“Never you mind, Bear, I’ll go on from here, and see who lives there, then press on to wherever Papa and Maman have moved.” Camille donned her cloak and tied a modest drawstring purse to her belt, a few coins therein-some gold, some silver, some bronze. She loosened a pair of bundles from the rig.
She hugged the Bear about the neck, and said, “In a sevenday, I’ll meet you at this very place and you can carry me back to my beloved prince. You will remember, eh?”
“ Whuff. ”
She gave the Bear another hug, then shouldered her bundles and set out across the field, and the Bear watched her go.
Toward the mansion she went, and tall weeds and grasses swished ’round her boots and leather pants, thistles and burrs and bristly leaves clung to her cloak, and dust and weed pollen rose up ’round her in clouds. Oh, my, but the land lies fallow, overgrown; Papa would be so disappointed at the new owners.
On she strode through the oncoming nightfall, the music getting louder, and now she could hear voices and laughter, and she could see the window sashes were raised wide to let in the summer breeze, while yellow lantern- and candlelight streamed outward. When she reached the manse, she turned and looked for the Bear, but she saw him not in the gathering darkness. Gone into Faery, I suspect.
Faced with waiting rows of coachmen, she paused long enough to cast her hood over her head, then took up her bundles and rounded the end of the mansion. Past idle drivers and horses and carriages she went, some of the conveyances quite elegant, a few of these with footmen as well. On toward the portico she strode, and as she came to the front landing, “Ho, lad,” called out one of the drivers. “If they toss you a bone, save a knuckle for me.” Others laughed at his jest, but Camille paid no heed and stepped onto the porch, where the door stood open as well.
“Here now, boy, and just where do you think you’re going?” demanded the doorman, stepping into her path. “Off with you, and be quick about it. We want no beggars, no bindlestiffs here.”
“But sieur, I would ask: who dwells herein?”
The doorman puffed up his chest and raised his chin; clearly he was pleased at being called sieur by this ignorant boy. He brushed the gloved fingers of his right hand down across the brass buttons of his uniform and, above the sound of music and laughter and gaiety drifting through the open windows and door, he said, “Not that it’s any of your business, mind, but Lord Henri and Lady Aigrette rule here. Now begone, lad.” But then he gave a wink and added, “Though y’ might slip around th’ back and ask Cook for a bite. Dust yourself off afore then, and don’t let the old lady catch y’, eh?”
Even as Camille’s eyes widened in surprise that her mere and pere owned this fine mansion, “With whom are you speaking, Claude?” came a haughty voice, and a tall and quite bald, black-clad majordomo stepped into view and looked down at Camille and sniffed in disdain.
“Just this beggar-lad, sieur. I told him to be off.”
The majordomo pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and flicked it at Camille. “You heard him, boy. Begone, and swiftly, else I’ll set the dogs on you.”
Even as she opened her mouth to reply, “Camille!” came a glad cry, and Giles rushed out and threw his arms about her, and she dropped her bundles and clutched him tightly.
“What are you doing, Master Giles?” demanded the majordomo, horror in his voice. “ ’Tis a beggar-boy! A vagabond! You know not what diseases, what vermin he might carry.” And he reached out to pull Giles away.
“Oh, Pons, this is no beggar-boy,” cried Giles in glee, casting off the majordomo’s hand, “this is my sister!”
Yelling “Papa! Maman! Camille is here!” the eleven-year-old grabbed Camille by a wrist and dragged her inward past the astonished doorman and the dumbfounded majordomo.
“My bundles!” cried Camille, her cloak hood falling away, her golden hair spilling out.
Quickly recovering, “I’ll bring them, ma’amselle,” said the doorman, snatching up the goods and starting after. But at a gesture from haughty Pons, the doorman paused, then servilely followed the majordomo into the manse, trailing far behind the excited lad and Camille.
Down a hallway went Giles, calling, “Papa! Maman! Camille, Camille has come!” They came to a doorway on the right, leading to a small sitting room. Therein Giles found his mother and several matronly ladies, all dressed in fine ball gowns.
