Sparkling Cyanide
Anne left to return home - Cinderella very much hoped that she was alright there; it had been very selfish of her not to realise earlier that if the Duke were such a man as those vile reports claimed then he might be willing to do any number of things to his wife behind closed doors - and Cinderella, trying to put aside her misgivings for her safety and the concerns that Anne's tears had roused in her, rang for one of her chambermaids. It was Constance who answered just a few moments later.
"You rang, ma'am?"
"Yes, Constance, I did," Cinderella said. "Will you please be a dear and find Eugene, Prince Eugene, and ask him to come up here please? I need to speak to quite urgently. And can you also go around my ladies and ask them to come up?"
"Of course, ma'am."
"Thank you, Constance."
The door closed behind the maid. Cinderella turned away, and sat down on the bed. "Does it seem strange, Duchamp?"
"Ma'am?" asked Duchamp from where she stood in the corner of the room.
Cinderella bowed her head for a moment. With one hand she stroked the diamond bracelet on her other wrist. "I feel worried about her. Yesterday she was trying to take my crown away and turn my marriage into a lesser thing. But now I'm worried about her. Does that seem strange?"
"With respect, ma'am, I know you too well to find it strange," Duchamp said.
Cinderella shook her head. "I know that I've been taken in in the past. I know that I can be naive, gullible even; but those were real tears, Duchamp, I'm sure of it. She wasn't pretending to get on my good side she...she was upset, even if she wouldn't say what she was upset about."
"Her grace did seem somewhat distressed, ma'am."
Cinderella nodded gravely. "I hope she's alright. I really do. If...if I can't use all this to help people...if all my good intentions just amount to nothing then...then what good am I? If I can't help someone who is in exactly the same position I was in then...I don't know, I want to help her...because I feel as though she needs it. Or maybe I'm being as foolish as Frederica when she thought Eugene was hurting me. I'd like to be...but I don't think I am."
If Anne had asked for her help, if she had told Cinderella that she was afraid, that she was being hurt, then Cinderella would have done everything within her power to protect and help her. But Anne had not said anything of the sort, she had only cried, and tears proved nothing. So, for now, Cinderella could only worry for her.
Cinderella's ladies-in-waiting arrived at that point, and the group repaired into the sitting room. Cinderella took one half of the green settee, with Marinette sitting beside her and Angelique, Augustina and Christine seated around her. It had to be said that they were less enthusiastic of Anne's change of heart then Cinderella was.
"Cinderella," Angelique began. "I hate to say that you're too nice for your own good sometimes but-"
"Everything before the but is meaningless," Marinette murmured.
Angelique cringed. "You've trusted people in the past and those people have hurt you. Serena, Lucien-"
"And because I trusted them I gave them the means and the power to hurt me, I remember," Cinderella said. "But if Anne, or rather if the Duke does what she says he will do and withdraws his objections then...how can they hurt me after that?"
"Personally, your highness, I wouldn't rest upon your laurels," Christine said. "A good cause has the power to outlive him who gave it voice. The campaign against your crown and marriage may outlast the Duke's objections to your having crown and equal marriage."
"Is that what you call a good cause?" Angelique asked.
"Of course not, but if there were not some who believed it to be so Cinderella would never have had anything to worry about," Christine replied. "You must continue to solidify your support amongst the political classes of this country; it will only benefit you in the long term, see off any future efforts like this one...quite frankly, your highness, it can do you no harm at all."
"I agree," Augustina said. "You've made a good start, it would be a shame to stop now simply because the immediate need has vanished. As for the question of the remorse of the Duke and Duchess...I would be cautious and yet...I confess that even looking at it cynically I'm not sure what this has to recommend it as a strategy. It would be one thing to do as Serena did, worm their way into your affection and then like the viper bite you on your breast; but to attempt the same having first aroused your enmity seems ridiculous."
"Maybe they know that Cinderella isn't possessed of very much enmity," Angelique said. "If any."
