The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  “What lovely cases,” I added. “Azure must have a great lot of jewels.”

  “Oh, those.” Lady Kaye waved them away. “They are locked away in Castle Azure. My husband’s family had poor taste when it came to jewels. These are the DeVere jewels.”

  “Her Ladyship was a DeVere,” Aster said, wielding a breakfast tray she’d set with the Baroness’s lunch. “Now then, you may—”

  “Like Lady Amber DeVere, Magnificent Wray’s daughter?” I burst out. Was I related to the Baroness, too?

  “The same family, yes,” Lady Kaye said, “but she was an aunt, married to Father’s stepbrother.”

  Aster gave me a pained look as she set the tray on the Baroness’s bed.

  “Did you know her?” I asked.

  “Slightly,” Lady Kaye said, adding sugar to her cup. “I didn’t see her often.”

  “What was she like?” Gillian said.

  “Crazy, mostly.” Lady Kaye took a sip of tea. “That armoire over there—the one with the swans painted on the lid? That was hers. Half the keys are lost. Probably buried under the rhododendrons. She liked to hide things. But she was old, poor dear.”

  “Older than you?” Dulcie asked.

  “Older even than me,” the Baroness replied with a sparkle in her eye.

  “It was ever so kind of you to give Darling that book,” Gillian said. “Books are such a comfort.”

  “Hmm,” Lady Kaye said, salting her soup. “Are you in need of another, Darling?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said, sizing up the painted armoire.

  “You tell such wonderful stories. But seeing as how you aren’t feeling all that well…” Gillian paused to look properly concerned. “I thought you might write a note for me to the Royal Librarian.”

  I tensed; Gillian was piling it on a bit thick. And then I realized what she was up to.

  “Have an eye on his books now, do you?” Lady Kaye said with a keen-eyed glance that showed she wasn’t fooled.

  “Maybe. There’s such a lot of them.” Gillian sighed wistfully.

  “You are a glutton for stories,” Lady Kaye scolded. “But after lunch I will send a note down for you.”

  “Oh, you are too kind,” Gillian said.

  “Master Varick detests children. You enter his domain at your own peril,” Lady Kaye remarked. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Her Ladyship is tired,” Aster said pointedly, grabbing Gillian and me by the collars.

  “Good-bye, Baroness,” Dulcie said as we were hustled away.

  “Good afternoon, Girls,” Lady Kaye called.

  I glanced over my shoulder, catching one last glimpse of Lady Amber’s armoire, glistening with little silver keyholes: six across and seven down.

  He held my hand as we watched the stars burning in the night sky.

  “Can you count them?” he asked me.

  “No, Father.”

  “Can you reach them?”

  I let go of his hand and stretched up on my tiptoes as high as I could. Then I fell back on my heels and shook my head.

  “Do you know what causes them to shine?”

  I frowned, perplexed.

  “Do you know what I think?” he asked.

  I bit my lip.

  “They were born in an instant. One moment there was darkness, and then”—he snapped his fingers—“there was light.”

  I stared at the sky, but I couldn’t imagine it without the stars.

  “They shine because they must,” he whispered. “Because they can’t contain the light.”

  “There.” Selma carried a white satin pillow bearing the starlight slippers. The salt-and-pepper-haired Head Laundress, with her rough hands and canvas apron, made quite a contrast with the dainty pillow. “Clean as a new day and white as white can be!”

  The slippers gleamed, a lace confection floating on leather heels. The creamy opals glistened. The sparkle of rose, gold, and azure captured in the painting didn’t do justice to the real things. Light coruscated across the surface of the gems, setting the captive specks dancing like miniature fireflies.

  I picked up the enamel button to sew it back onto the watercolor floral dress. I’d waited until late the previous evening to talk to Bonbon, but when I checked my crate, it was empty. No mice. Then this afternoon, I’d found the enamel button beside the button box on Marci’s desk. Lined up next to it were a big bronze button and four little pearl buttons. Marci thought I’d been playing with them.

