Refugees
Lady Christine Roux – who was always Lady Christine, no matter how long she spent in Cinderella's household and amongst the informality of the other ladies in waiting – was the tallest of Cinderella's ladies: tall and graceful and fair, with a complexion akin to a porcelain doll. Her eyes were blue, and she wore her golden hair in ringlets down the sides of her face.
She also possessed a shorthand which, while nearly illegible to Cinderella, was perfectly comprehensible to Lady Christine herself, and could be written by her fast enough to record everything said in a conversation. Which was why, as Cinderella and Eugene descended the steps down from the palace doors, Lady Christine was waiting for them beside the carriage that would convey them both to the camp of the Aquitainian refugees beyond the city.
Jean was waiting there as well, one hand resting lightly upon the hilt of his sword. And of course there was the carriage itself, square and closed, with walls and doors of a rich dark red nestling beneath a black roof, with curtains of royal purple tied back but just visible in the corners of the windows. The coachman sat in his seat, the reins for the team of four held loosely in his hands, while the footman stood at the door, his eyes cast downwards, not looking at either Jean or Lady Christine.
"Good morning," Cinderella said brightly, as she descended the stairs hand in hand with Eugene.
Jean bowed his head. "Good morning, princess. Prince Eugene."
"Lieutenant."
Lady Christine curtsied. "Good morning, your highnesses."
"Are you ready, Lady Christine?"
"I am, your highness," Lady Christine said. "Everything is stowed in the carriage, waiting."
"Wonderful," Cinderella said gently. To the footman, she said, "How is your mother, Jacques, I do hope she's feeling better."
"She's on the mend now, your highness, and thanks you kindly for your assistance."
"Oh, I didn't do anything at all," Cinderella said lightly. All she had done was paid for a doctor to go and tend to her. To the coachman, she said, "And you, Robert, has that cough gone away?"
"It has, your highness."
"I'm glad to hear it," Cinderella said. She turned to Eugene, a smile upon her face. "Well, with luck I shall see you at General Gerard's office?"
"With luck?" Eugene repeated, as he smiled back at her. "Perhaps I shall simply wait there until you arrive."
Cinderella covered her mouth with one hand as a giggle escaped. "Careful, or I shall be very disappointed if I don't find you there."
"And I would never want to disappoint you, darling," Eugene said, as he took her hands and kissed her lightly upon the lips. "Be careful."
Cinderella nodded. "Of course." She turned away from her, her dress swirling around her with a rustling of petticoats. "I'm sorry to keep you all waiting, I'm ready now."
"A princess can never keep anyone waiting, your highness, save for His Majesty himself," Lady Christine declared. "And… other visiting crowned heads, I suppose. To an extent."
"Only to an extent?" Cinderella asked.
"They may wear higher crowns, but this is still Armorique, your highness," Lady Christine explained. "The hostess must be accorded some courtesies and privileges."
"I see," Cinderella murmured. "But that doesn't change the fact that you have been standing here, haven't you, for which I apologise."
Lady Christine did not argue the point, but the expression on her face was that of someone who would like to sigh, but did not feel it was their place to do so.
For her part, Cinderella refrained from shaking her head. Lady Christine was the most conservative of Cinderella's ladies by the same extent to which she was the tallest; it was rather ironic, considering her uncle was the liberal premier.
Jacques, the footman, opened the door to the carriage, and Lady Christine stepped aside to allow Cinderella to get in first. Cinderella let go of Eugene's hand – although her prince hovered close by all the same – and lifted up her skirt with both hands as she fumbled with the foot she could no longer see until it found the step.
She was glad that Eugene was close by behind as she climbed inside the coach. She felt much more comfortable when she could settle down within, her bustle crumpling beneath her as she sat upon the burgundy cushioned seat.
Lady Christine followed her in, sitting down on the other side of the carriage, opposite Cinderella. A leather satchel, containing all her papers and pen and ink and all else that she would need to play secretary for this meeting, was already sat on the seat beside her.
Jacques shut the door, and Cinderella heard, rather than saw, Jean getting up onto the roof. Cinderella thought that he would surely be much more comfortable riding inside with them, but Jean claimed that he liked to be able to see what was going on.
Eugene was still standing outside as Robert flicked the reins and urged the horses on. As the coach began to move, he waved. Cinderella waved back, leaning out of the window to keep waving to him as the carriage turned away from the palace and started towards the gates. Only when Cinderella had to duck inside, to avoid getting banged against the stone pillar of the gateway, did she do so, and when she did Eugene was still standing there, waving to her as she drove away.