"I take that as a compliment, Angelique," Cinderella said, with a slight smile. "Even if that isn't how you intended it."
Angelique held up one hand. "I admire your kindness as much as anyone else in Armorique, I love you for it as much as anyone else in Armorique..."
Cinderella chuckled. "I think there's another 'but' coming, isn't there?"
Angelique's mouth twisted in distaste. "A few days ago we found out that this man likes to find women who look like you and smack them around, strangle them, maybe worse and all because that's what he wishes that he could do to you. I just...now we're told that he wants to make up? Can you honestly believe that? Can you really think about him without your skin crawling?"
"No," Cinderella admitted. "No, I can't. When we were at the mill...I wouldn't have had the courage to go there alone. To be alone with him. But I'm not talking about trusting or forgiving his grace, I'm talking about Anne. I...you didn't see the way she started crying. I don't believe that they were false tears. I believe her."
"Even if her husband is a monster?" Angelique asked.
"Especially then, if that makes any sense," Cinderella said softly. "You are all wiser than I am in some ways. I don't know as much as I should about politics or literature or culture; I don't know what it's like to be so poor you don't know where your next meal is going to come from, or what it's like to sleep without a roof over your head; but I know, and I hope you don't mind me saying that none of you know this, I know what it's like to be trapped in a house with someone...someone terrible, someone who hates you, someone who you can't escape. I know what it's like to be afraid and alone. I know what it's like to have to struggle not to show how scared you are. I know what it's like to have to try and find reasons for hope each day because cause for hope is so hard to find. If Anne is in that position too then...even if I can only offer her a little relief then...I have to do what I can for her."
The ladies were all silent. Angelique frowned. "I...forgive me, I didn't think."
"It's alright," Cinderella said. "I wouldn't normally talk about it, but...it's important, here, I think."
"I hope you don't mind that we all worry about you," Marinette said softly. "It's just that you've been hurt so much."
"I know, and it's sweet, and I love you for it," Cinderella said. "But I want to try and make things better. I agree with Christine, oh I'm so sorry-"
Christine smile was somewhere between resigned and amused. "It's quite alright, your highness, I can stand a little informality. Christine will be fine."
Cinderella smiled at her for a moment. "I agree with you and Augustina, I don't intend to stop what I was doing. But I also want to make things better with Anne, and maybe her husband too. If they do what Anne has said - and if they don't then I'll know it was a lie - then I don't see how else they can hurt me, hurt any of us."
"Be careful," Marinette said.
"I will," Cinderella promised. "And besides, I've still got all of you watching over me."
Eugene arrived not long after, and Cinderella's ladies took their leave as Eugene sat down in the settee beside her.
"There's nothing wrong, is there?" he asked anxiously. "What was it that you wanted to tell me so urgently?"
Cinderella told him. It had to be said that Eugene wasn't any more enthused about it than Cinderella's ladies had been. In fact he might even have been less so.
"If Henry wants to apologise for his outrageous behaviour he can come and tell me so himself," he declared as his face darkened with anger.
"Anne says that he's too proud to admit to being wrong," Cinderella said.
"I don't care how proud he is, he has done us both wrong but you especially," Eugene said sharply. "I'm not inclined to let him slither away from that by sending his wife to make his apologies."
Cinderella took his hand, and squeezed it gently. "I understand, but...I'd rather that he didn't hold a grudge that makes him want to cause us even more trouble."
"You're being remarkably forgiving, even for you," Eugene said. "Considering how he's treated you."
"I'm forgiving Anne, more than him," Cinderella said. "I'd like to think that we can come to see one another better. Eugene...this is a good thing. This means we won. Do you really want to keep fighting?"
"No, of course not," Eugene said. "I just want to make sure that the three of you are safe."
Cinderella chuckled. "Now that they've given up on taking my crown and our marriage away, I really don't see what harm they can do to us."
