Long after she exited the room, Marietta remained, frozen with worry as her life marched out of her control.
Upon awakening the following morning, Marietta found a velvet box beneath her pillow. She set her coffee cup aside to open it. Inside, she was surprised to find the same Cartier brooch she had pawned but a few days earlier. A thick notecard held an insignia of a mouse, stamped in a swirling design that incorporated the initial ‘D’. She pressed her trembling fingers to her mouth. She had thought no one had seen her inside the pawnbrokers; how had Drosselmeier known of the brooch? Perhaps he had followed her from the theatre. Ripples of unease furrowed through her. Her suspicions were further substantiated, yet it appeared Drosselmeier was becoming bolder, and she worried what he intended next.
The door clicked open and Sally entered. ‘Your diamond brooch. I had wondered if you’d misplaced it. Is everything all right, miss? You’ve gone awfully pale.’
‘I too thought it had been misplaced. Was this not returned to you?’
Sally shook her head, her mouth opening as she spoke. Marietta failed to hear a single word above the roaring horror in her head.
Drosselmeier had entered her bedroom while she slept.
Chapter Twelve
In a rare spell of fortune, when Marietta entered the dining room for Christmas Eve dinner, she managed to source a seat beside Frederick. Having no family to speak of, Drosselmeier had been invited to join them and sat opposite. Marietta felt him watching her, his frosted eyes sinking ever deeper into her skin. A gaze with hooks and shadows.
As per custom, they dined on courses of minced pies, roasted nuts, roast goose stuffed with chestnuts, served with gooseberry and bread sauces, followed by fruitcake and plum pudding, flaming with brandy. And all the while, Drosselmeier watched Marietta. She started concealing her joy, burrowing it into that place where her life was tethered, its only witness the blood roaring through her veins, the wind-rush of her breathing. When she was a girl, Christmas Eve had been her favourite day of the entire year. The traditions of feasting and exchanging gifts beside the Christmas tree in the evening filled her with sparkling delight. Marietta clenched her spoon and smiled brighter, suddenly determined not to allow Drosselmeier to dull that delight.
When the feast came to a close, Marietta followed her mother to the drawing room, to retire for coffee and await the men. A large deep-green Christmas tree sparkled in the centre, lit with candles and festooned with glass baubles, golden bells and sugarplums, with red ribbons laced around it. Presents wrapped in silver paper were heaped underneath. Ida played carols at the Steinway while Marietta sang O Christmas Tree and The Twelve Days of Christmas until even she, at long last, felt the festivities of the season penetrate her mental chainmail. Tomorrow, at long last, she would take to the stage as Aurora. After that, the future stretched wider with possibilities than it had in an age.
Drosselmeier was the first to join them, his arms filled with berry-red and green crackers. Ida pulled one with him, squealing when it burst in a shower of sparks and a loud bang. A paper twist of roasted nuts and a wind-up toy mouse fell into her lap. Her laughter ringing out, she wound it up and they all watched it scurry around the base of the Christmas tree, squeaking and swishing its tail as it went.
‘Would you care to pull one with me?’ Drosselmeier offered Marietta a striped green and gold cracker. Not trusting herself to voice the emotions sending her stomach pitching, a sea in a winter’s storm, she grasped the end and tugged. Drosselmeier pulled back, his long fingers tight around his end. The cracker failed to succumb to their efforts.
Marietta gave him an impassive look. ‘You are mistaken if you believe that in allowing me to win you shall wend your way into my affections.’
Something unfettered ran across Drosselmeier’s face. ‘Perhaps it is not necessary for me to win your affection. Marriage is predominantly an economic agreement after all. Affection oft follows later.’
Marietta stiffened with anger. She doubted any man should ever possess her love, not while she remained her own greatest devotee. She did not voice the thought aloud, not under the surreptitious glances her mother was casting at her and Drosselmeier, heavy with curiosity and touched with a knowing compassion. This was likely to be her final Christmas with her family with what was to come and she did not care to tarnish it. She wrenched the cracker from Drosselmeier while he was awaiting her response. It exploded in a spurt of golden confetti, raining sugarplums and hazelnuts. A small nutcracker accompanied them. Painted in the livery of a toy soldier, he wore shiny gold buttons on a red, double-breasted military coat, and navy trousers tucked into glossy black boots. She slid it into her dress pocket without a word.
