Sixteen
Lady LaJoyuse cast a worried glance around the breakfast table at her fellow courtiers. They did not look well.
Lady D’Eger, who’d grabbed the basket of muffins and eaten every single one, looked nauseous. Lady Piconisus, pale as a grub, skulked in a corner, refusing to eat anything at all. The food’s been poisoned, she claimed. Lady Hesma picked at a scab on her chin. Lady Sadindi made a face at her and told her she was disgusting. Lady Rafe stirred spoonful after spoonful of sugar into her tea with trembling hands. Lady Romeser stood by a window, staring silently into the distance. Lady Espidra sat staring straight ahead of herself, fingers drumming on the arm of her chair.
They were all on edge. Because of the thief.
A movement across the table pulled LaJoyuse out of her thoughts. It was Lady Iglut. She’d risen from her chair and was walking toward Arabella.
“Just look at that bootlicker. Slinking around the mistress like a hyena,” LaJoyuse hissed to Sadindi. “How I hate her.”
Iglut draped an arm over the back of Arabella’s chair. Her sleeve was wrinkled; her cuff was grimy. “A second helping of bacon, Your Grace? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked, her voice an oily gurgle.
LaJoyuse continued to watch her, simmering like a pot of gruel.
“Well, I suppose the dressmaker can always let a few seams out,” Iglut added. “Better not to have eaten so much in the first place, but control was never your strong point, was it?”
Arabella’s hands, resting atop the table, clenched into fists.
“Oh, what the devil. In for a penny, in for a pound, that’s what I always say.” Iglut picked up the empty platter. “Why don’t we get some more? I’ll fetch it myself.”
“No, I will!” LaJoyuse shouted, unable to bear Iglut’s toadying any longer. She shot out of her chair and ripped the platter from her hands.
Iglut gasped. “That was a wicked thing to do, Lady LaJoyuse. Though unsurprising, since you are a wicked person.”
But LaJoyuse wasn’t listening. She was already on her way to the kitchen. Why does the mistress even tolerate Iglut? she wondered. She, LaJoyuse, was a thousand times more appealing. She was smarter. Funnier. More stylish. Much prettier.
As she walked into the kitchen, LaJoyuse expected the servants to be in their usual places, grimly going about their work. She nearly dropped the platter when she saw them gathered around a worktable—all except for Valmont—laughing and shouting. Curious, she crept closer and saw what was making them so happy. It was the thief. He had something in his hands.
“Are you sure, Josette?” she heard him say. “The coffee bean’s under that shell? That’s definitely your pick?”
He flashed the young maid a smile—a knee-weakening, heart-fluttering, blush-inducing one.
“Yes! Yes!” she squealed, bouncing on her tiptoes. “I’m positive!”
LaJoyuse saw Florian give Josette a longing look. It was the worst-kept secret in the castle that he was in love with her. And that Claudette was in love with him. And that Henri was in love with Claudette.
“Josette’s right! That’s the one!” Camille called out excitedly. She was standing near the thief, a mixing bowl nestled in the crook of one arm.
Percival, spooning Darjeeling leaves into a teapot, agreed. “There’s no question.”
“You sure, Perce?”
“I am,” Percival replied, fixing Beau with a stern look. “And do not call me Perce.”
The chef—Phillipe—weighed in. “Of course it’s the one. I saw it with my own eyes!”
Even the filthy little spit boy piped up. LaJoyuse wrinkled her nose at the sight of him. He was dirty and disheveled, as always. He stank of butter, rosemary, and other things that made her gag. Careful to avoid him, she skirted around the crowd and peeked over the top of Florian’s shoulder.
Beau had three walnut shells on the table in front of him, lined up in a row. “All right, then, if you’re really, really, really sure …”
“Yes! Yes! Go on, flip it over!” Josette urged him.
Beau heaved a deep, dramatic sigh. “I guess you’ve got me this time.” Then he lifted the shell. There was nothing under it. “Ha! Got you!” he crowed, bursting into laughter.
The servants erupted into a cacophony of good-natured outrage.
“No way,” said Florian, shaking his head. “You tricked us. It’s not under anyof the shells.”
Beau smiled. He picked up the shell on his right. The bean was there. A cry rose—the happy dismay of those who have willingly been duped. Shouts of Again! Do it again! went up.
This isn’t good, LaJoyuse thought. “The mistress requires more bacon,” she loudly announced, holding the platter out.
