Amelie's Caution
Princess Frederica Eugenie de la Fontaine of Normandie.
I didn't see that coming.
As Amelie walked back towards the house that Prince Adam and his wife had rented, she comforted herself with the fact that nobody else appeared to have seen it coming either. Her Majesty had made no mention of any Norman princess, and neither, even more to the point, had Herr Schroder, moments before Amelie had walked out of his place of business and been confronted with Princess Frederica and her entourage.
It occurred to Amelie that Herr Schroder might have been turned, suborned by the Normans; it would explain how they had known… no. No, it wouldn't. There wouldn't have been time for him to send a message to Princess Frederica and for her to turn up to greet Amelie during their conversation. And if he had been turned, then why advertise the fact so brazenly by confronting Amelie practically upon his doorstep, no, Herr Schroder was a loyal man, the servant of the Empire that he appeared to be. It was a different sort of message that Princess Frederica had wished to send to her.
I have eyes everywhere and I know exactly where you are and what you're doing at all times.
Amelie found that she could believe it. Her Majesty had given her a pamphlet to read about Armorique, on their way to the castle of Prince Adam, and it had mentioned that Normandie had recently supported Armorique in their war against their rebellious American colonists – that said nothing good about Armorique that they needed the help, but never mind that now – and had done quite well out of it too, adding a wealthy island to their dominions. The pamphlet had also said that nothing further had followed on from that in terms of an alliance, but what if that was wrong? What if they had a secret treaty? What if they were working together, with Armorique the public face and Normandie behind?
Even together they could not threaten the Empire, of course, but, nevertheless… it put a different complexion on things.
There was a part of Amelie that wanted to discover where Princess Frederica lived, wait until nightfall, and put a bullet through her bedroom window, or slip into her chambers and slit her throat, or… kill her, it didn't really matter how so long as she was dead.
There was a part of Amelie that, as she walked back to her temporary lodgings, set her whole body a-trembling with rage.
She had threatened the young King.
She had threatened the life of King Maximilian.
She had threatened the life of Her Majesty's son.
She had threatened the boy whom Amelie had sworn to protect.
I'll see both your countries burn to the ground before I see you harm a hair on that boy's head, your highness.
There was a part of her, and no small part, that wanted to get the first strike in, the same part of her that had understood the necessity of killing the King and Queen of Burgundy, the part of her that realised, just as Her Majesty realised, that the light must sometimes be defended from the shadows.
Plus, she was angry. She was angry and she was afraid for her king and she wanted to act now to assuage both of those. Fortunately, she was not sufficiently lost to reason that she was actually about to do it, there was enough caution, enough reason, enough good sense remaining inside Amelie Saint-Clair to stay her hand.
Not least was the fact that, if Princess Frederica really did have eyes everywhere, then any attempt upon her life that Amelie might make – certainly that she might make upon a whim, without much careful preparation – would be a failure. These things were not to be undertaken sloppily or hastily – she had spent a month camped out in a Burgundian forest like a poacher; living on deer meat and hiding from the Burgundian foresters and gamekeepers; observing the royal hunts; getting a feel for the woods, the geography, the tracks and trails; learning everything that she would need to do the job that Her Majesty had given her and to do it flawlessly – or it would invite disaster, and that went doubly so when she was already being observed.
Plus, for as much discretion as Her Majesty had allowed her, killing a Norman princess was not something that she had permitted. Her Majesty trusted Amelie's judgement, but part of that trust was because Amelie didn't just hare off doing whatever she felt like the moment she was off the leash.
This was… an unexpected occurrence. One that Her Majesty herself needed to know of, and sooner rather than later.
Plus… Amelie wanted to strike back because she was frightened but the reverse of that was that, well, she was frightened. She was frightened for His Majesty. What if Amelie's actions, successful or failure, triggered a Norman response. What if the Norman vengeance really could reach all the way to the Neuschwanstein? If any harm were to come to the young king through her failures or inactions that would be terrible, but if harm were to come to him because of something Amelie had done? That… Amelie would deserve to be condemned to the ice of hell's deepest circle for that.
No, no, she would not take the risk. She would be cautious, and walk softly, and write to Her Majesty with this news.
Amelie reached the rented house. She avoided the front door and head instead towards the stable, a large, square building with a high roof, partially concealed beneath the ceiling of an attic that took out about half the space. Stout wooden beams, with nails wider than Amelie's thumb, rose from the floor to help support said ceiling and the roof beyond. The floor of the stable was stone, but a lot of it was covered in straw, even outside the wooden stalls were the horses were quartered. Some open space was set aside without any stalling for the use of the carriages, and that was where she found Avenant sitting on the driver's seat of the carriage that had born Prince Adam and his wife to Armorique, reading a newspaper.
