A Coup Takes Shape

Cinderella could feel herself slipping away.

It was as though, with her ambition fought and won, she no longer had the energy to keeping fighting against whatever was draining her strength, wasting her body, dragging her down.

She knew that she ought to fight, for Eugene…but he was so far away, and nobody knew when he might come home. He was so far away…and Cinderella didn't have the strength to fight any more.

She had retired fully to her bed by now, she saw practically no one. Sieur Robert sent her notes, in place of meetings, keeping her informed, asking for her to do certain things – although in consideration of her health he didn't ask for very much. She couldn't see Philippe, or His Majesty or…or anyone. Everything she did she did by proxy, sending Serena or Grace or Marinette or Angelique to visit people or visit things or do things for her. She sat in bed, or lay in bed.

She was too tired even to read. The words blurred in front of her, when she wasn't convulsed by coughing and sneezing and unable to keep her eyes open. Her head thundered like a storm, her joints ached, her throat ached. She couldn't read, she could hardly speak but in a hoarse whisper that others had to strain to hear. She lay in bed and tried to sleep.

Tried being the operative word. She was so tired and yet she couldn't sleep. Some nights she would lie in the dark, coughing, while her eyelids became heavier and heavier and her head became so light that it…it was as if she wasn't there at all. She found herself thinking strange thoughts, bizarre thoughts, thoughts out of dreams or…one night she slept a couple of hours and then woke up, still exhausted, thinking that she was a mouse and she carried on thinking that for hours until dawn dispelled the fantasy. Once, when Jean came to see her, she thought that he was Eugene and begged him for a kiss to prove that he still loved her, and understood that she had never meant to hurt.

Poor Jean had been so embarrassed about the whole thing, but Cinderella felt too wretched to feel embarrassment.

Every day or two Serena would bring up signing her powers over to someone she trusted, so that she could get a real rest and leave all stressful business in all other hands. Cinderella hadn't done it yet, not in two weeks of being asked, not because there weren't people that she trusted but because it felt wrong to offload all her duties onto someone else.

But she was beginning to feel, as she lay in bed assailed by wretchedness from every corner of her body, as though she was approaching the point at which she had no choice.

She was…failing. She could feel it. Every day she grew weaker, even Grace's concoction that had been the only thing to help or strengthen her no longer helped. If she ever became…soon, Cinderella feared that she would be unable to work, and then it would be too late.

It would have to be Serena or Grace. Marinette and Angelique were…she loved them both, but neither of them would be able to do what was required of them. Angelique had less education than Cinderella herself, and less time to catch up. Marinette lacked the necessary confidence. It would have to be either Serena or Grace.

Angelique seemed to think it was a bad idea. As often as Serena argued that Cinderella ought to sign over her authority, Angelique argued that she should not. Angelique…Augustina had advised Cinderella to trust her, and she did, but…was that why she was delaying? Was that why she hadn't signed yet? Because Angelique was advising her against it? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was just that Angelique was pushing at an open door, while Serena was trying to persuade Cinderella to do something that she didn't really want to do.

Either way, she had not yet signed over her authority…but it was hard to see how she could avoid doing so for much longer.

Serena poured a glass of brandy out of a crystal decanter. "I don't suppose you'll join me, Lady Tremaine?"

Lady Tremaine had shifted the leatherbound armchair backwards, so that she was shrouded in darkness and concealed from Serena's sight. She leaned forwards into the light, and the candles cast deep shadows upon every line of her face. "Very well, since you were so kind as to offer."

Serena poured another glass, and nudged it across the table. In the dining room of the de Montcalm town house, a great many of the great and good of Armorique were gathering, waiting for her, but she had thought it might be worthwhile to speak to Lady Tremaine in private first, and so she kept her other guests waiting while she conversed with Cinderella's stepmother in the drawing room. The fireplace was dark and cold, and only a few candles provided illumination in the night.