The servants all stood to attention, shamefaced at having been caught playing. Phillipe ordered Henri to see to her request. As the boy took the platter from her, LaJoyuse moved closer to Florian—so close, in fact, that her arm touched his. As it did, his sunny expression darkened.
“Ah, the shell game,” she said jovially. “Do continue. I enjoy a good magic trick.”
The servants relaxed a little. Smiles returned to their faces.
“Show us how you do it, Beau!” Josette begged. “Pleeeeease?”
“That’s not a good idea,” said Florian, a disapproving set to his jaw. “If Valmont catches us fooling around—”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport!” Josette scolded. “Valmont’s not here, is he?”
Florian winced; he took a step back.
“Come on, Beau, show us!” Claudette cajoled.
Beau shook his head and said he couldn’t reveal his secrets, but the maids kept pleading, and he relented. He turned his left hand over and revealed how he used his ring finger to pin the bean against his palm, then deposit it under whichever shell he liked. He invited her to have a try.
LaJoyuse watched Josette giggling and blushing and looking up at Beau as she clumsily tried to master the trick. She fumbled it again and again until Beau took her hand in his, pressed the coffee bean into her palm, and curled her finger against it.
A small, secret smile played about LaJoyuse’s lips. She leaned toward Florian and placed a hand on his forearm. “My goodness, but he’s clever, isn’t he?” she whispered.
Florian gave a brusque nod. “Yes, my lady. Very clever.”
There was something new in his voice, something coiled and low. LaJoyuse heard it; her smile deepened. “He’s fun, too, and God knows we could use a bit of that around here. Handsome as well,” she added, a purr in her voice. “That hair. It’s like”—she twined her fingers in the strand of pearls she was wearing—“like a waterfall of midnight.”
Florian stiffened; LaJoyuse felt it. “And the body’s not too bad, either,” she continued. She gave a throaty laugh, then glanced sideways at Florian. “Oh. Sorry. That was rather inappropriate, wasn’t it? Let’s talk about his face instead. Those chiseled cheekbones, that jaw,and those eyes! Like brandy sparkling in a crystal glass. And my word, those lips—”
“Josette!”The word exploded from Florian.
The young maid turned to him, a quizzical expression on her face. “For goodness’ sake, Florian, what is it?”
“We … we should go. There’s work to do.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Josette said with a toss of her head. Within seconds she was laughing with Beau again.
Fuming, Florian stalked off. LaJoyuse’s smile was so wide now, she looked like a crocodile. She turned, looking for Henri. “How about that bacon, boy?” she drawled.
Henri had just finished stacking rashers on the platter. He carried it to her for her approval. “Shall I take it to the mistress, my lady?”
LaJoyuse tilted her head and regarded him. “Yes. Come, we’ll take it together.” As they started for the ballroom, she put a hand on his back, then in a hushed voice, said, “It seems rather unfair that Phillipe made you see to the bacon while Florian got to stay and watch the game. Then again, he is Chef’s favorite, isn’t he? It must be hard for you, Henri, being younger than Florian, and not as good-looking, and nowhere near as smart, and rather lacking in the personality department, and also … hmm, how shall I put it? Frumpy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that …”
To LaJoyuse’s delight, Henri’s head dropped, inch by exquisite inch, until his gaze was on the floor. “You must resent Florian. Maybe even hate him? I certainly would,” she continued, her voice sugared with fake sympathy.
“No, I … I don’t, I …” Henri’s voice broke. He lifted his head. His expression, always so eager and open, hardened. Something ugly surfaced in his eyes, like blood seeping through a bandage. “Yes, I do. I do.”
LaJoyuse smiled. She patted his back, pleased to know that she hadn’t lost her touch, but her smile slipped as she walked with him down the corridor. If the thief could make the maids blush and the baker laugh and even get that fusspot of a Percival to crack a smile, what might he do to the mistress?
A fresh volley of laughter from the kitchen carried to her ears. This won’t do, she thought as she reentered the great hall. Espidra, the rest of the court … they hadn’t worked so hard for so long just for this interloper to come in and destroy everything.
They’d made a mistake. All of them, even Espidra—the strongest among them. They’d dismissed the thief, but he was different from the others who’d found their way to the castle, and he might prove more troublesome than they’d anticipated. After all, they didn’t yet know what he was capable of.
Then again, she said to herself, he doesn’t know what we are capable of.
The thought brought a smile back to her lips. “Be careful, young Beauregard Armando Fernandez de Navarre,” she whispered as her eyes found Espidra. “You have no idea with whom you are dealing.”