  “You’re an artist, Selma,” Marci said with an overly bright smile.

  “It’s delicate work,” Selma agreed. “Had to wear gloves and clean with a paintbrush. Opals are fragile bits of stuff. Why anyone would ever put ’em on their feet is beyond me!”

  “Her Highness will be so pleased,” Marci said, staring at the shoes.

  Selma set the pillow on the desk. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You don’t sound pleased.”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just…amazed at your talent,” Marci said.

  Selma frowned; she’d known Marci too long to be easily deceived.

  “You should show them to Her Highness,” Marci urged. “She’ll want to try them on.”

  “I’m not one to fuss over my work like some Duster who’s just discovered polish!” Selma said. “It’s a-getting late. You can take them to her when she dresses for dinner.”

  With a nod, Selma took herself back to the under-cellar. Marci opened and closed her hands as if deciding whether or not the slippers were safe to touch.

  “They didn’t do Selma any harm,” I said.

  “The dragons would chip a tooth on Selma,” she retorted.

  “They didn’t bother the Princess,” I said. “Maybe your grandmother didn’t mean the slippers at all. Maybe the dragons were drawn to the magic and it was in something else?”

  Marci considered that for a fraction of an instant, her frown deepening. “Look at those opals, all cleaned up,” she whispered. “They look almost…alive.”

  I squinted at the opals, which sparkled marvelously. But if there was anything odd about them, I couldn’t see it. I glanced up at Marci, who glared at the gems as if they were poisonous.

  Then she caught me watching her.

  “Don’t you have work to do?” she asked.

  I poked my needle through the metal loop at the back of the button. Then I pushed the needle into the dress’s fabric. Studiously. As if sewing on buttons required great precision. Which it didn’t.

  With a grimace, Marci scooped up the pillow, took a step, and stopped.

  “Darling,” she said, “go get a dress, and tell it you need to be Lady Kaye.”

  Startled, I stabbed the needle into my finger.

  “Ouch!” A drop of blood welled up on my fingertip. I set the dress down so that I wouldn’t accidently stain it. Then I dug out my handkerchief and dabbed at my finger.

  “Well?” Marci said, planting her free hand on her hip. “Get moving.”

  “I can’t,” I told her. “I already was the Baroness…once.”

  “Then tell the dresses you need to be Lady Marie.”

  I bit my lip. I tucked my soiled handkerchief in my pocket.

  “Oh for goodness’ sake, Darling,” Marci said. “Be Pepperwhistle.”

  I shook my head. I’d been her, too.

  Marci scowled. She turned to go but then whipped back around. “Go tell those dresses that you need to be somebody the Princess trusts,” Marci ordered.

  “She trusts me,” I protested.

  “Go. Do it now,” Marci said, pointing at the closet door.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, biting back a complaint. If Marci wanted me to waltz around the castle as someone else, then I would. But it seemed silly. Why didn’t she just take the shoes to t
he Princess herself?

  I went into the closet, where Lyric was singing in the spring sunshine. The stained-glass canary glowed, casting slivers of yellow and gold across the carpet. The dresses fluttered in anticipation.

  “Marci sent me,” I warned them. “She wants me to be someone the Princess trusts.”

  At the mention of Princess Mariposa, a flurry went through the dresses as if they were unsure about this request. I waited as the dresses decided.

  A sharp knock sounded.

  “Now, please,” Marci called through the door.

  “I won’t do anything I shouldn’t,” I told them. “I promise.”

  Ten, an opalescent taffeta ball gown, roiled on its hanger like a carrot simmering in a stew.

  “Thank you.” I picked it up and stepped into it.

  A louder knock rattled the door.

  The crisp taffeta swooped up over my shoulders and clasped me in its folds, shrinking to fit. The skirt shimmered in waves of white, pink, and lavender as the light caught it.

  “Just like the slippers,” I said, admiring it.

  “Darling!” Marci thundered on the other side of the door.