"Your stepdaughter has proven herself to be quite a nuisance," Serena observed. "More so than I think anyone anticipated." She took a sip from her glass of brandy, letting the fiery liquid burn her throat on the way down. "I don't suppose she got her backbone from you?"

"I wasn't especially aware that she had one," Lady Tremaine replied coolly. "Although…her father did spoil her, while he was alive; she was always accustomed to getting her own way. What you are attributing to strength of character is probably nothing more than the result of being overly-indulged as a child."

Serena chuckled. "I'm not sure that a mere spoiled brat would have been able to bear up this long under a relentless barrage of slander and derision."

"Well, I will credit Cinderella with a certain endurance," Lady Tremaine allowed. "It took a great deal to visibly effect her."

"I take it that it is true, what she says about you?" Serena asked. "You made her your servant, after her father died?"

Lady Tremaine's face was as implacable as a cliff, and conceded just as little. "I took care of the girl, after she was so tragically orphaned even though I had no moral obligation to do so. She was no relation of mine and yet I took care of her and raised her as my own daughter nonetheless. Was it so much to ask of her to do a few chores around the house in return?"

Serena chuckled some more. "Don't worry, Lady Tremaine, I'm not trying to make incriminate yourself. It's just that, as much as Cinderella's story explains why she was never seen in society until that fateful night of the royal ball…she's turned out to have a quite a talent for her exalted position, and I did wonder if, perhaps, you'd been hiding her away and grooming her for the very place in which she finds herself."

"If I were the monstrous machiavel that you have just described, then would I really be rotting away in seclusion, shunned by the royal family and ignored by all the rest?" Lady Tremaine asked. "Where are my rewards, for such a scheme? Where are the positions and marriages for my daughters, where is my royal favour?"

"Quite," Serena murmured, taking another sip. "Although, in that case, the question becomes: where does she get it from? I was hoping that, as her stepmother, you might have some insight into her mind as well as her past."

Lady Tremaine drank painfully slowly. "Even if I did know something that might help you, why would I share it with you?"

Serena tilted her head slightly to one side. "Have you any reason to love the stepdaughter who has slighted, slandered and ignored you? Have you any reason not to wish to see her fall?"

"I have no reason to help you achieve any of that," Lady Tremaine replied. Her eyes narrowed. "I remember you, Lady Serena. I remember that you have laughed at my daughters, mocked them for their clumsiness and their ill-favoured faces, sniggered at them and made sport of them. You, and the Lady Grace who works with you, you are no friends of mine. Why should I do anything to assist you?"

Serena fought to keep her face impassive. "I…yes, I don't deny it, I've made fun of Anastasia and Drizella. Not once, nor twice, but regularly. I'll likely do so again, if they give me cause. They deserved my mockery every time, and worse."

"But you expect me to thank you for it and do you a favour?"

"I expect you to think rationally about all of this," Serena said. "I could grant you the favours that Cinderella has denied you, when I am become this country's princess-"

Lady Tremaine's harsh laughter, lashing like a whip, cut her off in mid-sentence.

Serena felt her face start to go red. "Did something I said amuse you?"

"If that is your endeavour then I will take my leave of you, Lady Serena, for there is no part for me in such a foolish enterprise," Lady Tremaine said. She drained her glass. "Thank you for the brandy."

"And what the hell do you mean by that?" Serena demanded.

Lady Tremaine smirked. "I presume that my stepdaughter is still as guileless as I recall? Still as blind to hidden malice? Still as trusting?"

"Yes," Serena murmured, unsure of where the lady was going with this.

"You could bring Cinderella down," Lady Tremaine said, as he got up from her seat. "You could have killed her already if you wished to be so crude. Poison her meal, poison her wine, push her off her balcony and say she slipped and fell. That you have not done so tells me more about you than you wish to know of Cinderella."

