“What?” said Ella, snapping out of her thoughts. “No, not him.”
“Garter Woolmakers is a major supplier —”
“He doesn’t like me, I promise you. He’ll be glad to get out of it.”
“Lower your voice,” said Sharlyn. “You’ve already insulted the Batiks and the Trapuntos — don’t you care at all that your behavior might cost us our business relationships?”
“Ell,” her father said quietly. He met her eyes. “Please. For me.”
Ella hesitated. She had already done many difficult things for her dad’s sake. She wondered if he’d ever realize it.
“Fine,” she said. “But this is it, hey? I don’t want any other dances.”
Sharlyn gave a sharp “Shh” and smiled at something just over Ella’s shoulder. “Good evening, Buckram. Are you enjoying the ball?”
“Please call me Garb, Lady Gourd-Coach,” said Garb smoothly, smiling back at her with all his teeth. “All my friends do.”
He offered Ella his hand. Reluctantly, she took it. He had shaved his head like the prince, but it didn’t suit him one-tenth as well. The Garter crest, heavy with rubies, glittered at her from his breast. They took their places on the dance floor, and Ella prayed to the Beyond that it would be the shortest song ever written, or that Pulse’s instruments would fail, or that the lights and flowers that hovered magically overhead would crash like Ubiquitous acorns and force the party to a halt.
Instead, the song was a slow one, and the dance that accompanied it was intimate. Ella did her best to stand close to Garb without touching him, but it was impossible. As they turned in slow circles, she kept her eyes on his shoulder, hoping that no conversation between them would be necessary.
“Homemade?” Garb asked. “Or bought?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your dress. We’ve got a wager on it,” said Garb, pulling her closer. “Did you make it, Cinderella? Or buy it in a shop?”
Disgusted, Ella turned her head and did not answer. She caught sight of her dad dancing with Sharlyn.
“Most people are betting you bought it,” said Garb. He was holding her waist too tightly. “But I think you made it yourself.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “My father told me how it is with your family. You’ve got your money now, but you used to live in a hut, and your mother spun silk in a Jacquard shop for years. So the way I see it, you can probably do the same menial labor she did.”
Cold circled Ella’s heart like a snake and squeezed it.
“Menial labor?”
“You know, sewing and the like,” said Garb. “So, do I win the bet?”
Ella wrested herself from his grip. He tried to catch her again, but she deflected him.
“Come on,” he said, glancing around them. “Can’t you take a joke?”
“A joke?” People around them were starting to take notice, but the angry hum in Ella’s head drowned out any embarrassment she might have felt. “Everything you’re wearing, everything you have, you have because of someone else’s menial labor. Don’t you get that?”
Garb flushed. “Of course you’d say that,” he said. “You’re loyal to your class.”
Ella walked off the ballroom floor.
DANCING with Lavaliere was easy. She took her place and went through the movements and didn’t speak a word.
It was a relief.
It was also a strategy, of course. If he insulted his partners whenever he opened his mouth, then Lavaliere would give him no reason to open it.
They twined arms and turned in a slow circle. Dash caught sight of his father dancing with Lariat Jacquard. Beyond them, Ella Coach was dancing with Garb Garter, but they weren’t doing the steps. Ella jerked away from him, Garb flailed for her…. She pivoted and left him there alone. Red-faced, Garb stalked off the dance floor.
Dash missed a step. Lavaliere pulled him instantly back into formation and glanced back to see what he was looking at.
“She’s bizarre,” she said quietly.
She replaced her head upon his shoulder and said nothing more. When the dance ended, she gave him a brief, meaningful smile, then swept regally toward her next partner as though a crown already balanced on her head.
He got through the next four dances without incident, mainly because he was focused elsewhere. He kept track of wherever Ella went in the ballroom; her bronze curls picked up the light. When it finally came time for the tenth dance, he made his way to her. His father wanted him to choose Lavaliere for Prince’s Preference, but he had to talk to Ella.
When he reached her, she was standing with her family and the Shantungs.
“Your slippers are beautiful,” Chemise was saying. “What a lovely shape — I haven’t seen anything quite like them.”
“Yours are pretty too,” Ella replied. “I like that shade of green …” She caught sight of Dash and her voice trailed off.
Dash bowed and put out his hand. “May I have this dance?” he asked.
