Part 13 (2/2)
”At a masked ball, everyone is in disguise. It can be hard to tell exactly who is who. If I were to provide identical costumes, we could pull off a little charade of our own.”
”You-and I-in the same costume?” It was an ingenious idea- although not without its risks.
”And then you and I will secretly exchange masks for a little while, so that I can become Celestine de Joyeuse.”
”Allowing us to smuggle your brother in, disguised as Jagu?”
Astasia laughed through her tears. ”Just don't let anyone ask Andrei to play the fortepiano, or our charade will be discovered!”
Celestine laughed too, caught up in the Empress's infectious good humor. ”And I will be Empress of New Rossiya! Or will I? For who'll be able to guess?”
”I don't know how to thank you, Demoiselle.” Astasia reached out and clasped the singer's hands in her own, pressing them warmly.
”Please, highness,” and Celestine pressed Astasia's hands in return, ”call me Celestine.”
”How did she take the news?” Andrei hurried out to meet Celestine as she stepped down from the carriage that had brought her from Swanholm; he must have been keeping an anxious lookout for her. ”Was she very upset? I didn't want to upset her. But she has to know the truth about her husband.”
”Let's discuss this indoors, shall we?” Celestine cast a look up and down the little cobbled street; there were many people about in the village, all employed, it seemed, on some errand to do with the ball. But even the sweetest dairymaid carrying cream for the desserts or the humblest tailor staggering beneath the weight of masquerade costumes could be one of Eugene's agents, paid to watch and listen.
”Swapping places with the Empress?” Jagu said. The shutters were closed and in the gloom, his voice sounded strangely slurred. ”I think it's too risky.”
Celestine had guessed correctly that he would object to the plan. ”It's a masked ball. Everyone will be in disguise.”
”But if you're caught, you could be charged with treason.” ”Why are you sitting in the dark, Jagu? It's a beautiful day.” She went to open the shutters to let more daylight into the room and saw him wince.
”What's wrong with you?” She came closer, staring intently at him. ”You look awful.”
He sighed. ”If you must know, Prince Andrei couldn't sleep again last night and insisted on playing cards into the small hours. And now I have a pounding headache.”
”So you emptied a few bottles of wine at the same time? You don't deserve any sympathy.” But she began to search in her reticule for a paper of powdered headache remedy.
”You try keeping his highness from leaving the inn! He's as restless as a caged beast. How much longer till Dievona's Night?”
”Drink this.” She poured him a gla.s.s of water and emptied the powder into it. He looked at it suspiciously. ”It's all right; it's not an alchymical potion. Just some feverfew.”
”It sounds as if you've made a favorable impression on the Empress,” he said, grimacing as he drank the bitter liquid.
”She's kind, trusting, and, I suspect, very lonely.” Celestine took back the gla.s.s. ”Why else would she confide in me?” She realized as she was speaking that she had developed a genuine liking for Astasia; she understood how her open, spontaneous nature, which set her apart from the other sophisticated and world-weary young n.o.blewomen, must have bewitched Eugene...
”Are you having second thoughts?”
Why was Jagu able to read her so accurately? ”I-I feel sorry for her, I suppose. Just imagine how traumatic it would be to hear from a stranger that your husband had a hand in your brother's death.”
”Isn't it better that she should know the truth, however harsh?”
”Yes, except I believe that she genuinely loves Eugene,” Celestine said, pensively twisting the feverfew paper between her fingers, ”and that makes this all the harder.”
”Remember,” Jagu said, ”it's for the good of Francia.”
”Demoiselle de Joyeuse?” The innkeeper put his head around the door. ”A message for you from the palace.”
Celestine opened the letter and read aloud, ”'It is her imperial majesty's wish that you return to Swanholm to continue with her singing lessons. A coach will pick you up at three this afternoon.'” She looked up at Jagu over the crisp white paper. ”What do you make of that?”
”It sounds to me as if the Empress is ready to go ahead with her plan.”
Celestine nodded, although she still felt conflicted about her role in this charade. ”I'd better make myself look presentable.” As she pa.s.sed Jagu, he caught hold of her by the hand.
”Promise me that you won't do anything rash,” he said, his voice low, intense.
”Rash?” She forced a laugh. ”You know me, Jagu.”
”Yes. I do. And that's why I want you to give me your word that you won't act alone. Even if you meet... a certain magus.”
She looked down at his hand, which was still wrapped around hers, pressing tightly. That touch, that firm pressure stirred something buried deep within her, a memory of a time that she had snuggled close to him and felt so safe, so cherished...
He must have realized it too for he swiftly withdrew his hand and walked away. ”Just be careful,” he said with his back to her so that she could not see his expression.
By three in the afternoon, the day had turned unseasonably sultry. When Celestine was shown into the music room, she saw the Empress sitting by the open window, dressed in a simple high-waisted summer gown.
”Your highness looks so charming in that sprigged muslin,” Celestine said. ”I'm sure you'll start a new fas.h.i.+on at Swanholm.”
”Thank you! Countess Lovisa told me that it was demode and inappropriate. But it's too hot today to wear a formal court dress. And as we'll be trying on costumes a little later, I thought there was little point in being laced into a boned corset. Now, what shall we play?”
”I've brought this song for you to try; it's an old love song from Provenca...” Celestine placed the accompaniment to ”O Mon Amou” ”O Mon Amou” on the music stand of the fortepiano. on the music stand of the fortepiano. If the Empress has something to confide in me and anyone walks past, they'll a.s.sume that we're discussing the music. If the Empress has something to confide in me and anyone walks past, they'll a.s.sume that we're discussing the music. ”Shall we give it a try?” ”Shall we give it a try?”
They managed a page and a half until Astasia lost control of the keyboard part and broke off, laughing helplessly. Celestine sang on for a bar or two, then joined in the laughter, leaning on the forte-piano to support herself.
Suddenly Astasia started up from the keyboard, staring out onto the terrace. ”Hush,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, ”we have an audience.”
Celestine glanced around.
An elderly man stood outside the open window, his wisps of white hair and beard tousled by the breeze. He bowed but not before Celestine had seen the wintry glint in his pale eyes.
It's him. It has to be.
”Beautiful music, ladies,” he said. ”I must congratulate you.” And he continued on his way along the terrace.
”There is no privacy to be had in Swanholm,” said Astasia and all the merriment had gone from her voice.
Celestine felt as if a pit of shadows had opened at her feet. ”Tell me, highness,” she whispered, ”who was that ancient gentleman we saw just now?”
Astasia pulled a grimace. ”The Magus? His name is Kaspar Linnaius. He's a scientist, I believe, though he has an official court t.i.tle like 'Royal Artificier' or some such.”
It was Kaspar Linnaius. And he stared straight at me. If he recognized me, he gave no sign of it. ”He looks at least a hundred years old!” ”He looks at least a hundred years old!”
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