Serena scowled. "I don't want to risk getting-"

"I'm not finished, child," Lady Tremaine declared in a tone that brooked no argument. She was looking down on Serena, like a schoolmistress detailing all the errors in Serena's construing of the Aeneid. "You could have done any of those things. But perhaps your more subtle methods will bear fruit. Perhaps Cinderella will die, perhaps Prince Eugene will put her aside…but what on earth makes you think that he would marry you afterwards? Why would he change his mind, having refused you once?"

Serena rose from her seat. Her hands balled up into fists by her sides. Her voice, when it came, trembled feebly. "His highness has no heir. Duty will compel him to take another wife. A better one."

Lady Tremaine stared at her for a moment. "Duty. I see. Thank you for inviting me here, Lady Serena, and for the nightcap; I think I had best be going now."

"You're running away?" Serena snapped. "You're running away and letting her win?"

Lady Tremaine turned her back upon Serena. "I have lost one game, true, and Cinderella has taken a rich prize as the spoil of victory. But I wagered very little, and could stand to lose a great deal more if I foolishly sought to play again."

"The rewards of victory-"

"Will prove as insubstantial as smoke, I'm sure," Lady Tremaine said, as she walked towards the door. "You're hopes, no matter what you achieve, will all be in vain. Good night, Lady Serena."

Serena scowled at Lady Tremaine's retreating back as she left, and closed the door behind her.

"You're wrong," she declared to the closed door. "You're wrong," she repeated. Yes, Prince Eugene thought himself infatuated with Cinderella, but now that she had been exposed as a slut – there were times when Serena had trouble remembering that it was all a tissue of lies, that there had been no affair with Lucien – surely he would see reason. He would put his unsuitable wife aside, one way or another, and take another wife. A suitable wife, a woman of good family who knew her place, who would bear him sons to follow in his footsteps.

A wife just like her.

With Cinderella gone, what other choice would he have?

If Lady Tremaine was too foolish to spot the advantages that might accrue from allying herself to Serena's cause now…more fool her.

She heard the door into the dining room open behind her, but she didn't turn around. She felt Anatole wrap his arms around her.

"Serena," he whispered into her ear. "Everyone's waiting for you."

She looked downwards. "I'll be there in a moment."

His grip around her waist tightened, not painfully but reassuringly, protectively. No one would ever hurt her while her brother was with her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Do you think this is foolish?"

"You know what I think," Anatole said softly, his voice a caress upon her skin. "I think it was enough to use her, to manipulate her, to wring advantages from her. Destroying her…"

"You don't think he'll choose me?" Serena asked. "When she's out of the way, somehow…you don't think he'll take me instead?"

"I think we can't choose who we love," Anatole said. "And once love is gone…we cannot force it to return."

"Not even for duty's sake?"

"If Prince Eugene gave a damn about duty would he ever have wed a scullery maid in the first place?"

Serena's face became screwed up in a scowl, as though she was in great pain. The pain, such as it was, was all in her heart. "I have to have him."

"Because you love him?" Anatole asked, sounding half-amused and half jealous.

Serena snorted. "You're the only man with a claim upon my heart."

"Then why?"

"Because I deserve him," Serena said. "I deserve all the best things in life. In all the world, the very best of everything…I deserve it all. Will you help me get it?"

Anatole kissed her on the cheek. "Do you even need to ask?" He took his arms away. "Come on, everyone's waiting."

He took her by the hand and led her into a dining hall crowded with guests. Lucien was there, their house-guest of several weeks, kept securely against the vengeance of Cinderella's supporters; and also kept against the hazard that his sister might get to him and prick his conscience sufficiently to retract his allegations. Lucien lounged against one wall, looking surprisingly comfortable and indeed confident for a man in his position. Of course, once one realised that Serena had promised that he would get Cinderella for good once Eugene had no more use or need for her then his comfort and indeed his confidence became a lot easier to explain.

