Anne's Conscience
After Frederica had taken her leave of Cinderella, with a promise to find something delicious about His Grace the Duke, Eugene came to escort Cinderella to his father's study for their meeting with him.
As Cinderella took his arm, and as they set off through the palace corridors lined with suits of armour and the portraits of Eugene's noble ancestors, Eugene said, "I want to thank you, for this morning and for now. For being around him, my father. I can't imagine that it's easy for you, but...it means a lot to me."
Cinderella shifted her grip on Eugene's elbow just a little. "I know that it wasn't really his fault, I know that she made him do it, but...I'm trying my best."
"I know," Eugene said. "And you're doing very well. What did Princess Frederica want to talk to you about?"
"How I was," Cinderella said. "How we were doing with all of this. She seems to think that the way to deal with this story about Vanessa and what happened to her is to find a scandal about his grace that will detract attention away from it."
"That would be a fine idea if we had a scandal to point to."
"I think Frederica is going to try and find one."
Eugene snorted. "Well, I suppose if anyone can find out something filthy about my cousin it's Princess Frederica of Normandie."
Cinderella's brow furrowed. She didn't quite understand why Eugene talked about Frederica like she was some sort of spider, but she was willing to believe that there were things about Frederica that Cinderella didn't know and couldn't see. What she did not believe - although the possibility had given her pause - was that Frederica was being false to her, as Serena and Theodora had been. She had gone too far for Cinderella to be simply playing a role; Cinderella had been deceived by the manners of false friendship in the past, but Frederica had proved her friendship by her actions when Cinderella needed her the most.
"She didn't mention Hispaniola," Cinderella said.
"I honestly don't expect she will, not until we get this business with Henry sorted out," Eugene replied. "It's a question of stability. While her father thinks that we aren't stable he'll be reluctant to make any kind of deal with us; once we make it clear that we're here to stay then I expect he'll end his silence fast enough."
They made their way to the King's vast and cavernous study. Cinderella realised, as she stepped into the bright room, with the light streaming in from the enormous windows and her footfalls - Cinderella had finally, and with a degree of reluctance, made the switch from high-heeled to flat slippers for the duration of her pregnancy - soft upon the gleaming tiles, that she had never been in this room on the far side of the desk, as it were. She had only been in here during her regency, when the King was ill and Eugene was away, when she had sat in the King's seat and received the ministers and visitors across from her. Now she would be sitting where they had sat, with the King in his rightful place once more. It would be a novel experience for her.
The King was sat behind his white desk, dwarfed by the size of the room and even of the desk itself. He looked up briefly, gestured at the chairs in front of the great desk, and then looked down at the papers scattered across the work surface, spilling out of the red box on the left-hand side.
As they approached, Cinderella looked up at the portraits that covered the walls: they were all of Eugene, getting steadily larger as he grew from bouncing baby boy to the grown man that she knew and loved. And as Eugene grew, so too in the paintings did he leave his father behind, giving them an air of melancholy. But one painting was new, it had not been here when Cinderella had used this room, His Majesty must have installed it recently. It was the painting of the royal family that had been done shortly before Eugene's departure for the American War: His Majesty seated in the centre, looking both pride and joyous as he dandled Philippe upon his knee; Eugene standing on his right, back straight, one hand reaching out for Cinderella on the King's left; Cinderella herself, smiling out of the painting. She remembered how she had felt when they had posed for that painting, how happy she had been, how she had felt as though she had a family, a real family, for the first time since her father died. And now that family had been torn asunder by Grace's malice.
And His Majesty must feel exactly the same way. That's why he hung the portrait here. It occurred to her - Cinderella had never really thought about it before - that His Majesty had been largely alone since his wife passed away. Eugene had been often away, it had just been the King, rattling around the palace. A daughter-in-law and a grandson had come into his life in quick succession, followed hard upon by the promise of further grandchildren; but now he must feel as though he were all alone again, through events in which he was as much a victim as Cinderella was.
It did not erase the fear and uncertainty that she felt in his presence; the revelation did not make her feelings suddenly revert to the way that they had been before, but it did fill Cinderella's heart with pity for the old man, and determined to try and move past what had happened and find a way, if a way could be found, for them to be a family again.
After all, I was willing to try and make a fresh start with Drizella, can I grant His Majesty any less than that?
Cinderella sat down, with Eugene beside her, facing His Majesty across the gleaming white desk. They waited, silently, for His Majesty to look up and begin the meeting.
He looked up at that very moment, as he completed writing whatever had been occupying him and replaced the quill pen back in the ink well. "Factories," he declared.
"Factories," Eugene repeated. "The engines of our wealth and progress true, but dangerous places all the same."
The King nodded solemnly. "While I have been King I have seen this country transform around me. When I came to the throne this was a nation of farmers; when you were born, Eugene, the first factories were going up across the land; now there are towns where the skies are choked by the smoke that they belch forth. In my reign I set up two Royal Commissions to enquire into conditions in factories, mines, mills, the new generators of this wealth and progress."
"Yes, your majesty," Cinderella murmured. "We read them both. They were...they were quite disturbing, at times. What people go through, what the children go through...I'm not sure any child should have to go through that." In the mines, children as young as five or six spent twelve hours sat in place in a tiny, dark, closed tunnel barely big enough for them to sit hunched over, opening and closing the gate for the carts laden with coal to be dragged up by more children, some of them of them pushing, others harnessed like mules, to the surface. Children were sent down the tunnels first, to see if it was safe for the older miners. In factories, they cleaned the engines while the engines were kept running regardless of the risk, matching their dexterity and swiftness against the turning of great wheels and the motions of brutal machinery. Even where they escaped death or mangling, the pressures of a twelve-hour working day brought rife disease and deterioration. It had given Cinderella nightmares to read them: nightmares of herself when she was a little girl, dressed in some of the frilly and poufy dresses that she had worn during her idyllic childhood when her parents were alive, trying to squeeze through mineshafts or crawl under machines as they throbbed and groaned above her head; sometimes she got stuck in the holes, sometimes her hands got caught in the gears, but she awoke crying out and thrashing wildly, waking up Eugene and Oscar and Penny in the process. The fact that it was not just her nightmare but real life for so many horrified her, and saddened her that so many people seemingly found this state of affairs acceptable, if not desirable.