Her father looked shocked; her mother, gratified. Ella only looked afraid. She drew back and didn’t answer — for a moment, he thought she might actually turn and run away from him again — and then Ella’s mother spoke for her.
“Ella would be honored, Your Highness.”
Ella put her hand gingerly into his, as though she might retract it at any moment, and she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. Her hand was small and cool, a little rough. People around them whispered as they went together to the center of the ballroom floor, but Dash wasn’t in the mood to care what anyone thought. Protecting his mother was paramount.
They took their places, and Pulse began to play. The dance was simple, just a few steps and a few turns, but Ella fumbled almost at once and went in the wrong direction.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“How did you come by the ring?” Dash asked, pulling her close and keeping his voice very low. “Tell me everything, exactly as it happened.”
Ella glanced up at him. “I was trying to before,” she said. “I ran off from C-Prep at the same time the queen did, and we wound up in the same carriage. I didn’t realize who she was at the time; it only struck me later when I was down in Salting at the Corkscrew, and I saw your aunt, and it hit me that the maid in the carriage looked awfully like her, so it must’ve been Queen Maud.”
“But why did she give you her ring?”
“I don’t know,” said Ella. “I noticed it and said it was plush, and she turned white as death and took it off. She told me it wasn’t real, and if I liked it, I could have it. She wouldn’t take it back.”
They crossed wrists and took each other’s hands, and Dash considered her story. It made more sense than he had anticipated. It would have been easy for his mother to forget to remove her wedding ring, and if she was caught with it, she would have been identified.
“All right,” he finally said. “But why did you go to visit my aunt?”
“Oh, that.” Ella looked embarrassed. “I was trying to get a job at the Corkscrew.”
“What? Why?”
“So I wouldn’t have to live here anymore.”
Dash regarded her in complete confusion. “You would rather work in a tavern,” he said, “than live in Quintessential?”
“By about a thousand leagues,” she muttered, and then she seemed to realize to whom she was speaking. “I don’t mean to insult the capital, sir,” she said. “I just miss home.”
“Where is home?”
“Eel Grass. Down south.”
They turned their backs on each other, took two steps, and pivoted again. They joined right hands and raised them, and as they stepped close, Dash dared to whisper: “Are you going to tell anyone what you know?”
Ella looked bewildered.
“About my mother,” Dash added.
“Why would I?”
“Money,” he said. “Attention.”
Now she looked insulted. “I’ve got more than I want of both,” she said. “And anyway, she was really kind, yo
ur mum. I was in a bad state, and she took care of me.”
Dash’s heart thumped. “Did she?”
“Yeah. She was gentle.”
Gentle. Yes, that was the word for his mother.
He twirled Ella under his arm, and it occurred to him that he was perfectly comfortable now, for the first time all evening. For the past few minutes, his dance steps had been fluid, and he hadn’t struggled once for what to say. Funny how easy it was to talk about things that were real.
“Thank you,” he said.
“What for?”
“Keeping quiet. And giving back the ring. Most people wouldn’t have.”
Ella smiled a bit. “Then most people aren’t worth much,” she said. “Are they?”
THE prince smiled back at her, such a beautiful smile that Ella completely forgot the next steps of the dance. Dash had to pull her in the right direction to get her back on track.
He was a serious melter. The flickering candlelight illuminated his golden face; his cravat was partly undone, and he gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat that only made him lovelier. No wonder Tiffany had fainted. No wonder he was always in the Criers. Her pulse got heavy just looking at him.
She was glad that he seemed to believe her now, about the ring. He seemed nice enough, really, for royalty.
A shout of pain and the thud of someone falling to the floor startled her out of admiration. Ella turned to see Chemise Shantung collapsed on the blue-and-white marble next to them. Her feet were bare and smoking like fire.
Ella dropped to her knees beside her and waved the smoke away. Chemise’s feet were raw, glistening red, like they’d been skinned. “What happened?” she gasped.
Chemise grabbed Ella’s arm and dragged her close.
“My shoes crashed,” she said in an agonized whisper. “Help me. I don’t want anyone to know they weren’t real….”
It was too late for that. Their classmates closed in around them, gaping, while the whispered condemnation flew from one gossiping mouth to the next:
“Ubiquitous.”
Chemise closed her eyes. “You need a Hipocrath,” said Dash, crouching. He picked up Chemise and carried her off the dance floor.
As soon as the prince was out of hearing range, their classmates began to laugh.
