"She refuses to acknowledge the du Barry. She says it would be countenancing immoral behavior at court. Look at her, sitting there like some prissy nun at an orgy!"
Leo shook his head and quietened his shifting horse. He looked down to see what had upset the animal and saw a small ragged boy sidling up against the horse's neck.
"What are you doing?" he demanded sharply.
The lad shook his head. "Nuffink, milord. I jest likes 'osses." He looked pathetically up at Cordelia. His gaunt, hollow-eyed, dirt-streaked little face had an almost elderly cast, wizened with malnutrition.
"Are you hungry?" Cordelia said impulsively.
The child nodded and wiped his encrusted nose with a ragged sleeve.
"Here." Cordelia leaned down to put a coin into his filthy palm. Clawlike fingers closed over it and he was off, weaving his way through the horses, ducking and dodging shifting hooves and whipcracking huntsmen.
"Poor little mite," Cordelia said. "Do you ever look at their faces… the people's, I mean? They look so lifeless, so hopeless. I never noticed it so much in Austria."
"Or in England," Leo replied. "There's poverty, of course, but the ordinary folk are not downtrodden in the same way."
"I wonder if Toinette notices it," Cordelia mused. "Oh, she seems to be beckoning me. I hope she won't expect me to ride with her all day." She walked her horse to where Toinette sat somewhat to the side of the still-chattering group around Madame du Barry's carriage.
"Talk to me," Toinette said in an urgent whisper. "No one's taking any notice of me, they're all talking to that whore!"
"That whore is the king's mistress," Cordelia reminded her mildly. "She happens to have more influence at court than you, my dear friend."
"Oh, go away," Toinette said petulantly. "If you're going to scold, I don't want to talk to you."
Cordelia knew that the flash of bad temper would dissipate rapidly and her friend would be all remorse and apologies within minutes, but she merely nodded and rode away, determined to leave the dauphine to her own reflections.
"Psst. Milady!"
The whispering hiss came from a stand of trees to the side of the clearing. Cordelia drew rein and the urchin of before darted out. "Me mam's mortal sick, milady," he said. "Will ye come an' 'elp 'er."
"I'll give you some money-"
The child shook his head vigorously. "Not money, milady. She needs 'elp."
A beggar turning down money! It was extraordinary. Curiously, Cordelia signaled that he should lead her, and she followed him into the trees. He trotted along just ahead of Lucette, who was picking her way delicately through the thick undergrowth. Suddenly, the lad was no longer there.
Cordelia drew rein and looked around. She called, but the only sounds were the tapping of a woodpecker and the cawing of a rook. The tree cover was dense, the sunlight barely managing to filter through the thick leaves, and the air was heavy with the smell of damp moss and rotting leaves.
Cordelia began to feel uneasy. Lucette seemed to feel it too and began shifting restlessly, raising her elegant head to sniff the air. "Come on, let's go back. I expect he was playing a trick." Cordelia nudged the mare's flanks to turn her.
The two men came out of the trees at her so fast she barely had time to draw breath. One of them had seized Lucette's bridle, the other had hold of Cordelia's stirrup. Lucette was too well schooled to rear without orders, but her nostrils flared and her eyes rolled.
Not a thought passed through Cordelia's head. The bow was in her hand, the string drawn tight, and the arrow loosed in one fluid series of movements, so quick it was hard to separate them. The man at Lucette's bridle bellowed and fell back as the arrow quivered below his collarbone.
The second arrow was as swift and true as the first. The man holding her stirrup dropped his arm and stared stupidly at the arrow sticking out of his bicep.
"Up, Lucette, now!" Cordelia instructed, and the Lippizaner rose on her hand legs, her front feet pawing the air. The two men fell to their knees, terror writ large on their broad faces, their eyes wild with pain as Lucette towered over them.
"Dear God in heaven!" Leo's hunting knife was already in his hand as his gelding pounded across the forest floor toward them, tearing up the ground, loam and debris flying from beneath his hooves.
"What the devil!" Leo hauled on the reins and Jupiter came to a stamping halt. Cordelia brought Lucette onto four hooves again.
"Footpads," she said, her voice shaky now that the crisis was passed. "That little boy brought me here, then he disappeared. I suppose they were going to rob me."
"I saw you leave the hunt." Leo dismounted and stood over the two cowering men.
"Leave us be, yer 'onor?" the older one begged. "They'll 'ang us fer sure."
"A merciful death compared with what you presumably had in store for the lady," he said coldly, running a gloved finger over the blade of his knife..
"No, we wasn't goin' to kill 'er, yer 'onor! Jest get 'er to the ground, like." The spokesman inched backward as if he could escape the icy stare of the tall, slender Englishman.
"Leave them, Leo."
He turned in surprise. "Leave them? God knows what they were going to do to you."
"They're starving," she said flatly. "Their families are starving. That wretched child probably belongs to one of them." She reached into her pocket and drew out a leather pouch. "Here." She tossed it down to the ground between the two men, who merely stared at it as if they couldn't believe their eyes.
Which seemed an entirely logical reaction in the circumstances, Leo reflected. He sheathed his knife and remounted. An arrow hole was no light wound, so they weren't exactly escaping scot-free. "Next time, I suggest you curb your philanthropic urges," he said to Cordelia as they emerged from the trees. "Ragged children have a sting in their tails."
"It's not their fault," she said flatly.
He looked across at her, thinking that she had so many unexpected sides. She was as many faceted as a diamond. And as precious. When he thought of what could have happened, his blood turned to ice. But Diana the Huntress also seemed supremely capable of looking after herself. However, she was rather pale, and he noticed that her hands on the reins were a little unsteady.
"Let's return to the palace."
"And not rejoin the hunt?" She looked surprised.
"I think you've had enough excitement for one day."
"I'm not such a milksop," Cordelia protested indignantly. "I was a little shaken, but not anymore. And I'm not in the least hurt. Come. I'll race you. We'll hear the horns soon enough." And she was off at a gallop down the ride.
Leo hesitated for a minute, then went after her. She seemed unhurt, but something about the whole incident niggled at him. Footpads who preyed upon the king's hunting party in the forest of Versailles were asking for the hangman's noose. And hunters would offer slim pickings- there was little need for money or jewels when chasing deer. No, there was something distinctly odd about the whole business.
Amelia, Sylvie, and Madame de Nevry traveled in a coach that lumbered in the wake of the prince's. The girls were so excited they could barely control themselves, and only their governess's grim visage and threats to report their behavior to their father kept them from kneeling up on the seat to look out of the window at the fascinating scenery and people they passed. They sat side by side, clutching each other's hand, their legs swinging with the motion of the coach, their eyes brilliant with excitement.
At last the governess dozed off, and they scrambled onto the seat to gaze outside, their thrilled whispers so low they couldn't possibly disturb the snoring Louise, who didn't awaken until the carriage turned through the great gilded gates into the outer court of Versailles.
She sat up and with fluttering hands adjusted her wig, which had slipped sideways. The girls were sitting innocently opposite her, hands in their laps, their bright blue eyes gazing steadily at her. She coughed, took a quick nip from her flask, and looked out of the window. She had never seen Versailles and gazed awestruck at the magnificent spread of golden buildings, their red roofs and shutters glowing in the evening sun.