The King locked eyes with her, and Cinderella did her best not to flinch away from his gaze but rather to hold it. His Majesty nodded. "No minister wanted to act on the findings of either commission, they went ignored."
"Whatever his other faults, at least Lord Roux appears to have more courage in that direction," Eugene said.
"It's not enough," Cinderella murmured. She raised her voice. "Your Majesty, Lord Roux's proposals are welcome, but I don't...we don't think that they go far enough, that's why-"
"You would like to present these alterations to the council today," His Majesty finished for her. "I have Lord Roux's proposal, and I have what you two have worked up. The differences are clear."
Lord Roux's proposed legislation sought to prohibit children younger than six from being employed, and restricted the working hours of children younger than thirteen to ten hours with a one hour lunch break. The children also had to spend two hours a day in school, and without a note from their schoolmaster they could not be employed. Four inspectors were to be appointed to oversee compliance with the law.
What Cinderella and Eugene proposed that the King should put back to the council differed from the original proposals in some respects: the working age was raised from six to nine, the working day was reduced from ten hours to nine for children under fourteen, and ten hours for children over fourteen. There were provisions for compulsory schooling for children under nine years old. The provisions were extended to cover not only textile mills but mines as well.
It was not all that Cinderella had wanted - she had wanted to fix the youngest working age at twelve - but according to Eugene it was the best she was likely to get without amendments deforming the proposal completely during its passage through the chamber. Considering the hostility to the mere idea of regulation, Cinderella could well believe him.
His Majesty set both proposals down. "Your education clauses will almost certainly be struck off. Better to introduce them separately as their own law."
Eugene shrugged. "Very well, if that is what you think best."
"As for the rest of this..." the King said. "Cinderella, I know that you have a tender heart-"
"With respect, Father, if Cinderella's tender heart were the only hand involved in this then the minimum working age would be much higher. I know that we don't live in an ideal world, and I know that there are realities that have to be taken into consideration; but compassion isn't some childish thing we should seek to outgrow either, we're talking about children barely older than my son. Father, when I was six years old I was racing my pony through the hallways with Etienne."
The King leaned back in his chair as a smile of fond remembrance illuminated his face. "Yes, I remember that. I remember how furious I was with you at the time."
"And I remember how you spanked us both, but me especially," Eugene said with a hint of a smile.
The King chuckled. "Strange, isn't it, how the things that made us so angry at the time now fill us with a kind of happiness to remember them."
"When...when I was six years old, your majesty," Cinderella said, forcing her voice loud enough to be heard. "My father would take me to the city gardens. He'd buy me Turkish Delight and we'd walk through the trees, admiring all the flowers. He wouldn't let me ride on my own, but he would take me riding on his horse sometimes. Your Majesty, I know that my father was a wealthy man, and I know that most children will never have a childhood like mine, but that doesn't mean that they can't live better than they do, does it? Eugene's right, I did want more. I wanted things that I could never get. This...please, your majesty, can't we be a little bold about this?"
The King stared at her. "You're aware, my dear, that this will likely be unpopular with many people, and most popular with those who have no voice."
"So I've been told, your majesty, more than once," Cinderella said. "It's a price that I'm prepared to pay."
"Father," Eugene said. "You speak of those that have no voice, but as kings and princes isn't it our job to speak most of all for those who have no one else to speak for them? You rule over all of Armorique, not just those who have been granted the franchise. Some might argue that you, that we, should think most of the good of those who have no electors to agitate for their best interests. Who will think of the lowest if not the highest?"
The King blinked, and he looked from Eugene to Cinderella and back with a fond look on his face. "Who would have thought," he murmured. "Who would have thought that a wife plucked out of obscurity would be the one to finally get you involved in the affairs of state."
"She is the partner I required," Eugene said. "Even if I didn't realise it."
The King said, "Cinderella...I know that you no longer trust me, let alone love me...but I hope you can believe me when I say that you have proven a gift to this house, one worth giving thanks for."
Cinderella bowed her head. "Thank you, your majesty."
"Six years old," His majesty murmured. "You are right, it is too young. Minus the education clauses, I will take your revised and amended proposal and place it before today's council."
"Your Majesty," Lord Roux said. "How delightful it is to see you attending council again. Good day, your highnesses."
"My lord," Cinderella murmured, as she and Eugene followed the King into the council chamber, where all the ministers and councillors stood waiting for them.
"Thank you, Lord Roux, it is good to resume my duties once again," the King said as he walked towards the table. "By the way, I see no reason not to accept the fiction that I previously invited you to form a government; my son did what was best for the country under the circumstances."
Lord Roux bowed his head. "I understand, your majesty."
"Sit, sit," the King declared, as he took the seat at the head of the table. Eugene sat at his right hand, and Cinderella sat beside him. She still, in spite of his gentle manner, did not feel entirely comfortably sitting any closer to His Majesty. The others took their seats around them.
"We will begin, I think, with the factories," the King said, opening the red box in front of him and taking out a piece of paper which he handed to Lord Roux. "Here is the draught I wish to be set before the Chamber."
Lord Roux blinked rapidly, and his eyebrows rose as he read further. "Your Majesty, this is not my law."
"No, Lord Roux, it is mine," the King declared.
"Yours, your majesty?" Lord Roux murmured. "Or that of the current princess?"
Something about the way that he said the word current, as though she might not be the princess, or a princess, for very much longer, made Cinderella frown. Lord Roux didn't appear to notice even though he was looking right at her.