"Is that a local newspaper?" Amelie asked.
There was a rustle of paper as Avenant looked down at her. "No, I brought this with me from Bavaria, it's out of date, but I'm reading it now anyway."
Amelie rolled her eyes. "What's the news?"
"I thought that was what you went out to discover?"
"Is there anything interesting in there or not?" Amelie demanded. "Anything about the war?"
Avenant exhaled loudly. "The Aquitainains have counterattacked around Bourdeaux, although nobody has any details: how strong their attack was, the outcome, the only thing that can be agreed on is that there was a battle. Possibly more than one."
"If there was more than one it can't have gone that well for us," Amelie muttered.
"They could just be persistent," Avenant suggested.
"Is that your professional opinion as a military man?" asked Amelie.
Avenant was silent for a moment. "My professional opinion as a military man is that my rank is far too low to answer questions like that. But Her Majesty wouldn't have started a war that she didn't believe that she could win, would she?"
"No," Amelie said at once. "No, of course not, Her Majesty is no fool." She paused for a moment. "You stayed out of trouble while I was away, I hope. You didn't do anything to frighten Prince Adam's wife?"
Avenant scoffed. "I brought the newspaper and I came back here and read it. How about you, how were things?"
Amelie sighed, and ran one hand through her red hair. "We're being watched," she said.
Avenant lowered the paper. "Aquitaine?"
Amelie shook her head. "Normandie."
Avenant frowned. "Normans? What are they doing here?"
"I don't know."
"How do you know it was them?"
"Because Princess Frederica of Normandie told me so herself," Amelie answered. "She knows who I am and she knows… what I have done for Her Majesty and… she threatened His Majesty if I put a foot wrong here."
Avenant did not reply immediately. His mouth was open, forming a sort of box, a hole in his stubbled face, a hole like an old well into which one might stumble and be lost forever. He scratched at that face, at the stubble that he didn't shave nearly as often as he should. "You… how do you know that it was really the Norman princess? She could have been lying."
"Why?"
"To get you to suspect the Normans," Avenant suggested.
"You mean it was really Aquitaine behind it?" Amelie asked. "I suppose it's possible, but again, she knew what I'd done. If the Aquitainians-"
"They do know."
"They suspect," Amelie corrected him. "They suspect that something happened, but they don't know and they certainly don't know that it was me. If they did then Queen Eleanor would have been much more specific in her accusations. Never mind the fact that if Aquitainian spies knew I was abroad they'd kill me instead of warning me to stay away from Armorique's royal family."
"Maybe they're Amoricans, not Normans."
"But again, why lie about it?" asked Amelie.
Avenant shrugged. "I don't know. But why reveal themselves either?"
"To… to deliver their warning?" Amelie guessed. "Princess Frederica must want me to back off quite badly."
"But without killing you," Avenant said.
"Yes," Amelie admitted. "Perhaps… perhaps she thinks Her Majesty would respond if something happened to me."
"She might," Avenant murmured.
Amelie snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just a hunting hound, Her Majesty could find a hundred others like me."
It was Avenant's turn to snort, or at least she thought he did; he certainly smirked a little bit, although just how much was hard to tell on account of all that stubble.
"What?" she demanded.
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all." He leapt down from the carriage, landing on the stones with a heavy thump. "So, what will you do? Or should I ask what we'll do?"
"Yes, I will need your help on this," Amelie said quietly. "Since they know who I am… but they might not know who you are, so you might be able to get away with it, to do things that I can't, to go places where I can't." She thought about exactly where she would want him to go. "I need you to find me a priest."
"A priest?" Avenant repeated, as though the words meant nothing to him.
Well, I'm not sure I've ever seen him in church…
"Yes, a priest, they've got ways of passing messages along," Amelie explained. "Princess Frederica knows about me, and she knows about Her Majesty's man here in the city, but if we can find a friendly priest then we can send correspondence via the abbeys and priories. No Jesuits, they spend too much time thinking instead of praying, we can't trust them. A good Dominican friar or the like, a German for preference, an Italian if not, but not a Spaniard and definitely not a Gaul."
Avenant folded his arms. "Where am I supposed to find a good Dominican friar, let along a German, here in Armorique?"
"I don't know, you'll just have to go and have a look, won't you?" Amelie replied. "Visit some monasteries, pray, ask to see the relics, talk to the friar or the prior, or both." She paused. "We can't trust that Princess Frederica won't read Prince Adam's mail, but this will be secure."
"You think that she'll flinch from reading letters coming out of an abbey?" Avenant asked.
