The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  “Have fun,” Gillian said.

  I hurried past her to the hidden door in the dressing room that we’d had propped open. Dulcie stood ready, an oil lamp in each hand, to light my way. She jiggled her foot impatiently; she was so thrilled to be included that she wouldn’t sleep for a week.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and pounded down the hidden stair.

  The plan was simple: run down the hidden passage to the servants’ entrances at the back of the ballroom and then sneak into the ball. I had to keep an eye on the Princess and watch out for the lady in the topaz dress. I’d gotten off easy that night in the corridor with Aster; I doubted I’d get away with that again.

  A simple plan, yes. But easy? My nerves were as tangled as Dulcie’s red hair.

  Dulcie planted one of the oil lamps at the bottom of the spiral stair, well away from anything wooden, as Marci had instructed. The other she’d take back upstairs. No one knew how late the ball would last. And it’d be nearly impossible to find the right path back through the passages in the dark. So it was Dulcie’s job to keep the lamps lit. For that, she had to stay awake. Gillian had promised to keep her company.

  “Are you excited?” Dulcie asked.

  “Yes,” I said, although terrified was more like it. “Be careful going back.”

  “I will,” she said, and headed up the stair.

  I took a deep breath and rapped very softly on the panel.

  The wall slid aside. Marci was waiting for me. I’d hated to tell her about the passages, but there was no help for it. I needed someone there to help me slip in and out without being caught by a Musician or a Footman. And neither Gillian nor Dulcie nor Roger had an excuse to be there.

  Marci pushed the baseboard lever with her shoe, and the wall shut. We stood in the space behind the twisting stair that led up to the Musicians’ gallery. The sound of music tripped gaily down the steps.

  “Are you sure about this?” Marci asked.

  I nodded.

  “All right, then,” she said. “You’re Lady Diane, Duchess of Vermilion. Your estate is some distance to the south; you rarely come to court. You garden—prize hyacinths. So don’t talk to anyone about flowers. Lady Diane knows her stuff; just change the subject. Better yet, don’t talk to anybody.”

  “I’ve done this before,” I pointed out.

  “Don’t remind me,” Marci said drily. “Get going.”

  She peeked out the door and signaled that the coast was clear.

  I slipped out past the gilded screen and into the ballroom, a dazzling, whirling sea of dancers. At first, all I could do was gape at the dresses the ladies wore. Every color, every shade, in a wealth of styles and fashions. Full skirts. Trains. Skirts draped over skirts. Skirts caught up behind in squished bundles of fabric. And the trims! Jewels, embroidery, lace, ribbons, crystals, sequins—one gown even sported feathers.

  And then I saw Madame Zerlina off to one side, a champagne glass in her hand. Her dress caught my eye in a way the others didn’t. Closely fitted to her form, the dress was sewn of alternating horizontal stripes of black satin and black velvet. Pink silk roses wreathed the hem, almost as if she stood knee-deep in a field of flowers. She wore one pink silk rose in her hair and a single diamond bracelet on her dark arm.

  She was stunning. And clever. She didn’t have to convince anyone she was a genius with fabric; she was living proof.

  Outside the ballroom’s windows, stars winked in the dark blue night sky, mocking me. But their light couldn’t penetrate the brightly lit ballroom. As long as the Princess stayed inside, she was safe.

  “Oh, Diane,” a voice said as a hand took hold of my elbow. “I thought you’d gone out to see the gardens.”

  I could have told Marci her advice was wasted. People always talked about the most obvious things. The woman who’d accosted me was Lorna, the Duchess of Umber. She smiled as though she knew Diane well, and she probably did.

  “It’s a little cool out this evening,” I said, shying away from the topic of flowers. “But you should see the stars.”

  She laughed. “My dear, the stars are on the dance floor!” she said. “Twinkling away in Mariposa’s eyes.”

  “He’s a very nice Prince,” I said.

  “I think he’s a great catch,” Lady Lorna said, and steered me toward the dancers.

