Jane Feather: The Diamond Slipper

"Of course he will," Toinette scoffed. "No one else has such black hair."

"Oh well, I'll just powder it," Cordelia declared, selecting a grape from a bunch in a crystal bowl and popping it into her mouth. A silver clock on the mantel chimed prettily.

"Goodness, is that the time?" she exclaimed. "I must fly, or I'll be late."

"Late for what?"

Cordelia looked for a moment unnaturally solemn. "I'll tell you before you go to France, Toinette." And she had whisked herself out of the room in a cloud of primrose yellow muslin.

The archduchess pouted crossly. Cordelia didn't seem to mind that their friendship was about to come to an end. Versailles had decreed that when Maria Antonia married the dauphin and came to France, she must leave behind everything that was tied to the Austrian court. She was allowed to take none of her ladies, none of her possessions, not even her clothes.

Disconsolately, she plucked grapes from the bunch, wondering what secret Cordelia was holding these days. She was as ebullient and mischievous as ever, but she was always disappearing mysteriously for hours at a time, and sometimes she had the air of someone dealing with a weighty problem. Which was not in the least in character,

Cordelia, well aware of her friend's disgruntled puzzlement, sped down the corridor toward the east wing of the palace. She couldn't risk confiding in anyone: Not only was the secret too dangerous, but it was not hers to tell. Christian's livelihood was at stake. He was dependent upon the goodwill of his master, Poligny, the empress's court musician, and to lose it would mean losing the empress's patronage. And he would certainly lose that goodwill once he accused Poligny publicly of stealing his pupil's compositions. The accusation must be made from an unassailable position.

Cordelia turned down a little-used corridor and entered a long gallery through a massive wooden door. She was in the west wing of the palace. The gallery was lined with heavy tapestried screens. She ducked behind the third one.

"Where have you been? Why can you never be on time,

Cordelia?" Christian's great brown eyes were filled with anxiety, his mouth taut with concern, his countenance pale.

"I'm sorry. I was watching the arrival of the French wedding party in the courtyard," she said. "Don't be cross, Christian. I've had a brilliant idea."

"You don't know how dreadful it is to hide here, trembling at every mouse," he whispered fiercely, a tight frown wrinkling his broad brow. "What idea?"

"Supposing we produce an anonymous broadsheet, saying that Poligny's latest opera was actually written by his star pupil, Christian Percossi?"

"But how could we prove it? Who's going to believe an anonymous accusation?"

"You publish your original score in the broadsheet. Sign the statement 'A friend of the truth,' or something like that. Include a sample of Poligny's compositions to show the difference in the two hands. It'll be enough to start people talking."

"But he'll have me thrown out of the palace before anything can happen," Christian said glumly.

"You're such a pessimist!" Cordelia exclaimed, her voice inadvertently rising from the undertone they'd both been using. "Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you, Christian."

His smile was a little sheepish. "Because we're friends?"

Cordelia groaned in mock frustration. She and Christian Percossi had been friends for five years. It was a secret friendship, because within the rigid hierarchy of the empress Maria Theresa's court a close friendship was unthinkable between a humble pupil of the court musician and the Lady Cordelia Brandenburg, goddaughter of the empress and bosom companion of her daughter, Maria Antonia, known to her intimates by the diminutive Marie Antoinette.

"Listen," she said, urgently taking his long, slender, musician's hands within her own. "The empress is known for her fairness. She may be as starched as a ruff, but she won't permit Poligny to cast you off without a fair hearing. We just have to ensure that she sees the broadsheet and the evidence before Poligny can move against you. And we have to make certain that Poligny is taken by surprise. He mustn't have time to create a defense by attacking you."

Still holding his hands tightly, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. "Don't lose heart, Christian. We will prevail."

Christian hugged her. Once, they'd thought they felt more for each other than simple friendship, but their naive experimentations had quickly convinced them both that they were not destined to be lovers. But he still enjoyed the feel of her lithe suppleness beneath her court dress, the scent of her skin and hair.

Cordelia drew her head back, smiling up into the musician's hungry brown eyes, enjoying the angular beauty of his face. Her hands moved through his crisp fair curls. "I do love you, Christian. Even more than I love Toinette, I think." She frowned, puzzled at this novel thought. She'd never before attempted to grade her feelings for her two best friends. Then she shook her head in characteristic dismissal of such an irrelevant issue. She wouldn't fail either of them if they needed her. "Try to get the evidence together and we'll talk later. But now I must go."

Christian let his hands fall away from her and looked helplessly into her face. "I wish we didn't have to hide in corners, snatching moments to talk. It was much easier when we were children."

"But we aren't now," Cordelia stated. "And now I'm much more carefully Watched. Besides, once you spring your surprise on Poligny, no one must suspect my involvement. Then I can work on the empress in your favor… or at least," she amended, "on Toinette while she's still here." She gave his hands another quick squeeze, trying to infuse him with some of her own optimistic determination. Christian was so sensitive, so easily cast down. It was because of his undeniable genius, of course, but it could be somewhat irritating.

"I'm going now. Wait for five minutes before you leave." On tiptoe she kissed him again and then was gone from behind the screen, leaving Christian with the faint fragrance of orangeflower water that she used on her hair and the lingering impression of her quicksilver personality like the diffusion of a fading rainbow.

Cordelia slipped backward into the long gallery. She smoothed down her skirts, turned to stroll casually toward the door at the far end of the gallery, and came to face to face with the man who rode the Lippizaner.

He turned from his contemplation of a particularly bloody hunting scene on a tapestry on the far wall. He still wore his scarlet-lined riding cape, startling against the impeccable white of his ruffled shirt.

"Well, well," he said. "If it isn't the flower girl. Where did you spring from?"

Cordelia was for once in her life at a loss under the quizzical scrutiny of a pair of merry golden eyes, aglint with flecks of hazel and green. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast. She told herself it was fear that her clandestine exchange with Christian had been overheard, but for some reason she didn't seem to find that worrying. Something else was causing this tumultuous confusion, the moistening of her palms.

"Cat got your tongue?" he inquired, lifting a slender dark eyebrow.

"Behind the screen… I was behind the screen." Cordelia finally managed to speak. "I… I was adjusting my dress… a hook came loose." She gathered the shreds of her composure around her again, and her eyes threw him a defiant challenge, daring him to question the lie.

"I see." Leo Beaumont regarded her with amused curiosity. Whatever had been going on behind the screen had had little to do with dress repairing. Hooks and eyes didn't cause such a delicious flush or such a transparently guilty conscience. He glanced pointedly toward the screen, and his eyes filled with laughter as he thought he understood. A secret assignation. "I see," he repeated, amusement bubbling in his voice. "I'm hurt. I thought your kisses were exclusively for me."