and down the keys.” They both ran their fingers over an imaginary keyboard, singing out the scales in their high and not very tuneful voices.

“Oh, how unpleasant.” Cordelia grimaced sympathetically, but her mind was racing as a plan took shape. “I’ll have to see if I can’t arrange a better music teacher for you. All girls must learn to play, isn’t that so, Toinette?”

The dauphine nodded in fervent agreement. “And sing and dance too. You’ll see how amusing it can be.”

The girls didn’t look convinced, but they had reached the gardens now and all thought of music lessons vanished in the pleasures of the outdoors.

“His Highness is not receiving today,” Monsieur Brion haughtily informed the governess, who stood in the corridor
outside their apartments. He held the door at his back, effectively barring her entrance.

“And when will the prince be receiving?” Louise put on all her airs. She was a relative of the prince’s, not to be put off by a mere servant.

“He hasn’t said. I suggest you return to your own quarters, madame, and he will send for you when he is so inclined.” Brion stepped back into the room and began to close the door.

“You will tell him I wish to speak with him?” Louise pleaded desperately as the door closed against her nose. There was no response.

She lurked in the corridor, muttering to herself. She didn’t trust Brion to pass on her message, or at least not in a timely fashion. And it was vitally important she tell her tale to the prince as soon as possible. She would tell him that if her authority was to be flouted after all these years, then she must hear it from his own lips. Of course, she would bow to the prince’s commands, but he would understand her position. The princess was so young; she was playing at the novelty of motherhood. Soon she would become bored, and court pleasures would seduce her from the schoolroom. And the governess would be left with fractious, disappointed, spoiled children.

She hovered outside the door, rehearsing her speech under her breath, trying to look assured, as if she had good reason to be where she was, becalmed on the tide of scurrying servants and chattering, fan-flourishing courtiers whose jeweled heels taptapped on the marble floors as they hurried past. Everyone was in a hurry and no one cast a sideways glance at the red-nosed, watery-eyed governess with her unfashionable wig and dowdy gown.

Louise glanced anxiously at her fob watch. It was nearing one o’clock and the children had been gone for two hours. She should return to her own quarters, but she kept hoping that the prince would emerge. Just because Brion said he wasn’t receiving didn’t necessarily mean that he wasn’t.
Brion was a malicious beast and would enjoy her discomfiture, she thought with compressed lips.

A servant walked by with a pair of spaniels straining at a leash. The dogs stopped and sniffed at the governess’s shoes, the hem of her gown. In one disdainful glance, the manservant appraised Madame de Nevry, put her down as a charity case, a poor relation, maybe even an upper servant, although her dress was a trifle dowdy for the upper echelons of a servants’ hall in any powerful household. He let the leash go slack and a wet nose pushed up beneath Louise’s petticoat. The servant stared indifferently around, making no attempt to drag the animals away, as if the governess were merely a tree trunk for the dogs’ convenience.

“Oh, go away!” she squeaked, backing against the wall.

The servant grinned. “They’re only being friendly,” he said.

“Take them away!” She brushed at them, trying to straighten her skirt. “Horrible little animals.”

“Don’t you let His Grace of Burgundy hear you say that. Dear me, no.” The man shook his head in mock reproof. “These two are more precious to the duke than his own children.”

He was making game of her and she could do nothing about it, backed up as she was against the wall with the slobbering snuffling dogs at her ankles. Tears of frustration pricked behind her eyes. She knew she was the butt of kitchen jokes in the rue du Bac, but why some complete stranger should pick upon her she couldn’t imagine.

“Madame de Nevry!” The princess’s voice chimed from behind the odious footman. “Did you wish for something? For goodness sake, man, pull those dogs off. Can’t you see that Madame has a dislike of the animals?”

The servant, recognizing the voice of authority, tugged his forelock and dragged the dogs away. Cordelia surveyed the red-faced governess with a raised eyebrow. “The children are with the nursemaid. They should have dinner and a
rest before they attend the dauphine’s musical entertainment this afternoon.”

The princess’s coldly arrogant tone was a timely reminder of Madame’s grievances. She drew herself upright, her pursed mouth almost disappearing. “I understood that you had taken responsibility for the children, Princess. You made it very clear that I was not needed.”

“And you were perhaps going to discuss that with my husband?” Cordelia asked softly, her eyes narrowed.

Louise almost flinched. “I wish to clarify matters with my cousin.”

Cordelia stood in frowning silence for a minute.

