Yelling “Papa! Maman! Camille is here!” the eleven-year-old grabbed Camille by a wrist and dragged her inward past the astonished doorman and the dumbfounded majordomo.
“My bundles!” cried Camille, her cloak hood falling away, her golden hair spilling out.
Quickly recovering, “I’ll bring them, ma’amselle,” said the doorman, snatching up the goods and starting after. But at a gesture from haughty Pons, the doorman paused, then servilely followed the majordomo into the manse, trailing far behind the excited lad and Camille.
Down a hallway went Giles, calling, “Papa! Maman! Camille, Camille has come!” They came to a doorway on the right, leading to a small sitting room. Therein Giles found his mother and several matronly ladies, all dressed in fine ball gowns.
“Maman, Camille has come,” said Giles, pulling Camille in after.
Aigrette stood, her eyes flying wide in shock, and she rushed forward. Camille held out her arms for an embrace, but it was Aigrette who now grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her away from the door. With Giles trotting after, down the hall Aigrette dragged Camille, the mother angrily muttering, “What would everyone think of me, should anyone see you like this, all dusty and running with sweat, and is that field weeds and burrs and such I see clinging to your cloak? What were you thinking, Camille? Gave you no thought to me?”
She rushed Camille by an entry to a grand ballroom, and in the swift glimpse Camille caught as she flew past, she saw the chamber was filled with people in finery, stepping out a dance to the music played by musicians on a modest platform beyond. On down a hallway and up a back stair Aigrette scurried, Camille in tow. “We’ve got to get you out of those horrible clothes and scrub that grime from you. No fille of mine is going to come into this house looking like a scruffy beggar-boy.”
“Maman, aren’t you glad to see Camille?” asked Giles, still following.
“Of course I’m glad to see her,” snapped Aigrette, and suddenly her eyes widened in revelation, as if she had just then stumbled across a wonderful idea that only she knew. “Oh, yes, indeed, I am quite glad she has come at this very time.” And Aigrette laughed to herself.
A few more steps down a hallway she went, then shoved Camille into the sitting room of a small suite. “Here, Camille, these are Joie’s quarters, or Gai’s, I am uncertain which.”
“They’re Gai’s,” said Giles.
Aigrette turned on Giles in exasperation. “You go and find one of the maids to help Camille, and be quick about it. And tell no one else, you hear?”
“Yes, Maman,” said Giles, and turned and bolted away.
As the lad rushed out, Aigrette opened a door; it led to the adjoining suite. Growling, she slammed it shut and opened another; a bedchamber lay beyond. Stalking in, she gestured at an archway. “Yon is the wash chamber. Now get you out of those filthy clothes and scrub yourself down.” She opened yet another door, and Camille could see it was a small dressing room, with gowns and such hanging, and shoes on shelves nearby. “And put on a gown suitable for the grand ball below.” Aigrette gestured. “One of Gai’s should fit, for you are of a size. And do something about that hair. I shall return anon.” She rushed back out, nearly running into the doorman-“Out of my way, oaf!”-but standing to one side was the majordomo. “Oh, Pons,” barked Aigrette, “come with me, for I have a very important task for you, and a most splendid task at that.” Together they vanished down the hallway.
“Ma’amselle?” called the doorman, peering in. “Your bundles?”
Nearly in tears, Camille stepped into the sitting room and gestured at one of the chairs. The doorman set the goods on the seat, then touched the brim of his cap and quietly withdrew.
With the help of Milli, the maid that Giles had found, within a candlemark, Camille was dressed in a dark blue gown, with pale blue petticoats under, dark blue shoes on her feet. At her mother’s insistence, underneath was a bustier to accentuate her cleavage. Her hair was artfully woven through with blue satin ribbons matching the blue of the gown. Though she had yielded to her mother’s dictates in all else, Camille stubbornly refused to wear the gaudy, cut-glass tiara, saying that the ribbons were quite enough.
Hissing in fury, Aigrette slammed the diadem down on the dressing table. “You think of only yourself, Camille, but very well, stubborn child.” Then she slipped the cord of the blue fan about Camille’s wrist, a small fold of paper attached. “Now here is your dance card. Pons filled it out at my instructions. Treat your partners well, for they can do me, do us, much good.-Now let us be gone from here and to the ball.”
As Camille glanced one last time in the mirror, “You are quite beautiful, my lady,” said Milli. “The men, their eyes will look nowhere else, while the women’s eyes will all fill with green.”
“Merci, Milli; I am glad you-”
“Come, come, you look well enough, Camille,” impatiently said Aigrette. “Let’s have no more of this prattle; my guests are waiting.”
Out the door and along a hallway they went, to come to a balcony at the head of an elegant, curving stair leading down into the grand ballroom. Aigrette snatched Camille’s hand and kept her from going on. Waiting below was Pons, watching for them to appear, and at a signal from Aigrette, he rapped the marble floor with a long staff. The music stopped; the dancers paused; a stillness fell over all.
“My lords and ladies and honored guests,” rang out the majordomo, “the Lady Aigrette presents her daughter, the Lady Camille, Princess of the Summerwood!”
Camille was thunderstruck, for she did not consider herself a princess of anything, much less the Summerwood. And a great intake of air swept throughout the room, as men and women looked up to see, standing high above, the beautiful golden-haired girl in the sapphire-blue gown.
Though Camille was bewildered, Aigrette was in her glory, as down the staircase she descended, arm in arm with Camille, Aigrette’s chin held high in queenly dominance, the mother of a princess no less. Ah, yes, she was indeed glad that Camille had come to visit, as all dutiful daughters should.
As Milli had predicted, the eyes of all men were irresistibly drawn to Camille, and the eyes of all women narrowed and perhaps even filled with envy, and some did fill with despair, for Camille was stunningly beautiful, and it is doubtful that anyone whatsoever even noted that Aigrette was at this splendid creature’s side.
And pressing forward through the crowd came Giles, hauling Papa Henri in tow, with Felise and Colette right behind, then the twins-Joie and Gai-and finally Lisette, the eldest of the sisters coming last of all.
As moths to a light, Camille was surrounded by young men, each one demanding a dance, and man after man offered her glass cups of punch and begged for a stroll in the garden out by the wishing well.
During a pause in the music, Camille leaned over and whispered behind her fan to Giles, “Wishing well?”
“Papa’s old well out back,” he murmured. “Maman had a stone wall put ’round, with a roof above and a winch and a bucket across, all to replace the old wooden trapdoor and the pail on a rope we used to cast down and flip over to draw water. And she had gardeners plant violets and such, and vines… all to hide the fact that it was once nothing more than a farmer’s clay-walled cistern.”
Camille looked at her mother, now surrounded by a group of older women, all of whom Camille had been introduced to, none of whose names she remembered. Her mere preened among them, and even though she was standing quite still, it appeared as if she were strutting. And as Maman spoke, the older women cast glances toward Camille, and now and then one would break away to urgently talk to a young man or two, presumably a son or sons.
Playing two violins, a viola, a cello, a harpsichord, and a tambourine, the six musicians struck up again, and Camille’s next partner came and fetched her, this one quite old and fat and short and leering; Lord Jaufre, he named himself, and, in spite of his obvious bulk, Camille could hear the creak of a corset as he bent to kiss her hand, managing to slobber all over her fingers. And all through the dance, he talked of his hounds while peering quite closely at her bosom.