In Shadows

Angelique knocked on the door of Augustina's room.

"Who is it?"

"It's Angelique."

There was a moment of silent pause on the other side of the door before Augustina's voice issued forth from. "Come in."

Angelique pushed the door open. The rooms of the ladies-in-waiting were not huge, certainly nothing to compare to Cinderella's spacious apartments, but that only made sense since they spent most of their in Cinderella's chambers anyway and their own rooms were mostly just for sleeping in. Nevertheless there was a little desk sat against the wall and it was at that desk that Augustina sat, wearing a dress of lilac and lavender. Judging by the book sitting on the table she had been reading when Angelique came in.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Angelique said, as she leaned against the door frame.

Augustina shrugged. She plucked her pince-nez, which she wore for reading, off the bridge of her nose and set them down on the desk. "It's not as if I was doing something important. Did you need something?"

"I need you to help me write a letter," Angelique said. "You know more clever words than I do, and how to say things."

Augustina's eyebrows rose. "Yes, I suppose I do. Who is this letter to?"

"Everyone," Angelique said. "It's one of those open letters that gets in the newspaper."

Augustina leaned back in her wooden chair. She had her legs crossed, one over the other, and she wrapped her hands around her upraised knee. "You want to write an open letter to the newspapers?"

"Why not?" Angelique asked. She produced a copy of the [i]Daily Post[/i] out from behind her back. "His Grace the Duke certainly isn't shy about it." She tossed the paper at Augustina, who caught it with one hand.

"What's he saying now?" she asked, even as she set the paper down on her desk and reached for her spectacles.

"He as good as accuses Cinderella of being a Norman spy," Angelique growled. "He says that Princess Frederica is running her and through her the country. He takes a lot of words to say so but that's about the size of it."

Augustina murmured something indistinct and wordless as she put on her pince-nez. She started reading. "Yes, I see what you mean. But I'm afraid that I can't see a reply, public or otherwise, doing much good. You could assert that Cinderella isn't a spy or foreign agent but at the end of the day you can't prove a negative. You could point out that His Grace has no proof but I'm not sure that would be interesting enough even for the Gazette to publish it."

"Good thing that's not what I want to write about then," Angelique said.

Augustina looked at her from over the top of her reading glasses.

Angelique stood up straight and stopped slouching against the doorframe. "Do you know where Cinderella is this morning?"

Augustina replied at once. "She's down at the docks launching the new warship, the Princess."

Angelique nodded. "And when she gets back from that...well there's a Privy Council meeting at the end of the week so she'll probably work on that as soon as she gets back. The day after tomorrow she's going to down at the new veterans' hospital funded through her foundation, opening the new wing and looking in on the patients, that sort of thing. And you know she's been invited to go round a factory this week by people who want to prove that they don't need any laws to make them behave themselves because everything is just perfect the way it is. And some fellows from a Trade Union have been trying to get an appointment to bend her ear, and all this from a woman three months pregnant! I just...Cinderella works so hard for this country I feel as though somebody ought to point that out and ask this duke what he's ever done for Armorique. Does that make sense?"

Augustina nodded. "Yes, it does actually. It might even get in the paper. A robust defence of a popular favourite combined with a blast of accusation at his grace, yes, it could do well."

"Then you'll help me?"

"I will," Augustina replied. She tilted her a little to one side. "You know, I think you may have hit upon something more than you realise."

Angelique blinked. "That's nice I suppose. What was it?"

"His Grace has, thus far, focussed entirely upon the unworthiness of Cinderella for the throne, and more generally upon the unfitness of the senior branch of the royal family. What he hasn't done - what, as far as I'm aware, he hasn't even tried to do at least not publicly - is set out his aims or objectives if he became king. He's let the whole world know he wants the throne but he's given no indication of what he'd do with the throne once he had it."

"You say that as though it's a mistake," Christine said, as she glided out from around the corner to stand behind Angelique. "Pardon me, I couldn't help but overhear."

"I'd invited you in, Lady Christine, but I fear there isn't room for three," Augustina replied.

