You should endeavour to employ every minute in improving yourself in such things as you may be deficient in, and in practising what is not sufficiently familiar.
J. Bulcock, The Duties of a Lady’s Maid
In different circumstances, Pattern might have enjoyed the preparations for the Prince Elffin’s Day Ball. The entire social world of the Grand Duchy was invited, making even the State Banquet seem a small, casual affair. The provision of a buffet supper pushed the castle kitchens to their limit, and taxed the resources of all the local pastry-cooks and confectioners. The two fashionable hairdressers in town were engaged six-deep, and on the night itself no carriage was to be had for love or money at the posting establishments.
There was even a new sense of purposefulness to the scurrying masses below stairs. As time wore on, their efforts became progressively more clumsy and cantankerous, but Pattern would never have guessed so much activity could be wrung from so inefficient a household.
Fairy lights were strung up around the central courtyard and along the length of the great avenue. An army of groundsmen appeared as if from nowhere to weed, sweep and clip their way across the terraces and lawns. Inside, dust stirred up by long-overdue sweeping and polishing made the elderly courtiers totter and sneeze. The castle’s halls took on a surface brightness that did much to dispel the air of anxious gloom that had lately settled on the place.
And Prince Leopold, it seemed, was everywhere. In the kitchens – enquiring as to the seasoning of a syllabub. By the grand fountain – pointing out a missing bulb on a string of lights. In the Musicians’ Gallery – debating the merits of the Danse Ecossoise versus the Danse Espagnuole. His cheeks were rosier than ever, his golden curls had acquired an extra bounce. He had a suggestion for everything; a compliment and kindly twinkle for all. ‘Miss Pattern! You look as if the cares of the world are on your shoulders. Don’t you approve of parties? For there is music in your heart – I am sure of it. Dreams of music and dancing, and the sparkle of champagne! I hope your mistress will save you a bonbon or two at the very least.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness, but I do not care for them.’
He thinks me a child, thought Pattern, whose favours can be bought with spun sugar. But then he probably believes that everyone has a price.
‘My uncle has called an extraordinary meeting of the Council of State for the day after the ball,’ Eleri told her that afternoon. ‘It’s meant to be a secret, yet everyone knows the Council will be debating the dragon. When they are all tired and hoarse from talking, that is when Leopold will strike. It won’t be him but one of his cronies who will first propose my sacrifice. No doubt he’ll put on a great show of reluctance, and weep all manner of crocodile tears. But the motion will be carried, make no mistake. Then it will go before parliament, and all will be lost.’
They had gone to the chapel again, at Pattern’s urging, since she wanted to examine the wall paintings. She did not know what she was looking for, exactly; only that they were in need of whatever guidance they could find. She looked especially closely at the picture of Prince Elffin kneeling by the fire, surrounded by various strange objects.
‘What do you think this is about?’
‘It could be a scene of old magic, to show how the Prince first tamed the dragon,’ Eleri replied. ‘Or the images are merely allegorical – to be symbols of his character and deeds, you know, rather than actual events.’ She ran a finger along the part of the wall that concealed the passage to the dragon’s lair. ‘But for so long as the dragon sleeps, it is my uncle who is the enemy. We cannot fight him with magic, much as I would like to turn him into a cross-eyed toad.’
This was certainly true. Yet the Grand Duchess’s sleep-talking, and her own disturbed dreams, made Pattern question how deeply the dragon slumbered. Her candle flickered in the draught so that light danced on the fresco’s flaking colours and crude lines, giving them an eerie illusion of life. She was not sorry to shut the chapel door behind them.
Their only real source of news was the Elffish Enquirer – which still preferred to trade in hints and allusions – and Dilys, who proved a somewhat reluctant informant. Dilys was much troubled by what Franz had reported of his trip to Llanotto, and it was clear the girl did not quite know what to make of the Grand Duchess’s position, or how Pattern had become so closely involved in her affairs.
Ever since Pattern’s visit to Caer Grunwald, a crowd of protesters gathered daily outside the castle gates. Many of the missing children’s relatives kept vigil there, sombre faced and dressed in black. Another crowd was encamped outside the parliament building. The approaching ball roused both groups to new heights of indignation. Shame on the court for making merry at such a time! What was the Grand Duchess thinking?
In fact, it was a matter of constant speculation among commoners and nobility alike as to how much the Grand Duchess knew about the threat to Elffinberg. Did she understand her duty? Was she ready to fulfil it? Surely her dear uncle would try to prepare her for all eventualities. Or would he shield her from the evil as best he could, right up to the last possible moment?
In the midst of all this conjecture and confusion, Eleri and Pattern’s principal consolation was that Madoc had proved good as his word. Howell, the coachman, had already made his first visit to the castle, delivering a packet of documents hidden within a hatbox. A heavyset, unsmiling man, he promised a second delivery on the morning of the ball. They were particularly anxious to know the fate of the children trapped in the manufactory, and what new prison they might have been transferred to.
As a distraction, Eleri poured her energies into crafting the speech she would make to denounce her uncle. Her eyes flashed and colour rose as she strode about her chamber, flinging out her arms one moment, beating her breast the next, as she worked her way through a crescendo of accusations.
‘I think,’ Pattern counselled, after a decent pause, ‘that perhaps it would be better to keep your natural emotions in check. You must not only make the case against your uncle, but demonstrate your own statesmanship. It’s right that you are angry, but you must be the voice of reason above all else.’
Many more drafts were written, many more recitals given, until Eleri’s speech was dispassionate, logical and remorseless enough to satisfy both. Eleri called Pattern a tyrant and a slave-driver, but allowed the final version was much improved on her first attempt.
When not engaged in speechifying, Eleri’s principal occupation was looking over the invitation list to identify potential allies and enemies in the guests. Prince Leopold had recruited people from all levels of society to his plot, from his personal guard to the foreman and manager of his pottery, to venerable nobles in the Council of State. They too would have to be flushed out, made to bear witness, and punished accordingly.
‘I see the Ap Erwin clan are attending. They are my nearest relations, and so the eldest daughter, Cousin Hilde, is next in line to be dragon-fodder. I’d feel sorry for her, if she were not a selfish brat who cut off the tail on my rocking-horse . . . Who knows where Lord and Lady Prosser’s loyalties lie, but they’re so stupid it hardly matters. I dined with them the other day, and Lady P thought the Danube was a city in France! . . . Ha! No surprise to find the Marquis of Neu-Harlech on the list. He goes hunting with Leopold, and is one of his biggest bootlickers on the Council . . . And here we have the Honourable Ludwig Jones. His parents have planned for us to wed since we were both in our cradles. They, at least, will not wish me dead . . .’
Pattern watched Eleri pore over the list. The girl was full of restless energy, but her eyes were shadowed, and her fingernails bitten to the quick. She herself had not dreamed of the dragon again, but she feared it haunted Eleri’s sleep. On two occasions she had gone to check on the Grand Duchess after she had gone to bed, and heard the girl pleading in her sleep, then give voice to strange chuckles and rasping hisses that seemed to have no human source. It sickened Pattern to hear them, and for long afterwards dread moved through her like infected blood. Yet in the morning, the Grand Duchess had no memory of anything untoward.