Yet this was no fairy tale.
Marietta looked down. ‘I dance only for myself,’ she told him.
Staring up at her, his chipped-ice glare still distinguishable in his miniature stature, Drosselmeier raised his hands. Tiny sparks of magic fluttered between them.
Yet he was still shrinking. Down and down until he was the size of sugar granules. Then, particles of dust.
Marietta leant down and blew. Watched as the man crafted from magic and nightmares simply floated away.
Chapter Forty-Five
When she reached her bedroom, she shut the door behind her and sank onto the floor. The wood was hard and scented with familiar polish. Her room was smaller than she’d remembered, as if it had inhaled some of the shrinking magic, too. It had been Christmas Eve for the entirety of her time in Everwood. Other than Drosselmeier, not a soul possessed a hint of an idea that she had been worlds away. And no one would believe the tales she could spin. It was a peculiar kind of isolation.
The pain of missing Legat was fierce, a branding she wore upon her heart. Yet had any of it truly been real or had they all been mere marionettes in Drosselmeier’s puppet theatre? She wished she had a tangible memento to remind her it had all happened, been real. The good and bad, painful and delicious. To prevent the entire experience from melting like snow in the first wash of spring. She withdrew the ice mouse from her pocket with a pang. Oh, how she wished Legat had crafted it from stone or sugar.
She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath.
Something warm wriggled in her hands. Marietta’s eyes flew open. A real mouse was peering back at her. With snow-white fur and a sugarplum-pink nose. She laughed. ‘It seems Everwood had one last sigh of magic.’ She named him Marzipan for the streets of that enchanting town and the night she had danced with Legat when her hair had been spun with marzipan. Ever since, the scent had wended its way into her dreams, filling them with the memory of his touch.
She had sunk to the depths of fear and despair and emerged victorious, imbued with a courage she had been capable of all along and fortified by her wits. There was one final plan yet to enact.
Pulling together wisps of ideas and spinning them into her own kind of magic, Marietta eased her pointe shoes off and hung up her dress. The petticoat beneath was the elaborate confection Dellara had insisted upon. It was ivory and enchantments dripped off it in puffs of vanilla and marzipan, the spangled icicles losing their sparkle and trickling to the hemline. Marietta folded it in tissue paper in an attempt to retain the last, lingering snap of magic in a world that couldn’t sustain it. Instead she pulled on a simple nightdress then laid her head down upon her silk pillow to sleep the night away in her own bed.
The following morning, on Christmas Day, Marietta rose late, pulled on a robe, and wandered along the corridor to her drawing room, sleep still tickling her mind with wild fancies and shadowed figures. As she awaited her brother, she sifted through a small stack of envelopes, no doubt delivered by her lady’s maid, Sally, during their Christmas celebrations. Yesterday, she amended to herself, fumbling to order time. Letters from her correspondences, Christmas cards and, residing at the very bottom of the stack, an envelope stamped with the return address of the Nottingham Ballet Company.
Marietta opened it with trembling hands.
Dear Miss Stelle,
We are delighted to confirm your acceptance …
Marietta scanned the lines and closed her eyes. Held the paper tightly to her chest. She had fallen out of her turn during the audition, victim to Drosselmeier’s magic. Yet she recalled how the judges’ eyes had seemed glazed over, their attention scattered. They must not have seen it after all.
‘Merry Christmas, old girl. Now I do realise you are playing the principal role in The Sleeping Beauty but I truly had not expected you to commit yourself this heartily to it. Were you intending to sleep the day away in its entirety?’
Marietta laughed and embraced her brother. ‘It is good to see you, Frederick.’
‘Steady on, what’s all this?’ he asked and she knew that if she glanced up at him that instant, his brow would be furrowed, pleased but befuddled at her show of affection.
Marietta relinquished her hold on him. ‘Nothing but the sentimentalities of the season.’
‘That was quite some night. Though I noticed you disappeared before midnight; where did you vanish to?’ Frederick raised his eyebrows. ‘I would have accompanied you, you know.’
