Consider what a few pounds or shillings will avail you, if you lose your character.
J. Bulcock, The Duties of a Lady’s Maid
The following day Pattern had occasion to pass through the Mirror Gallery, a coldly glittering cavern in which the court gathered to play cards. She was looking for a fan the Grand Duchess had dropped. She caught the scent of aniseed, and suddenly there was Madoc, who seemed to have shimmered out of the glass itself, holding the missing fan in his hand.
‘A very good morning to you, Miss Pattern. Would now be an opportune moment to speak to my master, Prince Leopold? He wishes to have a word.’
It was an opportune moment, for her mistress had retired to her bed with a headache and did not wish to be disturbed. Pattern was nonetheless a little apprehensive at the summoning. This would be her first encounter with the Grand Duchess’s uncle and guardian, for until now the Prince had been holidaying at his hunting lodge.
‘Come now,’ said Madoc, when he saw her hesitate. ‘I promise you the man won’t bite. At least, not as hard or hungrily as some.’
This time, there was something a little malicious in his smile.
‘Thank you, but even if he did, no doubt I would survive to tell the tale.’
Madoc was amused. ‘So a fighting spirit lurks beneath that timid exterior! My apologies if I have underestimated you, Miss Pattern.’ He looked at her again. ‘Hmm . . . But I begin to suspect I am not the only one. Could it be that our little mouse is considerably less tame than she appears?’
Pattern was not used to this kind of scrutiny. There was a sharpness to Madoc’s gaze that she found unsettling. So she ducked her head and followed after him in her mousiest manner.
She had to admit that she was curious to meet the Prince. The commoners spoke of him as a model of generosity and courtly charm, yet according to the Grand Duchess, he was a criminal mastermind who wanted to steal her throne and turn her subjects against her before she came of age and could take her place on the Council of State.
‘But why then,’ Pattern had ventured, ‘don’t you show yourself to the people more? Surely if they knew you better, Your Highness, their loyalty would greatly increase?’
‘You think I should gad about, cutting ribbons and christening ships? Embracing babies?’
‘Well . . .’
‘My subjects will never love me for who I am,’ the Grand Duchess had said sourly. ‘I am their insurance, that’s all. Their sacrificial lamb. And if the time comes, they will offer me up on the altar without shedding a tear. They know it, and I know it. So I don’t see why I should grovel after their good opinion.’
What sacrifice, and on what altar? But the Grand Duchess would not be drawn on the matter.
Pattern thought back to this conversation as she followed Madoc to her meeting with his master. Prince Leopold had nearly a whole wing of the castle to himself, and the interview took place in his study. The man himself was seated at his desk, and bounced up when she entered, smiling and twinkling.
‘Good Lord! You’re even smaller than they said!’ He laughed heartily. ‘It seems to me that servants’ halls in England must resemble nurseries – with infant cooks, pint-sized butlers, and valets who are mere babes-in-arms. Ha, ha!’
Pattern did not know how to respond to this, but the Prince seemed content to enjoy his own joke. He was small and plump, with round, rosy cheeks like those of a child. His gold curls were thinning, and the skin around his merry blue eyes was lined, giving him the appearance of an ageing yet sprightly cherub.
There was something a little whimsical, too, about the furnishing of his study. Every available surface was cluttered with china ornaments. Miniature teapots and decorative jugs rubbed against flocks of shepherdesses and harlequins, cupids and gypsies, and ballerinas with billowing skirts.
‘Charming, aren’t they?’ the Prince said, though Pattern had not remarked on them. ‘Porcelain has always been a passion of mine. Indeed, I flatter myself that I am something of a connoisseur.’
‘It is a very handsome collection, Your Highness,’ said Pattern, whose first thought was pity for whoever was tasked with the dusting.
‘I am glad you think so. Very glad! One is never too young to cultivate an artistic sensibility.’
Her eye was drawn to a particularly large and ornate urn, which had fearsome dragons as the handles, and was painted with a forest of exotic blooms.
The Prince saw her looking and positively preened. ‘A gift from a Chinese dignitary, and close associate of mine. China was the birthplace of porcelain, you know. But I truly believe that our Elffish potters have surpassed theirs and are now the finest in the world.’ He picked up a simpering flower-girl, inspected its base, then set it back in place with a tender pat to its head. ‘Now then! I did not call you here to chatter about ceramics, agreeable as that would be. I wished to enquire as to how you are settling in.’
A prince of the realm, enquiring as to the well-being of a lady’s maid? Pattern resisted the impulse to raise an eyebrow.