  Marci had explained how the wedding ball would go. It had begun with the Princess and Prince dancing the first dance alone as the court watched. Then the music changed, a signal for the others to join in. The evening would proceed with several dances, followed by a pause for refreshments, and then the dancing would resume. The pauses were intended to give the Musicians a rest. And to allow the guests time to nibble the cheeses and fruits on the buffet table. Footmen circled the room with trays full of champagne glasses. Marci had threatened to wallop me if I touched one of those.

  She needn’t have worried. I wasn’t looking to get into more trouble. I was in enough already. I was there to act as a sentinel by the doors leading out to the terrace. Although, what I’d say or do to keep the Princess from going outside was beyond me. I would have to make this up as I went along.

  Lady Lorna whisked aside onlookers like a Sweeper with a broom. Everyone stepped out of her way. We arrived at the edge of the dance floor in time to see the Princess waltz past, enraptured in the Prince’s arms. Her wedding dress had an underskirt and train that Marci had removed after the wedding, making the dress lighter and easier for the Princess to dance in. It flowed around her like a river of satin as she danced. The remaining butterflies fluttered as she moved, creating the beautiful illusion that they danced with her.

  “What did I tell you?” Lady Lorna said. “We could all go out on the lawns and she’d never notice.”

  “It’s a beautiful dress,” I said.

  “Mmm,” Lady Lorna replied, spying someone else of interest to her. “Look at what Lady Cardiddle has on! Can you believe it?”

  “Oh,” I said, as if I knew who she meant. In fact, I was wondering how to skirt around the dance floor and park myself by the doors.

  “Stripes,” Lady Lorna said. “They’re fine for day, but evening? Too much.”

  “I think Madame Zerlina’s gown is striking,” I said, keeping an eye on the Princess, who was between me and the doors.

  “Zerlina’s stripes are all the same color, but that gown.” Lady Lorna sighed. “It makes me dizzy.”

  And that’s when I spied Mrs. Pepperwhistle’s slight form off to one side. I almost didn’t recognize her. Now, when I’d heard that she would be at the ball, I’d expected to see her in a sedate charcoal satin or perhaps a nice navy-blue taffeta, with her hair in its tasteful coil of ebony braids. So I nearly bit my tongue when I saw her. She wore a gleaming scarlet satin dress with a black velvet band around the hem and a black velvet V topping the bodice. Her hair cascaded down to her tiny waist in gleaming waves.

  Francesca and Faustine stood with her, wearing identical dresses of powder pink with matching hair bows. I would have thought I was seeing double had it not been for the downward curl of Faustine’s mouth.

  Mrs. Pepperwhistle saw me. She smiled and nodded her deference to the Duchess of Vermilion. But the way she studied me made my skin crawl. Her gray eyes darkened. I remembered the eerie sensation I’d felt in the passage behind the Princess’s bedroom; she had that same expression on her face now. That I will find you look. I had to resist the urge to shiver.

  Of course, she had no idea that it was me, not the Duchess, but I added another goal to the evening’s list: stay away from Mrs. Pepperwhistle.

  At that moment the music ceased, and the dancers bowed and curtsied to each other.

  “Ooh, now it’s your turn,” Lady Lorna said. “Your Highness, over here!” she sang out, waving.

  “My turn?” I said.

  Now, I’d expect
ed the Princess and Prince to dance together all evening, but I’d been wrong. They both turned to choose new partners. And as Lady Lorna called, Prince Sterling headed straight in our direction.

  “I can’t dance,” I squeaked, forgetting who I was supposed to be.

  But the Prince was already offering me his hand. “If you would do me the honor,” he said.

  Lady Lorna nudged me. What could I do? I took his hand and walked with him out onto the dance floor. Twenty swished at my knees, reminding me whose idea it had been to wear the matching shoes. Which was a good thing. I’d never have fooled the Prince if I’d felt my own size, not Lady Diane’s.

  My heart thudded in my chest. I’d never danced! I’d have to watch the others and stumble along.

  “Mariposa told me that we had to set the wedding in the spring or we’d never drag you away from your geraniums,” he said.

  “Hyacinths,” I said, before I realized I was correcting the Prince. I blushed.

