But then Papa said, “Aigrette, it will not happen, not only because our filles will not have it so, but neither will Lord Jaufre. I think he is here to eat our food and drink our wine and seduce anyone he can, and nothing more.”
Aigrette seethed in fury and through clenched teeth said, “Henri, be silent!”
None said aught for a while, but then Felise asked Camille, “What does Prince Alain look like?”
“Well, he’s a head or so taller than me, and slender, yet quite well built, with black hair and grey eyes and full lips and gentle hands . . . he plays the harpsichord.”
“Is he handsome?” asked Colette. “My Luc is quite beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” said Joie. “I would not describe him that way.”
“Well, I think it so,” snapped Colette.
Papa smiled at Colette and said, “That’s all that matters, Letty. If you think him beautiful and let him know, it will fill his heart.” Henri then glanced at Aigrette.
Aigrette huffed, and spread butter on a biscuit.
Colette smiled at her father, then turned again to Camille. “Is he handsome: your Prince Alain?”
“My Allard is quite handsome,” said Felise. She smiled at Colette. “Do you remember how splendid he looked at the wedding?”
Gai clapped her hands and turned to her twin. “Oh, and what a grand wedding that was.”
Joie nodded in agreement and said to Camille, “There were spring flowers and guests galore, and a heirophant came from Rulon to bless the union.”
“It was quite lovely,” admitted Lisette.
“Oh, Maman, when it is my turn, I do hope to have a wedding just as beautiful,” said Colette.
“And, for me, a groom as handsome as Allard,” added Joie.
For a moment silence fell, all but Camille remembering that day. But then Colette said, “I wish you had been here, Camille. Still, you did not answer my question: is Prince Alain handsome?”
Camille shrugged. “I don’t know. I have never seen him without a mask.”
“What?”
cried several at once. “
A mask?”
Aigrette dropped her knife aclatter to the table. “You mean you have never seen his face?”
“No, Maman.”
“What prince would wear a mask? Why, he could be a robber, a thief, an outlaw, to always go masked like that.”
“No, Maman. He is no outlaw, but truly
is
the Prince of the Summerwood.”
Frowning, nevertheless Felise came to Camille’s defense. “Maman, mayhap he is simply disfigured—a scar, a wen, a gape, the aftermath of pox, or some such.”
“Perhaps a birthmark,” added Papa.
“
Ooo,
” said Giles, his eyes wide in speculation, and he peered ’round the table and whispered loudly, “What if there’s nothing under the mask but just a bony, skeleton skull?”
Now the twins’ eyes flew wide in alarm.
“No, Giles,” replied Camille. “Not true, for every eve I see his lips and his eyes, and although I have never seen his visage, I have felt the contours of his face, the flesh of his cheeks and jaw, brow, nose, chin, and, of course, his gentle mouth. No, Giles, there is no”—Camille grinned and raised her hands in mock fear—“
ooo,
bony, skeleton skull under the mask.”
“Oh,” Giles said, his face falling in disappointment, underneath which hid a grin.
“This mask, does he never take it off?” asked Lisette.
Camille blushed. “He does not wear it in bed.”
“And still you have not seen his face?”
“The room is quite dark, Lisette.”
“How strange,” said Henri. “Still, do you love him? And more importantly, does he love you?”
“Oh, yes, Papa. We are madly in love with one another.”
Papa turned up his hands and shrugged and said, “L’amour est tout.”
“Indeed, Papa, love is all,” replied Camille.
Maman merely muttered under her breath, but what she said, none at the table did hear.
“What was your wedding like, Camille?” asked Felise, glancing at Lisette, whose eyes narrowed.
Nonplused, Camille remained silent.
“Come, come,” demanded Maman.
“We have not yet had a wedding,” Camille admitted.
Again Aigrette dropped her knife. “What? No wedding?”
“No, Maman. No wedding, though we are pledged to one another.”
Aigrette glowered at Henri. “And he has taken you to his bed, this masked prince?”
Camille nodded mutely.
Lisette smiled a wicked smile and raised her chin as if in victory.
“And no banns have been posted, no king notified, no monk, no heirophant has solemnized aught?” asked Aigrette.