He probably still thinks he's rescuing her, the little fool, Serena thought as she drew nearer to him. Over the weeks of his confinement, and of his separation from Cinderella, a lot of his delusions had reasserted themselves stronger than ever before. At first, after his rejection, he had been both angry and shaken; he had raged against Cinderella's infidelity towards him, he had flung curses and insults in her direction, he had happily spun lies to the press in order to get back at her for the way that she had led him on and then publicly humiliated him. But estrangement had softened his affections towards her, and now he talked only of sweet Cinderella, of gentle Cinderella, of his lovely and faithful Cinderella and of his need to get her away from the wicked counsellors who poisoned her against him.

He hasn't seen her since she was taken severely ill; even if there were signs before, he has no idea…will he still loves her when he sees the living corpse lying in her bed?

It would almost be amusing to get him into her room just to find out.

Also present was Monsieur Mordred, a deputy of the assembly who had led the opposition to Cinderella's free trade bill. He had failed to prevent it, but he didn't seem to be taking his failure in good spirits. Serena had, with her own ears, heard him calling several times for the death of the viper at the royal breast, the traitor to the throne. If there was anyone who would appreciate the need for action it was him.

And that was precisely why I said we needed to let Cinderella carry this through. It has concentrated minds wonderfully.

Grace stood at the head of the room, hands clasped in front of her, smiling beatifically at the gathered assembly.

I'm watching you. Never doubt that.

Serena let go of Anatole's hand as she reached the top of the room, and turned to face the crowd. There were lords present, and their lady wives, and deputies of the assembly and minor gentry come in from their estates. All come together for this meeting, to discuss the dark business that would need to be undertaken to save Armorique from its own princess before she tore down every last brick of the aristocratic settlement and shattered their power and their prestige beyond all hope of recovery or recall.

They were here to discuss what they could do about Cinderella.

"Good evening, friends, and thank you so much for coming," Serena said. Such an introduction was her sole concession to pleasantry, as she saw no reason in holding back from why they were all here. "When His Royal Highness Prince Eugene announced his intention to marry a girl of no particular note or family, a woman who had been employed as a maid for the latter half of her life…many of us were puzzled by the decision, some of us were offended to be passed over in favour of one so manifestly unworthy of the honour, but I think I can safely say that none of us really felt threatened by it. We raised our eyebrows, and then we dismissed the whole business as a prince's folly, a personal mistake, one that he would doubtless live to regret but which would not threaten the stability of the realm or our own interests.

"That, it has now become clear, was a grave mistake.

"It has become increasingly clear, and we received the final proof just yesterday, that Cinderella is nothing less than hell-bent upon the overturning of the established order and system that keeps this realm peaceful and prosperous. She aims at nothing less than the ascension of a revolutionary new order, in which fat-bellied manufacturers and parvenu industrialists will hold the whip-hand over us, backed by the hordes that they have dredged up from the streets. Make no mistake, my friends, there is a revolution building out there, amidst our very own city, and it is led and abetted by none other than she who ought to be as a bastion of order and good government, our very own princess, and more than princess but Princess Regent!

"She who has been granted all the laurels and the powers of the sovereign himself abuses those powers to tear down we upon whom the majesty of throne and kingdom rests! She who ought to embody all feminine grace and gentleness appeals to violent mobs of hard-handed labourers to threaten the gentle classes of the state with savage violence. She who ought to spread thoughtless delight and sweet joy throughout the world now bears down upon us with oppressive thoughts to spoil our summers. Truly I say that she is a false princess and she means to corrupt and destroy all that is good about fair proud Armorique. If she is not stopped then like the Roman I see the river Tiber foaming with much blood.

"And yet," Serena said. "All hope is not lost. Ancient writers tell us how the Athenians, returning to their city after it had been sacked by the hordes of Persia found, growing amidst all the burning and the devastation, the sacred olive trees, the symbols of their country. So today we may find, amidst our crumbling glory and our trembling circumstances, the roots of our sacred trees yet growing strong to meet the spring. I speak of all of you, brave patriots gathered to admit what lesser men deny with their heads even as their hearts know it to be true: that Cinderella must be stopped or Armorique will be lost to us."

