The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  If I hadn’t been so busy plotting how I would borrow the key while Marci bathed, I would have been impressed. Because there I was, Darling Wray Fortune, Nobody, handling one of the great treasures of the kingdom.

  Had Francesca ever held a crown in her hands?

  I didn’t think so. Not many people had. And this was gorgeous: a delicate gold filigree encrusted with diamonds and circled at the base with sapphires. A great pear-shaped diamond surrounded by rubies decorated the front, and a huge pearl dangled below it.

  “How are you coming along?” Marci asked.

  “It’s looking very shiny,” I said, holding up the crown. “It’s kind of heavy, though.”

  “Hmm, yes, that’s why Princess Mariposa wears tiaras most of the time,” Marci said. “Just think, long ago Queens wore their crowns every day.”

  “I bet they had headaches,” I said.

  “No doubt,” Marci replied.

  Where did she hang the chatelaine when she was in the bathtub? In the other room? On the rim of the tub itself? How long did she soak? Long enough for me to dash to the wardrobe hall, open the closet, put on the dress and the shoes, and then take them off, lock up the slippers—and dash back to replace the key?

  It made me dizzy contemplating it.

  And how was I supposed to get in? Surely, she locked the door first. I needed more information if I was going to pull this off.

  Marci took a nearly invisible stitch, mending a loose tie on the Queen’s purple velvet robe. Its long train was trimmed in ermine and pearls and embroidered in gold. Marci had changed back into her charcoal Wardrobe Mistress’s dress to keep the mauve dress clean for the wedding. Marci and other important servants would be attending—sitting in the choir loft.

  That gave me an idea.

  “Dulcie won’t be very happy,” I said.

  “Oh?” Marci replied. “Another underclothes issue?”

  “No,” I said. “She’ll have to take a bath before the wedding.”

  “I see,” Marci said. “It can’t be helped.”

  “I suppose everyone will take one,” I said, thinking I could ease my way around to the topic of when people were taking their baths.

  “I hope so,” Marci said. “I’ve been saving a vial of rosewater just for the occasion.”

  “You’ll smell nice,” I said. “And you’ll look really pretty.”

  “Darling,” Marci said, suddenly steely-eyed, “whatever it is you’re angling for—forget it.”

  “W-what do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean business,” Marci said. “That’s what I mean. If you or any of the others do anything to spoil the Princess’s wedding, you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “Um…,” I said.

  “Remember the large wooden-handled sponge I used when I was Head Scrubber?” she asked.

  “Y-yes, ma’am.” My backside twitched as I recalled the powerful swats she used to admonish less-than-zealous Under-scrubbers with in the under-cellar.

  “I still have it,” she said.

  That evening after supper, I gave Roger the starburst key for safekeeping.

  “What are you givin’ me this for?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “We’re wearing lace pinafores to the wedding,” I said. “And they have see-through lace pockets.”

  “Heart-shaped lace pockets,” Gillian chimed in.

  Roger snorted, unimpressed. “I’ll keep it for you,” he said, “but are you sure you don’t have some place to hide it?”

  I thought about my crate stamped ARTICHOKES. I could have given it to Iago, but the wedding ball loomed before me. I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I still didn’t have a plan to get inside closet two. I knew I’d feel better—safer—if Roger had the starburst key.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe it was your turn,” I said.

  Gillian shot me a glance; she wasn’t fooled.

  “Okay.” Roger grinned and slipped the key into his pocket.

  “Just don’t let your girlfriend, Dulcie, get her hands on it,” Gillian said, poking Roger in the shoulder.

  “She’s not m-my—” Roger sputtered to a stop. Then a sly smile creased his freckles. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me, Gil.”

  Gillian colored up. “Boys,” she said, laughing. “No sense of humor.”

  But if she thought I hadn’t seen her blush, she was mistaken.

  “That’s where you get the toffee,” I said. “From your boyfriend.”