True to Anne's word, his grace the Duke published his retraction the next day, admitting that he had been mistaken in his machinations and conceding that, as Cinderella had wed Eugene in an equal marriage, there were no good grounds to suddenly strip that equality away from her. He even admitted that it had been mere selfishness and ambition driving him to do it, which was a step further than Cinderella had expected him to go. Eugene muttered that such a mea culpa might have meant more if he had delivered it in person, but Cinderella could tell that he was not unhappy with what he'd got.
Over the next two weeks, Anne became a frequent visitor at the palace. Her husband never accompanied her, he was always too busy to do so.
"Busy?" Eugene asked, after Anne's visit had ended. "Busy doing what?"
Eugene might grouse, but Cinderella was secretly glad that Anne came alone, both for herself and also somewhat for Anne's sake. For herself, because as much as she hadn't mentioned it to Eugene she could not so easily forget the Duke's reported dark proclivities any more than she could easily forget what His Majesty had done to her under Grace's influence. She was glad not to have to worry about the duke's presence, worry about being accidentally left alone with him. When Anne was here alone, Cinderella could just enjoy her company. And for Anne's sake...if it was true what they said of the Duke - Anne still denied it - then it was surely good for her to get away from him, if only for a little while.
And, now that she was no longer trying to damage Cinderella's life, and now that she no longer suspected Cinderella of being some kind of vicious demagogue, Anne turned out to be quite charming company. She knew so much and she was so eager to share what she knew. Even though their conversation often dissolved into lecturing - if only because there wasn't a lot that Cinderella could add - Anne never seemed talk down to her, rather her tone was constantly one of enthusiasm as she explained her passions and enthusiasms to Cinderella.
"So you see," she said. "This stone could be the key to unlocking all the secrets of ancient Egypt. Because on the one side there is Greek, which we can read, we have a key with which to translate the hieroglyphs on the other side. We know what it says!"
"Then surely we can already translate the hieroglyphs," Cinderella said.
"Unfortunately it isn't quite that simple," Anne said. "Because we're talking about a pictographic rather than an alphabetical language, the best that we have is a word for word correspondence, not letter to letter, and even then it can be hard to tell where the words end or begin..." she sighed. "Am I boring you? You must stop me if I'm boring you. I'm aware that not everyone shares my interest in dead peoples and lost empires."
"Oh, no Anne, I'm not bored at all," Cinderella said. "You make it all sound so fascinating."
"It is. It really is," Anne said. "The pyramids, the Parthenon, the coliseum; Herodotus, Polybius, Livy. Livy! Do you know, there is a story that when Mount Vesuvius began to erupt, the naturalist and philosopher Pliny the Younger was in his library reading Livy; and there he remained, because the wonder of watching a volcano erupt paled before the joys of Livy's prose."
"My goodness," Cinderella murmured. "Was he alright?"
"Oh, yes, the eruption didn't come close to his villa," Anne said quickly. They were sitting out on the veranda, and so Anne leaned back in her wicker chair and lifted her eyes skyward as a longing sigh escaped her. "I'd like to go back there. Italy, or Greece; I'm not sure about Egypt, I'd be worried about the children. But somewhere...yes I would like to go back there. There's nothing for me here."
"Nothing?"
Anne smiled. "Forgive me, Cinderella, but your charms - although charming - are not quite sufficient to make up for the nullity of anything else that binds me to this place. This is Henry's place, not mine."
"Will your husband want to go?" Cinderella asked.
"I don't know," Anne admitted. "I hope so, but...I don't know."
Cinderella reached out and placed a gentle hand upon Anne's arm. "Are you alright, Anne?"
Anne nodded quickly. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Everything...everything is turning out very well indeed."
After two weeks of visits from Anne alone, her husband his grace deigned to join them. He was a little stiff, and he seemed a little uncomfortably, but then after everything that had passed between them - and the way that Eugene kept watching him - it was quite understandable. And after lunch was over he was able to muster a convivial manner as he invited Cinderella and Eugene to dine at his house in two nights time.
