She brushed crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand, heedless of a smear of jam that transferred itself to her gown. She took a long nip from her flask and sat down beside the empty grate. It was obvious that the princess was hand in glove with the viscount, which made the situation even more intolerable but would act in her favor with the prince. An alliance between stepmother and uncle would not be tolerated by the father. Prince Michael ruled alone.
"I know what it is!" Cordelia exclaimed suddenly as they began to walk down the corridor. She stopped and looked down at the children, stepping away to get a better look. "Amelia's wearing Sylvie's ribbon, and Sylvie's wearing Amelia's."
"What?" Leo dropped their hands and looked in astonishment at the twins, who were now covered in confusion, giggling behind their hands, their faces crimson. "How can you tell?"
"Well, I couldn't at first, but Sylvie has a beauty spot on the back of her neck." She touched the almost invisible mole on the supposed Amelia's neck. "I'm right, aren't I?" The child nodded, still convulsed with giggles.
"I'll be damned!" Leo shook his head. "How often do you play such a trick?"
Neither child answered, but they covered their faces with their hands.
"It must be such fun to fool everyone like that," Cordelia said, much struck by the possibilities of the masquerade. "Don't you agree, Leo?"
For a moment the shadows retreated. Leo couldn't help smiling at the thought of the governess, not to mention, Michael, never knowing which child they were talking to. The game must have lightened their dreary days.
"How many times have you deceived me?" he demanded.
"Oh, never," they assured him in unison. "Never!"
"Somehow I doubt that," he commented wryly. "But you'll not do it again, thanks to your observant stepmother."
His smile faded as they renewed their walk through the thronged corridor, he and Cordelia each holding a child's hand. "I will have passports for you and the children within two days." His lips barely moved as he spoke in the direction of her ear. "I must find a way to get the girls out of Versailles on some pretext. Something that will give you a few hours' start."
"Mathilde will come with us," she returned in the same almost soundless murmur, responding as if this were merely the continuation of a long previous discussion. Of course, there was no choice, no decisions to be made apart from the when and the how. And she didn't have to be told that Leo would not come with them. Michael might suspect his involvement, but he mustn't be given proof. It would be for her to ensure the girls' safety.
The children, hanging on their hands, gazed wide-eyed at the magnificence around them, their little feet taking the tiny gliding steps they'd been taught. The king's audience chamber was crowded with courtiers, but a word from Leo to one of the king's chancellors secured them clear passage to where the king sat with the dauphine and her husband. Amelia and Sylvie were engulfed. They saw only legs and hoops as they were wafted through the crowd, their cheeks brushing against rich silks and velvets, their tiny slippered feet barely touching the marble floors. They clung desperately to the supporting hands of their escorts, terrified that if they came adrift, they would be lost in the sea of gowns, drowned beneath the rising waves of noise way above them.
They had so little experience of the world outside their shuttered apartments on the rue du Bac that they were tongue-tied, staring at their feet, when they reached the king. They only remembered to curtsy when they saw Cordelia sweeping into a deep obeisance at the king's feet.
Toinette leaned forward in her chair, beckoning them to her. "I have some sweetmeats," she said warmly, gesturing to a flunky holding a silver salver of cakes and pastries. The children looked up at Leo and Cordelia, too shy to move a muscle. The king laughed, selected two marzipan roses from the salver, and gave one to each child, then with great good humor turned to Madame du Barry, signaling that the audience was over.
Toinette rose from her chair. "Let us walk with the children, Cordelia. Do you accompany us, Viscount Kierston?" This last was a trifle imperious, breaking into Leo's conversation with Madame du Barry, who stood at the king's right shoulder.
Leo smiled politely but his eyebrows lifted a little as he bowed to the young woman, whose nose was definitely in the air, her eyes studiously averted from the king's mistress. "I am yours to command, of course, madame."
"Then I command that you accompany us," Toinette declared, now trying to sound lighthearted and teasing. But the attempt was too late to reverse the effect of her outright snub to Madame du Barry, who stood glaring, her mouth pinched, her cheeks white beneath the rouge. The king was looking most displeased, but Toinette appeared not to notice.
"I do not believe madame ma mere would expect me to mingle with whores," she said in a defiant undertone as they moved away from the circle fawning at the king's feet.
"I imagine the empress would expect her daughter to behave with courtesy," Leo said. Despite his own wretchedness, he couldn't stand aside and see the child make such a dreadful mistake. "If you make an enemy of the du Barry, madame, you will play into the hands of those who would use you to cause trouble at court. That will not please the king."
"I follow my conscience, my lord," Toinette declared loftily. "And my conscience is answerable only to God." She gave a short nod of her head in punctuation. "Let's go into the gardens and show Amelia and Sylvie the peacocks and the fountains."
The girls, who were beginning to recover from the ordeal of the king's audience and to examine their exotic surroundings with more interest, exclaimed with delight at this prospect, tugging on Leo's hands.
Leo bowed with more than a hint of irony and gave up. He had far more pressing concerns. "If you'll excuse me, madame." He strode away.
Toinette seemed barely to notice. "I am having a concert this afternoon, Cordelia; you must bring the children. Signer Percossi is to play for us. And there's to be a dancer too."
"A dancer?"
"Yes, she's called Clothilde, I believe. He requested it most specifically."
"Oh." Despite everything, Cordelia smiled with pleasure, Christian must have summoned up his courage to approach the dancer. "Do you have music lessons, Sylvie?"
Sylvie's nose wrinkled. "Madame de Nevry teaches us."
"But we don't think she can play," Amelia interjected. "She makes a terrible noise."
"Yes, all thumps. It doesn't sound a bit like music," her sister continued. "And she makes us go up and down the keys." They both ran their fingers over an imaginary keyboard, singing out the scales in their high and not very tuneful voices.
"Oh, how unpleasant." Cordelia grimaced sympathetically, but her mind was racing as a plan took shape. "I'll have to see if I can't arrange a better music teacher for you. All girls must learn to play, isn't that so, Toinette?"
The dauphine nodded in fervent agreement. "And sing and dance too. You'll see how amusing it can be."
The girls didn't look convinced, but they had reached the gardens now and all thought of music lessons vanished in the pleasures of the outdoors.
"His Highness is not receiving today," Monsieur Brion haughtily informed the governess, who stood in the corridor outside their apartments. He held the door at his back, effectively barring her entrance.
"And when will the prince be receiving?" Louise put on all her airs. She was a relative of the prince's, not to be put off by a mere servant.
"He hasn't said. I suggest you return to your own quarters, madame, and he will send for you when he is so inclined." Brion stepped back into the room and began to close the door.