"My daughter-in-law and our trusted councillor had a hand in the preparation of this, as did my son and heir," the King conceded. "What of it?"
Lord Roux coughed into his hand. "Begging your majesty's pardon but I am not sure that it is wise for one whose status has yet to be conclusively determined-"
"It has been determined by me, my lord, I will not be bound by my nephew's tantrum," the King declared. "Are there any substantive objections?"
Lord Roux exhaled loudly out of his nose. "I fear the business interest will not like this."
"The business interest likes nothing in the way of regulation," Eugene pointed out.
"I know that this goes further than you considered, my lord," Cinderella said. "But I beg you to remember that we're talking about protecting children; isn't it better to go too far than not far enough?"
"Madame-" Lord Roux started.
"Your highness," Eugene said sharply.
"Your highness, indeed, forgive me," Lord Roux said. "I fear that there will be economic, political and social consequences that you have not considered."
Cinderella rested her fingers lightly on the table. "That worries me less, my lord, than I would like to see the consequences that I have considered."
"My lord, you will present this before the chamber," the King said. "It is my will."
Lord Roux bowed his head in something approaching resignation. "As your majesty pleases."
"Thank you very much, my lord," Cinderella said. "I promise, you won't regret it."
"I daresay it will be your highness who receives all the credit," Lord Roux replied, with a wry smile. "But nevertheless, your highness may be assured it shall be attempted. I do not say it shall be done but I do guarantee that it shall be attempted."
The fact that Lord Roux had not, in fact, made any great protest or issue out of the changes that she and Eugene had made to his proposals buoyed Cinderella's spirits somewhat, after the morning's shock of Drizella's report in the papers. After the council meeting she felt more optimistic, and the knowledge that she and Eugene had set in motion something that would be of profound good to so many people gave her comfort, even as she turned her attention to how they could present the now-severed education clauses as their own law without too much delay. The school that Jean had confessed to her he was building on his land had inspired her, even as Jean claimed that Cinderella's example had inspired him: more children in Armorique should be educated, or better educated than they were. Cinderella did not exempt herself from that, she was keenly aware that not only was she lacking in the kind of education that a proper young lady ought to have, but any education at all. She was fortunate that she could read and write. Angelique could barely do that after a year's tuition. If more education were to be made compulsory for the young, especially those who would soon be prohibited from working in factories and mines, then Cinderella felt it would only be to the good, and she set to working out her ideas in a spirit more optimistic and hopeful than she had felt at breakfast.
Her spirit of optimism lasted all the rest of that day, for on the next day something else, something vile and disgusting and quite honestly a little frightening to her, was competing with the rumoured murder of Vanessa for space on the front pages.
It was a scandal involving the Duke of Cornouaille, and for that reason Cinderella guessed it was the delicious scandal that Frederica had promised. Cinderella did not find this particular to scandal to be delicious; in fact she found it had a foul taste, like spoiled meat or milk gone several days sour.
And it was frightening, or at least Cinderella confessed herself frightened by it. She had known that the Duke was no friend to her or Eugene - no friend of hers would have done what she did - but she had been able to believe that it was nothing personal, even as he attacked her background and her actions. He wanted the crown, and she threatened to put that dream, that family dream if Anne spoke true, beyond his reach. It was nothing personal.
Except it was. It was personal, if this fresh news be at all true. There were no names mentioned, the reports deployed suggestion and innuendo in much the same way as the rumours that Etienne had murdered the King's mistress upon Cinderella's orders, and perhaps that meant that there was about as much truth of it but if not, if it was true then it was very personal. His Grace hated her, and he desired her at the same time. Desired to do cruel and horrible things to her, at least. Reading that the Duke desired to strangle her with her own pearls, Cinderella's hands reflexively went to her throat, and her necklace of four strands felt a little tighter around her neck than they had been before.
That he wanted to treat her that way would have been bad enough, but that he had actually done it to some poor girl whose name Cinderella didn't even know made her stomach feel sick with guilt.
"Do you think it's true?" she asked. "Do you think that he really...that he wants to...that he actually..."
"I hate to believe it of my own cousin, but..." Eugene hesitated. "It doesn't matter whether I believe it or not. What matters is that he will never treat you that way. He will never touch you, I guarantee it."
Jean was no less solicitous in his declaration of protection. His scarred face was dark with anger as he declared, in the presence of all of Cinderella's ladies, "He will not harm you while I live, your highness, I guarantee it." He paused for a moment. "If your highness will allow-"
"If you're going to mention a duel, Jean, please don't," Cinderella murmured.
"If your highness will only let me call this so-called gentleman out and let me expose him for the dog he is!" Jean cried. "He goes too far in his insults of you."
"Technically he hasn't actually insulted her highness with this," Christine said softly. "It's disgusting, but he didn't make it public."
"An insult is an insult, whether it's said to your face or behind your back," Augustina said. "And he has been insulting Cinderella since he said she was unworthy of the crown. Personally, I think that a duel might not be such a terrible idea."
"What?" Angelique spat.
"Many problems would be solved if His Grace would just die of a convenient sword through the gut," Augustina said blithely.
"His Grace is said to be a great swordsman," Marinette pointed out. "They say that in Italy, he studied under Viggiani himself."
"Learning from the great doesn't make him great," Jean said. "Your highness, I'm sure that I'll be able to beat him-"
"But what if you didn't, Jean?" Cinderella demanded. "What if you died? If I lost you then I'd...I don't know what I'd do, and as for Angelique...no, it's simply too risky. I wouldn't let Eugene do something like this and I won't let you do it either."
"Duelling is, at any rate, considered an anachronism by many-" Christine began.
"And considered an old and well-respected method of settling disputes by just as many," Augustina replied.
Christine ignored her. "Your highness would be much better off allowing the sordid nature of this affair to damage his grace, without risking anything to force the issue. In any event, it would look decidedly strange for a mere officer - no offence - defending your honour, and not your husband."