“No, Maman,” Camille meekly replied.
“What would Fra Galanni say, Camille? Living as you are without proper sanction.”
“I don’t know, Maman.”
“Aigrette,” said Papa softly. “No banns were posted when you pledged to me, no messages sent, no heirophant sought, no formal wedding at all.”
“
What?
” exclaimed several daughters simultaneously, turning to Maman.
“You and Papa were never properly wedded?” said Gai.
“We are all bastards,” declared Giles, grinning.
“Be quiet, all of you,” barked Maman, glaring in outrage at Papa. “What your père and I have or have not done is neither here nor there. It is what Camille has not done that is at the crux of the matter.”
“How so?” now challenged Camille, regaining some of her spirit. “We are pledged, and Alain himself has vowed that as soon as he resolves a vexing problem, then we will wed.”
“What is this problem?” asked Lisette, smugly grinning.
“I don’t know, Lisette. Only that it is dire.”
Lisette raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“Indeed,” replied Camille, her ire rising.
Lisette smacked a palm to the table. “Indeed, indeed. Here is a prince who wears a mask he never removes, and there has been no wedding ceremony, for what monk or heirophant would sanctify the wedding of a so-called innocent girl to a man who wears a mask? Why, it is as Maman has said: he may be a well-known pirate or thief or brigand or other kind of foul looter . . . after all, where does his wealth come from? Perhaps we ought to gather a warband and go after this pirate and haul him to prison.”
Both Camille and Maman gasped in alarm, and Maman said, “Oh, no, Lisette, we cannot do such a thing.”
“Why not, Maman? After all, there may be a reward on his head. Perhaps even dead or alive.”
Even as Camille’s face turned pale, Maman raised an admonishing finger. “No matter what the reward, be he a pirate or no, and no matter the source of his fortune, think on this, Lisette”—she turned to the others—“think on this, all of you: we would be much the poorer should his annual tithe of gold stop. Would you have us lose that ever-running stream of wealth?”
“Maman,” said Giles, “you think only of riches, when you should treasure Camille instead.”
Now Aigrette glowered at Giles. “But it
is
Camille I am thinking of, and—” Abruptly, she stopped, and a calculating look swept into her eyes. “Camille, you should remove his mask.”
Camille shook her head, remembering what Alain said when she merely ran a finger across his features. “Maman, he said he could not show me his face.”
“Ah, but did he ever say you could not see it?”
Camille cast her mind back to that very first evening in the lanternlight on the bridge:
“Lady Camille, for reasons I cannot explain, I must wear this mask, such that I can never show you my face.”
“No, Maman. Only that he could not show me his face.”
“Well,” crowed Maman, leaping up from her chair and stepping to the mantel and pulling the stub of a fat candle from its holder and picking up a small box of matches as well. “Here, Camille, take this candle with these matches, and when he’s asleep in the bed you share, you can light it and see his face. Thus he will not have revealed his visage to you, for you will have seen his face for yourself without him having had the slightest hand in it. After all, once he sees that you love him in spite of his disfigurement or scar or birthmark, or the fact that he is a notorious pirate or such, he will then discard the mask and a proper wedding can take place, thus assuring that you will inherit his wealth if he should die on you. After all, should he fall dead and you not be married, then you would be left without any claim to his riches—be it pirate gold or not—and then what would happen to us?”
Even as Camille shook her head in refusal, her sisters were stricken pale. Papa’s eyes gazed at the fine things throughout the room, and his lips drew thin. Only Giles seemed unaffected by this potential future, and he looked at Camille and shrugged, saying, “I can live in a cottage again.”
“Oh, Giles,” whispered Camille, “what of your aversion to thatch?”
Once more Giles merely shrugged, but this time he said nought.
Throughout the remainder of the week, Maman never let Camille have respite from the vision of something happening to Alain and she being left without a sou, her family cut off from the annual stipend, and Giles becoming sickly again.