Lady Christine looked to be stifling a smile as Cinderella pulled herself back inside the carriage.
"Something amusing, Lady Christine?" Cinderella asked.
"No, your highness, merely something endearing," Lady Christine replied. "You are very fortunate."
Cinderella smiled. "I'm well aware, Lady Christine."
"And as much to the point, so is his highness," Lady Christine added. "Perhaps even more than you are."
Cinderella laughed. "If I didn't know better, Lady Christine, I'd think you were trying to flatter me."
"Then it is a good thing that your highness knows that I neither flatter nor dissemble but say precisely what I mean without fear or favour, is it not?" Lady Christine asked. She paused for a moment. "On which subject-"
"You think that I'm doing something wrong, Lady Christine?" Cinderella asked.
Lady Christine took a moment to reply. "At breakfast with the ladies this morning, Lady Bonnet mentioned that His Grace, the Duke of Morlaix, had called you 'mother'."
Cinderella held up one hand. "Lady Christine," she said. "I appreciate your honesty, and your willingness to tell me when you think that I have done something wrong, or could do something better; but there are some matters which I am not interested in discussing, and I'm afraid that this is one of them."
Lady Christine took a deep breath. "Your Highness, I do not say this out of any malice to the boy."
"But you want me to go back home and tell him that I'm not his mother and he is never to call me that again?" Cinderella asked. "Forgive me, Lady Christine, but that seems rather malicious to me. What difference does it make if he calls me mother or stepmother?"
"If it makes no difference, your highness, why not correct him?" Lady Christine replied.
"Because I don't want to hurt him," Cinderella said. "Because if I tell him that I'm not his mother isn't it almost like saying that I don't love him? Because his mother is dead, rest her soul, and he needs a mother's care, that's why I had him moved into the Queen's Tower so that we could be closer after his grandmother passed away."
Lady Christine took pause for a while. "Your highness… I am not Augustina, to preach the new theory of evolution and tell you that His Grace must be in competition and at odds with the little princesses, it's all nonsense as far as I'm concerned, and close to blasphemy at that, but… if you treat him as your own son he may start to wonder why he is not in line for the throne, and resent the girls who stand ahead of him."
"I don't believe that," Cinderella replied. "Philippe is such a sweet boy, he would never-"
"Sweet boys can grow up to be cold men," Lady Christine said darkly.
"I think that is more likely if I turn my back on him," Cinderella said. "I'm sorry, Lady Christine, but my mind is made up, and I've already spoken to Eugene about it and made that clear to him as well."
"Very well, your highness, I shall say no more," Lady Christine. "Save that, while I do not always agree with it, I cannot but admire your endless supply of kindness and compassion."
"You say that as though it's difficult to be kind," Cinderella said. "I don't think so, especially not a sweet, kind boy like Philippe. To be unkind to him would be much more difficult, I think." She untied the curtains, and drew them back over the window. Lady Christine did likewise at her end, and scuttled across the coach to cover the other window too. Cinderella didn't want to be recognised on this journey; she… sometimes enjoyed the adulation that came her way, she enjoyed… well, she was not free from vanity, but she also enjoyed the knowledge that she was doing good, making a sufficient difference in the lives of people that they appreciated her for it. That seemed rather inappropriate on this occasion. Plus, not everyone appreciated what she was doing for the refugees, and Cinderella had little desire to suffer opprobrium thrown her way.
She had put up with quite enough of that already.
A sigh escaped her lips. "I'm a little disappointed in some of our people," she confessed. "I thought they were kinder."
"Because they had been kind to you, your highness?" Lady Christine asked.
"You think I'm naïve?" Cinderella responded.
Lady Christine shook her head. "I think that you are someone who finds it easy to be kind," she said. "But as my uncle says from time to time, the working masses of this country have had few enough people do them kindnesses, at least since the great disruptions of our era began." She clasped her hands together. "The world has changed so suddenly, and so many old standards are falling by the wayside. The philosophy of the day is laissez-faire, let all climb as best they can… or fall, in which case they deserve to fall, and let no more be done for them. There are people in this realm, I fear, who feel as forsaken as the angels who followed Lucifer in his rebellion. In you, your highness, they thought that they had found a champion, someone who would speak for them in the councils of the mighty… yet now, they fear that you have abandoned them, moved on to other things, and other people."