"I definitely don't want Eugene to risk his life on my behalf," Cinderella murmured.
Jean looked decidedly put out, but he didn't argue further; judging by the look on her face Angelique was very relieved about that.
Over the next few days, stretching into a week, a tangled war of words erupted between the palace and the Duke's residence. It started with the publication of the factory law, and the ensuing uproar that Christine had warned Cinderella about when she had settled on this course. Industrialists and factory-owners who had supported her over the Corn Laws wrote to Cinderella accusing her of disloyalty, treachery, abject stupidity and other things besides. They fulminated against her in the press, and decried the interference of the government in the business of commerce. Their criticism didn't upset Cinderella as much as it might, at one time had done, whether that was because she had become more resilient to such things over the course of her time in the palace or because she had received just as many - more - letters from Conservative deputies, trade union bosses and even ordinary people and parents declaring their support for her she really couldn't have said.
"With respect, your highness, I tried to warn you," Christine said as the negative correspondence began to arrive, and the negative articles began to appear. "I told you that this stance, at this time, would cost you support."
"I know, Lady Christine, and you were right," Cinderella replied, in a soft tone. "And I never thought that you would be wrong, but it doesn't matter. I did what I thought was right, what I knew was right. I'm afraid I couldn't have done anything else."
"In any case," Augustina said. "You have gained as much support as you have lost, you have proved that you are not an intolerably free-market liberal, and proved what I have been saying to my friends about your motives. And, to be incredibly cynical..." she smiled, as though she knew something that no one else did. "If his grace the duke moves to capitalise on the support of those who mislike this particular act of Cinderella's...I think he may find that he has cooked himself for dinner."
Augustina enjoyed her slightly smug air of superiority too much to explain just what she meant by that ahead of time, and Cinderella and her ladies were left to wait until the duke did, in fact, move to capitalise on the support of those who were displeased with the idea of their factories and businesses being regulated even to a small degree. He published a pamphlet, available to buy for sixpence, in which he mounted a defence of the rights of commerce, of the necessity for commerce to flourish without interference, and sought to cast Cinderella as an ill-informed busybody who should have minded her own business instead of seeking to stick her fingers into the affairs of Armorique's wealth-creators.
With the help of Eugene and her ladies - mainly Christine and Augustina, it had to be admitted - Cinderella published a pamphlet of her own rebutting his arguments - or seeking to, at least - and buttressing her point with quotes from the two previous Royal Commissions on the subject to prove that neither she nor Eugene were, in fact, ill-informed upon the subject.
It was at that point that Augustina revealed the reason why she had not seemed in the least bit concerned about support gravitating from Cinderella and Eugene to the duke over this. "It's as Angelique pointed out a little while, his grace did nothing and not only that but he said nothing either. In being so silent he benefited from appearing to be all things to all people, or at least to all people who didn't like Cinderella or were somewhat unenthused by her. But now, in his zeal to attack Cinderella and her positions, he has finally come out in a position of his own and what a position it is, commanding as it does the sympathy of only a narrow section of the Liberal party."
"You mean," Angelique said. "He's just made himself unpopular?"
"I suspect he was rather unpopular already, what with the revelations about his deviant cruelty and murderous impulses," Augustina replied. "But if anyone was holding their nose on the grounds that he might have the right politics, or better politics than Cinderella, I suspect he has just given them reason to stop holding their nose."
It was somewhat hard to tell if Augustina was right or she was overestimating the point. Certainly His Grace didn't seem to feel as though he was losing, for he continued to blast away with another pamphlet in which he declared boldly that the factories were already perfectly well-run the way they were and had no need of a woman to mother them.
Cinderella knew how she wanted to respond.
"I...I want to invite his grace to visit a factory with me, with us, and we can see for ourselves which of us is right," Cinderella announced. "I...I've never actually been inside of one, and I suspect that he hasn't either."
Eugene frowned. "You want to go with him? Knowing what...the way that he wants to...do you really want to let him get that close to you."
"I'm not going alone," Cinderella replied, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She looked down at her growing belly, and her hair fell over her shoulders and around her face. "I wouldn't be brave enough to go alone." She looked back up at Eugene, and with one hand brushed her hair back behind her shoulders. "But you'll be there, I hope, if you don't mind; and Jean too. And...and I don't think that he'd do anything in public, where everyone could see, not with other people there."
"No, I think you're certainly right about that," Eugene said. He put one hand on her shoulder. "But, darling, I'm still not sure that you have to do this. Do you think it will change anything."
"I don't believe he'll stop trying to take our marriage away, but if he sees he's wrong about this maybe he'll change his mind. About the factories, I mean. And maybe...just maybe he's right, and I'm the one who should admit to being wrong."
"I highly doubt that," Eugene said.
Cinderella smiled for just a moment. "I know, but I feel as though I ought to see, even if it's a little late. And I feel as though he ought to see as well, if we're going to argue about it even over a distance. Otherwise...we're both just guessing, aren't we?"
"I suppose so," Eugene said. "And if you do it publicly then he'll have to agree or look foolish. Very well, I'll go with you. Do you have anywhere specific in mind?"
Cinderella nodded. "The mill where Jean used to work. I asked him about it, and he told me where it was. He didn't seem to want to tell me any more, so I didn't ask. That's...that's one of the reasons I want to see for myself."
"Alright," Eugene said. "We'll send out the invitation. Or throw down the gauntlet, more like."
Once more, a brief smile crossed Cinderella's lips. "You know, there are times when I wonder if he has a slight point, if a part of me isn't just trying to mother the whole country."
Eugene chuckled and leaned across the settee to kiss her on the temple. "And what if you are? This country could do a lot worse than have a good mother watching over it."
