on.
At the noontide, in one of the many gazebos, servants provided Camille with a lunch of peeled cucumber slices served on a white, crusty bread. Too, there was golden honey and pale yellow butter, if my lady did so prefer; and all was enhanced by a sweet, tangy drink made of a yellow fruit from across the seas, or so did the handmaid believe. Camille did manage to have Blanche join her in this fine midday repast, though the black-haired girl barely ate a bite, belying her hale manner and her ample size.
After lunch, they came to the entrance of the tall hedge maze, and, in spite of Camille’s importuning, here did Blanche balk. “Oh, my lady, I dare not enter. ’Tis a puzzle I must not essay, else I would be lost forever.”
“Pish, tush,” responded Camille. “The maze is here for the fun of it. Besides, in Fra Galanni’s library I read about such labyrinths, and I’ve always wanted to experience one.” Laughing, she took Blanche’s hand and tugged, yet Blanche burst into tears and pulled loose and fled away.
Puzzled, Camille followed, coming upon Blanche sitting on the grass beside one of the many ponds.
Camille sat on the sward at her lady’s maid’s side. Calico-fish lazily gathered in the water nigh, as if waiting to be fed. “What is it, Blanche, that frightens you so?”
“I don’t know,” replied Blanche. “It’s just that I can never go in there.”
“Well, then, we shan’t,” said Camille.
Timidly, Blanche smiled at her mistress.
“Come,” said Camille, standing and holding out her hand, “there is much more to see.”
Blanche reached up and took the offered grip and stood and brushed herself off, brushing off Camille’s white dress as well.
Through shaded arbors they strolled, the summer air mild within. In one of the arbors they came across an elderly gardener upon his knees in a freshly tilled plot, where he carefully worked seeds into the dark soil.
“What is it you are planting, Andre?” asked Blanche, stepping past the turned-over earth to stand in front of the man.
Concentrating upon getting the placement just right, Andre glanced up and then back to the soil, replying, “White camellias, Blanche, a tribute to the prince’s most beautiful young mademoiselle.”
“Oh, my,” said Camille.
Andre looked back to where Camille stood, then scrambled to his feet and touched the brim of his cap, saying, “Beg pardon, my lady, but I didn’t see—”
“Oh, Andre,” said Camille, “there’s no need to apologize. May I help with the planting?”
A look of doubt crossed Andre’s face. “Oh, I don’t know about that, my lady, for ’tis but common labor I do. Besides, the seeds must be put just so, and—”
“Trust me, Andre,” said Camille, “for common labor I do quite well, especially planting, for I am a crofter’s daughter.”
“I mean not to gainsay you, my lady, but a crofter’s daughter you no longer are. Instead, you are the mistress of this great estate and all the holdings beyond.”
At these words, Blanche nodded in affirmation, but Camille said, “Nevertheless, I would aid.”
“Oh, my lady,” said Blanche, “you would soil your dress and—”
“Then I shall change,” said Camille, “into one which has seen many a spring sowing.”
A short while later, dressed in the shift she had brought from the stone cottage—her very best dress back there, though she did not say such to Blanche—Camille grubbed in the soil next to Andre, planting camellias in those places where he did direct.
After a pleasing afternoon of work, and a bath and another solitary dinner, that night Camille fell asleep while reading a book of poetry and sitting in one of the soft leather chairs in her small library.
When she awoke she was in her bed. How she had gotten there she did not know, but ’twas in her bed she awoke.
Past the silk canopy, through the unshaded skylight Camille saw night fading to dawn. Sliding out from under her light cover, Camille
At the noontide, in one of the many gazebos, servants provided Camille with a lunch of peeled cucumber slices served on a white, crusty bread. Too, there was golden honey and pale yellow butter, if my lady did so prefer; and all was enhanced by a sweet, tangy drink made of a yellow fruit from across the seas, or so did the handmaid believe. Camille did manage to have Blanche join her in this fine midday repast, though the black-haired girl barely ate a bite, belying her hale manner and her ample size.
After lunch, they came to the entrance of the tall hedge maze, and, in spite of Camille’s importuning, here did Blanche balk. “Oh, my lady, I dare not enter. ’Tis a puzzle I must not essay, else I would be lost forever.”
“Pish, tush,” responded Camille. “The maze is here for the fun of it. Besides, in Fra Galanni’s library I read about such labyrinths, and I’ve always wanted to experience one.” Laughing, she took Blanche’s hand and tugged, yet Blanche burst into tears and pulled loose and fled away.
Puzzled, Camille followed, coming upon Blanche sitting on the grass beside one of the many ponds.
Camille sat on the sward at her lady’s maid’s side. Calico-fish lazily gathered in the water nigh, as if waiting to be fed. “What is it, Blanche, that frightens you so?”
“I don’t know,” replied Blanche. “It’s just that I can never go in there.”
“Well, then, we shan’t,” said Camille.
Timidly, Blanche smiled at her mistress.
“Come,” said Camille, standing and holding out her hand, “there is much more to see.”
Blanche reached up and took the offered grip and stood and brushed herself off, brushing off Camille’s white dress as well.
Through shaded arbors they strolled, the summer air mild within. In one of the arbors they came across an elderly gardener upon his knees in a freshly tilled plot, where he carefully worked seeds into the dark soil.
“What is it you are planting, Andre?” asked Blanche, stepping past the turned-over earth to stand in front of the man.
Concentrating upon getting the placement just right, Andre glanced up and then back to the soil, replying, “White camellias, Blanche, a tribute to the prince’s most beautiful young mademoiselle.”
“Oh, my,” said Camille.
Andre looked back to where Camille stood, then scrambled to his feet and touched the brim of his cap, saying, “Beg pardon, my lady, but I didn’t see—”
“Oh, Andre,” said Camille, “there’s no need to apologize. May I help with the planting?”
A look of doubt crossed Andre’s face. “Oh, I don’t know about that, my lady, for ’tis but common labor I do. Besides, the seeds must be put just so, and—”
“Trust me, Andre,” said Camille, “for common labor I do quite well, especially planting, for I am a crofter’s daughter.”
“I mean not to gainsay you, my lady, but a crofter’s daughter you no longer are. Instead, you are the mistress of this great estate and all the holdings beyond.”
At these words, Blanche nodded in affirmation, but Camille said, “Nevertheless, I would aid.”
“Oh, my lady,” said Blanche, “you would soil your dress and—”
“Then I shall change,” said Camille, “into one which has seen many a spring sowing.”
A short while later, dressed in the shift she had brought from the stone cottage—her very best dress back there, though she did not say such to Blanche—Camille grubbed in the soil next to Andre, planting camellias in those places where he did direct.
After a pleasing afternoon of work, and a bath and another solitary dinner, that night Camille fell asleep while reading a book of poetry and sitting in one of the soft leather chairs in her small library.
When she awoke she was in her bed. How she had gotten there she did not know, but ’twas in her bed she awoke.
Past the silk canopy, through the unshaded skylight Camille saw night fading to dawn. Sliding out from under her light cover, Camille
Similar Books
