The Diamond Slipper

Epilogue

The Fisherman's Rest, Calais

Where were they? Christian gazed around the dim barn attached to the inn, peering into the shadowy corners. A stray ray of sun from the open door behind him was thick with dust motes from the hayloft above and the straw-littered floor.

"Girls!" he called softly. There was no one around to hear the oddity of the tutor addressing his little boy charges in such a way. "Amelia! Sylvie! Where are you? Your supper's ready."

He stood still, listening. A rat scuttled in the straw bales stacked at the far end of the barn.

Amelia pressed a finger to her lips, not that her sister needed the warning. They burrowed deeper into the fragrant hay in the loft, stuffing their fists into their mouths to keep the giggles in. They heard Christian's feet stomping impatiently below, his voice calling them again in the same insistent, frustrated whisper. Then Sylvie sneezed as a wisp of hay tickled her nose.

Christian glanced up at the loft, then with a sigh climbed the ladder. He stopped at the head and examined the lowceilinged area. They hadn't ventured too far. The two lumps in the hay were a mere foot from where he was standing on the ladder. He stretched out a hand and grabbed. Amelia appeared from the hay, a bright-eyed, red-cheeked bundle of laughing mischief.

Christian slung her over his shoulder and reached for the second lump. Sylvie emerged in like manner, snuffling, her eyes shining.

"You wouldn't have known if I hadn't sneezed," she said gleefully, unprotesting as he bundled her down the ladder ahead of him, following with Amelia.

"I don't know why you did that." Amelia declared from her upside-down position.

"I didn't do it on purpose, silly!"

Christian set Amelia on her feet and tried to look stern, but it was not an expression that came naturally. "Madame Boucher has your supper ready," he scolded. "It's most impolite to keep her waiting, not to mention running me ragged looking all over for you." He surveyed them with something akin to despair. They had lost their caps, and wisps of hay stuck out from their hair, now tumbling untidily around their dirt-streaked faces.

Their hair was the bane of his life. Cordelia had shown him how to plait it tightly, so that the braids could be hidden under the caps that formed an essential part of their disguise, but his long, sensitive musician's fingers became all thumbs when it came to dealing with the fine, silky golden strands.

, "Where are your caps?"

Amelia's hand flew to her head. "It's gone," she declared unnecessarily.

"So's mine," her sister affirmed with a nod.

" Where have they gone?" Christian asked.

"We must have lost 'em in the hay," Amelia ventured.

Christian glanced back at the ladder. He'd have to go and look, since the children couldn't appear in the inn's parlor without them. But what was he to do with the twins while he went up to the loft? If he turned his back on them, they'd be off again.

He felt absurdly like the hapless ferryman in the old riddle who had to ferry a carrot, a rabbit, and a wolf across the river but could only take one at a time in the boat.

"Amelia, you go and look," he said, pointing at Sylvie. He had given up even trying to guess which was which. Apart from anything else, he was convinced they switched themselves on him from time to time. Now he used their names indiscriminately except in public when he called them both

Nicolas. It seemed to serve perfectly well and the girls didn't appear to mind in the least.

Sylvie scampered up the ladder while he stood at the bottom holding on to her twin's hand. "Found 'em!" came the triumphant cry. In her excitement the child missed the top step and tumbled down headfirst into his waiting arms, still jubilantly clutching the two worsted caps.

"Stand still." He wrestled with untidy plaits until he could manage to cram the caps on their small heads. In their nankeen britches and worsted jackets, with their grubby faces, sparkling eyes, and grimy hands, they were an utterly convincing pair of little boys.

He shepherded them out of the barn into the stableyard just as a pair of riders rode through the gates ahead of a carriage and four.

"It's Monsieur Leo-"

"And Cordelia!" shrieked Sylvie, joining in her twin's ecstatic squeal.

Christian heaved a deep sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as the great weight of responsibility was lifted from him.

Cordelia swung off her horse a minute after Leo, who had bent to receive the two small bodies as they'd rocketed into his arms. He was as astonished as he was delighted at this uninhibited greeting. The stiffly formal, repressed behavior of the overgoverned little girls had been transformed with their costumes.

They turned swiftly from Leo to Cordelia, babbling about the excitements — of their journey, the fascinating people they'd met, the boats in the harbor across the road from the inn.