Grace started clapping. "Bravo! Bravo! But what are we to do? For Cinderella is a witch, and she has ensorcelled Prince Eugene to render him blind to her machinations. If we destroy her, and our known to have destroyed her, then when Prince Eugene returns with his army his vengeance upon us will be terrible indeed."

"That is why we must use guile, Grace, and cunning," Serena declared. "Together, Grace and I are halfway to controlling all access to the Princess Regent. My brother Anatole, known to you all, controls access to the King through his office as Groom of the Stool. Soon, I believe, I can persuade Cinderella to grant to me – or else to Grace – the ability to order her household and even manage the palace in her infirmity. With this power, all access to the Princess Regent and the King shall come through me and my power. And what shall we do with this power but to undo all the damage that Cinderella has wrought and grind down the poor in her name, for who shall deny that we speak in her name when none can see her without our leave?"

"And then?" Lucien asked. "How will Cinderella be freed from her captivity?"

For God's sake can't you try and sound like you're on the same side as the rest of us? Serena thought. "Eventually, when all of her reforms are reversed, or when it seems likely that Prince Eugene is soon to return, Cinderella will be reported dead," she explained. "The whole kingdom knows that she is gravely ill." The deluded crowds were attending mass and vigil to pray for her health, as though God would smile his mercy down on someone like her. "But, since I have no desire to become a murderer, she will not die but rather be smuggled out and into your charge, to keep her safely out of the public eye for the remainder of her life." It would be simpler to just kill her, of course, but unless she obligingly died of her illness – or Prince Eugene sent some sign that he intended to get rid of her as punishment for her adultery – Serena did not really wish to actually take her life.

Would she, if she had to…perhaps. It wasn't something she wanted on her hands, but ultimately she didn't care one whit about pleasing Lucien or giving him what he wanted.

Cinderella would be defeated, the proper order would be restored and she, Serena du Montcalm, would sit upon the throne of Armorique.

That was all that mattered.

Grace laid one hand upon Anatole's chest, and smiled as she felt the hair that coated his rugged muscles like the grass that covered a rock face.

He is handsome and strong, and they have a claim upon the throne. He would make a very good king, I think. A handsome king, to go along with a beautiful queen.

"I think it went very well, tonight," she said. "Your sister spoke very well."

Anatole made a noise of agreement. "Serena's always been a smooth talker." He put one hand upon her back. She could feel him tracing the outline of her spine with his fingers. "You certainly provided fulsome support to her."

Grace giggled. "I've always been a very good follower. Nobody has ever had any reason to suspect me of any disloyalty. Cinderella does not, and neither does Serena."

Anatole smirked. "A suspicious man might wonder if there is something amiss in you comparing my sister to the mistress you are both betraying?"

Grace looked up at him, with eyes wide and innocent. "Do you not find them very similar, in certain ways?"

"There are certain common features, to be sure," Anatole murmured.

"Like they're both being betrayed by the both of us," Grace whispered.

Anatole smiled, but his voice contained a hint of wariness. "Is it safe to talk about such things here?"

Grace chuckled. "Don't worry. The walls may have ears, but Morningstar keeps them all at bay. Nobody is listening to us now."

"But the time will come when the world will hear us both," he said, not a question but rather a declaration, a statement of certain intent. That was what she had found, when she had looked for a way to prise him apart from his sister, to make him her instrument against even Serena's interest: she had found a man who squandered his wealth and his talents on whores and drink and card games with dissolutes like Lucien Gerard because he felt that he could never compete against his sister…and she had found a man who yearned to outshine her nonetheless, to be his own man and not just her ally. She had found a man of ambition, who would do much to see his ambitions realised. Even turn against his sister. Even kill the King who was in his charge, and the princess, and the little bastard boy as well.