  “Coming!” I looked up. Francesca smiled in the mirror, sizing me up. “Whoa,” I told Ten. “Are you sure about this?”

  The door swung open. Marci stopped in midstride, her fist glued to the doorknob. The pillow in her free hand shook. The slippers bobbled on their satin perch.

  “I told them I needed someone the Princess could trust,” I said.

  Marci glowered at me.

  “Francesca is loyal to Her Highness,” I said. “It sort of makes sense.”

  “I suppose it could be worse,” Marci growled, and shoved the pillow at me.

  * * *

  —

  I carried the pillow with my chin in the air and a bounce in my step. Being Francesca came easily, like singing a familiar refrain. I didn’t have to ask myself what she would do or say. I already knew.

  Ten bounced along with me, the occasional ripple in its skirt. I had the impression that it had been yearning to get out of the closet for a long time.

  Marci strolled beside me, a mask of serenity plastered on her face. But the white knuckles of her hands clasped together before her spoiled the effect.

  “Did you wear all of them?” I asked, referring to the dresses. Marci had had a turn with the closet when she was a child and her grandmother was the Wardrobe Mistress, but she never talked about it.

  “No,” she replied in a frosty tone.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I got caught,” she retorted. “Which I’ve advised you not to do.”

  “By who?” I asked, smiling at a passing Footman. (Francesca never missed an opportunity to smile at adults.)

  “My grandmother,” she replied. “Otherwise, I doubt I’d still be here.” She shot me a look that said I too could disappear if I asked any more questions.

  But there was one I couldn’t resist asking. “How many did you wear?”

  We flew by corridors and stairs as Marci remained silent.

  I bided my time; I knew better than to insist on an answer.

  Finally, she said, “Thirty-six.”

  “Could you still wear the others now? Since you never wore them all?”

  Marci swallowed as if trying not to cry. “No,” she whispered. “Once you grow up, it’s too late to go back.”

  I had the sudden image of Marci as an adult, struggling into one of the dresses—only to be disappointed.

  “Oh,” I said, having nothing else to say.

  We walked down the back stair to the main hall, and there—to my dismay—was Mrs. Pepperwhistle, instructing a Messenger Boy.

  “Take this note to the Head Footman,” she told him. “Lady Teresa arrives this evening. Her Highness expects everything to be ready.”

  Marci nudged me, hope blooming in her eyes.

  I shook my head. It wouldn’t do any good to wait until later. I’d been Lady Teresa.

  Marci groaned, exasperated.

  “See to it that he reads it at once,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle concluded.

  The Messenger Boy nodded eagerly. The Head Housekeeper had no business ordering him about, since he answered to Esteban, the Head Footman. But the Messenger Boy didn’t argue, because Esteban would punish any Boy who ran afoul of the Head Housekeeper.

  It wasn’t fair. But it was the order of things among the servants.

  The Messenger Boy, note in hand, vanished as quickly as he could.

  “You’ve had them cleaned!” Mrs. Pepperwhistle exclaimed, seeing the slippers.

  “Indeed,” Marci replied. “We’re just on our way to present them to Her Highness.”

  “It’s very kind of you to allow Francesca this privilege,” the Head Housekeeper purred.

  “Only fair,” Marci replied tersely. “She did find them.”

  “I can’t wait to see the Princess’s face,” I said, hoping Mrs. Pepperwhistle would take the hint and let us go.

  “Yes, well, remember our little discussion,” she replied. “Princess Mariposa is sentimental, but Queens do not keep Girls. They employ Ladies-in-Waiting.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” I sputtered.

  What did she mean, Queens do not keep Girls? My heart pounded. My palms grew moist. The pillow wavered in my hands.

  “Mustn’t keep Her Highness waiting, Francesca,” Marci said.

  “Smile!” Mrs. Pepperwhistle commanded, and let us go.

  Marci led me across the main hall to the west corridor.

  “What did she mean? Queens don’t keep Girls?” I squeaked.