‘Am I correct in assuming that you’ve heard of my intentions towards you?’ Drosselmeier’s gaze dipped to encompass her ivory satin gown, encrusted with midnight beading and vintage blush lace. His breath was hot against her bare collarbone and she inched away a little to reclaim her own space. Yet he moved with her, closing the gap between them, his thigh pressing against her gown.
‘Do my eyes deceive me? Have you started without waiting for us?’ Frederick exclaimed upon entering the drawing room with Theodore. His spotted necktie was undone, and the scent of cigar smoke clung to him.
‘Why, of course not; you are just in time for the presents,’ Marietta said, diverting the energy of the room. Drosselmeier shifted away from her and their intimate conversation shattered.
‘Brilliant.’ Frederick clapped Theodore on the back. Jarvis poured glasses of hot mulled wine as the presents were given out.
Marietta’s gifts were well received. A Burberry driving cap for Theodore, an elegant writing set adorned with lilies for Ida and a gold fountain pen for Frederick. His proper present was a box of paints, wrapped and sitting on his bed, to be discovered later. Marietta opened boxes of chocolates, a lace-trimmed picture hat from Paris, a bottle of Après L’Ondée by Guerlain that conjured the scent of orange blossom and violet basking in vanilla sunshine, and a delicate pearl comb from Ida, studded with shining blue glass.
‘Allow me to draw your attention onto my gift,’ Drosselmeier said, approaching her once more. He plucked a present in shining silver paper from the air with a flourish and handed it to her. It tinkled with the motion. Tiny bells and a sprig of holly were affixed to the satin ribbon. A paper tag inscribed her name alongside the swooping outline of a mouse incorporating Drosselmeier’s initial that she recognised from her returned Cartier brooch.
Her hands trembled at its sight. ‘You are most kind,’ she said stiffly. She dug her nails into the ribbon to untie the tight bow and loosen the thick paper. Inside was a box. Stamped with golden lettering that read Drosselmeier’s Enchanting Creations. The little wooden lid slid open to reveal a glass globe sitting in the velvet lining. Upon lifting it out, she discovered it was a large, ornate snow globe, set on a bronze base with thick glass. She shook it, setting the snow a-whirling over the beautiful scene inside, crafted down to delicate minutiae. A heartbeat later, she realised some of the details were moving, as if miniature dolls were living inside the creation. An eerie echo of her own dreams of dancing within a Fabergé egg.
Frederick’s face loomed over it. ‘Ah, Paris.’ He peered into it. ‘What marvellous attention to detail; why there are even little boats chugging along the Seine.’
Marietta frowned and shook the snow globe once more. The feathered flurries settled over the same scape she’d been previously admiring. St Petersburg. The Mariinsky Theatre. And tiny figures waltzing before the famous eggshell-blue and white building in all their finery. Where Madame Belinskaya had once prowled the stage. Where Tchaikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty had first been performed some sixteen years ago. It was Marietta’s deepest heart-wish to visit. She watched the last snowflakes fall onto the fir tree nestled beside the theatre. ‘How can it be possible for us to see different scenes within the same snow globe?’ she asked Drosselmeier, quite forgetting herself in her wonder. It failed to surp
rise her that Frederick had been entertained with the promise of Paris. Her brother desired nothing more than to decamp to L’Hotel on the Sixth Arrondissement and wander his beloved Oscar Wilde’s haunts by day, painting by night.
Drosselmeier sat beside her, taking the snow globe in his hands and shaking it. ‘Ah, this is no ordinary snow globe. It holds a certain charm of its own. What you see within it is a reflection of your deepest self, nothing but the desires it pains you to harbour.’ His voice slunk lower. ‘It haunts you, does it not? The depth to which you feel, which you want. I can taste the longing pouring through your veins, calling out across the worlds.’ He brushed a lock of hair from her shoulders. His touch grazed her with ice. Froze the words on her tongue.
‘Drosselmeier, you simply must grace us with your company and let us in on your secrets,’ Theodore called from across the room, watching something Frederick had set up on the floor that moved in little mechanised jerks and whirs.