Oh, the things she longed to confide in him. Of a world of enchantments and exquisite creations that set your imagination aflame. Where you might find yourself and follow your star. The sisterhood and first love she had left there. Instead she struggled back into her societal poise like an old dress, over-starched and poorly fitting, and offered him a smile. ‘I felt the most incessant urge to rehearse for today.’
‘Well, you quite deprived me of the chance to gift you this.’ He handed her a small box with a satin bow affixed on top.
She opened it to discover a gold ballet slipper on a glistening chain, delicate in its size and detailed down to the diamond bow on its laces. ‘Why, it is beautiful. Thank you, Frederick.’ She fastened it round her neck and pressed it to herself.
‘I am glad you admire it. I wanted you to always possess a reminder of that which you love,’ he said.
Marietta hesitated. ‘Freddie, I’ve been accepted to the Company.’ She showed him the letter.
‘Oh, Ets—’ He took it. Read it twice through. ‘I was unaware you had even auditioned.’ He handed her it back.
‘I shall not hear a word against it; my mind is quite made up, you know.’
He gave her an evaluating look. ‘Yes, I do believe it is. I am proud of you, you know that. Though I had wanted an easier path for you.’
‘Sometimes the easy path is harder than one might ever imagine,’ Marietta said softly. ‘Was that why you decided to follow in Father’s footsteps?’
Frederick seated himself on the wingback chair nearest where Marietta sat, at the little writing desk. ‘Is that what you have thought of me? That I decided against fighting for what I wanted?’
‘I confess I did not know what to think, Freddie. We speak of everything; why have we never spoken on this?’
Frederick rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘I fight every day, Ets. After a time, it simply grows wearisome. I can never hope to be with Geoffrey in the way in which he may be with his betrothed. It pains me to think of it, much less voice that pain.’
Marietta reached out, rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘I wish the world was different for you. Perhaps one day it might be.’
‘Perhaps. Until then, he is who I fight for. I paint every day and I shall continue to do so. Once I have my own house, Father cannot control where I direct my energies and I see no reason why I should not pursue my love of the arts alongside a successful career.’ He offered Marietta a wry smile. ‘I do enjoy the finer things in life; I should hate to relinquish my champagne and silks when I need not. I do believe the tortured artist’s soul is romanticised, not a necessity for creating great art.’
Marietta felt her eyes glisten, her heart brighten like a crisp winter’s day, when everything is lighter, cloudless. ‘I am gladdened to hear your plans.’ Frederick would paint, Legat would write and she would dance. ‘As I hope you are for mine.’ The world shone fiercer and Marietta blinked away her budding tears. ‘For I cannot lose my brother.’
Frederick was suddenly at her feet. ‘And you never shall,’ he said firmly, clasping her hand. ‘Though I worry for you, my loyalty remains, as ever, yours. Besides, you shall need someone to visit and supply you with some small luxuries.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I cannot imagine your new accommodations will be quite what you are accustomed to.’
Marietta’s laugh took her by surprise. ‘Oh, Frederick, you cannot imagine how your support has gladdened my heart.’
Marietta hummed to herself as she made her way back to her bedroom to dress for the day. A song
infused with a magic more potent than anything Everwood had to offer. Hope.
Sally dressed Marietta in her corset, its rigid, unyielding shape unfamiliar after what seemed like months of forgoing one, and a dark-green taffeta with an overlay of French lace and jet beadwork. She pinned a spring of holly into her hair to mark the festive occasion and slung midnight beads over her dress. Marietta tucked her new golden necklace inside her bodice and looked into her cheval mirror, wondering if she appeared as altered as she felt. Frederick hadn’t noticed the irrevocable changes that had been wrought on her yet he never had been gifted with observance. She smoothed down her dress and thought of Pirlipata. Marietta hoped the princess possessed a wardrobe of gowns in a rainbow of brilliant, glittering shades, not one of them gold.
Her daydreaming was interrupted by the announcement of breakfast.