“Maman, Camille has come,” said Giles, pulling Camille in after.
Aigrette stood, her eyes flying wide in shock, and she rushed forward. Camille held out her arms for an embrace, but it was Aigrette who now grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her away from the door. With Giles trotting after, down the hall Aigrette dragged Camille, the mother angrily muttering, “What would everyone think of me, should anyone see you like this, all dusty and running with sweat, and is that field weeds and burrs and such I see clinging to your cloak? What were you thinking, Camille? Gave you no thought to me?”
She rushed Camille by an entry to a grand ballroom, and in the swift glimpse Camille caught as she flew past, she saw the chamber was filled with people in finery, stepping out a dance to the music played by musicians on a modest platform beyond. On down a hallway and up a back stair Aigrette scurried, Camille in tow. “We’ve got to get you out of those horrible clothes and scrub that grime from you. No fille of mine is going to come into this house looking like a scruffy beggar-boy.”
“Maman, aren’t you glad to see Camille?” asked Giles, still following.
“Of course I’m glad to see her,” snapped Aigrette, and suddenly her eyes widened in revelation, as if she had just then stumbled across a wonderful idea that only she knew. “Oh, yes, indeed, I am quite glad she has come at this very time.” And Aigrette laughed to herself.
A few more steps down a hallway she went, then shoved Camille into the sitting room of a small suite. “Here, Camille, these are Joie’s quarters, or Gai’s, I am uncertain which.”
“They’re Gai’s,” said Giles.
Aigrette turned on Giles in exasperation. “You go and find one of the maids to help Camille, and be quick about it. And tell no one else, you hear?”
“Yes, Maman,” said Giles, and turned and bolted away.
As the lad rushed out, Aigrette opened a door; it led to the adjoining suite. Growling, she slammed it shut and opened another; a bedchamber lay beyond. Stalking in, she gestured at an archway. “Yon is the wash chamber. Now get you out of those filthy clothes and scrub yourself down.” She opened yet another door, and Camille could see it was a small dressing room, with gowns and such hanging, and shoes on shelves nearby. “And put on a gown suitable for the grand ball below.” Aigrette gestured. “One of Gai’s should fit, for you are of a size. And do something about that hair. I shall return anon.” She rushed back out, nearly running into the doorman-“Out of my way, oaf!”-but standing to one side was the majordomo. “Oh, Pons,” barked Aigrette, “come with me, for I have a very important task for you, and a most splendid task at that.” Together they vanished down the hallway.
“Ma’amselle?” called the doorman, peering in. “Your bundles?”
Nearly in tears, Camille stepped into the sitting room and gestured at one of the chairs. The doorman set the goods on the seat, then touched the brim of his cap and quietly withdrew.
With the help of Milli, the maid that Giles had found, within a candlemark, Camille was dressed in a dark blue gown, with pale blue petticoats under, dark blue shoes on her feet. At her mother’s insistence, underneath was a bustier to accentuate her cleavage. Her hair was artfully woven through with blue satin ribbons matching the blue of the gown. Though she had yielded to her mother’s dictates in all else, Camille stubbornly refused to wear the gaudy, cut-glass tiara, saying that the ribbons were quite enough.
Hissing in fury, Aigrette slammed the diadem down on the dressing table. “You think of only yourself, Camille, but very well, stubborn child.” Then she slipped the cord of the blue fan about Camille’s wrist, a small fold of paper attached. “Now here is your dance card. Pons filled it out at my instructions. Treat your partners well, for they can do me, do us, much good.-Now let us be gone from here and to the ball.”
As Camille glanced one last time in the mirror, “You are quite beautiful, my lady,” said Milli. “The men, their eyes will look nowhere else, while the women’s eyes will all fill with green.”
“Merci, Milli; I am glad you-”
“Come, come, you look well enough, Camille,” impatiently said Aigrette. “Let’s have no more of this prattle; my guests are waiting.”
Out the door and along a hallway they went, to come to a balcony at the head of an elegant, curving stair leading down into the grand ballroom. Aigrette snatched Camille’s hand and kept her from going on. Waiting below