‘Yes, do come and share your magic,’ Frederick added.
Ida clapped her hands together. ‘Why, it is enchanting!’
Drosselmeier handed the snow globe back to Marietta. Her immobility shattered as she looked within its glass, searching out his secrets. Yet the snow had already shifted, obscuring whatever dark dreams of his had played through the globe. ‘Now that would be divulging too many of my secrets,’ he whispered as he walked away.
The Christmas party promised to stretch deep into the night but Marietta’s armour had cracked. A thin trail of despair bled through the fissure. She soaked in it until she could bear it no longer and slipped away.
In her bedroom, she abandoned her gown and corset, unpeeling the straitlaced version of herself she had been all evening. Exchanging them for a softer ballet dress, the bodice white and fitted, the skirt ephemeral and gauzy, and white satin pointe shoes. Tying the ribbons around her ankles tended to soothe her, grounding her thoughts in the present, in the lustrous sheen of satin as it slipped through her fingers. Tonight, nothing calmed her wild heartbeat. She needed to dance, to feel like herself. And not a small part of her desired to ruin Drosselmeier’s surprise and see her set for the first time. It was not his place to withhold it from her. She loosened her hair from its pompadour, letting it fly down her back in a burst of raven feathers, and walked downstairs. Taking care to tread softly, Marietta made her way past the library and dining room, where the footmen were clearing evidence of the feast, and entered the double doors of the ballroom.
She switched the lights on. The series of chandeliers flickered to life, illuminating the room. Tables coated in starched white tablecloths like fallen snow, surrounded by plush chairs, were dotted around. A space was carved out for dancing in the centre. The panelled walls, oil paintings and thick drapes over the eastern windows bore evergreen garlands. Sprigs of mistletoe and intermingling wreaths of holly and ivy formed the centrepieces. The front of the ballroom had been raised by means of a wooden platform into a stage. Crimson velvet curtains hung over it, obscuring the set from view. A pair of Christmas trees framed it, drizzled with ribbons and tiny glass baubles, ready to sparkle and bask in the candles that would alight on their branches.
Marietta closed the doors behind her and crossed the ballroom in a spark of defiance and delicious anticipation. She ascended the steps. The velvet curtains were thick and heavy, falling behind her with a swish as they enclosed her on stage. A secret world only she could enter.
Chapter Thirteen
The ballet set was a frosted night. Fir trees glistened under the bright starlight, twinkling with electric lights. A tower hulked in the corner, brooding and sinister, and in the centre, a palace sprawled out, its twisting spires piercing the night sky. There were no doors to enter the palace. In their place, a large grandfather clock counted the hours, the gatekeeper of time and doorways both.
Half-hearing the opening strains to the Rose Adagio – the scene scored into her memory, echoing with her almost-fall – Marietta rose en pointe in a series of fluttering steps across the painted snow-white stage. She traced one pointed foot up her other leg in a développé, reaching her knee before stretching it out and up, her weight balanced on one pointe. Though she twisted her body into unfeasible shapes through ballet, she never felt as relaxed or as free as when she surrendered herself to the dance. Marietta smiled as she closed the position, pirouetted and repeated it, twirling across the stage and into an arabesque, her heart beating as if it might take flight. If only she could have danced in such a manner during her audition. The grandfather clock ticked with each perambulation of its hands about the clock face. Marietta’s thoughts fouettéd through her mind, turning faster and faster, each one sparking a new whirl before the previous had expired. Her life had taken a crooked turn as if it were a pirouette destined to crumble.
Something behind her clicked.
Marietta looked about herself but she was alone. The sound appeared to have originated from the palace. It was painted in the pale pink of the peonies that bloomed in the Arboretum in May, with lily-white towers. Small mechanised figures had now materialised in backlit windows, affording a glimpse inside. Two young princes in livery similar to that of Drosselmeier’s toy soldiers were sword fighting. A queen sat beside a king, both waving from their thrones. And high above them all, sequestered in the tallest tower, was the oldest story of all. A princess. A vision of beauty clad in her lovely gown, whirling before her mirror. Again and again she turned, spinning a dark fairy tale, trapped within the mechanism. Inside a prison of silk and satin and gauze. When Marietta peered closer, she saw golden mice embroidered on the princess’s dress, ballet slippers on her feet. A facsimile of her own Cartier brooch pinned above her heart.