"I beg you both to accept," he said. "Let me come to know you better, and in so knowing make amends for the wrongs that I have done you."
"Please, say that you'll come," Anne said. "I feel as though we have become so close, so quickly."
Cinderella looked at Eugene. He hesitated, but then said, "Very well, we would be delighted."
Henry stood in the master bedroom, looking down on the street below as the royal carriage arrived at his house, driving through the gates as it conveyed the royal couple to his house for dinner.
The royal couple. That girl, standing in the way of all that ought to be his. Well, not for much longer. She was a fool if she thought that he had forgiven her for what she had done. They were both fools to come here, into the spider's parlour.
His cousin and that wretched woman were the last of the guests to arrive: Lord and Lady Roux had arrived first, and then Lord Georges and his simpering ninny of a wife afterwards. Henry wasn't sure why Anne had wanted to invite them, but she said that a larger party at the dinner table would make everything go much more smoothly. He had agreed, because even if he wasn't sure what she meant he couldn't see that it really mattered. Everything had been arranged, and everything would go off without a hitch.
Anne's new plan, so much better than her old one, was simple: gain the trust and friendship of the princess - easily done since she was so gullible and naive as to trust anyone - invited her to dinner and then poison her. It was to be cyanide in her champagne, Henry had already made the arrangements with a trusted servant to administer it into her glass. Henry closed his eyes, and imagined that beautiful face contorted with agony, her pale skin turning as blue as those beguiling eyes, imagined her choking, clawing at her throat, trying to breathe. He imagined her fingers convulsing, clutching at a life that was slipping away from her. He imagined her gaiety, that bright smile, those sparkling eyes, turning to horror as she realised that she was about to die and there was nothing she could do about it. Just imagining it made him ecstatic. He could only imagine how it would feel to see it happen, to see her die.
He could imagine few sweeter sights in his life.
Cinderella hugged a shawl of blue silk around her arms and shoulders as their carriage bore them to the Duke's townhouse. "Thank you," she said.
"For what?" Eugene asked.
"For agreeing to come," Cinderella said. "I know that you didn't really want to."
Eugene shrugged. "I admit that I wouldn't have sought out Henry's company even before he started trying to bar my children from the succession, but you seem to have struck up a friendship with Anne and I've no reason to get in the way of that."
"Do you trust her more now?" Cinderella asked.
"She seems genuine, I suppose," Eugene said. "But...I suppose that she has given me no reason to distrust her. We'll see what happens tonight, I suppose. I wonder what the occasion is?"
"Does there need to be one?" Cinderella replied. "They might have simply wanted to hold a dinner party for friends."
Eugene smiled. "True. And if that is all it is...who knows, if tonight is enjoyable it might even thaw my feelings towards Henry somewhat."
The carriage stopped within the gates of the townhouse, and as Cinderella was helped down from the carriage - the moonlight glittered on her sapphires bracelets - she saw that there were other carriages here before them. She had thought that she and Eugene would be the only guests but clearly that was not the case. She wondered who else was here.
"Did his grace mention any other guests to you?" she asked Eugene.
"No," he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the house. "No, I'm not sure who else is here either."
Anne met them in the hall, dressed in a gown of gold and sparkling in diamonds. "Cinderella, Eugene! Oh, I do apologise, we must be more formal in this setting." She curtsied. "Your highnesses."
Cinderella giggled as she embraced Anne by the arms. "Thank you for inviting us. You didn't tell us that this was a dinner party."
"Oh, it's nothing quite so grand," Anne said. "A table for eight is the perfect size, I think; anything less and it just doesn't work. May I tell you how lovely you look."
"Thank you, you look wonderful yourself."
"You're too kind," Anne said. "Your eye shadow is stunning, the way that the brown is flecked with gold at the edges...it looks almost like the wings of a butterfly."
Cinderella smiled. "That's the idea. I'm glad that it works."
"And your jewels," Anne said. She reached out and brushed her fingertips against Cinderella's necklace. "I know that you must prefer pearls, but sapphires suit you so much better."
