“I am warning you, Isabella, say nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you open your mouth, they will cotton on to the fact that you speak with a French accent, and our disguise will be blown to smithereens.”
“Oh, what an ennui this is.”
“Really, Isabella! How many times am I going to have to tell you to use English words, rather than French ones, albeit they suit the purpose?”
“Oui, I forgot. Yes. I mean… you know what I mean.”
“Yes, Isabella, I know perfectly well what you mean. Mais tu dois faire semblant d’être sourde, and do your deadpan face, or our cover will be blown.”
“Deadpan? Qu’est-ce… oops, what’s that?”
“Your face must remain figée, like you didn’t hear anything. OK?”
“Fine.”
That, Your Honour, was the conversation we had. Ten months previously, she had shown me a Situations Vacant advert; a weird one, because the position was for a Princess.
As I recall, Your Honour, there was a list of things that a Princess had to know, or learn. She wanted to apply, and knowing that I had gone to finishing school, she wanted me to teach her all I know… And we went to Baltimoran.”
“List? Define list, please.”
“Well… it was silly stuff like:
be sarcastic with a sincere-looking smile; drink from a cup without pointing your pinkie out; get out of a car without showing your cleavage; wear nude tights without snagging them…”
“I see. But that does not explain your actions.”
“She got the job, and employed me as her Lady-in-Waiting. She began acting hoity-toity. She and began making unreasonable demands, wanting me at her service 24/7. She took my passport, so I could not run away. And on that fateful day, she called me useless and ugly. So, obviously, I killed her.”
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