"Well, no one else is using the princess' sitting room at present, perhaps we could repair there and have this discussion in a slightly greater degree of comfort?" Christine suggested.

Augustina glanced at Angelique, who nodded. Augustina rose, and the three of them began to climb the stairs up to Cinderella's chambers.

"As I was saying," Christine said as they climbed. "His Grace benefits from the constructive ambiguity of his position. By defining himself strictly by what he is against - her highness, and more generally the current royal regime - he can appear all things to all men, and all who oppose the princess may imagine him to be of their party. It's actually rather masterful of him. Her highness, on the other hand, has the disadvantage of being a known quantity."

"Are you so sure about that, my lady?" Angelique asked as the three of then entered Cinderella's bedroom.

Christine turned to look at her. "You disagree, Lady Bonnet?"

Angelique said, "Considering that you two both think Cinderella is one of you and on your side I'd say Cinderella enjoys some...what was that, constructive ambiguity? I'd say that works for her as well."

Augustina and Christine looked at one another over Angelique's head.

"Somehow I suspect that we could argue on this point all day and not budge an inch from where we are now," Augustina said. "So shall we put the obvious question to one side for a moment?"

Christine nodded, and turned away to lead them into the sitting room. "While you may have an excellent point, Lady Bonnet, nevertheless his grace is a far greater beneficiary than her highness. None can deny the ground on which she stands even though we may contest the ownership of it. That is why her decision to stand behind these factory welfare measures - to toughen them even - is so misguided, it will cost her."

"I suspect that not doing what she knows to be right would cost her even more, if in a different way," Augustina said as she settled down into a padded armchair. "How much did you hear, Lady Christine, about Angelique's plans?"

"Enough," Christine said. "Even if such a letter would not change minds it remains worth attempting."

"And what about Augustina's point?" Angelique asked. "Is there any point mentioning that he doesn't say what he'd do as king if his silence is the whole point."

"I would say so," Christine said. "By pointing it out we may cause some people to wonder what he stands for, and whether he stands for the same things that they do. At best we may force him to clarify his position, with all the potentially alienating consequences that implies."

"Well then," Augustina murmured. "Shall we get to work?"

Henry flung the Gazette angrily into the fire. "Accuse me? Accuse me! Idleness they say, the cursed insolence of it! To accuse me of idleness and hold that woman up as an exemplar of energy and vigour.

Anne sat in an armchair near the fire and held her peace. The words that so vexed her husband had been written by Lady Christine Roux, and in the open letter she castigated her husband lacking both bodily and intellectual vigour, contrasting both with Cinderella's service to the state and with her thoughts on improving the condition of the people. Why even now, Lady Christine claimed, Cinderella was working to improve conditions for children in Armorique's mills and factories.

Anne didn't know if that was true or not, but she suspected that not everyone would be happy to learn that. Certainly mill and factory owners would not. There was an opportunity there, if only she could bring her husband out of his wrath and lead him gently to the point where he could see it.

"What lunacy is this?" Henry muttered, as he turned away from the fireplace and began to pace up and down the lavishly appointed sitting room. "To laud her as though it were natural and proper for her sort to have ideas, to praise her energy as tough she does not take too much upon herself and interfere too often!"

Anne did not know, and did not ask, whether when Henry referred to Cinderella's 'sort' he meant women or the common born. It could have been either one, honestly. She closed her book and placed it in her lap as she looked up at him, following his movements with her eyes.

"And to call me idle!" Henry snapped. "The insolent audacity of it!"

Anne said nothing. Certainly she did not say that - whatever one thought of Cinderella's ideas or of the idea that she worked hard in service to the state - it was undeniable that Henry did nothing of the sort. He did nothing, in point of fact. There was no necessity, as there had been no call, for him to do anything; her husband enjoyed an enviable social position, with an income more than sufficient to his needs, and so he did nothing but brood upon the injustice of having been born the son of a younger son, doomed to sink lower and lower down the line of succession.