"Well, I'm glad you like them," Cinderella said, to avoid telling Anne that she disagreed somewhat on that. "Um, who else is joining us?"
"Lord Roux and Lord Georges have already arrived, with their wives," Anne said. "Come, I'll show you to the dining room. I guarantee, this will be an evening you will long remember."
Anne led them into a spacious room - the walls were green, with a red band running through the middle of them - with a round table, made up for eight, in the centre of it. The Duke and his guests were mingling on one side of the room, and Cinderella and Eugene joined them there - Cinderella had never met Lady Roux, and this was her first time meeting Lord and Lady Georges face to face; Anne was good enough to introduce them - for few moments of casual conversation before Anne steered them all towards the table.
"Now that we are all here and gathered we might as well sit down," Anne said, ushering all her guests into their seats. She appeared to have chosen them in advance. "Henry, if you sit here and then Cinderella, you sit here to the left of him..."
Cinderella swallowed, if only slightly. She liked Anne, and it was true that the last time they had spent time together Henry had been courteous enough, but still...the idea of sitting beside him with no one between them...it made her mouth feel a little dry. "Anne," she softly. "Are yo sure that?"
Anne took her hands. "Trust me, he doesn't bite in spite of what people say." She smiled. "Please, it just won't work otherwise. No harm will come to you, I promise."
Cinderella hesitated for a moment, before her better nature won out. She smiled back at Anne. "Alright then," she said, as she took the seat to which Anne directed her. Eugene ended up on Cinderella's left, while Anne took the seat on Henry's right hand. Lords and Ladies Roux and Georges took the places separating Eugene and Anne.
The meal was sumptuous, beginning with pigeon-breast wrapped in bacon and stuffed with truffles, and continuing with a braised shoulder of lamb lavishly smothered in a creamy sauce, with mushrooms, roast potatoes, boiled potatoes, broccoli, cauliflower and carrots.
"This is absolutely delicious," Cinderella said. "Your chef is quite as good as anyone at the palace."
"You flatter our poor hospitality," Henry said. "The fact is that our chef is not actually at the palace."
"No, your grace, but I imagine that you're very glad of that when you sit down to dinner," Cinderella said with a smile.
Henry smiled back, although it did not seem an entirely kind smile to Cinderella. He may not bite but that didn't mean that - no disrespect to Anne - she wouldn't have rather sat between Eugene and Lord Roux. She didn't understand why Anne had been so insistent on seating the table this way. Still, although there had been one or two instances when she had thought - and feared - that Henry's hand was about to brush against her knee, nothing had actually happened. Perhaps she was reading too much into a smile.
In light of the company at the dining table, it was perhaps inevitable that the conversation would turn to politics, and the party was discussing the state of the nation as the champagne was brought out, just as the main course was almost devoured. Cinderella, who was discussing education with Eugene and Lord Roux, didn't noticed her champagne flute being filled. One moment it was empty, and the next the slender vessel was full of sparkling champagne.
"Drink up, everyone, drink up," Henry declared eagerly. "This is a 1673, a fine vintage. Drink!"
Cinderella gripped her flute gently at the stem, between her thumb and two fingers, and delicately raised it to her lips. She began to tip the champagne flute forward in expectation of the sip-
Anne lurched to her feet. "A toast," she said eagerly. "A toast, dear friends, to our most honoured guest tonight." She raised her champagne flute in the air. "A toast to her royal highness, Princess Cinderella, the realm's delight and a light of inspiration to us all. To the Realm's Delight!"
"To Her Highness!" said the others, or 'To the Princess' or simply (in Eugene's case) 'To Cinderella!'. They all raised their glasses to her before they drank.
Cinderella put her champagne flute down upon the table as she felt her cheeks begin to burn up. "You flatter me far too much."
"I think not, your highness," Lord Roux said. "The Factory Bill that will shortly become law is your work, and the realm is well aware of it."