"That isn't true," Cinderella said. "I haven't… once this crisis is passed I will do as much as I ever did to improve the condition of the people. I understand that there is so much more work to be done in so many ways, but these Aquitainians need my help now. They won't be here forever."
"Perhaps you should tell the people that," Lady Christine suggested. "Write a pamphlet, explaining all the diplomatic steps that His Majesty is taking to end the war and make it safe for these fellows to return to their own homes in their own land."
"Do you think that will help?"
"It cannot hurt," Lady Christine said. "Although, to be frank, I fear you will have to endure a certain degree of disappointment until the crisis has passed and the refugees depart."
Unfortunately, Cinderella thought that she was probably right. "What do you think about the refugees, and what we are doing for them?" she asked.
"I think that God made war terrible lest we should grow too fond of it," Lady Christine replied. "Unfortunately it is a lesson that neither Aquitaine nor the Holy Roman Empire appear to have learned. As for the refugees themselves… that they have sought refuge here is cause for pride, not alarm, it shows that they trust us to not only keep them safe from the ravages of war but also to offer them some shelter. It would be beneath our dignity as a great nation to turn them away."
That was certainly one way of looking at it, although not the answer that Cinderella herself would have given.
"Your highness," Jean called down off the roof. "We're approaching the camp."
Cinderella opened the curtains again, just as her carriage, having passed out of the city proper some little while ago, passed into the burgeoning camp that housed the Aquitainian refugees. Tent after tent had been erected in fields beyond the city limits, a growing forest of white canvas-cloth, growing larger and larger as more people fled to Armorique from the war, and all who fled were pushed here to this one place. Here and there a wagon nestled amongst the tents, brought by some particularly fortunate or prosperous refugee, but for the most part it was tents.
And well organised tents, at that. They were arranged in neat lines, with space between the rows – ample space, in some places, down which Cinderella's carriage could be driven freely – with hand-made signs labelling the rows as if they were roads and streets and alleyways. There were squares, where cookfires burned and women were distributing food those who queued diligently for it, or else people mingled together as they would have in the market during days of peace.
It was in one such square that Cinderella's carriage rolled to a stop. It halted outside of a slightly larger tent than most, a tent outside of which stood a young woman with mousy brown hair, wearing a frayed and patched maid's dress. As Cinderella's coach came to a stop, Cinderella saw the maid – her name was Reinette – dart into the large tent before which she had been standing.
The coach stopped, and Jacques the footman waited for Jean to scramble down off the roof before he opened the door. Lady Christine dismounted first, gathering her satchel of papers before she did so, and then it was Cinderella's turn to gather her skirts about her and delicately climb down out of the coach.
The fields on which the refugees were camped were plain grass, and it had been raining for the last couple of days, but the Aquitainians were endeavouring to maintain a degree of respectability even in their present circumstances, and part of that was laying down wooden plank boards so that ladies could walk through the camp without muddying the hems of their dresses. It was onto one of those boards that Cinderella alighted, just as Christine had before her, although she had to be careful not to stand too close to the edge or it might flip up and deposit her upon the muddy ground regardless.
"Your Highness!" Lady Helen de Rohan emerged from out of the tent. She was older than Cinderella, and looked older still because of the cares under which she laboured and the conditions which she now endured: there were streaks of grey emerging at the roots of her auburn hair, and her face was lined and slightly worn, with dark bags beneath her jade green eyes. Nevertheless, worn as she was, and dressed as she was in a gown of kirtle green that was beginning to fray at the hem and the cuffs and starting to tear at the sleeves a little bit, she remained a striking, handsome woman. She came from an old Aquitainian noble family, one that had owned land across the north of the kingdom; unfortunately, most of that land had been destroyed in the war, and Lady Helen had been forced to flee from her home – from all her homes – along with so many other, poorer Aquitainians.
Nevertheless, they – and Armorique – were fortunate that she had, because she had emerged as a leader amongst the ever-growing community here. That was why Cinderella had come to see her: just as the King had appointed Cinderella to deal with the refugees on behalf of Armorique, so the Aquitainians trusted Lady Helen to deal with Cinderella on their behalf.
Cinderella curtsied. "Lady Helen, it's good to see you again."
Lady Helen curtsied in return. "As always, Princess Cinderella, it is good of you to come. And you, Lady Christine."