In fairness, Anne would have to admit that she did not do anything either, although it was difficult to think of anything that Henry would allow her to do in any event. But she would, if she could. Not politics, she would not voluntarily choose Cinderella's path much though she might envy the success the other woman had already had in walking it. No, if Anne had her choice it would be back to Italy, to Greece, to Egypt and the Levant and anywhere the bones of lost but not forgotten empires jutted out of the earth. Not to sun herself in villas, nor merely amuse with collecting antiquities but to explore, to learn, to ferret out the secrets of these ancient peoples and their glories. That was what she would do, if she had the freedom and could like a dove fly whither she pleased without restraint.

But she was not free. She was the Duchess of Cornouaille, wife to the Duke of Cornouaille, and she had not been free since her father and her husband's father had sealed the marriage contract that would sell her to Henry in exchange for enough money to pay off her father's debts and keep her parents in the style to which they had become accustomed. And so she was bound to her husband's hopes and dreams and his ambitions, and all she could do was ensure that they did not, could not harm the children.

Henry's thoughts were dark and bloody. He thought only of the simplest route to securing his succession: the death of the princess and her unborn children. But, just as he was too narrow-minded to consider any alternative, equally he was too conventional in thought to kill the princess in such a way as would allow him to escape detection. His fantasies of taking her - without or without Eugene - upon the road would see him dead most likely. One day she had found him in the library reading up on poisons and, upon asking, she had found out that he planned to invite Cinderella to dinner and then poison her while she was under their roof as though that wouldn't make them the obvious culprits. Not only was he blase to the risks to himself but to their children also. That was why Anne had suggested this approach; it was no treason what they did now, they were committing no crime and could be accused of nothing. And nothing could be done to their children. Her darling angels were safe and sound, and would remain so.

"This isn't working," Henry snapped at her. "It's taking too long!"

"I never said it would be quick," Anne said softly. "We must be patient-"

"I have no time for patience!" Henry yelled.

"That woman is hanging herself," Anne said, continuing to keep her voice soft. "The more she acts the more she will alienate sections of society, the more support will flow, faute de mieux, to you. Please, my love, have patience and be calm. Be calm and all that you sought and your father desired before you will be yours, to pass on to your son."

"Death would be swifter."

"This is safer by far," Anne replied. "Please, Henry, think what would befall your children if you were to be caught or slain. Think what would become of us without you."

Henry turned away with a snort, and strode out of the room. He left no sign of whether he agreed with Anne's counsel or rejected it. And all she could do was pray that he did nothing foolish.

As the carriage clattered down the street, Cinderella wrapped her hands around Eugene's arm. She could feel his muscles through his uniform jacket. She laid her head upon his shoulder. "Thank you for coming with me."

"They are my men, or were," Eugene said. "How could I stay away?"

Cinderella murmured a wordless acknowledgement of his point. "All the same, thank you. Would you mind if I closed my eyes for just a moment?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Eugene asked. "You don't have to."

Cinderella smiled. "Actually, since it's the Princess' Fund, not the Prince's Fund, I think I probably do," she said. "I'll be fine, I just want to rest my eyes for a moment before we get there."

"If you're certain," Eugene said softly.

Cinderella closed her eyes, plunging herself into darkness as Eugene and Marinette disappeared from around her. There was only the darkness and the sounds of the coach as it rolled along. That and the occasional noises from outside the coach.

"Gods bless you, your royal highnesses!"

"Stand with the princess!"

Cinderella's eyes fluttered open as she began to lean towards the carriage window.

"I thought you were resting your eyes?" Eugene asked with some amusement in his voice.

"I have to acknowledge them," Cinderella said. "Or they'll think I'm very rude."

"No, they'll think your pregnant and tired and they'll make allowances," Eugene said. "It's alright to let a few cheers pass without comment."

Cinderella smiled wryly. "How does it feel, Marinette, to know that you have all of this to look forward to."

Marinette's cheeks reddened and she looked down, even as a kind of smile spread across her face. "I'm afraid that your highnesses have quite spoiled me for love and marriage. I see the way that you two are together and I can't imagine finding anyone who would love me the way that you two love each other."

