Once more Giles merely shrugged, but this time he said nought.
Throughout the remainder of the week, Maman never let Camille have respite from the vision of something happening to Alain and she being left without a sou, her family cut off from the annual stipend, and Giles becoming sickly again.
And yet, every evening there was a ball, with Maman quite haughty in her newfound wealth and position, strutting about like a petty lord, showing her bloodstone ring to any and all who would look, telling them that it was but a trifling bauble sent to her by the prince as a minor show of his regard. And every night Aigrette had Pons announce Camille as the Princess of the Summerwood, though she and the entire family knew it was not yet so. Camille grew quite weary of such-her mother’s harangues and of the balls, and the unwanted attentions of many a would-be lover, including the fat old roue Lord Jaufre, who knocked on her door several nights running, asking if she needed company. The only company she desired was that of her Prince Alain, and oh how she longed to return to Summerwood Manor to share quiet evenings with him.
And thus did the seemingly interminable round of exhortations during the day and unwelcome dances at night drag on.
But finally the week of the visit was up, and at the dawning of the following morn, Camille dressed once again in her travelling clothes and made ready to meet the Bear. But even as she slipped down the stairs, Maman stopped her at the door, and she handed Camille the fat candle stub and a full box of matches, saying, “We wouldn’t want the plan to fail should one of the matches not light.”
Sighing, reluctantly Camille tucked the candle and box into her drawstring purse, and then with a cold embrace from Aigrette, across the field she fled. And even before she reached the twilight border, the Bear stepped into view, and Camille ran crying to him and threw her arms about his great neck and sobbed into his fur, “Oh, Bear, I missed you so. Take me back to Summerwood; take me back to my prince.”
“ Whuff. ”
Camille tied on her bundles, and climbed onto the Bear’s broad back, and into Faery they went.
Hindward, in the mansion-“Loose the dogs! Loose the dogs!” cried Lord Jaufre, ponderously thudding along the halls and hammering on bedroom doors.
“What? What is it, Lord Jaufre?” cried Aigrette, running up the stairs and meeting him halfway, the fat old roue puffing down to gather the servants, even as Henri came yawning after to stand at the top of the stairs, his negligee-clad daughters behind, as well as three half-dressed young men, one of them Allard, the husband of Felise, the other two coming after, both having been covertly invited by Joie and Gai to be their overnight guests. Giles was at the top of the stairs as well. Kneeling and peering through the balusters.
“A Bear! A Bear! I saw it from my window!” cried Jaufre. “Lady Camille was out for an early walk, and she was carried off into Faery by a great and savage brown Bear! We’ve got to break out the bows and arrows, the spears and lances, and don our Bear-hunting gear. We must saddle the horses, loose the hawks, and call out the dogs, and go after her… even though it means crossing into that dreaded realm.”
It took Henri until nearly breakfast to convince Jaufre and the three young men that the Bear was nought but Camille’s riding steed.
And then, as Giles grinned and Colette and Felise tittered, and Aigrette and Lisette looked on in disapproval, Henri eyed the two young men upon whose arms Joie and Gai adoringly clung. “Well, now, mes jeunes hommes et jeunes filles, what have you four to say for yourselves?”
16
“Welcomehome, my lady,” said Lanval, a great smile onhis face.
Handed by footmen, Camille slid from the Bear’s back and onto the footstool and then stepped onto the inlaid stone oak, and all the staff, now assembled in the great entry hall, bowed and curtseyed, every face beaming in joyous welcome.
Camille smiled and curtseyed in turn, then said, “Oh, it is so good to be back.”
Footmen unladed the Bear, and Camille said, “Oh, Bear, it is nearly dusk, and I must make ready to see my Alain.” And she hugged the Bear, and then turned and ran up the stairs, calling out, “Blanche, Blanche, to me.”
Dressed in a full white gown with white petticoats under as well, white stockings on her legs and white shoes on her feet, and a strand of white pearls at her throat, and a white-pearl ring on her finger, she stood on the bridge in the lanternlight, while black swans slept below.
Onto the bridge stepped Alain, dressed all in deep indigo blue. And he took her in his arms and kissed her- deeply, longingly, hungrily-and she returned his kiss in kind.
“Oh, my love, but I missed you so,” he said, and then he kissed her again.
When they finally broke apart, “I love you, Alain,” murmured Camille, pressing his hand to her cheek.
They stood a moment in silence, then Alain said, “Come, let us stroll awhile.”
Hand in hand they roamed the gardens, passing among azaleas, their white blossoms stark in the moonlight, and roses, blooming pink and red and yellow. Tiny, violet moss flowers glittered like onyx in the night.
“I think I’ll never go away again, or at least not to visit my mere.”
“Why so, love?”
“Oh, Alain, she made the visit quite terrible.”
“But it should have been enjoyable instead.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Again I ask, why so?”
“Mainly because you were not there, my love. And every night she presented me with an already-filled dance card, and I was to charm those partners for Maman’s advantage. And, ugh, every night I had to dance with Lord Jaufre.”
“Who is Lord Jaufre?”
“An old roue, that’s who. I had to fend him off at every turn, as well as a number of others, rakes all.”
Alain smiled, his grey eyes dancing behind his indigo blue mask. “Though I can hold them accountable for being boors, Camille, I cannot fault them for their splendid taste in women, for you, my love, are quite fetching.”
“Oh, you,” said Camille, tapping him lightly on the arm with her white fan.
They came to the hedge maze, and this night it was illuminated by lanterns within. “I thought we might step therein,” said Alain.
Camille took one of Alain’s wrists in her two hands and, turning backwards and tugging, said, “Oh, let’s do, Alain,” and, laughing, she pulled him into the maze.
Along the labyrinthine rows she went, haling Alain after, laughing at dead ends and twice-trod paths and at finding the entrance again, Alain enjoying her play.
When they came to the entrance for the third time, Alain said, “Love, would you have me show you the way?”
“Ah, tchaa, sieur, think you I know it not?”
Alain shrugged, and Camille said, “I have been toying with you, my lord. Come. Follow me.”
And straightaway she led him to the statues in the center, missing not a turn.
“You, my dear, are a devious wench,” said Alain. “I shall remember the next we play at any game.”
“Games, my lord? Would you play at any game with me?”
He took her in his arms and said, “There is but one game I would play here and now.”
“Then, my lord, play away.”
“They are my sire and dam,” said Alain, now reclining on the grass, his arms wrapped about Camille, she in nought but petticoats, he in but his shirt and mask. Her white gown lay on a stone bench at hand, while his breeks lay on the sward amid the scatter of shoes. No moon stood in the night sky, though a spangle of stars wheeled above.
Camille looked at the pale marble likenesses. “Though handsome, I think I rather like the portraits in the