And yet, every evening there was a ball, with Maman quite haughty in her newfound wealth and position, strutting about like a petty lord, showing her bloodstone ring to any and all who would look, telling them that it was but a trifling bauble sent to her by the prince as a minor show of his regard. And every night Aigrette had Pons announce Camille as the Princess of the Summerwood, though she and the entire family knew it was not yet so. Camille grew quite weary of such—her mother’s harangues and of the balls, and the unwanted attentions of many a would-be lover, including the fat old roué Lord Jaufre, who knocked on her door several nights running, asking if she needed company. The only company she desired was that of her Prince Alain, and oh how she longed to return to Summerwood Manor to share quiet evenings with him.
And thus did the seemingly interminable round of exhortations during the day and unwelcome dances at night drag on.
But finally the week of the visit was up, and at the dawning of the following morn, Camille dressed once again in her travelling clothes and made ready to meet the Bear. But even as she slipped down the stairs, Maman stopped her at the door, and she handed Camille the fat candle stub and a full box of matches, saying, “We wouldn’t want the plan to fail should one of the matches not light.”
Sighing, reluctantly Camille tucked the candle and box into her drawstring purse, and then with a cold embrace from Aigrette, across the field she fled. And even before she reached the twilight border, the Bear stepped into view, and Camille ran crying to him and threw her arms about his great neck and sobbed into his fur, “Oh, Bear, I missed you so. Take me back to Summerwood; take me back to my prince.”
“
Whuff.
”
Camille tied on her bundles, and climbed onto the Bear’s broad back, and into Faery they went.
Hindward, in the mansion—“Loose the dogs! Loose the dogs!” cried Lord Jaufre, ponderously thudding along the halls and hammering on bedroom doors.
“What? What is it, Lord Jaufre?” cried Aigrette, running up the stairs and meeting him halfway, the fat old roué puffing down to gather the servants, even as Henri came yawning after to stand at the top of the stairs, his negligee-clad daughters behind, as well as three half-dressed young men, one of them Allard, the husband of Felise, the other two coming after, both having been covertly invited by Joie and Gai to be their overnight guests. Giles was at the top of the stairs as well. Kneeling and peering through the balusters.
“A Bear! A Bear! I saw it from my window!” cried Jaufre. “Lady Camille was out for an early walk, and she was carried off into Faery by a great and savage brown Bear! We’ve got to break out the bows and arrows, the spears and lances, and don our Bear-hunting gear. We must saddle the horses, loose the hawks, and call out the dogs, and go after her . . . even though it means crossing into that dreaded realm.”
It took Henri until nearly breakfast to convince Jaufre and the three young men that the Bear was nought but Camille’s riding steed.
And then, as Giles grinned and Colette and Felise tittered, and Aigrette and Lisette looked on in disapproval, Henri eyed the two young men upon whose arms Joie and Gai adoringly clung. “Well, now, mes jeunes hommes et jeunes filles, what have you four to say for yourselves?”
16
Candle
“W
elcomehome,my lady,” said Lanval, a great smile onhis face.
Handed by footmen, Camille slid from the Bear’s back and onto the footstool and then stepped onto the inlaid stone oak, and all the staff, now assembled in the great entry hall, bowed and curtseyed, every face beaming in joyous welcome.
Camille smiled and curtseyed in turn, then said, “Oh, it is so good to be back.”
Footmen unladed the Bear, and Camille said, “Oh, Bear, it is nearly dusk, and I must make ready to see my Alain.” And she hugged the Bear, and then turned and ran up the stairs, calling out, “Blanche, Blanche, to me.”
Dressed in a full white gown with white petticoats under as well, white stockings on her legs and white shoes on her feet, and a strand of white pearls at her throat, and a white-pearl ring on her finger, she stood on the bridge in the lanternlight, while black swans slept below.
Onto the bridge stepped Alain, dressed all in deep indigo blue. And he took her in his arms and kissed her—deeply, longingly, hungrily—and she returned his kiss in kind.
“Oh, my love, but I missed you so,” he said, and then he kissed her again.
When they finally broke apart, “I love you, Alain,” murmured Camille, pressing his hand to her cheek.
They stood a moment in silence, then Alain said, “Come, let us stroll awhile.”
Hand in hand they roamed the gardens, passing among azaleas, their white blossoms stark in the moonlight, and roses, blooming pink and red and yellow. Tiny, violet moss flowers glittered like onyx in the night.