"Perhaps, it is God's correspondence," Amelie pointed out. "But even if she is so unscrupulous, she'll have a harder time finding it, she won't know which abbey we've used, hopefully." She took a moment's pause. "Please, Avenant, I need your help with this."
Avenant looked away. "I'm not…"
"Please," Amelie repeated. "If not for me than for Her Majesty, at least. For Her Majesty and the glory of the Reich."
Avenant looked at her again. "For Her Majesty and the glory of the Reich?"
"Yes."
"I would do it for you even without that," Avenant replied. "God and I are not… his house is not… but fine. Very well. I'll do it. Anything else?"
"Yes, although it's less urgent," Amelie said. "We might need some extra muscle. We don't at the moment, but we might. Go-"
"I know how to find rough men, Amelie," Avenant said, a note of amusement creeping into his voice. "I probably know it better than you do. Like calls to like, after all."
"You do realise that it's things like that that scare Prince Adam's wife don't you?" Amelie asked.
Avenant chuckled. "Is there anything more that you need from me, or shall I get going?"
Amelie thought for a moment. "No, that's it for now. Start your search. I'll write to Her Majesty, and then we can send it as soon as you've found us a priest."
Avenant pulled his thick black gloves out of his overcoat pocket, pulling them on. "Well, no rest for the wicked, as they say." He brushed at his shoulder with one hand, although Amelie couldn't tell what, exactly, he was brushing off, then reached up onto the carriage seat to retrieve his top hat, which was lying there waiting for him.
He popped the hat firmly down onto his head, so that the brim cast a bit of a shadow over his face. He touched his forelock to her. "I'll return by nightfall or once I have some good news, whichever comes first," he declared. "Give my regards to Prince Adam if he asks for me."
It was all that Amelie could do not to roll her eyes, because she thought that was the reaction he wanted. "I will, of course," she murmured.
Avenant's face was half-hidden by the shadow of his hat, but not so hidden that she couldn't see him smirking. "Thank you kindly," he said, and then turned away, his coat swirling around him, and strode out of the stable.
Amelie watched after him for a second or two, or perhaps just a little longer, before she took a look around the stable.
She needed somewhere quiet, where she wouldn't be disturbed. She considered the prince's carriage, but it was quite easy to sneak up on someone once they were shut up inside a small box, and she didn't want to be snuck up on.
On the other hand, up in the stable attic then she would be invisible and she would be able to hear anyone coming in down below.
Yes, yes the attic would do very nicely thank you.
Amelie retrieved her saddlebags, which had been hung up on a hook on one of the wooden pillars holding up the roof and ceiling, and slung them over her shoulder as she climbed up the ladder into the attic. It was tight up here, she had to crouch a little, but she didn't intend to stand up for very long. The floor was bare wooden board, but there was no straw, which meant that the floor itself provided a surface to write upon.
Amelie squatted down upon the floor, legs crossed, and opened up her saddlebags to remove paper, ink, pen – a very nice pen that Her Majesty had given her – and a book, Of the Franks, Gauls and Teutons, which provided the means by which she would code the message, and Her Majesty, once Avenant could find a priest who could discreetly get it across Europe, would decipher it.
Amelie opened the book, running her fingers beneath the words as she searched for the correct ones, writing out the letter in her head before she looked for the write page, line and word numbers in which to hide the meaning from unfriendly eyes.
You could never be too careful, after all.
Your Majesty,
I have now arrived in Armorique. I have little to report on Prince Adam or his wife, as we have only just arrived today. However, I have other urgent news to report to you.
I was accosted today by the princess of Normandie, who knew who I was. More worryingly, she also knew that I had been in the forests of Burgundy, and that I had hunted there contrary to the law. She threatened me that if I did anything against the princess of Armorique, she would retaliate against His Majesty.
I pray your majesty take care.
Be on your guard.
Your obedient servant,
Amelie Saint-Clair
Cinderella felt Eugene put his arms around her, enfolding her, his hands crossing over just beneath the neckline of her dress. She could feel her own arms, pressed against her sides, squeezed in a little by his.
He laid his head upon her shoulder, his cheek practically touching hers even as some of her unbound hair got in the way. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.
Cinderella raised her gloved hands up so that they were clasped together over Eugene's arms. "I'm fine," she murmured.
"Are you sure?" he asked, a touch of anxiety in her voice. "I didn't know… perhaps I should have suspected, but if I had, I would have said something to you. I wouldn't have kept this to myself."