‘I am quite comfortable, thank you, Your Highness.’
‘Truly? My niece has a reputation for being somewhat contrary, to say the least. Still, I trust you will look after her well. The Grand Duchess Arianwen’s welfare is my first concern. First and best!’ He looked at her keenly. ‘But perhaps she has told you otherwise?’
‘The Grand Duchess does not confide in me, Your Highness.’
‘She does not trust you, then.’
‘She is very . . . cautious, Your Highness.’
‘Paranoid, you mean. Oh, there’s no use denying it.’ The Prince sighed heavily, and shook his head. ‘Perhaps she is having a quiet spell. Perhaps! But you need to prepare yourself. Yes, I’m afraid there will be all manner of rantings and ravings. All kinds of wild talk.’ He drew nearer. ‘You will tell me, won’t you? If she mistreats you, if she gives way to these violent passions? I can be a useful friend to you, child. An attentive and liberal patron. You have only to keep me informed of your mistress’s state of mind. If you were able to gain her trust, that would be even better. I am only concerned for her health.’
He was pressing a heavy coin into her hand.
‘There now! A little something to welcome you to court. It’s only right for young people to treat themselves from time to time.’ The Prince moved back, smiling widely. ‘Ours is a glorious country, Pattern. A land of opportunity. Yes, there are many opportunities for good girls who mind their tongues, and know which side their bread is buttered on.’
He tapped the side of his nose and winked at her. ‘Ha! Ha, ha!’
The Grand Duchess’s headache continued until very late. She soon tired of being left on her own, and so Pattern spent the rest of the day running back and forth fetching smelling salts, fruit cordials and fashion papers, in between fanning the Royal Cheeks and holding ice to the Royal Forehead. By midnight, she was ready to drop with exhaustion, whereas the Grand Duchess declared herself much recovered, and far too restless for bed. Instead, she wished to browse the library. ‘And you must come with me, Pattern, to hold the lamp and carry the books, and in case there is anything I think I might want.’
Pattern liked the library. To wander through it was like being in a pleasant maze, whose walls and towers were formed of gilt-edged books. However, it was over a mile-long walk to get there, and her legs were already very weary. They had just turned into the hallway leading to its doors when they saw Madoc emerge from the library with a pile of books and glide away in the opposite direction.
‘Ugh! That horrid man!’ whispered the Grand Duchess with a shudder. ‘Always lurking and smirking! I think I should hate him even if he did not serve my uncle.’
‘Mr Madoc took me to meet with Prince Leopold this morning, Your Highness.’
Pattern was not quite sure how she had come to make the confession. It certainly had a dramatic effect upon the Grand Duchess, who came to an immediate halt. Although the hallway was dark and deserted, she drew Pattern into an alcove and glanced about her before she spoke.
‘M-my uncle?’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
She breathed in sharply. ‘What did you make of him?’
It was a good question, and one that led to another: whose confidence should she keep? Looking at her mistress, Pattern was not entirely sure of the truth of the headache, but she was certain that the girl was not well. There were always dark circles under her eyes, and her hands often trembled. Pattern doubted she slept more than a couple of hours each night.
Perhaps Prince Leopold was right, and the balance of the Grand Duchess’s mind was disturbed. Yet Pattern had promised the Baroness von Bliven that she would serve her mistress faithfully, and a promise to a dying woman is even more binding than the ordinary kind.
She had not forgotten the Baroness’s advice to trust no one. However, trust was a risk Pattern had to take. So would the Grand Duchess.
‘The Prince was entirely affable, Your Highness,’ Pattern answered, after only a short pause. ‘And he promised that his kindness to me would only increase. For he gave me money and asked me to gain your confidence, so that I could keep him informed as to the state of your health.’ She reached into her pocket, pulled out the Prince’s coin, and gave it to the Grand Duchess. ‘I would rather not have money I didn’t earn by honest means.’
‘So your loyalty is not for sale?’ the Grand Duchess replied. Her tone was doubtful. ‘Why? I have shown you no particular favour.’
‘Favoured or not, your health is your own business, just the same as your dreams or fears or any other private thing. It is not the Prince’s place to pry into such matters. Nor mine.’
‘Ah, you would not wish to know my dreams, Pattern. They are full of terrors. As for my fears, I have so many that the weight of them quite exhausts me. But whatever my uncle would like you to think, I am not mad.’ She looked at her searchingly. ‘I hope you believe me. Because . . . because I would like very much to believe you. Even if I’m not able to just yet.’