Dragonfly Maid

page, for I could see nothing more than the top of a black cap over a tower of dress boxes.
“What, pray tell, is that?” inquired Lady Bassey, who looked up from her knitting needles where she sat beside the window.
“A special delivery, madam,” came a boy’s voice from somewhere behind the packages. “Costumes for the ball.”
“Our costumes!” Lady Wallingham jumped up from where she sat across from Lady Bassey.
Before the boy could set down the stack, she was beside him, searching for a tag.
“Which is mine? Oh, I hope the dressmaker used the golden silk. A proper Cleopatra must have golden silk.”
She lifted a box and read the card. “Lady Merrington? But she’s not even here. Why does she get a costume?”
“Set it aside,” Lady Bassey instructed in her usual matronly way. “Now let’s have a look at what we have.”
The two of them pounced on the remaining boxes like kittens with a new ball of string.
Soon, both were holding up exquisite gowns—a white and pale rose ensemble suggesting a Greek toga for Lady Bassey, and for Lady Wallingham, one of golden silk studded with turquoise and carnelian jewels around an Egyptian-inspired collar.
Both costumes were such marvels of construction it was difficult not to stare, but as Abigail was preoccupied with tidying a cabinet on the far side of the room and the ladies were engrossed in their gowns, I gravitated toward the mantel and the photograph of the Queen and her mother.
If ever there was an opportunity, this was it.
My fingers drifted to my chest, where the Faytling rested beneath my white pinafore and black frock. I tugged it over my collar and held it tightly in my gloved hand. After trying all night with Mrs. Crossey’s random belongings, I couldn’t resist the urge to see what I might learn from something that belonged to the Queen.
I told myself it was in Her Majesty’s best interest. I’d pledged to protect her, after all, and to use my visions in that effort. Having a better understanding of her past would only help in that pursuit, wouldn’t it?
At least that’s how I justified my trespass, even if I couldn’t quite silence the part of myself that knew I wanted to do it anyway.
I checked behind me. The women were still engrossed in the costumes, so I carefully pulled the cord from beneath my collar and freed the talisman.
“What should I do with Lady Merrington’s box?” Lady Wallingham asked as I worked off both gloves and wrapped my bare right hand around the golden cylinder.
I reached for the silver frame with my left, watching both ladies and Abigail over my shoulder to be sure they paid no attention to me.
“I honestly don’t know.” Lady Bassey pressed her gown to the front of herself and swayed back and forth. “The Queen can sort it out later.”
“The Queen can sort out what?”
At the sound of that feminine yet commanding voice, I whipped around. Yet I had neglected to remove my hand from the talisman, and in my haste ripped the cord from my neck. Horrified, I watched as the golden Faytling dropped to the floor. Quickly, I stepped in front of it to hide it from view and curtsied with the others.
The Queen frowned and straightened to her full yet still diminutive height. “So, you approve of the dresses, do you?” A shadow of a smile tugged at her pale cheek.
“Oh yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Wallingham gushed. “The Cleopatra gown is exquisite.”
“And you, Lady Bassey? Does your costume meet with your approval?”
Lady Bassey, composed as always, lowered again into a formal curtsy even as she continued to hold the gown to her breast. “A splendid and unexpected gift, ma’am. Your generosity is most appreciated.”
The compliments brought satisfaction to the Queen’s lips, and since she didn’t look my way, I managed to shuffle the talisman and its cord along the floor with the toe of my boot to a place behind the table until I could retrieve it.
The Queen turned to the page standing beside the door. “Is there something you require, young man?”
The boy stared straight ahead, straining not to make eye contact with his sovereign. “The Lady Merrington’s gown, Your Majesty. Shall I remove it?”
The Queen glanced at the unopened box and waved her hand. “Yes, take it to her room. Thank you.”
The boy bowed, collected the box, and disappeared through the door. But as the door closed behind him, someone on the other side caught it and pushed it open again. It was a man sporting a bushy rim of black hair that dipped down into an impressive pair of mutton chop sideburns. He bowed deeply.
“Your Majesty, you summoned?”
“Mr. Galding. Yes, do come in. I understand you have been making inquiries at the Crystal Palace on our behalf, yet I don’t recall asking you to do so.” She proceeded to a deeply cushioned chair with a pleasant view of the Quadrangle, then settled into it with a good degree of fussing and shifting of her voluminous skirts.
When she was done, she appeared entirely at ease, but the same could not be said for poor Mr. Galding. The man’s cheeks had turned crimson and his forehead slick with perspiration. The way he gripped and abused the brim of his top hat, I wondered if it would ever recover.
Somehow, despite his shaky demeanor, the man managed to approach her and bow. “Your Majesty, I have done so at the request of the Master of the Household by way of his deputy.” His voice wavered. “I was asked to secure an entertainment that I was assured would please you and His Royal Highness. A sort of a surprise, you see.”
While all eyes remained on the Queen and Mr. Galding, I bent down and grabbed the Faytling. I tucked it out of sight before rising quickly, thrusting my hands into my pockets, and scanning the room to see if anyone noticed. Mr. Galding still stared at the Queen. The Queen stared at Mr. Galding. The ladies-in-waiting