  “It ain’t a Stable Boy,” Roger rejoined. “That leaves—”

  “A Messenger Boy!” Roger and I crowed together.

  Gillian burned a dark shade of crimson.

  “Whoo-ee,” Roger whistled. “It’s true.” He nudged me. “Whatcha think, Darling, is it Ben or Dyson or Sergio?”

  “If you think I would tell you,” Gillian said crisply, “then you have another think coming.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked away.

  Roger laughed. “That’ll shut her up,” he said. “Right, Darling?”

  He smiled at me: a warm, melting smile that made my toes curl.

  “R-right,” I said.

  And then, before he could say anything else, I took off running after Gillian.

  * * *

  —

  “Go on,” she said, flouncing up the stairs, “make fun.”

  “Be fair,” I said. “You’ve teased me plenty.”

  She mulled that over for a while. “Truce,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Truce,” I agreed, shaking it.

  We climbed the stairs to the wardrobe hall. She didn’t say any more. It hurt me a little, her not telling me that she had a boyfriend. And it made me wonder how I’d missed seeing it all that time. I guess Roger was right: I didn’t pay enough attention to what was going on around me. I’d have to do better in the future. Especially if I was going to scout out who Gillian’s mysterious Messenger Boyfriend was. Because I had to know.

  We reached the corridor that led to the Princess’s suite and found Prince Sterling talking to a Painter.

  “Thank you,” Prince Sterling told the man. “It’s even better than I expected.”

  The man bowed, picked up the pail of brushes at his feet, and walked toward us.

  The Prince smiled at him as he went. Then he spied Gillian and me.

  “Girls!” Prince Sterling said. “If it isn’t my art lovers, here in the nick of time.”

  “Nick of time for what?” Gillian asked.

  “To see my mural in all its finished glory,” the Prince replied.

  Before I could make an excuse and drag Gillian off, she answered.

  “We’d love to,” she cried.

  “We would,” I said, less enthusiastically. “But we don’t want to keep you from Her Highness.”

  “Ladies, I am at your service,” Prince Sterling said. “The Princess is out in the greenhouses. Some crisis over flowers. Shall we?”

  He led us down the corridor and into the King’s suite. The King’s bedroom had been luxuriously furnished in walnut and cherry, gilding, and royal-blue silk. But we scarcely had time to admire it. The Prince strolled straight into his lounge, where he gestured at the walls.

  “A feast for the eyes,” he said.

  And it was. The mural was a glorious riot of color. Waterfalls. Pools. Leafy trees. Flowers. Mountains. And in the distance, a palace.

  “Wonderful,” Gillian exclaimed, turning around to see what lay on every side. “Trumpet oil, for sure!”

  “Trompe l’oeil,” the Prince said with a trace of amusement.

  “The Baroness said that it would be like standing on the lake, seeing the kingdom from every direction!” Gillian breathed.

  “What lake?” I asked.

/>   “Lake Teor in Tamzin,” Gillian replied. “That,” she said, pointing, “is the royal palace.”

  “You are well informed, young lady,” Prince Sterling said.

  “Oh, the Baroness told me,” she replied. “She said it was her wedding gift to you. So you wouldn’t be homesick.”

  Prince Sterling laughed.

  “You won’t be, will you?” Gillian asked.

  “I am sure that the Princess won’t permit it,” he replied.

  “Tamzin is a beautiful country,” I said.

  “It is,” he agreed, and launched into a story about his homeland.

  Gillian listened, enraptured. I kept twisting my hands together. The evening was passing, and I was no closer to getting into closet two.

  At last the Prince said, “Ladies, the evening wanes. And as a busy day awaits you tomorrow, you should get a good night’s rest.”

  Then he insisted on escorting us as far as the stairs to the Girls’ dormitory.

  “Now what?” I asked Gillian, seething with frustration.

  “Marci is bathing tomorrow night,” she said with a wink. “We’ll think of something by then.”

  “How do you know that’s when?” I demanded.