The invitation - or challenge, as Eugene had put it - was duly publicly issued, and equally publicly accepted by his grace. A few days later, Cinderella and Eugene were born in their carriage to one of the largest and most profitable textile mills in all of Armorique. The duke's carriage - all black, a solemn contrast to the gaudy royal coach - was there before them, but his grace waited until Eugene had dismounted and began helping Cinderella down before he dismounted.
"Eugene," he said, as his wife got down behind him without any assistance. "You're a little late, I think."
"I apologise, your grace," Cinderella murmured, as Eugene helped her down to the ground. "Good morning, my lady."
"Your highness," Anne said, calmly but not without courtesy, as she smoothed out her skirt. She was modest dressed - as indeed was Cinderella herself, for the occasion, which did not lend itself to displays of extravagant finery, quite apart from the risk of a ballgown or overly poufy skirt getting caught in the machinery. Both ladies were devoid of any jewels save for their wedding and engagement rings, and both wore plain silk chokers - Cinderella's was white, Anne's green - around their necks. Their hair was arranged in nearly identical low buns, bound tight around the nape of the neck. Their ladies' maids had thought alike, it seemed.
"Prince Eugene," Anne continued, curtsying to him. "Good day to you."
"My lady," Eugene said, courteously. "I apologise for any distress that recent days may have caused you."
Anne swallowed visibly. "You are very kind to offer your sympathy, your highness."
"Kind my foot, you have no need of sympathy," Henry snapped. "Why do you offer her sympathy when my reputation has been abused."
Behind them, Jean muttered something about abuse that Cinderella didn't quite catch. Eugene's voice, on the other hand, came louder even as it was colder than an icy river. "I have nothing to say to you. Certainly nothing fit for the company of ladies."
Henry snorted, as he turned his gaze on Cinderella. "Have you asked her? Perhaps she might enjoy-" he started to walk towards her, but was stopped both by Eugene's hand on his chest to forestall him but also the low, animalistic growl that rose out of Jean's throat.
Henry tried his best to convert his look of fear into a sneer of contempt. "Keep your dog under control, for God's sake," he snapped as he turned away.
Cinderella lookd at Jean. He was shaking a little, and his hands were knotted into fists.
"Jean," Cinderella murmured, as she put a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, your highness," he said quickly. "This place...it puts me out of sorts. I will do better, I swear it."
"You don't have to-"
"My place is by your highness' side."
Cinderella looked at him for a moment. "Alright, if you're sure. I think we should probably go in now."
They walked into the mill, where they were met by the owner and the foreman who greeted the royal party with a manner that Cinderella found somewhat obsequious. He began to lead through a mill filled with great power looms that hummed as they worked, weaving wool and silk, they hummed and clattered with moving of their many metal parts, hummed so loudly that the whole room mill seemed to shake with the vibration. The owner talked about how much wool they could weave in a day, he talked about how productive the factory was, but about the workmen who stood by the machines, already looking tired at around ten in the morning, he said nothing. He said nothing too about the children, some as small as Philippe and just as young, who stood near the power looms or crawled under them or ran up and down on the mill on errands for the grown-ups.
One young boy, dressed in a frayed blue coat with a yellow kerchief around his neck, went running by when he fell flat on his face in front of Cinderella.
She gasped. "Careful," she said, as she knelt and offered a white-gloved hand to help him up. "You're not hurt, are you?"
The boy bounded to his feet without the need of Cinderella's hand to help him up. His smile was wide, revealing several missing teeth. "I'm fine, ma'am. Foreman says I've got a head as hard as the floor!"
Cinderella covered her hand with her mouth as she laughed. "Is that so? Well, please be careful anyway. I'm sure nobody wants to see you get hurt."
"I don't get hurt, never," the boy said. "I've stuck my hand in them machines lots of times, they never get me. I'm too quick for them."
"How old are you?" Anne asked.
"Seven, ma'am."
"Seven?" Anne repeated, so softly that it was only proximity that let Cinderella hear her over the sounds of the factory. She raised her voice. "And how long have you worked here?"
"Three years, ma'am."
"Away with you, boy," the mill owner snapped. "Back to work, with you." As the boy ran off, the owner said. "As you can see, we take good care of our young scamps here. We have no need of government to tell us to do what we are already doing well enough."
"Seven years old," Anne repeated. "Henry, he's the same age as Charles and yet he works in this place."
Henry sniffed. "Don't compare that brat to a son of my royal blood, for God's sake. Show some sense. Both are in their proper place."
"He started working here when he was only as old as Helene."
"How long has everyone been working already, monsieur?" Cinderella asked.
"Four hours, this shift starts at six and finishes at six."
"And another shift works at night, for another twelve hours?" she asked.
"Of course, your highness," the owner said proudly. "We are never idle, not even for a moment."
At that moment, one of the great power looms began to shake even more than before, and groan as though it were an injured animal, and the parts trembled and tossed like a stormy sea.
"There's something jammed in there!" someone shouted. "If it's not cleared it'll shatter!"
"I'll do it!" it was the boy who had tripped in front of Cinderella just a moment ago, now he ran to the groaning and creaking machine and crawled rapidly underneath it, disappearing beneath the belly of the beast, obscured from sight beneath the grinding engine.
Cinderella found her breath had caught in her throat. She reached for Eugene's hand as the moment stretched on with no sign of what was happening under there. Jean's face was pale and his knuckles were white; he was breathing heavily. The moments stretched. The machine continued to groan. The men waited in anticipation and then, suddenly, the groaning stopped and the loom began to throb and hum normally once more.
And then the boy beneath it screamed in agony.
Cinderella gasped in horror. She couldn't see what was happening down there and she could hardly imagine it. Anne looked just as shocked as she wrung her hands helplessly.
Jean was already moving. As the screaming continued he was on the floor, trying to fit himself beneath the engine, holding out his arms, yelling, "Here, boy, reach for me."
The screaming continued, ait continued even as it seemed that Jean was pulling something, someone, out from under the machine. He yanked the crying, screaming boy out from under the belly of the beast and held him as they lay on the floor, as the boy's screaming subsided into sobs of pain.