"Though it is true that when your engagement to his highness was first announced there were many - and I include myself in this - who were intensely sceptical," Lord Georges said. "You have proven yourself to be energetic and intellectually curious. I have no doubt that you will be a fine queen one day."
"One day that will be very far in the future, I hope," Cinderella said. "His Majesty the King deserves many years with his grandchildren."
"Indeed," Anne said. "May you be the perfect princess for a long time to come."
"And the perfect wife," Eugene said.
Henry's face was as stiff as stone.
As the plates of the main course were cleared away, everyone rose to stretch their legs a little before dessert was served. Cinderella left her shawl upon her chair, the only person to leave anything on their seat, before Eugene took her arm and led her out onto the balcony overlooking the garden.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Cinderella asked, as they joined the others in the cool night air.
"It hasn't been bad," Eugene said. "Are you alright without your shawl?"
"Yes, I'll be fine," Cinderella said. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"
Eugene looked up. "A hunter's moon. A night for the prey to fear."
Cinderella shivered. "What a maudlin thing to say."
Anne was the last to emerge onto the balcony, and she joined not her husband but Cinderella and Eugene. "I want to thank you both for coming, once again; it means a great deal to both of us."
"Thank you for the invitation, we've enjoyed it so much," Cinderella said.
"I'm glad," Anne said softly. She stared at Cinderella for a moment, with a wistful smile upon her face. "Cinderella...can I ask you a question?"
"I...yes, of course," Cinderella said.
"What was it like, escaping that awful house?" Anne asked. "When you had the chance to get free of it, how did you find the courage?"
Cinderella was silent for a moment.
"If...if it's too hard, you don't have to-"
"It's alright," Cinderella said. "I...I suppose that I...I never let them make me believe that misery was all that I deserved. I always dreamed of happiness. And so, when I had the chance to make my dreams come true..." she tightened her grip on Eugene's arm a little, and smiled up at him. "I took it."
Anne chuckled. "I...I don't know if I can explain how much of a light you are to me."
Cinderella frowned. "I don't understand."
"No," Anne said. "And as I said, I can't explain it." She beamed. "Please, come back inside. Everyone, please follow me! It's almost time for dessert."
The party returned to the dining room. Cinderella found her seat because it had her shawl on it, and everyone else sat down relative to her, in the same places as they had done before. The champagne flutes had all been topped up, so that it was as if no one had ever drunk at all.
As the dessert - a delicious looking trifle - was brought out, Henry raised his champagne flute. "A toast to my wife, the mother of my children, and our hostess on this wonderful evening. To Anne!"
Cinderella raised her champagne flute. "To Anne." She raised the glass to her lips and sipped from the sparkling champagne. It bubbled on her tongue as though it were dancing there.
She set the glass down in front of her. "I'm afraid I'm not a great judge of champagne, your grace, but that was-"
She stopped. Her eyes widened. Her face was transfigured into a look of horror, all joy, delight and gaiety gone. She felt as though she couldn't breathe, it was stuck in her throat, unable to get out. Cinderella recoiled away from the sight beside her.
Henry's face had turned blue, it convulsed and twitched and twisted as he tried and failed to breathe.
"Henry?" Anne cried out. "Henry!"
Henry tore at his collar, his fingers clutching at his neck, clutching at life. It was like watching a man drown in air. He looked at Cinderella, with one hand reaching out for her as though she had the power to save him...and then he fell forward, his face striking the table with a very final sounding thud.
And Anne screamed.
Anne sat on her bed, clutching Henry's suicide note - forged, of course, but a very good forgery if she said so herself - in her hand. She stared straight ahead, as though she were lost in the horror of it all.
To be honest, having done it, she was a little shocked at just what she had done. Not horrified, no indeed not, but shocked.
She had...killed her own husband. Or at least, she had manipulated him into killing himself, which amounted to the same thing.
Arrogant, short-sighted fool. Did you really believe that you could kick me like a dog and I would simply endure it? Even a dog will bite if spurned too often.