She rolled over onto her back. "Yes. Soon they will hear us loud and clear." She could see it all in her minds eye: she would let Serena play out her plans for now, to seize power by abuse of the gatekeeping role to isolate and effectively imprison Cinderella and His Majesty both, and then…and then they would all be cleared off the board. So sad, so tragic; such a beautiful princess, such a shame that she died so young…wasn't it terrible, the way that madman was able to get into her room and kill her in a jealous rage; but then what could you expect when she put her security in the hands of a peasant. And then to lose His Majesty too…so terrible. Getting rid of Prince Eugene would be the hardest, of course…or it would be, if it were not for the power at her command. As it was even he might succumb, to grief or the peril of winds and waters; and from such tragedies…even the most unexpected people could rise to the fore.

In times of turmoil even those who seemed so quiet and so unassuming might show themselves to be possessed of so much vigour and cruelty that the world would marvel at it.

Anatole turned onto his side, and ran his fingers down the pearls around her neck, down to the large sapphire that hung at the bottom of her necklace, not far from her cleavage. "That's a pretty necklace."

Grace smiled. "It's one of Cinderella's."

"Does she mind that you have it?"

"Of course not. She wouldn't mind normally, and now…now she doesn't mind that I loot half her jewellery box, since she can't wear it herself. She's a very kind girl."

"Does that bother you?" Anatole asked.

"No. Why should it?"

"I wondered if it made you feel guilty," Anatole replied.

Grace snorted. "Do you feel guilty?"

"No," Anatole said. "The strong take what they will, and the weak suffer what they must."

"Indeed," Grace murmured. "That's Cinderella's problem, really. She pretends to be one of the strong, she aspires to be…but she isn't really. And that's why we'll take everything she has."

"Soon?"

"Yes," Grace said. "Very soon."

Angelique crouched down on one knee, looking down on the little mouse in a red jacket standing in front of her. "So what you're saying is that Grace knows you're there."

Jaq nodded. "Not sure how, but she knows. Cat-cat knows as well, that's why he always makin' noise and tryin' to get us. Can't hear nothin' from Gracie with all that goin' on."

"I see," Angelique murmured, which probably made her sound a good deal more certain than she felt right now. Grace could hear the mice as well? Grace? That was…surprising. She had thought of Grace as being Serena's toady but…what if she was more.

What she certainly was was a nuisance if Jaq was telling her the truth. She and Serena only spoke in her room, with that cat on guard, making it impossible for Cinderella's mouse friends to properly listen in.

They were plotting something, Angelique was absolutely sure of that. She was almost absolutely sure that it had something to do with Cinderella handing over her authority to them, which was a bad idea if ever Angelique had heard one. It reminded her one of those plays that Serena had had put on before Cinderella when Prince Eugene first went away, about a king who gives up all of his powers to his daughters only for them to throw him out of the house to rot in a field somewhere. Or she thought that was what was going on, it was a little hard to follow the language.

Anyway, Cinderella giving up her power to Serena or Grace was a very bad idea, as Angelique told her at every opportunity. She half thought that if only Serena had left well enough alone Cinderella would have gotten sick of Angelique by now, but at the moment the two of them seemed to be balancing each other out, resulting in apathy. If she could only keep it that way until…

Until what? Ideally, until she could find something on Serena or Grace or whoever to expose them for what they really were. But that…obviously Jaq and his mice weren't going to get the proof that Cinderella would need to be convinced.

"We sorry, Angelicky," Jaq said. "We tried our best but-"

"Don't get downhearted over it," Angelique said. "You've done really well, all of you."

Jaq looked sceptical. "We have?"

"Yes," Angelique said. "You've told me that something's up with Grace, and that she has something hide."

"But we not know what she hidin'," Jaq pointed out.

"True," Angelique allowed. "But I'll find out. Let me take it from here."

Now, when Angelique said that she would take it from there she did not, on this occasion, mean that she would take it anywhere by herself. Although she had been loath to involve Jean in her intriguing thus far, the required action – breaking into Grace's room while she wasn't there, ferreting out her secrets, and then escaping again without getting caught (for if she was caught then Angelique had no doubt that Cinderella, in her gentle-hearted fashion would be full of wrath with her about it) – would also require her to obtain his assistance to carry it off. Thankfully he wasn't in the least bit squeamish about helping her out when she asked him too, and so that afternoon, when Grace was visiting the Assembly on an errand for Cinderella and Grace's cat was stuffed into a box by Angelique to get him out of the way, Jean stood in the doorway of Grace's room ready to shout out if he saw anyone coming, while Angelique herself rummaged through the room proper.