"I know," Cinderella assured him. "I know that you… you wouldn't do that anymore." She turned her head a little towards him, although she could see him perfectly well by the reflections in the mirror that they both stood in front of, and from that reflection in the mirror she could see that all she was really doing by turning her head was moving more of her hair into his face. A little chuckle escaped her lips at the sight. "I'm sorry," she said, turning her head away.
Eugene laughed also, quietly, but he laughed nonetheless. "Now that is fine," he assured her. "But… are you certain that you are? With what Frederica told us, what Father said?"
"Frederica didn't say anything, not for certain," Cinderella pointed out. "Neither did His Majesty. They both said that it might be true, that it is possible, that… and I'm sure they're right. I'm sure that it is possible that one side, or the other, had the King and Queen of Burgundy killed. Just as it's possible that I slept with Lucien Gerard, or that you beat me. I know, don't we both know, how easy it is to start rumours? They can be based on the slightest little thing, when they are based on anything at all, if someone is determined to dislike you then anything that you can do can be twisted to fit what they already see, what they want to see. If both sides in this war want to see one another as monsters then they will see monsters everywhere."
"Some rumours are false," Eugene admitted. "But others are true."
"Perhaps, but even Frederica and His Majesty admitted that the truth will never be known," Cinderella replied. "It might have happened, or… hunting can be dangerous, I should think, running or riding around in the woods, with guns and dogs, nobody able to see anything properly. And even if it did happen, whoever it was has got their war now, what reason have they to harm us? If they want to keep fighting then they don't need to… they don't need to kill us to do it."
"Well, when you put it like that," Eugene muttered, a slight laugh emerging from him. "But… if they-"
"People have tried to kill me before," Cinderella reminded him. She turned around, prying his arms apart just enough that she could turn her body, skirt swirling around her, petticoats rustling, to face him. "I'm still here." She kissed him on the cheek, grateful that he had bent down to her already so that she did not need to rise up on her tiptoes. "We're still here, all of us. I… I hope, and I believe, that we will come through this and out the other side, as we always have. Serena, Grace, your cousin… we, our family, has survived all of them. We…" she smiled. "We've beaten them. We'll beat this too."
Eugene stroked her cheek with one hand. "As easy as that?"
The smile faltered a little on Cinderella's face, despite the warmth of Eugene's touch, the gentleness of it on her cheek, the slight stroking motions of his fingers. As she raised her hand to his, to hold it there, she admitted, "I didn't say that it would be easy. It hasn't always been. But that's not to say that it can't be done. After all, everything, no matter how hard it's gotten, has turned out well in the end. Why not this?"
"I would rather this once that we could have the 'turn out well' without the hardship," Eugene said. "But yes, I suppose… why not?"
Cinderella kissed him again, on the lips this time. "We'll be alright," she assured him. "All of us. I… I don't really doubt that, or not for long. Never for long. But now… now you must excuse me, I have work to do."
Eugene grinned. "How does it feel being able to say that to me?"
Cinderella covered her mouth with one hand as she chuckled. "It's… certainly a turnaround," she admitted. She paused for a moment. "It doesn't… it's nice to be needed. To be… appreciated."
Tomorrow she would call upon Prince Adam and his wife, but – allowing them a day to get settled into their new lodgings – this afternoon, very soon in fact, Cinderella was meeting with with a Monsieur Garnier, the head of the Armorique Defence League – despite the name it seemed to have little to do with truly defending Armorique and everything to do with opposition to allowing Aquitainians to cross the border; nevertheless, despite the poor choice of name, Monsieur Garnier's organisation was the organising body around which the mass of people opposed to any assistance to the Aquitainians were gathered. Cinderella hoped at least to get a better idea from him as to what would satisfy or mollify people sufficiently to erase their objections to the refugees being allowed to work to support themselves without relying upon the charity of the crown.
"I can imagine," Eugene said. He put his hands upon her arms. "Don't take any nonsense from him."
"I won't," Cinderella assured him. "And you? What will you do?"
"I'm going to write to a few good families that I know have young sons, to see if any of them will bring them to the palace to play with Philippe," Eugene said. "It would be good for him to have company his own age, and… if he could find someone to whom he can be as close as Etienne and I were growing up I would be well pleased for him."
"Oh, Eugene, that's a wonderful idea!" Cinderella cried. "But… what if they… because he…" she did not want to come out baldly and remind Eugene that Philippe, much as she loved him, was a bastard, but nevertheless she feared that that might colour the way that people of good family responded to Eugene. After all, when Philippe first came to stay at the palace, even Augustina had been a little disapproving of him.
"Well, I certainly shan't say anything to Philippe until something is sorted out," Eugene assured her. "If it happens it will be a pleasant surprise, if it doesn't then he need never know."
Cinderella nodded. "That does sound wonderful," she said. "Thank you."
