"In the fountain. I took it out."
"That was kind of you," Vivienne said.
"Nurse says bees sting." "They can, but this one is too tired. She will not sting you today." The child considered this. "The worker bees are all girls." "Oh." The child looked at the bee with new interest. "Then she needs help."
"She needs sun," Vivienne said. "And a drop of something sweet. Do you have anything sweet?" The child shook her head. Then, after a moment, she reached into the small pocket sewn into her sash and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Inside was half a sugared almond.
"I saved it," she whispered as though this were a great secret. "From breakfast."
"That will do very well." Vivienne took the sugared almond and crushed a small piece between her fingers. She let a few grains of sugar fall onto the stone beside the bee. Then she cupped her hand carefully over the little creature to keep the wind from her and she waited.
The child watched without moving. She hardly seemed to breathe. Above them, the party carried on. Voices rose and fell. Someone was playing a harp under the great cedar tree.
A footman passed carrying a tray of small glasses. None of it seemed to matter here at the end of the rose walk where a girl and a woman knelt over a wet bee. After a long minute, the bee's leg moved, then another. It shifted slow and clumsy and touched the grain of sugar with its long tongue. The child made a small delighted sound and pressed her hand quickly to her mouth. "She is drinking," she whispered.
"She is." They watched. The bee drank. Its wings began to move. First a shiver, then a slow beat. Vivienne felt the small warm current of air against her palm. "You saved her," Vivienne said.
"You did," the child said. "We did," said Vivienne. The child looked up at her, and this time she smiled. It was a small, careful smile, as though she had not used it much lately, and it made her whole face different. "I am Petra," she said.
"I am Vivienne." "Are you a lady?" "I am a miss. Is that less than a lady?"
"A little less, but not much." Petra thought about this. "My uncle is a duke. That is more than a lady."