"Oh God," Anne murmured. "Oh God."
The boy's hand was almost gone. Only a bloody, mangled stump remained. The rest...he must have gotten it caught. He had not been fast enough, in the end.
"Oh God," Anne repeated.
Both Cinderella and Anne rushed towards the boy, and towards Jean who held him as he sobbed.
"It's alright, lad," Jean said. "You're safe now, I've got you."
"Don't look, Cinderella," Eugene said, as he tried to turn her away. "You shouldn't see this."
But Cinderella couldn't look away. She didn't know what she could do, but she couldn't look away. She knelt on one side of Jean and the boy, as Anne knelt upon the other, and murmured what comforting nothings she could until help arrived.
Anne's eyes were filled with tears, but when she looked at her husband, and Cinderella followed her gaze, the face of the duke was utterly dispassionate and totally without emotion.
It was as though the boy's loss mattered as little to him as the swatting of a fly.
The first thing that Anne did when she got home was to go the nursery and embrace her children. She knelt on the floor, gathered them all to her and enfolded them in her arms: Charles, Helene and little Louis who was barely more than a baby. She held them close, and kissed each one of them, and tried to banish the images of one of them losing a hand beneath the power loom.
"I love you," she whispered. "I love you all so much."
So young. He was so young.
"Mother," Charles said. "What's wrong? You're shaking."
Anne released the children, and leaned back a little so that they could see the smile with which she tried to reassure them. "Nothing is wrong, my darling. Nothing at all. I'm just a little cold."
So young.
Charles was the same age as that poor boy. In another life it could have been Charles in that mill, or Helene, for the boy had worked in that place three years before fate had struck him down. She didn't know his name. She hadn't asked for his name. It didn't matter. He was a boy, one of many boys, a boy the same age as her eldest son and now he would spend the rest of his life with only one hand. People would stare at him, he would struggle to do such simple things as pick up objects and carry them across a room. What would he do now? How would he live? Would he live? His injury was bloody and brutal, and he had moaned so-
"Mama, why are you crying?" Helene asked.
Anne sighed, and her whole body sagged forwards. With one hand she wiped her eyes. "It's nothing, Helene dear. Please don't concern yourself on my account. Have you all been very good for nurse."
"I have, mama, but Louis keeps crying."
"Oh, dear," Anne murmured, as she picked up Louis and began to rock him in her arms. "What's the matter, little one? What can mummy do?"
Louis was not crying not. He smiled up at her as she rocked him back and forth.
"There, there," Anne whispered, and as she rocked him she began to hum him a lullaby, and as she hummed her thoughts went back to the mill, to the blood and that boy.
He would be well cared for. That was some consolation, to Anne's conscience if not to the young man himself. Cinderella had declared, without so much as a glance at her husband, that she would pay for him to be treated and looked after, whatever was required. And Prince Eugene had not contradicted her, nor complained about the expense nor even reminded her that it was his money, not hers. He had looked...it had taken Anne a moment to recognise the expression on his face: admiration. He was proud of her for what she had just said.
Henry would never have permitted that, either for her to speak out of turn or certainly not to spend his money without his leave. She had the distinct impression that he would not have considered helping an injured boy to be worth the expense. He hadn't said a word about it to her. It didn't seem to be affecting him at all.
Did it not trouble him at all, to watch a child as young as his eldest son be mangled in a place like that? It had been so loud, the throbbing and vibrating still reverberated through Anne's head like the sounds of some dantean abyss. Yet it had not seemed to trouble Henry one bit.
She had always known that her husband was not a kind man. He was not a tender or devoted husband or father. He did not care for her when she was ill, he spent little time with his children, he was often distant and preoccupied. Yet she had not thought him cruel. He never hit her, and the children were not afraid of him. But now...first this business of his apparent dark desires of which she had been wholly unaware and now this. The cold look in his eyes, the lack of emotion on his face they haunted. How much did she really know him? How much worse was he than she had previously imagined.
Was he always this way, or has his desire for the crown driven him to it?
Does it matter? Either way, the result is the same.
Anne had envied Princess Cinderella from the moment that they had met: envied her power, her influence, her freedom. Now she was coming increasingly to envy Cinderella's marriage, too.
She rocked Louis to sleep before she handed him to the nurse, who took him and led Helene away.
"Excuse me, darling," she said to Charles. "I need to have a word with your father."
She found him the drawing room, hunched in a chair, staring at nothing with an air that strongly suggested he was brooding. Anne didn't require many guesses as to what he was brooding about.
"Henry," she said gently from where she stood in the doorway.
Henry said nothing. He continued to stare silently into the middle distance.
Anne raised her voice just a little. "Henry, dear?"
Henry noticed her then. He started, and his features wore surprise for a moment before his face settled into a scowl. "It isn't working," he said.
"Henry?"
"It isn't working," he repeated, in a tone somewhere between simmering discontent and genuine anger. "You told me that that woman was so hated that all the best elements of the country would rise up to support my claim as soon as I floated the notion that the marriage could be made morganatic. But they have not! If anything, her support seems stronger than it was before!"
"That's only a temporary reaction to her latest political play," Anne said, maintaining a gentle tone in the hope that it would encourage him to soften his in turn. "Once the memory of it recedes the bounce will fade and-"
"It isn't working!" Henry snarled, leaping up from his chair as he did so.
"Henry, please," Anne cried, holding up her hands for calm.
"That woman...that woman and her friends they insult me, accuse me, mock me they...I cannot bear it!" Henry seized a mock-Greek vase from off the windowsill and threw it at the wall. Anne flinched as it shattered into pieces. "How can they, how can anyone, desire that whore for their princess, their queen?" Henry demanded. Anne did not dared not, comment on the irony of he, who visited with whores, turning the word as a slander upon a woman who had by all reports been nothing but faithful to her husband. "How can they desire her base and debased children on the throne ahead of mine own issue?"