  “Hyacinths!” he said. “That’s right.”

  He bowed, so I curtsied. And then he put one hand on my waist and held his other hand out to me. I set my now Diane-sized hand on his. The orchestra struck the first note and we were off. The Prince swirled me around the floor. I followed along, stepping when he stepped. It wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it’d be.

  Soon I was dancing—and enjoying myself.

  Until I realized that I’d lost track of the Princess.

  “You dance like a fawn, Lady Diane,” he said.

  I smiled, thrilled by the compliment until I caught his smile. He was being kind. Not that that was a bad thing; I knew I couldn’t dance. Not really.

  “Tell me about your gardens,” he said, as if determined to talk.

  Which puzzled me until I glanced around, trying to spot the Princess, and realized that all the other couples were talking while they danced.

  “Everyone’s tired of hearing me run on about my gardens,” I replied with a forced laugh. “But I hear you have the most wonderful mural in your suite,” I added, grasping for some subject that didn’t involve flowers and would force him to do the talking.

  “I do,” he said, and described it in great detail.

  So I murmured things like “oh, indeed” and “lovely” while I kept watch on Princess Mariposa’s movements.

  Finally, the music stopped. I curtsied, happy to escape. But just as I bid Prince Sterling farewell, another gentleman asked me to dance.

  This time I made an excuse; I was tired, I said. The man gave me a startled look, as if this were not something Lady Diane would say. I hurried off to a safe place near the doors and tried to blend in with the paint.

  “A little tiff, Lady Diane?” an older woman asked.

  “Excuse me?” I said, hunting for Princess Mariposa and her next partner.

  “You refused to dance with the Duke,” the woman said. “In my experience, that only happens when wives are angry with their husbands.”

  I, Darling/Lady Diane, Duchess of Vermilion, had just told the Duke of Vermilion no. I wished that Twenty had come with a matching fan so that I could cool my burning face. Twenty lapped my ankles sympathetically.

  “I’m just tired,” I said, and turned away to avoid further conversation.

  What would the Duke say to the Duchess later? And what would she say in return? This whole ball thing was trickier than I’d thought. Not only did I have to avoid Mrs. Pepperwhistle and keep track of the Princess, but I had to avoid the person I was pretending to be and her husband or beau or whoever had accompanied her to the ball. Because it belatedly occurred to me that nobody had come here alone.

  Except me.

  * * *

  —

  As the ball went on, I watched from my post by the wall, speaking only when spoken to and then giving brief, vague answers. Finally, the music stopped and the dancers made their way to the refreshments. At that moment, the outside doors opened and the real Lady Diane walked in. Her hair was slightly mussed and her cheeks were pink, but she glowed as if she’d had a better evening than anyone else so far. She probably had, given that she’d been out in the gardens the whole time.

  Before I could blink, someone had asked after her hyacinths, and she was regaling them in rapturous tones about mulch. This was my cue; it was time to get out of there before anyone noticed me. Coughing politely into my fist to partially conceal my face, I wiggled my way through the throng. The area before the servants’ entrances was deserted, so—with a quick look around—I dashed behind the last screen and through the door.

  “What were you thinking?” Marci said. “I told you not to talk to anyone, and there you are on the dance floor, of all places, talking to the Prince!”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I said. “It was the Duchess of Umber’s.”

  “Oh,” Marci said. “She’s hard to say no to. Well, hurry up and go change.”

  She let me through the wall. I grabbed the still-burning lamp and skedaddled up the stairs, through the passages, and back into the dressing room. In the wardrobe hall, Dulcie and Gillian were playing a game of cat’s cradle with a string.

  “I kept the lamps lit,” Dulcie announced.

  “You did a good job,” I said.

  “Is the ball wonderful?” Gillian asked.

  I stopped with my hand on the closet doorknob.

  “I’ll tell you about it in the morning,” I said. If I survive that long, I thought as I flung open the door.

  The dresses were astir as if they all expected to go to the ball. I hung Twenty up with my thanks and then looked around, trying to choose among the others. Two flared its apricot-colored skirt, and its gold underskirt winked at me.