"My goodness me, what a pair of chatterboxes!" Mathilde declared, stepping down carefully from the carriage on the arm of an attentive groom.

"It's Mathilde!" the girls shrieked in unison. "Are we all going to England?"

"No," Christian Said a little too quickly, a touch too fervently.

"You poor love," Cordelia said with instant comprehension. "You look worn to a frazzle. Have they been bad?"

Christian laughed as he returned her warm embrace. The children were regarding him with anxious solemnity. "No, of course not. But I'm not cut out for child minding, I'm afraid. It's much more complicated than I thought it would be."

"He can't do our hair properly," Amelia stated. "But he tells very good bedtime stories," her sister put in judiciously.

"Much better than Madame de Nevry. She just reads the Bible."

"Yes, all about Job. And it's so sad. However good he is, bad things keep happening. Do you think that's fair?" Elvira's eyes, twinned, swung as one pair toward Leo.

"Probably not," he said with a smile. "Christian, I will forever stand in your debt."

"Nonsense," the younger man said, flushing slightly. His eyes met Leo's over Cordelia's dark head, and to their anxious question Leo nodded decisively. It was over.

"I must go back to Paris," Christian said.

"You won't come to England with us?" Cordelia shielded her eyes from the last bright rays of the setting sun as she looked up at him. "Ah, but no. There's Clothilde waiting for you. And your patron. Of course you must go back."

"Is our father coming to England?"

There was a moment's silence at Amelia's question, then Leo knelt down beside them, taking their hands. "Your father has had an accident," he said quietly.

"Is he dead?" The blunt question was Sylvie's.

"Like our mother?"

"Yes." Leo drew them into his arms and for a minute they stayed pressed to his chest, each sucking a finger as they absorbed this.

Then Sylvie said, "But you and Cordelia are coming?"

"Yes. We're all going to be a family now." Cordelia joined Leo on her knees on the cobbles, smiling into the two serious little faces. "You two, Leo, me, and Mathilde."

"Not Madame de Nevry?"

"No. She's gone back to Paris."

There was another moment of silence, then the children leaped as one out of Leo's arms, joined hands, and began to whirl around in a circle on the cobbles.

Cordelia stood up, regarding them with amusement. "I don't mean to cast aspersions on your sister, Leo, but do you really think those two are Michael's children?"

Leo, beside her, seemed to give the question due consideration as he watched the blur of the dancing children. "Highly unlikely," he pronounced finally.

"Well, all this excitement will lead to tears before bedtime," Mathilde declared, bustling over to the swirling girls. "Come along, now. You'll be needing your supper."

"Oh, it's been ready and waiting for them in the parlor for ages," Christian said, suddenly remembering. "Madame Boucher will be wondering what's happened to them."

"We'll go and set her mind at rest." Mathilde gathered the children in front of her and shooed them toward the inn door.

Christian, Leo, and Cordelia stood in the rosy glow of the setting sun, half smiling. "You will come and visit us?" Cordelia said, taking Christian's hand.

"Often." He squeezed her hand tightly. "And we'll write."

"Yes, of course. And you'll marry Clothilde?"

"Yes," he said definitely, and they both smiled.

"Be happy." Cordelia reached up to kiss him.

"And I know that you will be."

"Yes." She turned to Leo, her eyes radiant. "How could I be anything else now? I can't believe how lucky I am. I'm sure I don't deserve it."

"After what you've endured…" Christian began with sudden fierceness.

"It's over." She silenced him with a finger on his lips.

Leo came up behind her, slipping his arms over her shoulders, holding her against him. "Farewell, Christian. And remember that I owe you one very big favor… whenever you choose to claim it." He held out his hand and Christian shook it fervently. Then, with an almost embarrassed smile, Christian returned to the inn.

"It is really over," Cordelia whispered half to herself, wrapping her arms around Leo's encircling ones.

"My love, it's just beginning." He kissed her ear and she shivered deliciously, turning in his embrace, reaching her arms around his neck, her mouth seeking his.

Mathilde stood at the parlor window, the children's chatter at the supper table a faint buzz behind her, as she looked down on the stableyard with quiet satisfaction. Cordelia would not waste her life on a futile love as her mother had done. It was as it should be.