  “I have my sources,” she said, and skipped into the dormitory.

  The next morning, when Gillian and I reached the wardrobe hall, we found Marci, Lindy, and Selma, the Head Laundress, clustered around Princess Mariposa.

  “Oh,” Princess Mariposa sobbed, “the white roses—gone! Blighted by beetles. There aren’t enough to decorate the cathedral. There aren’t even enough left for a—a—a bouquet!”

  “There, there,” Marci said, patting her hand.

  Selma dabbed her own eyes, and Lindy wrung her hands in agitation.

  “What were those Gardeners thinking, letting beetles in?” Lindy said.

  “Beetles don’t usually wait for an invitation,” Marci replied.

  “Now, now, Your Highness,” Selma said. “Don’t cry. I’m sure there are lots of other flowers in the greenhouses. Why, a nice posy of—”

  “I su-suppose I’ll make do with carnations or—or daisies!” Princess Mariposa hiccuped.

  “Nonsense,” Lady Kaye thundered, sweeping into the dressing room. “I have already rallied the court! Everyone’s servants have been dispatched to the closest estates. Every greenhouse’s flowers will be picked, packed on wagons, and driven straight to the city.”

  “They will?” Princess Mariposa asked, brightening. “By morning?”

  “Indeed, they will,” Lady Kaye said. “Your subjects are eager to throw their best blooms at Your Majesty’s feet. I’m sure there will be plenty of white roses for the cathedral and the bouquet.”

  “But what will you all do without your servants?” the Princess said. “How will you get ready for the wedding?”

  “If I have to,” Lady Kaye said with a twinkle in her eye, “I can dress myself.”

  “My gals can lace and button,” Selma exclaimed. “Happy to help!”

  “Thank you, Selma, you’re a prize.” Lady Kaye turned back to the Princess. “Now, dear, you just come right along and change. Madame Zerlina will be here for your final fitting.”

  With that, the Baroness took Princess Mariposa by the elbow and steered her to the dressing room. Marci followed after them.

  “Well,” Lindy said after they left, flipping her long, straight hair over her shoulder. “Good thing it’ll all be over tomorrow.”

  “And we can all be back to normal,” Selma agreed.

  The two women eyed each other. For a moment, I thought the old feud between them would reignite, but the door to the wardrobe hall flew open and Madame Zerlina blew in.

  “Ladies!” she exclaimed. “Such a glorious day!”

  Immediately, Lindy and Selma stood at attention, patting their hair and adjusting their collars.

  “And here we have Her Highness’s lovely servants,” Madame Zerlina said. “Such cheekbones,” she said to Lindy. “You should wear your hair up.” Then to Selma, “Such expressive eyes. You should wear a little powder.”

  Lindy blushed and Selma simpered. And then, curtsying, they went off to work—Lindy to the pressing room with Gillian, and Selma to the under-cellar. Which left me staring at Madame Zerlina, indignant for my fellow servants.

  “Something?” she said, gazing at me. “A question?”

  “How can you say those things? Expressive eyes!” I harrumphed, indignant on Selma’s behalf.

  “You think I am insincere?” Madame Zerlina said, astounded.

  I shrugged.

  “When you look in the mirror, what do you see?” she demanded.

  I thought about that for a minute. “A stubby nose—” I began.

  “Flaws!” she exclaimed. “And do you know what I see?”

  “G-good bones?” I said, remembering the first time I’d met her.

  “Exactly,” she said, clapping her hands.

  “Then why don’t I see them?” I asked, annoyed by her enthusiasm.

  “Because when you look in the mirror, you don’t see yourself,” she said.

  “Sure I do,” I said.

  “No. You don’t.” She shook her head. “Is the Princess beautiful?”

  “Of course.”

  “She is for her,” Madame Zerlina replied. “But she is not your standard.”