"I haven't done anything yet," Eugene reminded her. "But I… I'm trying."
There was a knock on the door of Cinderella's bedchamber; the door was open, but Lady Christine stood in the doorway nevertheless, with Augustina stood half a step behind her.
"Your Highness?" Lady Christine said. "It's almost time."
"Yes, of course," Cinderella murmured.
Eugene kissed her one last time, upon the lips again. He took her hands, and gave them a little squeeze of reassurance. "Best of luck."
Cinderella smiled. "Thank you." Now it was her turn to reach up and gently stroke his cheek for just a moment before she turned away.
The smile remained on Cinderella's face, and seemed half to be mirrored on the faces of Lady Christine and, from what she could see, Augustina too as they waited for her.
Cinderella fussed a little with the pearls around her neck with one hand as she walked towards them, holding up her dress with the other hand. Her ladies in waiting both cleared the way for her, Lady Christine and Augustina moving into the bedchamber and to the side of the doorway so that Cinderella could move through it, the two ladies then falling in behind her to follow her down the stairs.
"Have either of you met Monsieur Garnier before?" Cinderella asked as she walked, her feet tapping upon the wooden stairs, one hand upon the banister and the other on her dress.
"Not I, your highness, I fear we moved in very different social circles," Lady Christine murmured.
"Nor me, either," Augustina said. "As I understand the man was a miner once, I'm not sure how or when we could or would have come across him."
"Hopefully he will mind his manners in the royal presence," Lady Christine added.
"Most people do, these days, Lady Christine," Cinderella replied. The days when people felt free to insult or mock her publicly were gone by now, she was… well, even if people didn't like her they either kept it more to themselves or else they focussed upon specific things that she was doing, like supporting the Aquitainian refugees, that they didn't like.
She found the current state of affairs much preferable. It was far easier to stand being attacked for actions, even if she thought her actions were in the right, than to be accused of all manner of general improprieties – with an undercurrent running through them all that her real crime was to have once been a serving-maid.
"My hope," she went on, "is that Monsieur Garnier is not just driven by a dislike of the Aquitainians but by real concerns that we can address."
"One can only hope, your highness," Augustina said.
With her two ladies following behind her, Cinderella made her way through the corridors of the palace – she mostly knew where she was going at this point, and this particular route was quite well-trodden for her – down to one of the sitting rooms, one with a very pretty view looking out across the gardens. A maid was standing outside the door, and curtsied at Cinderella's approach.
"Good morning, your highness," she murmured.
"Good morning, Leonie," Cinderella said. "How's your knee?"
"A little better, your highness, thank you," Leonie said softly.
"Well, you must keep off it until the swelling goes down," Cinderella instructed. Leonie had been suffering recently from housemaid's knee, a condition which Cinderella knew very well; it was not pretty, even if it was not always particularly painful – although it could be that as well. "And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise you send them to me."
Leonie ventured a smile. "I will, thank you, your highness. Would you like to go in now?"
"Yes, thank you," Cinderella said.
Leonie curtsied again, and stepped aside even as, with one hand, she reached for the brass door handle and pushed the door open.
"Her Royal Highness," Lady Christine declared, her voice raised to precede Cinderella into the room.
Cinderella was only a step behind Lady Christine's voice as she glided in, her petticoats rustling beneath her skirt. Augustina and Lady Christine followed behind her.
The sitting room was already occupied by Monsieur Garnier, his wife, Madame Garnier, and by his daughter Charlotte.
Monsieur Garnier was a somewhat heavyset man with a face that looked as though it had been carved out of stone, complete with lines chipped in his face around his cheeks and his very firm, square jaw. His hair was grey, and cut very short, so that the blocky shape of his head was very visible indeed. He wore a suit of solemn black, black jacket, black waistcoat, black trousers, even a black kerchief around his neck, with only a white shirt and the thing gold chain of his watch where it stretched across his waistcoat to provide any relief from the darkness.
Madame Garnier looked significantly younger than her husband; she was Monsieur Garnier's second wife, the first having died very tragically a few years ago in a fall down the stairs. The present Madame Garnier wore her light brown hair in ringlets, and was dressed in a very pretty white dress with an off the shoulder neckline adorned with pink roses, of which there were more dotted here and there upon the skirt. She had a soft chin, but high sculpted cheekbones which lent her face a certain sharpness.