"Oh, why would you say that, Marinette?" Cinderella asked.

Marinette's hands clenched on her lap. "Well, I know that I'm not as beautiful as you or as kind as you or as...anything as you; I know that no one could love me the way that his highness loves you because I'm just not as loveable as you are, but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't find it hard to settle for-"

"Marinette, stop," Cinderella said. "Just stop, please." She let go of Eugene's arms, and reached out across the carriage to take Marinette's arms within her own palms. "You are a perfectly sweet and lovely girl whom anyone would be very lucky to call his wife. I know that you'll be perfectly happy with someone someday, so long as that's what you want." She smiled. "Although that doesn't mean I won't be sad when the day comes and we have to say goodbye."

The carriage bore them to the veterans' hospital; it was not an especially built place, the need for somewhere to care for the poor men who had made such sacrifices for Armorique to wait for such a place to be erected - although such a place was being built on the outskirts of the city, even now, though Cinderella prayed the extra capacity would not be necessary - rather it had once been the city arsenal, the store of shot and powder and cannonballs, although it had not served such a purpose for many years: the munitions were stored elsewhere now. Refurbishment had been, and was, necessary to turn it into a place fit for human habitation and the care of the sick, but much work had been done already and many wounded soldiers were already cared for here.

Appropriate to its beginnings as an arsenal, the hospital looked more like a fortress than a temple of healing. If there was one thing that made it unsatisfactory in Cinderella's eyes it was how small and narrow the windows were, little better than slits in the solid stone walls; she was sure the men inside would like more natural light than the architecture allowed.

Still, the need had been urgent and there hadn't been a lot of choice at the time. Perhaps when the new, purpose-built hospital was completed those currently treated here could be moved there. It would depend, she supposed, on the demand.

She hoped with all her heart it did not grow. One war had been quite enough, and quite bad enough for everyone.

The doors were more like gates, large and looming like a great mouth opened wide to admit wagons carrying injured men to pass through. General Gerard was already outside the doors, with a line of constables keeping the crowd - of which a modest-sized one had gathered outside the hospital, along with a few reporters - a decent distance away from the gates. The crowd parted, with little need for Jean to wear out his voice caling for them to make way, and the carriage passed through beyond the line of constables, stopping before the gaping gates.

People - they could not all be gentlemen of the press - began to hurl questions at Eugene as he dismounted the carriage but he ignored them all, turning and holding out his arms to help Cinderella down. For her part, Cinderella stood in the doorway of the royal coach, with Eugene below her, looking out across the sea of faces gathered in front of her.

"Princess? Princess, what do you think is going to happen about your marriage? Do you have anything to say to-"

Cinderella raised her voice and hoped that it would carry across the crowd. "I'm not going to talk about that now, not here. That isn't why my husband and I are here. We're here for the brave heroes of Armorique, who have made such sacrifices for our country in America. And I think...I think that talking about anything else dishonours them, and shames us. Please, think of the poor men in here more than you think of us. And consider...please consider donating whatever you can afford to the Princess' Fund which works to support these men and this hospital. Anything you can spare will be welcome and it really does make a difference, I promise you. Thank you." She stepped down, feel Eugene's arms around her bulging waist as he helped her down safely to the ground.

"Well spoken," he said.

Cinderella exhaled out through her nose. "I just...it would have felt disrespectful to have talked about us, don't you think?"

"I know what you mean," Eugene said. "We shouldn't make everything about ourselves."

"I'm not sure it will make too much difference, the focus will probably be on you two anyway," Etienne declared as he dismounted his horse. "But any attention is welcome if it brings in more funding. Your highnesses, Marinette."

"Etienne," Eugene said. "Are you ready?"

"Are you?"

Eugene glanced at Cinderella, who nodded.

"Right then," Etienne said. "Let's get started."

