I had grown up singing and had been told that I had a nice singing voice, but I had never received proper lessons. Given that lessons were traditionally started when a girl turned fourteen and I was still twelve, and only eleven when my father died, I knew I would never have that luxury. Still, I loved to sing. It just seemed like a natural thing to do.

I would scrub the floors and sing and hum for hours. A few times during that week with the servants I would follow the passageway to the kitchens and when I came down the steps I would hear the cook, Jaqueline, sniffling to herself. I wondered what was wrong, but all she would say was, “Voix d’un ange,” and I could only blush. I knew that I sang well, but I had never known how to take such a compliment.

Finally the week was up and I mustered the courage to go and ask Adelind if I could return to my regular bedroom. If I had only known what I was in for.