Marietta stormed back onto the stage.
She did not notice the hours deepening into night or the hands sweeping round the grandfather clock. She lost herself in her dancing, spinning and turning until her vision blurred, determined to execute a perfect string of fouettés, her frustration a swelling tide spilling out into her leaps across the stage, propelling her further and higher, the invisible orchestra swallowing her pain until she felt fierce once more and a new feeling bubbled to the surface. Rage.
Her lips curved into a new shape of smile; a promise.
Then came an unmistakeable sound further back in the ballroom and her smile faltered. It appeared she was no longer alone. She flung open a velvet curtain, revealing Drosselmeier standing there.
She stepped back in astonishment. ‘Dr Drosselmeier. You quite startled me. I had not thought we would still have guests at this hour.’
‘My apologies.’ His frosted eyes trailed down her thin dress. ‘I had hoped to secure a moment alone with you tonight before you absconded.’
‘And what matter could be so imperative that you wished to discuss it tonight?’ she asked, with a sharpness to her tone that would not have been there several weeks prior.
Drosselmeier stepped closer. ‘Dear Marietta, I believe you already know the matter of which I speak. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ He reached for her hand.
Dazed, Marietta allowed him. ‘I am greatly honoured by your request yet I am afraid I must decline.’
Silence fell between them. His grasp on her hand tightened as she tried in vain to withdraw it, her face becoming hotter as her unease grew.
Drosselmeier’s stare hollowed her out. ‘As I have already told you, what I covet, I find a way to possess. And you, Marietta, I have coveted for quite some time.’
Marietta’s thoughts tumbled and spun. ‘Why, whatever for? I am not a beautiful woman; there are others far lovelier than I. Far kinder, far more caring and far richer, too. I urge you to turn your attentions elsewhere.’
‘Ah, but you are a creature as driven as myself. I can see the ambition, the longing, the wanting in your blood. I hear it singing to me. It was you that has summoned my attention, Miss Stelle. I am quite under your spell.’ He spoke in a sonorous voice, deep as wild magic. His words were a v
iolent promise.
Marietta stepped back, pulling her hand from his. ‘Do not transfer the blame upon me, I refuse to have anything to do with it. You know very well I did nothing to lead your thoughts in such a direction.’
‘Are you playing games with me?’ he murmured. ‘For I must confess, that is a delicious thought.’ He moved closer to her, his hands coming to rest lightly on her shoulders.
Marietta was suddenly afraid. ‘Do not dare to presume you may touch me in this manner.’ She pushed his hands off her. He let them trail down her arms, holding her tighter in his grasp.
He bent his head to her neck and inhaled. ‘Is that a hint of anger I detect? It perfumes your blood like an aged wine.’
Horror sliced through Marietta. She fought to maintain control over her senses so that her voice wouldn’t tremble and betray her fear. ‘I demand you release me at once.’
He removed his hands. Marietta strode on shaking legs towards the stage exit, her pointe shoes clacking.
‘I shall not accept your refusal,’ Drosselmeier called after her.
She stopped. ‘I assure you that I shall never be your betrothed. My mind is set on the matter and no amount of following me through the city or entering my bedroom by night shall alter it. You are behaving in the manner of a petulant child who lusts after a toy he cannot have. That is the sole reason you cannot accept my disinclination to wed you; you are ensnared by the hunter’s thrill.’
Something in Drosselmeier’s eyes shifted and she knew her words had met their mark. His gaze turned colder, wilder, his smile a weapon. ‘Perhaps. Yet it is the strongest women who taste the sweetest when they are broken.’
‘You shall never break me.’
The clock struck midnight.
As the hands slotted into place, the first chime sounded. Deep and melodic at once, it was not unlike the way in which Drosselmeier’s voice crept into your senses. He gestured at the grandfather clock. ‘Please, be my guest. I did not invite you into the ballroom tonight, it was your doing alone to venture here. Now that my surprise has already been spoilt, why not stay and watch.’
Midnight in Everwood Page 8