The Master's Command

The hour before eight o’clock arrived with the solemn gravity of an impending execution. In the dressing salon of the East Tower, the scent of expensive ambergris perfume and heated curling irons hung heavy in the warm air. Two female attendants in black uniforms moved around Camille with silent, choreographed precision, preparing her for the evening ahead. When Madame Benoit had unzipped the protective garment bag revealing the emerald silk…