Ever a formal affair in the Stelle household, Marietta walked downstairs to see her parents for the first time since she’d been swept away into Drosselmeier’s dark and delicious magic. The house bore its familiar scent of tea, hothouse roses and the trailing smoke of her father’s tobacco. The lack of sugared air was noticeable. Maids and valets scurried around in starched uniforms. Evergreen wreaths complemented Marietta’s gown and the Christmas tree was as she’d remembered it; commandeering the drawing room in its robe of tapered candles, strung with ribbons, baubles and sugarplums. A clockwork mouse wore tracks around the Persian carpet, each perambulation slower than the last as its mechanism faded. It darkened Marietta’s mood as she recalled the faceless guards that had been another invention of Drosselmeier’s, in a world where his machinations ran far crueller and colder than anyone would know. She banished the thought at once and strolled on to the dining room. Everything felt duller and smaller as though she was peering into a cracked looking glass that distorted her own recollections of how things had been.
During breakfast, Marietta’s attention kept drifting over to the windows, observing the pale English sun in its cloudy basin.
‘Merry Christmas, darling Marietta,’ Ida said upon her arrival, in a manner that touched Marietta. Perhaps her mother sensed that something had altered. ‘I do so adore the festive season,’ Ida continued, seating herself at the table and admiring the wreaths of ivy and holly festooned round the candles. Her attention slid across to Marietta. ‘Though I do not doubt that the arrival of the new year shall bring about other occasions to celebrate.’
Disappointment clouded Marietta. She said nothing.
‘Indubitably so,’ Theodore chimed in from the head of the table, gesturing for his coffee to be poured. A valet scurried forth. ‘Though I had an appointment earlier this morn to discuss matters further with Drosselmeier. I had thought our good doctor was keen to be wed at once, yet—’
Ida shot him a look of alarm. ‘Why Theodore, you must temper his enthusiasm. I shall require sufficient time to organise a proper society wedding. It must be superlative in all regards.’
Frederick glanced at Marietta, his concern fading into quiet puzzlement when she smiled into her Sèvres coffee cup. She paid no heed to her parents’ discussion as she added an extra lump of sugar to her cup with silver tongs, relishing her long-awaited taste of coffee.
‘Must you interrupt me so?’ Theodore met Ida’s eyes in a clash of steel and willpower. He cleared his throat as Frederick frowned at him. ‘As I was saying, I had believed him keen yet was most disgruntled to find him absent.’
‘Perhaps he had forgotten? It is Christmas, after all,’ Frederick said.
‘That’s the curious thing. I spoke with his butler and it transpires that he did not see Drosselmeier this morning. Neither did anyone witness his homecoming last night. It appears the man has quite vanished,’ Theodore said.
After taking one final sip of her coffee, Marietta set her cup down. ‘As it happens, I believe I was the last to speak with Drosselmeier. I am afraid he left most displeased. Perhaps he has disappeared to lick his wounds.’ Her hands did not tremble as she recalled how he had dusted away to nothing last night. After all, it had been the consequences of his own actions that had led to his death. Marietta refused to allow guilt to stain her heart. Nor did she invite speculation that she might be blamed if his disappearance were to be investigated; for who would believe in such a thing as magic?
Ida stared at Marietta.
Theodore stood up. ‘Do you mean to inform me that you refused his hand?’
‘I did. And I do not hold any regrets on the matter. Mother, I told you that I should not be able to accept Drosselmeier’s offer, that I could not marry the man. You ought to have taken it seriously,’ Marietta said. She could not now tell them of his advances against her, even if she wished. Though no one could find her guilty of any crime, she desired to avoid the suspicion it would invite upon her.
‘Oh, Marietta, of all the reckless acts—’
‘I do not believe it reckless to stay true to one’s intentions,’ Marietta told her mother.
‘Your decision, your attitude, displeases me,’ Theodore said quietly, in a tone that once would have inspired fear in Marietta. Now, it merely rankled.
‘That is no longer my concern,’ she said. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I must ready myself for this evening’s performance.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Backstage that evening, Marietta sought Harriet and Victoria out. ‘Have you received news from the Company?’ she asked.
Harriet nodded. ‘We have both been accepted.’