The recently concluded war in America, the war that had secured for Armorique control over its American colonies - and led to the continuing difficulties over the island of Hispaniola and the fate of its landowners - had been the first major war fought by Armorique in the reign of the present king, and the number of men being shipped home with terrible wounds or even missing limbs was unlike anything that had been seen in many, many years. For the officers, matters were straightforward: they could retire into the bosoms of their wealthy families and be well cared-for by them. But for the ordinary men, the soldiers and sailors who had lost limbs or suffered bodily ruin for their country, there was nothing. So Cinderella had started a fund, the Princess' Fund, to raise money for the care and treatment of these men for as long as they should require it, contributing her own income - or rather the portion of that income annually set aside for her by Eugene - and encouraging donations from across the country. Said donations had, during the war, come mainly in small sums from the common people, although since the war ended there had been a slow but steady rise in the number of larger donations coming in. And those donations went to renovate and maintain this hospital, to build a second hospital, and to look after the wounded men who had nowhere else to turn to.

With Etienne as their guide Cinderella and Eugene were led through the hospital, seeing the new wing that had just opened and walking through the wards that were already service. They talked with those of the doctors and nurses who could spare a moment to have a word with them, as well as with those of the patients who were up to speaking.

"Is there anything that you need, anything that we can do to help?" Cinderella asked one of the senior doctors.

The doctor shook his head. "At present, your highness, we can treat and care for the men as best we could; the real difficulty is that so many of them have nowhere to go from here."

The men slept in long wards, with wooden screens separating the beds from one another and allowing them a degree of privacy. Their lives were not without comfort but they did seem dull, without much for these poor men to do at all. She asked them what could be done about that, but she recieved as many different answers as she asked different people.

It was not perfect, but then nothing about the situation of these men was, and everyone involved was clearly trying their best. It was just such a pity, after all that they had done for Armorique, that there was not more that Armorique could do for them.

"Is there anything that we can do?" Cinderella asked Eugene as they left the hospital, their visit concluded.

"I can't see what," Eugene said. "We can't force people to employ them, or buy them all homes or...I just don't see an easy solution."

No, Cinderella thought. Nor even a hard one.

Cinderella and Eugene emerged from the hospital to find the crowd outside in a state of agitation and disorder, as confused murmurings ran through the mass of people without. At the centre of it seemed to be a man pinioned between a pair of constables, with Jean standing in front of him growling something that Cinderella couldn't quite hear as she and Eugene and Etienne emerged from out of the great gaping hospital doors.

"Jean?" Cinderella asked. "What's going on?"

Jean glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression grim, and seeming even more grim because of the scars on that side of his face. "I'm afraid this man meant harm to your highnesses. We caught him trying to force his way to the front of the crowd, and he had this." He turned, revealing a pistol in his hand.

"It isn't loaded," the man protested. "I-"

Jean fired the pistol in the air with a loud bang that made nearby onlookers flinch. "Now it isn't loaded," he snapped.

Eugene stepped protectively in front of Cinderella as Etienne strode towards the prisoner.

"Why?" Etienne demanded. "Who are you?"

"The duke deserves the government!" the man declared, as shocked murmurs ran through the crowd to greet his pronouncement, and gentlemen of the press scribbled away. "The false princess will-"

Jean hit him, knocking him out cold with a single punch. The man's head lolled forwards and his body slumped in the grip of the constables.

"Forgive me sir," Jean muttered. "Your highnesses. Perhaps I was too harsh."

"I think he said the most useful thing he could have told us up front," Etienne replied. He sounded more amused with Jean than annoyed. "You men, take him away."

"Yes, sir."

Cinderella took a deep breath. She did not feel so afraid, so terrified, as she had done at other times when people had tried to kill her. She didn't feel as though was about to faint, her whole body wasn't trembling. She supposed it was because this man hadn't actually gotten the chance to try and...take her life. Jean had stopped him before he could so much as draw his pistol on her. All the same...the duke. Would he really try to kill her, to kill her children? Did he really hate her that much, want the throne that much? Would he really stoop so low?

She noticed that Eugene's hands had clenched into fists by his sides.

"Eugene?" she murmured.