"I never thought to find myself doing this again," Jean murmured, as he leaned upon the door frame. "I must confess, I though the days of keeping lookout where over."

"I'm sorry," Angelique said, as she lifted up Grace's pillows and found nothing. "This really is necessary, I promise."

"You think that Lady Grace is plotting against the princess?"

"I know that she's up to something."

"How?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Angelique muttered, as she tossed Grace's sheets. Where is it? Where could the proof be? There must be something, somewhere.

"I'd believe anything you told me, Angelique," Jean said, in tones of slight reproach.

Angelique straightened up, one eyebrow rising for all that Jean was unable to see it. "A mouse in a red jacket and shoes told me."

She had expected Jean to miss a beat, but in fact he only paused for half a one at best before he said, "You should have told me you were making new friends."

Angelique snorted. "I love you sometimes."

"I love you always, Angelique."

Angelique felt her lips curling upwards, as a flush rose to her cheeks. "Yes, well…I need to get back to work. If you were going to hide something in here, where would you…" she flung open the doors of Grace's wardrobe, but there was nothing there but the expected dresses and shoes. "I thought for sure it would be in here." She stepped back with a frown and a heavy tread.

"Perhaps-"

"Hang on a moment," Angelique said, as she tapped her foot once, twice, three times. "I think this floorboard is hollow. There's no one coming is there?"

"No," Jean said.

"Then shut the door and help me with this," Angelique said, getting down and starting to pry up the offendingly hollow floorboard.

Jean shut the door, and wedged it for good measure, before he joined her in lifting up the floorboard which parted, with a creak and a crack, from the rest of the bedroom floor.

Together, they peered into the hollow within.

"What in Heaven's name?" Jean muttered.

"I don't think Heaven has anything to do with it," Angelique replied.

Concealed within the hollow in the floor was a wooden board, upon which someone had carved out a pentagram with a knife. In the centre of that selfsame pentagram, someone had also set a pair of Cinderella's pearl earrings; the small, round pearl earrings that she had been wont to wear more than any others prior to becoming ill, and which had turned out to be missing along with many other items around the time that Lucien had begun stealing from the princess.

"Did you find those with the rest of the stuff Lucien Gerard had stolen?" Angelique asked.

"No," Jean said. "I assumed that he had pawned or sold them already."

At the head of the pentagram sat the skull of a ram, with two long horns curving around and seeming to point at Cinderella's earrings, even as the skull itself seemed to grin wickedly up at them through empty eye-sockets. Upon the other angles of the pentagram sat burning candles, half-formed things dripping wax, glowing with green fire.

Jean glanced at Angelique. "Is this proof of anything?"

"It's proof of something, but I don't know if it's proof that I can take to Cinderella," Angelique said. "I could say that Grace stole her earrings, but Grace would just say she borrowed them and forgot to give them back, and Cinderella would give her the benefit of the doubt." It's sometimes hard work serving someone so kind and merciful.

She lifted the pentagram board out of its hollow and blew upon the green candles. Somewhat to her surprise, they didn't go out, not even when she blew on them again.

"I tell you what Jean," Angelique said. "I reckon that we might have found something just a little more valuable than proof."

Jean frowned. "I don't understand."

Angelique dropped the board on a floor with a thud. Not content with that, she smashed it against the floor again and again until the wood splintered, under the hideous goat's skull was ground into dust, and the green candles were extinguished as they were turned to nothing but flecks of wax.

Angelique picked up the pearl earrings off the floor even as she swept the rest of the debris into the hollow.

"I think I might check up on Cinderella," she observed, as though nothing untoward had just occurred.