Victoria wrinkled her nose. ‘Though I shall most definitely not be accepting their offer of residency. I doubt the contents of my wardrobe should fit within those ghastly tiny rooms.’
‘So speaks a woman with the luxury of declining such an offer,’ Harriet scoffed.
Marietta smiled, smoothing her dress down. The palest lilac with rose-pink sequins encrusted on the bodice, it sparkled like pink champagne. Frothing chiffon capped her shoulders and a dainty silver tiara marked her for the role of Aurora.
‘What of you? How was your audition?’ Harriet directed her shrewd gaze onto Marietta.
‘It was fine.’
Victoria’s frown creased her powder. ‘And what of your results?’ Her whisper was loud, prompting Harriet to gesture at the velvet curtains. Behind, a ballroom’s worth of people were gathering, finding their seats as the ballet dancers in the prologue silently took up their positions. Marietta, Harriet and Victoria were in the wings, awaiting their introduction in the first act.
‘And in the new year, I shall be moving into one of those ghastly tiny rooms.’ Marietta laughed.
Harriet raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that so?’
Victoria let out a theatrical gasp. ‘Oh, Marietta, you are renouncing your fortune for your dancing? How romantic.’
‘There’s nothing romantic about a lack of money,’ Harriet said. ‘Honestly, Victoria. But Marietta—’ she beamed ‘—that is wonderful news. Do let us know if there is anything we might do to ease your transition.’
Marietta’s smile was warm honey, sweet happiness. ‘I was wondering if we three might reconvene for afternoon tea at your convenience. I have been in a mood of contemplation these past days and there is much I should like to share.’
Victoria exchanged a look with Harriet. ‘How curious. We would enjoy that but mightn’t you give us a clue?’
‘If we are all to dance together with the Company, I thought it might be nice for us to become more acquainted with each other,’ Marietta said, a little awkwardly. At first, Dellara and Pirlipata’s companionship had brightened her days yet by the end of her time in Everwood, they had become much more. A sisterhood. Marietta would not spend her time in the Company mourning their presence but would honour them by forging new friendships. She had learnt much about sharing herself with others and had no desire to devolve to her lone, closed state of being. Life held many challenges in store for her yet but she did not have to face them alone.
‘It would be our pleasure,’ Harriet said and Mari
etta’s warm honey-smile spread, setting her spirits a-glow.
The music started. The curtains drew back, revealing Drosselmeier’s glittering set to the audience, who gasped and clapped upon witnessing its moving mechanisms. Marietta, Victoria and Harriet proceeded to watch their peers dance out the prologue. It was interposed with mimed storytelling that unravelled the scene of Aurora’s christening and the fairy-tale gifts bestowed upon her. Marietta’s smile turned wistful; she would have longed to glimpse Dellara’s face on learning what constituted a fairy in this world. She was far more likely to sympathise with Carabosse.
Their turn arrived.
Marietta burst onto the stage, her steps playful and light, interspersed with pas de chats; quick, leg-flicking jumps, the carefree glee of a young princess at her birthday party written into the choreography. Her limbs like liquid poetry and starlight. Dancing soothed Marietta’s aching loneliness, her yearning for Legat, Pirlipata, Dellara. Of another world she could no longer access. She had taken time to examine the grandfather clock earlier and it was sealed shut. Until, and if, she happened upon another door, she was confined to this world alone.
Ribboning across the stage in a string of piqué turns, her arms fluttering, she reached out to embrace the night. Shifting into chaînés; faster, tighter turns, Marietta kept spinning, her love of dance consuming her, secure in the knowledge that she had made the right decision.
Harp strings, sweetly plucked, signalled the beginning strains of the Rose Adagio.
Marietta concealed her deep breaths beneath a smile as she approached the fur-cloaked figures of the queen and king, filling her lungs before the challenging variation. The one that had defeated her, sent her falling in the midst of her audition. Yet Drosselmeier could never set eyes on her again; she herself had ensured that. She had been her own knight in armour, scaling the heights of her tower and setting herself free from Drosselmeier’s dark mechanisms at play.
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