  “They don’t. Usually. They appoint adults as Ladies-in-Waiting to handle some of their personal chores and turn the rest over to the Ladies’ Maids,” Marci replied. “But the Princess is fond of the lot of you and isn’t eager to do that.”

  “Does that mean”—I sniffled—“that we won’t have jobs much longer?”

  Marci softened slightly. “Darling, it means I’m keeping you, no matter what.”

  I glanced up at the stubborn set of her chin.

  “I don’t fancy doing all the mending by myself,” she added. “Now, stop asking questions.”

  She paused before the door to the Princess’s private office, waved the Footman aside, patted the crown of braids on her head, tidied the knot of her scarf, and took a deep breath.

  “No matter what happens,” she whispered, “you’re here to convince Mariposa that nothing out of the ordinary is going on. Got that? Follow my lead.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And, Darling, if anything bad—” Marci’s chin quivered. “If those slippers do anything at all other than look pretty, you yank them right off her feet!”

  Her reasons for wanting me there crystallized into focus: Marci was scared of the slippers.

  But you wouldn’t know it to watch her. Marci rolled into the royal office like the Pastry Chef flattening dough. Nothing dared stand in her way.

  The Princess sat at her desk, writing letters. Alone.

  “Marci!” she said, surprised. “Oh, you have the starlight slippers! You brought them to me.”

  She dropped her quill and stood up, holding out her hands.

  I walked forward and placed the pillow on them.

  “You needn’t have come all the way down here,” she said, admiring the slippers. “But I’m pleased you have.”

  “I knew Your Highness would be anxious to see them,” Marci replied.

  “They’re beautiful. They’re perfect,” Princess Mariposa sighed. “Oh, I must try them on!”

  “As you wish,” Marci said smoothly, as if she weren’t dreading it.

  “Let me assist you,” I said. Because Francesca would jump at the chance.

>   Princess Mariposa walked over to a small sofa by the window and sat, placing the pillow at her side. I knelt down and helped her out of her shoes. Then she handed me a slipper.

  I felt Marci stiffen beside me.

  The shoe felt weightless, like a whisper of cloud in my hand. I set it down for Princess Mariposa to slide her foot into. I held my breath. Nothing happened. Then the Princess handed me the other shoe, and I helped her put it on.

  Princess Mariposa stood, held up her skirt, and whirled across the room.

  “Like dancing on air!” she cried.

  Marci twisted her fingers together as the Princess bent and swayed with her imaginary partner. The starlight opals flashed as she moved. Princess Mariposa pirouetted, then ground to a halt. The color drained from the Princess’s face. “I’m dizzy,” she gasped, putting her hands to her head. “The room won’t stop spinning.”

  Marci caught her arm and led her back to the sofa.

  “Your Highness has been working too hard,” Marci said, clucking. “All these wedding plans. And those shoes! Obviously, they’re not well balanced. You shouldn’t wear them.”

  White-faced, Princess Mariposa stared at her. “Not wear them!”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” I said, echoing Marci. “You spun so fast; I think the soles are slippery. You might fall.”

  “Take them off—for now,” Princess Mariposa said, holding her foot aloft. She looked strained and tired. “But I will wear these slippers to my wedding—if it’s the last thing I do!”

  I pulled the shoe off her foot. It didn’t feel any different than it had earlier.

  But I could have sworn the opals glimmered a darker shade than before.

  Marci put the pillow with the slippers on her desk, muttering about stubborn people. Which was funny, considering she herself was the most stubborn person I knew. I debated whether I should tell her about the change I’d seen in the opals. But that would only upset Marci more. Besides, I hadn’t felt any magic in the slippers. Not a bit.

  That evening, the arrival of Princess Mariposa’s cousin Lady Teresa turned the entire castle upside down. The Princess insisted that Lady Teresa’s days be an unending whirl of feasts and entertainments. I felt sorry for Teresa; she was so shy she’d hidden from the court during her previous visit. And equally sorry for the servants, who were kept running, cleaning, cooking, washing, and fetching.