  “Well, I don’t look like her—”

  “You look like you,” she continued. “You don’t see what I am saying. Let me put it this way: when I look at a woman I see her. Only her. I do not compare her to another. But you measure yourself against the Princess and always find that you are lacking. Because you do not see yourself at all.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  “So I am entirely sincere!” Madame Zerlina said. “I see each lady’s own beauty and discern what will best enhance it. I never compare one to another.”

  “Oh.”

  “Never,” she said, poking me. “And neither should you.”

  With that, she took herself off to the dressing room.

  * * *

  —

  I stewed all morning, plotting how I could stop the starlight slippers. And then, just before lunch, it seemed that my opportunity had arrived.

  Marci swept out of the dressing room, headed to closet two, produced the key, and unlocked the door. I put down the shoes I’d been polishing. I stood up.

  I couldn’t snatch the slippers out of Marci’s hand, but I could follow her back into the dressing room and bide my time. Sooner or later, they would finish trying them on. And I would be right there! Marci looked exhausted. I’d be persuasive. Eager. Helpful. I’d say, “I’ll put them on the desk and keep watch over them. You can lock them back in the closet later.” For once, she’d just hand them to me.

  It was a spectacular plan.

  But then a scream tore the air. The closet door blasted open. And out bounded Marci, slippers in hand, white-faced with horror.

  “What is it?” I asked, running to her.

  Wordlessly, she held them up.

  Someone had chewed a hole in the toe of one of the lace slippers!

  Iago! I was saved!

  “Ruined,” Marci gasped. “Ruined!”

  The dressing room door burst open; Madame Zerlina, Princess Mariposa in her wedding gown, and Lady Kaye galloped into the room.

  “Are you ill?” the Princess cried. “Are you injured?”

  Marci shook her head.

  “Oh my goodness!” Lady Kaye exclaimed, spotting the hole.

  And then Princess Mariposa saw it too. She took the slippers from Marci, pressing them close and caressing them as if they were wounded. “My shoes!” she cried. “Oh, Marci! What happened?”

  “Mice,” Marci said, chin qui
vering. “I’ve set out traps—”

  “That Pepperwhistle,” Lady Kaye growled. “I ought to give her a piece of my mind!”

  “I’m sure it isn’t her fault.” The Princess sighed, welling up. “She’s the most conscientious housekeeper a princess could have.” A tear ran down her cheek; she dashed it aside. “What do I have that I could wear in their place?”

  “Well…” Marci bit her lip, thinking.

  I twisted back and forth—between delight that my problem was solved and remorse over the Princess’s unhappiness. I was just deciding that as upset as she was, it was all for the best, when Madame Zerlina spoke.

  “I will take the slippers back to the city with me,” Madame exclaimed with a grand gesture. “I will have them repaired—as good as new—by tomorrow!”

  “You can do that?” I said, fighting the urge to frown.

  “I can and I will,” Madame declared.

  “But will you be able to come all the way back up the mountain in time for me to dress?” Princess Mariposa asked.

  “No, but you can wear any shoes to the cathedral,” Madame said. “I will meet you there with your lace slippers, in plenty of time for you to slip them on and walk down the aisle.”

  “Oh, Madame,” Princess Mariposa exclaimed, “it would be wonderful.”

  Madame Zerlina scooped up the slippers and packed them in her basket.

  Queen Candace cradled the bundle in her arms. The sunlight played on the scattered silver strands in her hair. She smiled warmly at me.

  “A princess,” she said. “Come see.”

  I leaned over as she pulled the blanket aside to reveal a tiny pink face and a curled pink fist the size of a button. I felt a pang in my heart. Here was the Queen’s first child, born when we had all lost hope that there would ever be an heir.

  “She’s beautiful, Your Highness,” I said.

  “Here, hold her.” Queen Candace held her out to me.

  I took the child in my arms. Grief struck me. The arms that held this beautiful baby had never held a child of their own. Noble had a grown son and twin grandsons. My husband’s stepbrother had a daughter. But I had none. Deep in my heart, I knew Father’s meddling with magic was to blame.