Charlotte Garnier was not sitting down when Cinderella came in. Her father and stepmother were seated in the armchairs, with their backs to the garden, but Charlotte was standing at the Gallic windows, looking out across the lawn down to the ornamental stream and the spindly bridge that ran across it. She was blonde, with her hair bound up in a net decorated at the corners with little blue flowers, flowers which Cinderella half-expected to match her eyes, but as Charlotte turned around, her skirt rustling around her, Cinderella saw that her eyes were brown. She was rather small, only a little taller than Angelique, shorter than Marinette, and slight besides, with small features to match. Her dress was pink, with sleeves that fell down to her elbows and lace cuffs, with a lace collar that rose just above her shoulders, and a white hem around the dress where it met the floor.
Monsieur and Madame Garnier stood up as Cinderella walked into the room.
"Your highness," Monsieur Garnier said, bowing her. "Thank you for your generous invitation to my family and myself."
"Not at all, Monsieur Garnier, it is my pleasure," Cinderella said, extending a hand out to him.
He dutifully took it – his grip was firm, but not painfully so – and raised it to his mouth, almost but not quite actually touching her knuckles with his lips.
"And you, of course, Madame Garnier, mademoiselle," Cinderella added.
Charlotte curtsied. "Your highness."
Cinderella smiled at her. "Please, sit down," she said, as she took her own seat on the comfortable green settee facing the gallic windows and the garden view beyond.
Monsieur and Madame Garnier sat down, but Charlotte remained standing, hovering between and behind the chairs of her father and stepmother. In fairness, it had to be admitted that Augustina and Lady Christine remained standing as well, flanking Cinderella behind the settee as though they were her bodyguards.
"Monsieur, Madame, Mademoiselle Garnier, allow me to introduce two of my ladies in waiting and dear companions," Cinderella said, "Augustina du Bois and Lady Christine Roux."
"Mademoiselle du Bois," Madame Garnier murmured.
"Lady Christine," Monsieur Garnier said.
Cinderella took a moment to straighten out the folds of her skirt, and to smooth it out on either side of her as her dress spread out around her. She crossed her legs, and rested her hands upon one knee, letting her wedding band glint golden and the sunlight make the diamond and the sapphires on her engagement ring sparkle.
"Monsieur Garnier," she said, quietly but firmly, "I'm sure that you understand why I have asked you here. As the leader of the Armorican Defence League, your voice carries a great deal of weight when it comes to the plight of the Aquitainian refugees within our border."
Monsieur Garnier rubbed his square jaw with one hand. "Your highness," he said, "I want you to know that I have the highest regard for yourself and for the monarchy of this great and glorious nation. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who doesn't wish to be ruled by our royal house, or to have you as our princess, can get on the first boat to darkest Africa, or to Albion which might be even worse. I say this because I wouldn't want you to confuse me with some of the traitors that you've had dealings with in the past, I supported you over the repeal of the Corn Laws, and over workers' rights, you've been a good friend to the people of Armorique since your marriage."
"Thank you, Monsieur," Cinderella said. "That's very kind of you to say."
"As I say, your highness, I am a loyal man, a good son of Armorique, and that is why I will not apologise for defending Armorique against this invasion from our southern border."
"An invasion?" Cinderella repeated. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Garnier, but I'm not sure that women and children fleeing from war and danger counts as an invasion. I think… I'm afraid it sounds a little tasteless, considering that the Aquitainians are suffering a real invasion across their border."
"A war that they started, your highness," Madame Garnier reminded her.
"A war that their queen started, Madame," Cinderella corrected her. "I don't think the people had any say in the matter."
"You almost sound like a republican, your highness," Charlotte ventured, a touch of amusement in her voice.
"Shhhh, girl," hissed Madame Garnier.
Charlotte looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Stepmother."
"It's quite alright," Cinderella assured her. "I suppose I am the last person who should be saying such things, but nevertheless… they didn't choose this war. It came upon them, and now their men have marched away to fight, and some of them will never return, or at least will not return whole. Do you have a son, Monsieur, Madame? A brother or even a friend who fought in the American War?"
"The son of a friend of mine from the mines enlisted, Your Highness, in the Second Battalion of the Royal Sentiles," Monsieur Garnier said. "He thought the glory road might lead him to a better life than down the pits."
"And…" Cinderella hesitated for a moment. "Did he… did he return?"
"Safe and sound, your highness, though not all his mates were so fortunate," Monsieur Garnier said. "Your compassion for the wounded veterans who served Armorique honourably is something else that won you my support."
Cinderella didn't reply to that, but rather said, "I'm sure that your friend was very concerned for his son while the war raged. I remember that there were times when worry about Eugene – Prince Eugene, I mean – it was so strong that it was all I could do to get out of bed and get to work each day. And that is what so many of these poor women of Aquitaine are suffering at the moment."
"Perhaps so, your highness, but it does not give them the right to come here," said Madame Garnier.
