The Belles (The Belles #1)(51)

I can’t do this.

Turn this over. You’ll know what to do. Then burn it.

Love,

Edel


I flip over the parchment and see rows of color smudges. It’s the secret alphabet we made up as children, to communicate without Du Barry and our mamans knowing. We’d slide notes under each other’s doors or leave them in our desks, full of the colorful promise of mischief in the night.

Her secret message reads: I’M GOING TO LEAVE. I HAVE A PLAN.

I press the page to my chest and take a deep breath.

“Is everything all right?” Rémy asks.

“Yes.” I don’t look up from Edel’s note. I need to see her before she does something rash. I need to know what’s going on.

“I should let you get ready for bed.” Rémy steps back. “I’ve done too much talking.”

“You didn’t.” I pull a string on a nearby wall. A bell sounds, and a nurse appears from behind a side door.

“The sangsues, please,” I say. “At least seven. And tell Bree I want to see her.”

“Yes, Lady Camellia,” she answers.

Du Barry would be proud. Maman would give me a nod of approval. I’m protecting my arcana. I’m making sure I get rid of unnecessary excitement and stress. I’m following their rules.

Bree appears. “What happened?”

“I ate too much and the Fashion Minister spun me around too many times.” I shrug. “I need cold water and a new dress. Can you bring me parchment and pastels, too, please?”

She nods and exits.

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” Rémy says.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I say, and immediately want to take it back. “I only mean . . . that I’ll be busy.”

“I understand,” he says.

The nurse returns, holding a porcelain jug.

“I’ll be there just in case you do,” Rémy says, and bows slightly before striding out.

As soon as he disappears, I use the pastels to write Edel a note in our secret code.

DON’T DO ANYTHING UNTIL WE SPEAK.

I slip it into a privacy case, tuck it into the balloon’s interior compartment, adjust the tiny golden compass, and send the palace-official post-balloon off the balcony. I watch until its lilac body disappears in the darkness.





22


An early sun pushes its way through the gauzy canopy over the bed. I roll over, reaching for the bed warmer’s rubber handle to pull it closer, but it’s cold. I sit up. Sounds of the tide drift in through the terrace doors. I’m careful not to make noise and alert the morning nurses, who are waiting for me to wake. I don’t mind following this advice from Ivy.

An edge of the bedcurtain lifts. “You awake?” Bree whispers.

“Barely,” I reply.

“I have something for you.” She fans out a spread of the latest newspapers, magazines, and pamphlets. “Look at the news,” she says, climbing onto the bed.

My heart thuds. “Is it bad?”

She flips through the papers. Headlines scatter and reassemble—the animated ink scrambling—as she turns the pages too quickly.

She opens a tattler and points.

*

NEW FAVORITE A FRAGILE FLOWER,

MAYBE NOT STRONG ENOUGH

QUEEN RUMORED TO REPLACE NEW

FAVORITE WITH ANOTHER, AGAIN


My heart sinks. Last night’s vomiting episode rushes back. The embarrassment feels like a fresh burn.

“By tomorrow, these will all be gone,” Bree says. “But there’s another one—about one of your sisters—that I thought you’d want to see.”

“Where?” I perch on my knees now, hovering over the spread of papers and tattlers.

She opens the Trianon Tribune, the kingdom’s most popular paper.

I scan.

She smoothes the page. “Here.”


FIRE TEAHOUSE BELLE RUMORED TO

HAVE RUN AWAY IN THE NIGHT


I touch the words. She left already? “No, Edel, no.”

Bree blinks at me. “I don’t know, miss. It might not even be true, but I thought you’d want to see it.”

“Thank you. There’s only one way to find out.” I put on my robe, take the paper, and burst into the main salon. Morning servants wheel in breakfast carts and set out tea and plates. I press my ear to the wall panel that hides Elisabeth’s office. The tinny sound of circuit-phones echoes from the other side, and I can feel small vibrations against my cheek.

I knock. When there’s no answer, I knock louder.

The door creaks open. A sleepy Elisabeth, still in her nightgown, stares back at me. “I’m barely out of bed and haven’t had breakfast,” she whines. “What is it?”

“Is this true?” I push the paper in her face.

She squints, then snatches it from me to have a closer look. She laughs. “Edel has always been so dramatic.”

“Call the Fire Teahouse,” I say.

“No. You sound ridiculous.”

“Then I will.” I try to brush past her and into the office.

She blocks me. “It’s just a rumor. Clearly, you can’t handle reading these”—she waves the paper in my face—“and take them too seriously.” Elisabeth calls all the servants into the main salon. “Lady Camellia is not to have any newspapers or tattlers or scandal sheets brought to the apartments. Beauty pamphlets and beauty-scopes only.”