“Walk with me awhile, madame.” She took the governess’s arm and marched her away down the corridor before Louise had time to recover from her astonishment. “Listen carefully,” Cordelia continued in a conversational tone of voice that passed unnoticed among the chattering crowds. “I can only assume that my husband hasn’t noticed that you reek like a pickle barrel, but I assure you that everyone else is aware of it. Myself, Viscount Kierston, Monsieur Brion, every member of the household right down to the potboy.”

Louise gave an outraged gasp and tried to pull her arm free, but the princess for all her slenderness was more than a physical match for the governess. “I will not be spoken to—”

“Tush!” Cordelia interrupted. “You will listen, madame. I intend to involve myself in the children’s welfare, and in every aspect of their education. You will say nothing of this to Prince Michael, and you will make no attempt to thwart me. If you do, then I promise you that the prince will know that a drunken sot has charge of his daughters. I leave you to imagine the consequences for yourself.”

Louise was winded. She gasped like a gaffed fish, her face gray. It had never occurred to her that her numerous dips into her little silver flask left any trace. She had no idea she smelled of brandy. No idea that her bloodshot eyes and
sometimes unsteady gait and her frequent dozes gave her away. She had thought herself perfectly safe from detection in the schoolroom with two tiny children.

“Do we have an understanding, madame?” Cordelia demanded crisply, plying her fan with her free hand. She smiled and curtsied to an acquaintance as she continued to march the governess along. “Your silence in exchange for mine.”

Louise’s head reeled. More than anything, she wanted a nip from her flask to clear her thoughts. “I … I will deny it. How dare you talk to me in such fashion,” she managed to say.

Cordelia gave a short laugh. “There are too many witnesses for a denial to pass muster, madame. And I can safely promise you that they will step forward if I ask it of them. You are not very popular, you know,” she added almost cajolingly, suddenly switching tactics. “And I have only the children’s best interests at heart, as I am sure have you. We will work together to make them happy.”

Louise’s only response was an inarticulate moan, but Cordelia judged she had won the day. “We will start tomorrow,” she said cheerfully. “I will introduce the girls to a musician friend of mine. A very influential friend,” she fibbed, “who will undertake their musical instruction. And since I’m certain they’ll make great progress under his tuition, their father will be very pleased. And, of course, you will take all the credit.”

She stopped where two corridors branched, the left one leading to the children’s quarters. “So, do we have an understanding?”

Louise was now flushed, but she could think of nothing to say. She ducked her head in a gesture that could have been agreement, pulled her arm free of Cordelia’s, and scuttled away.

Cordelia nibbled her bottom lip, wondering if she’d overreached herself. She’d offered both blackmail and bribery.

Would it be enough to keep the governess silent and turning a blind eye for the necessary time? Leo had said he would have passports within two days. If she could get the children into the town to Mathilde in Christian’s lodgings without Michael’s being aware of it, then they would have taken an important step. Just as long as Louise would keep quiet about a supposed music lesson.

She turned and thoughtfully made her way back to her own apartments. Michael was sitting in the salon, looking pale and drawn, when she entered.

“The king was very pleased with your daughters, my lord,” she said almost indifferently. “The dauphine walked with them in the gardens, and they are bidden to attend her at a concert this afternoon.”

Michael glowered. The leech had taken copious amounts of blood, and he felt too weak to take exception to her tone. “I will accompany you myself,” he stated, taking a deep draught of the hot milk punch that he hoped would put blood back in his veins.

Cordelia curtsied. “If you feel well enough, my lord.”

“Damn you! Of course I’m well enough!” He stared at her and the horrendous suspicion popped into his head that perhaps she had done this to him. Witchcraft? Could she be a witch? Absurd thought. But it wouldn’t leave him. Something had drained all the strength from him while he’d been sleeping. While he’d been unconscious, something had filled his head with those ghastly images, those fearful premonitions that still haunted him in the bright sunlight of a new day.

His wife? His child bride? That willful, defiant, intractable chit?

Under his fixed stare, Cordelia felt pinned like a rabbit mesmerized by the fox. She couldn’t imagine what thoughts could produce such dreadful menace. Had he looked at Elvira in that way? When he’d decided to kill her?

O God, help me
. The prayer went round and around in
her head. She who put little faith in prayer. With a supreme effort of will, she smiled into those terrible pale eyes and excused herself. And in her deserted chamber, she hung over the commode, dryly retching as if she could rid herself of her terror.

Chapter Twenty-two