"I've got no objection to Aquitainians," Monsieur Garnier said, "they're a perfectly decent, civilised people in their own way, in their own land, but what I object to is a whole horde of them coming over here, and I especially object and my members strenuously object to the idea that they should be allowed to snatch bread out of honest Armorican mouths." He leaned forward. "Your highness, I was a miner once; I dug in the darkness and I hauled coal out into the light. It was hard work, dangerous work, and I count myself lucky to be well-off out of it. I tell you this because I owe my success to solidarity, to the union, to the support of the people who got behind me. So if you think that I will betray-"
"This isn't a question of betrayal," Cinderella assured him. "Monsieur, I didn't invite you here in order to persuade you to sell out your supporters. I invited you here to ask what your supporters would tolerate, and what… what would assuage their fears? Or perhaps I ought to ask what it is that they – and you – are afraid of?"
"We're afraid of the bosses," Monsieur Garnier answered bluntly, leaning forward. "If they have the chance to pay an Aquitainian for less than an honest Armorican they'll take it, in a heart beat. They've got no loyalty to us, no loyalty to the people of this country, no loyalty to you either, your highness, there's no one they won't sell out for a single extra denier."
"Laws can be put in place-" Cinderella began.
"They'll dodge the laws, or try to," Monsieur Garnier insisted. "And it will be easy, too, who'll spot it happening? Who'll report it? The Aquitainians will have as much reason to keep quiet about it as those who are paying them."
Cinderella could see the reasoning behind that, and she could not even say that his reasoning was particularly flawed. If the Aquitainian refugees were given what they wished, the right to work, and to move freely, would they really complain that they were not being paid enough? "And yet, Monsieur, does it really seem right to you that, because of the possible greed of people here in Armorique, these refugees should be the ones punished by being confined to a camp on the outskirts of the city? That instead of being able to support themselves they must be supported by the kingdom?"
"Why-"
"Please don't suggest that they should be left to starve, Monsieur," Cinderella said softly. "I must confess that your words have moved me, and you have risen in my estimations. I should hate for you to decline in them once more."
Monsieur Garnier's mouth twisted. "I… I bear no man any ill will who has done no harm to me, your highness," he said, "I've no issue with charity to the less fortunate. I know some who have had to rely on it, and I think none the less of them for it. But our first concern must be for ourselves, for our own people, our own families, it's all very well to say 'let them work' but who will they be taking work from? Even if they worked for the same pay as anyone born in Armorique that would still be work snatched from our own folk."
"As much to the point, your highness," said Charlotte Garnier, "would you want the Aquitainian children to be put to work? I thought you disliked the practice."
"Be quiet, Charlotte!" snapped Madame Garnier.
"You are quite right, Mademoiselle, as far as the children are concerned," Cinderella admitted. "But the Aquitainian women, some of them, at least, wish to work, and I… I have as little wish to deny them as you have to beggar the people of Armorique, Monsieur. And yet, they are few in number compared to the people of this country, and in view of their plight, surely there must be some compromise that can be found? Some way that these poor Aquitainians may be given something to take their minds off fear for their loved ones and the fate of their country? At present I fear that they have nothing to do but listen to the rumours of the war, and wonder if there will be an Aquitaine for them to return to when the war is over. Might…" Cinderella trailed off, resting her elbow upon her knee and her chin upon the hand propped up by her elbow as she thought. There must be a way, must there not. She did not wish to go back to Helene and tell her, with all apologies, that there was nothing she could do and that she and her fellow refugees would simply have to suffer their plight for as long as the war lasted; nor did she wish to tell Monsieur Garnier that it didn't matter what he thought she was going to go ahead and push for a right to work for the refugees. This was not because she didn't want to offend anyone, but because, having Monsieur Garnier's point, she felt obliged to admit that, well, he had a point. He was only trying to ensure the welfare of the people of Armorique. She could hardly begrudge him that, especially since that was supposed to be her duty also as a princess.
And yet there must be some way through the thorns, mustn't there? Some compromise that would be acceptable to both sides?
Perhaps I should get both sides together so that they can discuss it amongst themselves.
And yet it would be good if there was some idea to which I could direct them first.
Cinderella's slender brows furrowed somewhat, an idea coming to her. "Monsieur," she began, "is there any form of work our Aquitainian guests might do that would not threaten you or your supporters? Rather than blanket license, might they be permitted to take up specific duties?"
"Again, your highness, how would it be enforced? What would stop them doing what they liked, being hired for what employers wanted, once they could come and go?"