"Lady Helen," Lady Christine murmured. "A pleasure, as always."
"Please," Lady Helen said, gesturing into her tent. "Come inside, both of you."
"Jean," Cinderella said. "Would you mind waiting outside?"
Jean bowed his head. "Of course, your highness."
Lady Helen led the way into her tent, with Cinderella following and Lady Christine trailing after. The tent in which Lady Helen lived and worked was more spacious than most; rank had its privileges, it seemed, and Lady Helen needed the extra space to oversee the concerns of the expanding camp. She led them to a table, a plain camp table propped up on rather spindly legs, around which sat an assortment of stools that did not fit together as a cohesive whole, but had been cobbled together from whatever was available.
"Please, sit. Reinette, some tea for her highness and Lady Christine."
"Of course, ma'am," Reinette said, and she picked up a couple of stout sticks from a pile of wood and threw them onto the camp stove not far away.
"May I say," Lady Helen said, "how lovely you look, your highness."
"Oh, thank you, Lady Helen," Cinderella said, as she sat down upon a stool.
"I always appreciate that you make the effort," Lady Helen said, as she, too, took her seat. "It reminds me of better days."
"I'm sure the day will come when you will outshine me yet, Lady Helen," Cinderella replied.
"Oh, I'm not sure I could have managed that even in my prime, your highness, but you are very kind to say so," Lady Helen said, with a fond smile. "Is there any more news on the congress?"
"The invitations have been despatched, but so far there has been no response," Cinderella admitted. "But His Majesty isn't worried, he says that there hasn't even been enough time for our messenger to reach Vienna, and scarce enough to have got to Bourdeaux, let alone elsewhere in Europe."
"I'm sure that's right," Lady Helen said. "I hope your efforts are successful, I don't mind saying, although… I'm not sure why the Empire would submit to arbitration and diplomacy when they are winning the war. They can take everything they want and more, it seems."
"Not if the rest of Europe were to unite against them," Cinderella murmured. "So Eugene – Prince Eugene – says, anyway."
"I wish you good luck if that is your aim," Lady Helen murmured.
Cinderella clasped her hands together in her lap. "Has there been any word of your husband, your father or your son?"
"No," Lady Helen said. "No to any of them. Of course, news of home is hard to come by, and no news is better than bad news."
"And yet you worry, all the same," Cinderella murmured.
Lady Helen's smile was thin, and close-mouthed. "Of course, you have sent your husband off to war, haven't you?"
"In America, yes," Cinderella said. "It was… not a day passed when I didn't wonder what was befalling him there, on the other side of the world."
"It is the lot of women," Lady Helen replied. "How old is your son?"
"Five," Cinderella answered. "Philippe is five years old."
"You should be grateful he is not yet old enough to go to war."
"I hope there will be no wars for him to go to when he is old enough," Cinderella said. "How old is your son?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve!" Cinderella gasped. "Twelve years old and away at war?"
"He is an ensign, with his father's regiment," Lady Helen explained. "Not a real officer, he's a sort of… military apprentice, expected to listen – to his senior officers and to his sergeants – and learn, not to speak or act." She sighed. "Yet he is just as much at risk as any of them. I sometimes envy the more common-born of our women here, who have their boys of twelve and thirteen with them in this camp."
"I very much hope that we can end this war before anything befalls any of your family," Cinderella said.
Lady Helen nodded. "Thank you, your highness, you are very kind. Ah, and thank you, Reinette," she added, as Reinette served tea to the three of them. "I'm afraid there are no biscuits, and certainly no cakes. Our standard of hospitality is-"
"Quite alright," Lady Helen, Cinderella assured her. She took a sip of her tea, and Lady Christine stopped writing for a moment to do likewise. "That's very nice. Thank you, Reinette."
Reinette curtsied. "Your highness, ma'am." She retreated into a corner of the spacious tent, waiting in case her mistress should have need of her once more.
Cinderella took another sip of her tea. It was very well made in the circumstances. "So, Lady Helen, how are things in the camp?"
Lady Christine scribbled down the words in her shorthand upon a sheet of paper.
Lady Helen cleared her throat. "I must reiterate my thanks to His Majesty for the food that he continues to supply us, and yet once again I must… remind your highness that we are willing to work for our keep."
"It is no trouble to keep feeding you, Lady Helen," Cinderella said. "The harvest has been good, and more grain arrives from the colonies than we can use ourselves."