  “Are you next?” I asked. “Because this time I need someone who isn’t married.”

  Two twisted on its hanger, ready to leap off.

  “If you’re sure,” I said.

  I took Two and slipped into it. Faster than I could catch my breath, it caught me in its folds. In the mirror, a pretty blond lady batted her lashes at me. Her gown was cream chiffon draped over icy-blue satin. Garlands of real flowers decked her bodice, twined her sleeves, and hung down her skirt. It was the most impractical dress I’d ever seen. I shrugged, slipping into the apricot-colored slippers. The real gown might shed petals like dandruff, but Two and I were in solid shape.

  I was off, racing past Gillian and Dulcie, back down the passages, and knocking on the panel in a matter of minutes. When the wall opened and I stepped through, Marci stopped me.

  “Lady Juliana?” she said. “She’s the most popular young lady at court.”

  “Is she married?” I asked.

  “No,” Marci said. “But I think you’d be better off as someone else.”

  Just then, I heard Princess Mariposa cry out, “Open the doors!”

  “I have to go!” I darted out into the ballroom.

  The guests burst into applause as the Footmen threw open the doors. For a heartbeat, I thought everyone was going out onto the lawn. Last fall, after her ruined wedding, Princess Mariposa had held a fireworks display for her guests.

  I squirmed through the crowd, bumping and pushing my way, gathering irate looks as I went. I mumbled apologies but kept going. Princess Mariposa and Prince Sterling stood on the threshold, inches from the terrace beyond. I wasn’t going to make it! There were just too many people eager to see what Her Highness would do next.

  And then a portly gentleman, whom I’d sat next to at Princess Mariposa’s Ruby Luncheon the previous spring, captured His Highness’s attention. I exhaled with relief, scrambling the last few steps to the Princess’s side.

  “Oh, Your Highness,” I exclaimed as Princess Mariposa turned toward the terrace, fanning her face with her hand.

  “Yes?” she said, turning back. “Lady Juliana! How delightfully bedecked in fl
owers you are!”

  She gazed at me, waiting for me to say something. My heart skipped a beat. My face burned. The candlelight rippled across the jewels scattered on her skirt, unleashing my tongue.

  “Your Highness, your dress is so lovely and—and your hair ornament, so beautiful,” I babbled. “And the wedding! Oh, it was so, so—”

  Princess Mariposa smiled patiently as I rattled on about the wedding, praising every little thing I could think of. And just when I’d run out of bridesmaids and flowers and whatnot, Prince Sterling took her by the elbow and whispered in her ear.

  “Oh, indeed,” she said. “Thank you, my dear,” she told me, before addressing the room: “Let the dancing resume!”

  The crowd applauded as the Prince led her back to the dance floor. I swayed, dizzy with relief. The orchestra struck up the next song. I sidled toward the open doors, where I intended to stand guard, when a young gentleman pounced.

  “Lady Juliana,” he crowed as if he’d won a prize. “I can’t let you stand around without a partner!”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he’d already caught my arm and whirled me into the dancers. After that, one young gentleman after another demanded my attention, each more insistent than the last. Soon I was dizzy and confused. Which way were the doors? And what was the Princess doing now? After dancing with the umpteenth young gentleman, I tore myself away and stumbled into the crowd. That’s when I saw the real Lady Juliana eating strawberries off a dainty china plate, surrounded by even more young gentlemen.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if I could have traded places with her. As it was, I limped off in a hurry before anyone could notice me. Marci peeked through a crack in the door, shaking her head.

  “I tried to warn you,” she said, letting me inside.

  I nodded, too breathless to speak.

  She opened the wall, and I slid through like gravy sliding over mashed potatoes. I plopped down on the bottom stairstep. Stars swam before my eyes. I’d been awake since early morning, attended the wedding, walked all over the city, and stayed up so I could go to the ball. All that would have been enough to knock me out. But I’d spent the evening dodging ladies whose identity I wore, being whirled around the dance floor, and chasing the Princess.