"Watchful eyes?" Cinderella suggested. "Surely whole businesses would not be staffed wholly with Aquitainians?" She paused. "Will you at least agree to meet Lady Helen de Rohan, the leader of the Aquitainians here, and see what her folk can do, and what you would not be afraid to let them do, and see if there might be some common ground or compromise that you might reach? I hope you believe me when I say I mean no harm, no harm at all, to the people of Armorique. I… I understand that I am here to serve them, as I hope I have, and as I hope I shall, but at the same time… I cannot simply turn a blind eye to those who are desperate, who have suffered much, and are in need of help; especially when His Majesty the King has tasked me with being their help and their assistance."
She might have overdone it a little there, but after Monsieur Garnier had spoken of his loyalty to the King, she hoped that it would do him no harm to remind him of it.
Monsieur Garnier said nothing for a moment; he didn't meet with Cinderella's eyes, which Cinderella didn't take to be a particularly good sign. However, when he spoke, he said, "Very well, your highness, I will meet with the lady, although I make no promises to agree anything with her."
"That is all I can ask of you, Monsieur, and I thank you for it, I will arrange the meeting as soon as possible," Cinderella said, letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn't realised that she'd been holding in. It was not victory, by any means, but it was a step forwards, and with enough steps forward she would reach the finish. She hesitated for a moment, pausing upon the verge of another step.
"Are you sure?" asked Eugene.
"I…" Cinderella trailed off for a moment. "We did talk about this. You said that I needed a larger household, especially with Angelique leaving me, and someone is going to be more concerned with the children than with me soon enough."
"All true, and yes, I said that," Eugene said. "In some ways she would be an unconventional choice."
Cinderella chuckled. "Angelique was an unconventional choice. Some people might have said the same of Marinette. I was an unconventional choice of wife."
Eugene laughed. "Yes, that is quite true and fair enough, I suppose."
"Meanwhile," Cinderella went on, "Serena, Grace, Theodora-"
"Point well made, and just as well taken," Eugene murmured. He took her hand in his. "At the same time, you don't really know much about her."
"If I only made the choice of someone I knew well… there would be no one I could choose," Cinderella pointed out.
Eugene nodded. "Very well, if this is what you want then I support it, and you, wholeheartedly."
"I'm not entirely sure that it's what I want," Cinderella admitted. "But I think that it may help, and that, I think, may matter even more."
"And so, Monsieur," she went on, "as a taken of my thanks, and my appreciation, and so that you will always have a link to me, I should like to take your daughter, Charlotte, as one of my ladies in waiting, to attend on me and advise me; and, in due course, I will help her make a good match." That was a part of her duties that she had neglected up until now, and to be perfectly honest it was not a duty that she was looking forward to, the last thing that she wanted was to lose Marinette, Augustina, or even Lady Christine. But it was something that was expected of a princess in regards to her ladies, and she couldn't keep them forever, after all.
And besides – and this gave her some hope for Angelique as well – there was precedent, which she had recently read up on, for a lady leaving upon marriage, but then returning to the service of her former mistress at a later date.
Charlotte gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. Her father and stepmother, on the other hand, were both completely speechless. All of them had rather wider eyes than they had possessed a little while ago.
"Your-" Charlotte began, but then stopped herself, eyes flickering to her father.
"Your highness," Monsieur Garnier said, "that is… I hope you don't think that I can be bought so cheaply."
"What have you done, Monsieur, that I am buying?" Cinderella asked him. "You've given me nothing but a mind which remains open for now."
"Well… yes, I suppose your highness has a point there," Monsieur Garnier muttered. "Nevertheless… your highness, I love my daughter, but-"
"Begging your highness' pardon," Madame Garnier interjected, a little laughter in her voice, albeit laughter carrying a touch of nerves about it. "Andre, a word in your ear." She got up from her seat and approached her husband, bending down low so that she could whisper into his ear, even as she covered her mouth with one hand as though she were afraid that Cinderella might read her lips.
As she watched them, Cinderella found herself becoming more and more conscious of how close in years Madame Garnier and Charlotte looked; Charlotte might even be the older of the two.
Monsieur Garnier turned his head her way, and whispered something back to her.
Madame Garnier whispered some more, and more insistently.
Monsieur Garnier nodded, and then looked back at Cinderella. "Your highness," he said, "on behalf of my wife, my daughter and myself, I say that I am honoured by your offer, and honoured to accept." He rose from his seat, and bowed to her.
"You will not be disappointed, your highness," Madame Garnier said, curtsying.
"No, your highness," Charlotte added, curtsying in turn. "I promise I will serve you well."
Cinderella smiled at her. "I have no doubt," she said. "I look forward to getting to know you, Charlotte Garnier, I'm sure we'll get on very well indeed."