"Grain you would otherwise be selling abroad, I suppose."
"Perhaps," Cinderella conceded. "But as I say, it is no trouble-"
"I do not mean to spurn Armorique's generosity, as you know, Princess," Lady Helen said. "And I understand why the supplies provided to us are basic, but if we could earn even a little coin, to spend on a few luxuries: a cake, a toy for a child, a new shawl. All of Armorique's money will return straight away to Armorique, where is the harm in that?"
Cinderella sighed. "I understand, Lady Helen," she murmured. "And the way you describe it does seem harmless, but I'm afraid those who do the work that your people would otherwise do don't see it that way. They worry that your Aquitainians will work more cheaply than they do – needing, as you say, only a little coin for the occasional luxury – and thus take all their business."
"We are women here, as you well know!" Lady Helen protested. "Not a host of men come to settle permanently; what work could we take, for the hopefully little time that we are here, that could threaten anyone or do any harm to Armorique."
"The work that women with no man in the house do to get by," Cinderella said softly. "We are not at war, but I'm afraid we have no shortage of widows without husbands, daughters without fathers, struggling to survive or provide for their children by themselves. To expose them to the cruelty of competition would be… they don't deserve it, any more than you deserve your situation."
"Need it be a competition?"
"Wouldn't it be?" Cinderella asked. "If there is only so much work to go around?"
Lady Helen breathed in. "Your answer is no, then."
"I think it must be," Cinderella said softly. "I'm sorry, but I cannot abandon the people to that extent, not even to help you." She paused. "But, if your children do need toys then they shall have them, paid for out of my own purse if need be."
"Your generosity will become proverbial amongst us, your highness," Lady Helen said. "And yet… I fear – no, I know, that there are already women amongst us who are working, and in a rather dangerous and unsavoury fashion."
"What do you mean?" Cinderella asked.
"I think," Lady Christine murmured. "That Lady Helen speaks of the oldest profession."
"Thank you, Lady Christine, for putting it so delicately," Lady Helen said. "It appears that while some of your people want us gone, there are others who are prepared to visit this place in the dead of night."
"Oh my," Cinderella murmured, "but the guards set upon the camp-"
"Without meaning to unduly slight the honour of Armorique's soldiers, some of the troops set around the camp are amongst the customers."
Cinderella found herself involuntarily reaching for the pearls around her neck. "I… that is, I… that's… thank you, Lady Helen, for bringing that to my attention. I will speak to General Gerard about it, and see if there is anything that can be done."
"Men are men, and we are desperate," Lady Helen said. "If the only way that our women here can make any money is by selling their bodies then they will be tempted to do so, even if they would never have dreamed of it back home, in days of peace. We do our best – I do my best – to preserve an ordered society here in this camp, your highness, but it is… an illusion. It's all play acting and pretend. It's only habit that prevents Reinette from walking out and refusing to do anything I ask of her ever again; God knows, I haven't paid her recently."
"I know you will, ma'am, when things are back to normal," Reinette interjected. "Begging your pardon, ma'am."
Cinderella smiled. "It seems that it is loyalty that keeps her by your side."
"Or desperation," Lady Helen muttered. "My people need something to occupy them, and which will benefit them. At present we have little to do but brood upon misfortunes and the fates of our loved ones. For many, there is little or nothing to be done to combat boredom."
Cinderella said nothing. There was very little to be said because Lady Helen had made a very good point. As terrible as her treatment had been at the hands of her stepmother and stepsisters at times, nevertheless, in the days after her father died she had almost been glad to be put to work as a servant. The work had given her something to do, something to focus on beyond the fact that her papa was gone and she was all alone, without anyone to love her or care for her, trapped with people who had made it clear that they were not her family. It hadn't made up for everything else, the deliberately cruel way that they had taken away everything that had been dear to her, but all the same… it had given her something to do besides brood upon her losses, and her loneliness.
It might not be easy to arrange a way for the Aquitainians to work to support themselves here while at the same time ensuring that no one in Armorique was disadvantaged because of it, but difficult didn't mean impossible. And just because it might be difficult didn't mean it wasn't worth doing. Arguably the opposite.
"I will see what can be done," Cinderella promised.
Hopefully Eugene would be with General Gerard, and he would be able to help devise some way for everyone to get what they wanted.
Hopefully the ordeal of these people would not endure for too much longer.