Why indeed? Anne thought, and kept her silence. She was coming to believe - yet another thing that she would never dare to say aloud - that the problem lay not so much in Cinderella's unexpected popularity but in her husband. The fault was not in his stars but in himself, he was too stern and cold, too proud and too entitled to win the love of any part of the politic. There might be those who hated Cinderella still, there were certainly those who lamented her influence upon the state and even a few, perhaps, who were opposed in principle to all she stood for; but she was warm and generous, kind to her friends and merciful to her enemies, and with those qualities she won loyalty even as she won support with her aims and ambitions. She was not universally adored, but at least there was something about her that could be adored.
Unlike my husband. It felt disloyal even to think that, and she would never dare to say it. But it was true. It was the truth that she had avoided confronting when she had devised this plan to resolve her husband's ambitions bloodlessly: that it revolved entirely around people not wanting Cinderella for their queen; no one wanted Henry for their king, because there were no reasons anyone should do so.
She was spared the need to find an answer that would satisfy her husband when he turned away. "Why? Why did I...why did I listen to you? Why did I submit myself to your guidance on this matter?"
And what have you done to advance your own cause? Anne thought, but did not say. So far his ideas had consisted of some amateurish murder plots, she had been doing all of the thinking to achieve a goal she did not even want!
"Henry," she ventured. "Henry, if...if you had sought to take her life, or either of their lives, you would have been hanged as a traitor. I...I would be alone, and the children would be without a father-"
"Oh, enough, enough!" Henry snapped. "Leave off, for heaven's sake!"
Anne bowed her head. None of this was what she had come here for. None of it was what she had sought her husband out to speak to him of. And yet, now that they had started down this road, she was uncertain how to get onto the path she wished to walk; a sad fact that was as true of her life as of this conversation.
A frown creased Anne's brow. "Henry...Henry, when you saw that boy, what had become of him, did you feel nothing?"
"What should I have felt?" Henry demanded as he turned to her.
"A little compassion?" Anne suggested. "He is of an age with our son."
"But he is not my son," Henry declared. "Therefore why should I feel aught for him?"
And that is why the realm will never want you for it's king. "Do you...Henry, do you desire Princess-"
"Speak not her name!"
"Do you desire her?" Anne demanded. "Is it true? What they said about you, is it true?"
"Why does it matter?"
"I want to know!"
Henry's jaw tightened. "You do not use that tone with me; I am your lord and master, not your servant."
Anne swallowed. "Please. Is it true?"
Henry snorted. "If Eugene had acquired a first-class mare no one would look askance at me if I wished to ride her."
"She's a woman, not a horse."
"Yes, and fairer than you for all her low birth."
"I am your wife," Anne said. "I have given you three children."
"Is that not your duty as my wife?"
Anne closed her eyes for a moment. She did not know whether she was better off knowing the truth or had been better off in ignorance. "You are a cruel man." You are a monster.
She felt his hands upon her face, his lips upon her forehead. "Cruel? No, wife, I am not cruel. "I am wronged, and swindled and unthought of, and I do what I must to take what I deserve. All the rest, whatever I may do or darkly desire, is no concern of yours. Whatever I may do, know that I will never harm you." He kissed her again. "Look at me."
Anne opened her eyes. Henry was smiling jovially down upon her. "My love," he said. "Will you go into the vault and get my chequebook? There are some bills I need to pay."
"I...yes, of course," Anne murmured, turning away from Henry and leaving him behind as she walked across the house to the vault at the back. She pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped inside, walking lightly towards the back of the sealed, windowless room.
She was still in there when the metal door slammed shut behind her.
Anne stopped, her eyes widening in the dark. She retraced her steps and pushed against the door. It didn't move. It was locked.
"Hello?" she called. "Hello, can anyone hear me? I've gotten locked in here."
"And here you will stay," Henry declared from the other side. "While you think about your failures, and resolve to do better in future."
"Henry?" Anne cried. "Henry!" she banged on the metal door with one hand. "Henry, open the door! Open the door you can't keep me in here! Henry, please open the door!"
She cried out, but he did not reply. She screamed until her throat was hoarse, but the door did not budge. She banged upon the metal and only succeeding in making her hand ache. She pushed, but the vault door did not move.
She lost track of time, trapped in that inescapable box, locked in by her own husband in the dark, unable to see, unable to escape, unable to do anything but shout and scream in abject futility for someone, anyone, to open the door and let her out.
Anne began to wonder, trapped and lost and all alone, if he meant to never let her out. She wondered if he meant to kill her this way. Perhaps he meant to kill her. Perhaps...perhaps this was how it would end. Perhaps this was all her life would amount to, in the end.
"Why?" Anne screamed, as she sank to her knees on the floor, tears in her eyes, forehead resting against the door. With one hand she scraped her fingernails down the metal. "Why?" she repeated. She was not asking Henry why he had done it, if he was even still listening. She was asking...whoever or whatever was there: God, Fate, Fortune, Destiny, whoever why this was happening to her. What she had done to deserve this cruelty. She was asking, in the end, why Cinderella was so blessed and she was so cursed.
Am I not a woman as she is? Have I not a mind as sharp as hers? Am I not fair, and beautiful in the eyes of men? Have I not been a good mother to my children? Do I not love them? Have I not been obedient to my husband in all his follies? Then why, oh powers that rule our lives, are we who are so matched in nature so unmatched in the blessings of our fates. Cinderella is the realm's delight, blessed with a loving husband and all the more loving for the trust which he bestows upon her. She is her husband's counsellor, and the nation's. She is the prince's partner, viewed by him as an equal and by the country as the driving force of their affairs. While I...I will never be anything to my husband but a doll. I have played the doll, no doll prettier than I and none more silent. I have played the part that he demanded of me and I have played it well and my reward for such is...how can two royal cousins be so counterfeit to one another? If two women are well-matched in looks and wits and virtues should they not be matched in husbands also?