He turned to her. His face was red with fury, so much so that Cinderella instinctively took a step back as though the anger were meant for her. He must have seen it, for his expression softened a little as he reached for her. "Cinderella, please. You know it isn't you."

"I know," she said softly, as she allowed him to take her hands. "I just...habit, I suppose."

Eugene nodded. His face was still red, his jaw still clenched, he looked as though he were barely restraining himself from some explosive rage. "Come," he said, and it sounded like an effort for him to speak softly to her. "Let's get you home. Lieutenant Taurillion!"

"Highness?"

"The princess and I are returning to the palace," Eugene said, as he guided Cinderella towards the coach. "I want you to gather men, go to the house of the Duke Cornouaille and arrest him for treason and attempted murder."

"At once, your highness," Jean declared.

"Oh, and Taurillion?"

"Yes, your highness?"

"Well done for stopping him before he could act this time."

Jean's lip twitched upwards in a hint of a smile. "My pleasure, your highnesses."

Frederica sat back and permitted herself a modest smirk of subdued triumph as she read the news of the Duke's arrest for purposing the death of the prince and princess.

He would not remain in the dungeon for long, of course; there was not enough evidence even to hold a man of his wealth and influence, still less to convict him in a court of law. The word of one man was not enough. But the scandal would stick to him, the whispers of 'traitor, murderer' would follow him all his days and if God was just this would kill any support for the idea of destroying Cinderella's marriage for good. Now that the true venality of the Duke's ambition had been exposed, now that he had shown the world just how far he was willing to go, who could stand behind a man like that?

That was why she had arranged for the gunman.

It was become a little stereotypical of her, these intentionally failed death attempts, but she had taken greater than usual care with this one. She hadn't used any fool of the streets, no impressionable would-be regicide. Rather, the man currentl cooling his heels in the gatehouse - Frederica was paying a large sum of money (through unidentifiable proxies obviously) for the warden to let him 'escape' tonight - was one of her trusted agents, a good man who would stick to his story and not reveal a word of Frederica's involvement.

She had taken similar care in ensuring that no harm would actually befall Cinderella. Frederica had been clear in her instructions: he was not to shoot at her, for she wasn't sure what harm the shock and terror of the attempt might do to the unborn babies. Rather he was to muscle his way to the front of the crowd, and make it obvious that he was doing so, and display for all to see that he had a pistol.

Frederica had trusted in Jean Taurillion to spot the gun and he had. She did like it when her judgements of men were vindicated by events.

She would get no credit, of course, for saving Cinderella's crown and marriage. But honestly, that was the way she preferred it. Cinderella's place was in the sun, Frederica's place was in the shadows.

In the shadows, keeping Cinderella safe.

Even if it didn't necessarily seem that way from what she did.

The night air was cool and crisp as Anne, her body concealed beneath a dark cloak with the hood raised up, made her way across the nearly-empty park and climbed into the waiting carriage.

"Your Grace," Lady Tremaine said calmly. "I apologise for the manner of our meeting, but we neither of us enjoy the sort of reputations that would allow us to meet openly."

Anne threw back her hood as she sat down opposite the lady and her daughters. "Lady Tremaine, mademoiselles; I was curious to recieve your invitation."

"You appear to be having a little trouble with the princess, your grace," Lady Tremaine said. "My daughter Drizella has some information that could prove very helpful to you."

"With respect, my lady, unless this information can free my husband and restore his reputation I see little advantage in it."

"It may do that, and perhaps more," Lady Tremaine replied.

Anne was silent for a moment. "Indeed, my lady? Then what would you ask in return for this splendid gift?"

"Unfortunately, the finances of our family are much reduced from their height," Lady Tremaine replied. "Her highness, cruel though she is, for a time consented to the sum of three hundred pounds a year but as of late-"

"If this information is good I will give you five," Anne said. "You have my word."

Lady Tremaine nodded as a rather ugly smile spread across her features. "Your gratitude is greatly appreciated, your grace. Now, Drizella, tell her everything."