Cinderella, who did not and could never know that her happiness, her very life itself, had been saved by Anne's intervention, sat beside her. She had one arm, one opera-gloved and sapphire-laden arm, wrapped around Anne's shoulder because she thought Anne needed comfort at this time.
It pricked her conscience, to lie to such a good, kind and virtuous woman like this; it pricked her conscience far more than the murder of her husband did. But Cinderella could never know the truth. No one could ever know the truth about what she had done.
"Anne," Cinderella said. "I'm so sorry."
Anne was not sorry in the least. But widows were supposed to be melancholy not jubilant, and so she kept her voice appropriately miserable as she said, "I had no idea he felt this way. If he had only confided in me..." Indeed, how many of our troubles could have been avoided if he had only treated me as an equal, as Prince Eugene treats you.
Cinderella squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "What will you do now?"
"I don't know," Anne murmured. "I...I have no idea what to say to the children."
That, at least, was true. How did she explain to Charles, let alone Helene, that their father was dead? How did she explain death to a four year-old."
Cinderella was silent for a moment, and Anne remembered that she had lost both her parents at a young age. "I'm so sorry that this is happening to them, and to you. But...but at least your children still have you." Another squeeze. "You must take care of yourself now, Anne. You're all they have left."
"Will I be enough?" Anne asked.
"When...when my mother died," Cinderella said, as softly and tenderly as though Anne were a child herself. "My father worried that he was not enough. He thought I needed a mother to take care of me. But he was wrong. He was enough, we were enough, together, he and I. We were so happy together, we didn't need anyone else. He was enough. You are enough. Don't forget that."
Anne looked at her. So kind, so much compassion in that beautiful face. "Please don't frown for me," she said. "You have a face made for such smiles." She ran her fingers up Cinderella's hair, brushing against those rolls on top of her head, and intertwined red and white roses woven into her locks just above her ear. "What...if I may ask...what did your father tell you, when your mother passed away?"
Cinderella closed her eyes for a moment, and looked down at her lap. "He said my mother was in heaven now, and though it would not be for a very long time...I would see her again one day."
That is little help to me, I'm afraid. If there is any justice in the world to tell my children that would make an even greater liar of me. "Thank you."
Prince Eugene appeared in the doorway. "Cinderella."
Cinderella glanced at him. "We can-"
"Go," Anne said, kindly but firmly. "You need your rest as well, and you shouldn't detain yourselves on my account."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," Anne said. What have I to be afraid of now?
Cinderella rose to her feet. "If...if you need anything at all," she said. "Please, don't hesitate to ask."
"You are a very generous woman, princess," Anne said. "It is very admirable."
Cinderella hesitated for a moment, seeming unsure. Then she turned away, and allowed Prince Eugene to lead her out.
Anne took a deep breath, and permitted herself the only smile that she would ever make in response to her husband's death.
It had been easily done. So easily she had spent the entire evening until it actually happened waiting for the other shoe to drop. First, she had convinced Henry that her plan was to poison Cinderella while she was a guest under their roof and he been stupid enough to think it was a good idea; second, she had forged the suicide note and kept it hidden; third...third her heart had nearly stopped when Cinderella almost drank from the champagne, because her glass had been poisoned. If she had drunk before everyone got up from the dining table she would be dead now. That was why she had proposed the toast: so that Cinderella could not drink, even if everyone else did. And then everyone had gotten up and it had been child's play for her, the last one out the dining room, to move Cinderella's discarded shawl one seat to the left. Cinderella had sat down in Prince Eugene's old seat, and Henry had sat down in Cinderella's place with the poisoned champagne flute in front of him. With the champagne topped up in every glass, there was no way for him to know. That was why she had invited the Georges and the Rouxs: with a table set for four it would have been too obvious that everyone was sitting down in the wrong seat; with eight places the difference was small enough to escape notice.
And thus it had been done. She and Cinderella both were free from her husband's malice and his cruelty.
For the first time in her life Anne was free.