Why is hers so good, and mine so ill?
Why is Cinderella so blessed while I am cursed?
What more can I do?
When he let her out, she discovered that she had been in there for six hours. It had seemed longer.
"You forgot yourself, today," Henry informed her coldly. "See that it does not happen again."
"I won't," Anne gasped, as she crawled out of the vault like some kind of animal. "I won't, I promise, I swear it. I...I have a new idea, a better one, one that will succeed, I promise you."
Her husband's expression was cold. "I'm listening."
She went to the palace the next day - she had been locked in the vault for so long that it was too late to call upon the princess that evening - and was after a brief while invited up and admitted into Cinderella's bedchamber. The princess was dressed in radiant white, adorned with diamonds. She looked so lovely, small wonder the foul desired her just as much as did the fair.
She was so lovely. Beautiful and blessed and beloved, the most fortunate of all creatures under the sun. But she looked wary. Anne might even have said afraid. Afraid of Anne? Afraid of her? It seemed absurd to her, that she who had been so mistreated could strike fear into the heart one so much more fortunate than she. What had Cinderella to fear from Anne, when Cinderella had all that Anne desired and more?
"Your highness," Anne said, concealing her envy as she concealed so much of herself. "Thank you for seeing me. I know that you have little cause for trust and less for love."
"What do you want, your grace?" Cinderella asked. "Why did you wish to see me?"
Anne laughed bitterly. "Your grace? Call me not your grace, your highness, I am...I am far from a state of grace. I am here...I came to apologise, on behalf of myself and of my husband, for all the distress and hurt that we have caused you."
Cinderella blinked. "Apologise? To me?"
You sound so surprised. "I was...I was wrong, to treat you as I did, to seek your crown, to attack your marriage. You are not the agent of chaos I was afraid you were. I see that now. I was a fool to ever think otherwise."
Cinderella looked confused, speechless. "I...I...I'm sorry, your grace, you must think that I'm a tongue-tied idiot, but..." she laughed, and it was such a pretty laugh that Anne could not help but take pleasure in it. "Would you believe that nobody's ever apologised to me for something like this before. I'm afraid I don't know what to say."
"Then say nothing, if it pleases you," Anne said.
Cinderella did indeed say nothing for a moment, but then she said, "Why?"
"Your highness?"
"Why...why are you apologising, I suppose? What...what changed your mind about me?"
"Your calm," Anne said. "You could have used the mob but you did not. You constrained yourself to...more traditional forms."
Cinderella pursed her lips together. "I would never hurt someone just because they disliked me. Did you think I would?"
"I feared it might be so," Anne replied. "Your...your supporters also deserve praise. They have been very well behaved."
"They are not savages, and they are not a mob," Cinderella said reproachfully. "They are just people, who deserve compassion for their troubles."
Anne nodded. "Yes. Quite. Your highness, my husband is a proud man. Too proud, I confess, to come here apologise himself even though he probably should. But tomorrow he will publish an open letter confessing to his mistakes and acknowledging you as a princess and mother to the future king or queen of Armorique."
"Thank you," Cinderella said softly. "That is...very generous."
Anne snorted. "I think we both know it is not, rather it is the least that is owed to you." She paused. "I know that our offences have been egregious, but nevertheless I hope that we can, in time, put this behind us and become friends. We are family, or our husbands are; it would be terrible if we were divided by enmity, would it not?"
"I...yes," Cinderella said. "Yes, you're right, your grace. I would like that."
And so it begins.
Anne took a deep breath. "I...right. I should go. Um, thank you for seeing me, your highness, I won't take up any more of your time." She turned to go.
"Anne, wait just a moment."
Anne turned, to see Cinderella rush across the room to her.
"You...you don't mind if I call you Anne, do you?" Cinderella asked. "You may call me Cinderella, if you like. If we are to become friends."
Anne hesitated. Is it so easy? Can she forgive so easily? Who is she? "I...yes, Anne is acceptable."
Cinderella smiled, a soft and gentle, kindly smile, a smile to warm and chase away the cold. She placed a gentle hand upon Anne's shoulder. "Anne...oh, I'm sorry, I don't really know how to say this...your husband...I know better that most not to believe everything that I read, but-"
"If you're asking me how he feels about you-"
"Oh, no," Cinderella cried. "Oh, no, Anne, I want to...I'm trying to ask...are you alright? Does he...does he hurt you? Put like that it seems almost...my friends asked me that about Eugene and it sounded ridiculous but...are you alright?"
Anne's eyes bulged for a moment. "I...I don't...I...your...Cinderella, I...are you...are you concerned for me? For me?"
Cinderella's smile became more sheepish, and a little pained. "I know what it's like to be trapped and alone. I know that...I know that sometimes the hardest thing is to remember that you don't deserve it." She placed another hand on Anne's other shoulder. "I just want you to know that...that I can and will help you, if you need it."
Anne was speechless. She was frozen. In the face of Cinderella's raw compassion she was stripped naked and exposed. All her masks were shattered.
Before Anne knew what was happening she was crying her eyes out.
Cinderella enfolded her in her arms. "You're not alone, Anne," she said. "I'm here."
Anne didn't know how long she stood there, sobbing into Cinderella's shoulder while the princess she had sought to destroy hugged her protectively. Sobbing out years of fear and pain and hate and jealousy and all the feelings she had never allowed herself to display. Weeping for herself, and all that had been taken from her.
She didn't know how long she was there, but eventually excused herself. "I...I really must be going."
"Are you sure?" Cinderella asked. "I...will you be alright? Will you be safe?"
"I must go," Anne repeated, and left before Cinderella could question it any further.
That is why the world prefers her to my husband.
That is why she is the realm's delight.
That is why she deserves the crown and throne and all of it.
That is why...that is why it will be over soon.