“I told you,” said Dimity to Lavaliere. “She’s been faking it for months.”
“I knew Shantung was losing business, but this is just sad,” Paisley said gleefully. “Do you think she can afford to finish school with us?”
“She’d better not show her face,” Garb replied. “She nearly set me on fire. I can’t believe she had the nerve to dance with me in those things. If she singed my stockings, I’ll send her a bill.”
Even the adults joined in the discussion. Ella heard Oxford Truss’s father saying, “I keep saying those acorns will hurt someone.”
“And look, she’s already making friends at her new level.” Garb’s eyes traveled over Ella’s gown. “They can sit around and knit together.”
Paisley snorted. “Chemise and Cinderella,” she said. “How sweet.”
“Go to Geguul,” Ella spat. A few people around her gasped. Dimity and Loom both looked at her with revulsion. “My language bothers you, hey?” she demanded. “But it’s fine to laugh at someone who’s hurt?” Her voice cut through the gossiping crowd. “She’s bleeding, and all you care about is her money. You’re savage!”
“Look what’s calling us savage,” murmured Paisley.
“When she’s frothing at the mouth,” said Dimity. “Like a dog.”
“Like her mother,” added Garb under his breath.
Lavaliere Jacquard laughed, and Ella snapped.
“Shut your traps, you murderers!” she cried, taking a step toward Lavaliere, who gasped. “That’s what you are! You don’t care when people get sick or hurt — you don’t care when they die!”
The whole ballroom was watching her now. Even the king. Ella saw his crowned head swivel toward her, along with Lariat Jacquard’s, and a cold hush fell across the crowd. The only sound came from the great clock at the Essential Assembly as it tolled midnight.
“Filthy quints,” she shouted. “Hearts as White as witches —”
“Ella, stop!” cried Sharlyn, gripping one of her arms.
“No more.” Her father gripped the other.
“They killed my mum!” she cried. “They’re the problem, not me —”
Her father and Sharlyn dragged her from Charming Palace.
BY the time he mustered the energy to fly again, the Jacquard Estate was dark. He flitted down the coast until he reached the Academy, and he made his way to the apprentices’ boarding house.
When he arrived at Jasper’s apartment, he heard muffled voices behind the door. He knocked, and the voices were silenced.
“Who is it?” Jasper sounded higher-pitched than usual.
“Serge.”
There were sounds of frantic shuffling. Jasper threw the door open, and Serge peered over his shoulder.
“Who’s here?”
“Me,” said Jasper, and he caught Serge’s eyes with sudden focus. Uneasy, Serge glanced away. “Come in.” Jasper grabbed his hand. “Skies, you’re freezing.”
In a minute, Serge was bundled in a big chair by the window, thawing under a blanket, holding a cup of ruby-colored hibiscus tea. He looked around Jasper’s tiny, cozy boarding space. Framed along the walls were several old news clippings — a history of Jules’s great successes at the Slipper — from little orphaned Pierce all the way to Queen Maud. Serge’s eyes roamed listlessly from one story to the next.
Jasper fluttered over and sat at his feet. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s confidential.”
“Should it be?”
“No.” Serge stared into his tea. He wished he could tell Jasper about Lavaliere. He hated being all alone in it. “But there are contracts in place, and there’s so much on the line, and … I’m not a rule breaker, Jasper.”
Jasper reached out and laid a hand on the pointed black toe of Serge’s boot. “Then why are you here?”
Because I need something real, he thought. Because if I don’t do something good, and soon, I’m going to run out of fairy dust.
Aloud, he said: “I’m here to help you with Ella.” He expected a high-pitched squeal of excitement, but Jasper only waited. “Secretly, of course,” Serge added. “I meant what I said before. We have to be untraceable. I’ll make us both invisible when we go to see her.”
“I already went to see her.”
“What?” Serge hastily set down his teacup. “I told you —”
“Just listen,” Jasper pleaded. “I didn’t make contact, and nobody saw me. But I had to help her prepare for the ball! I stayed outside her window in the branches while she made her gown —”
“Made her gown? She didn’t buy one?”
“No,” said Jasper. “She’s got a good sense of line, and she’s skilled, but the fabric was old. I gave her a tiny bit of assistance from afar. That’s all.”
Serge considered him. “How did she look?” he asked.
“Perfect,” said Jasper happily. “Very simple, very lovely — very her, I think.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” Jasper clasped his hands. “When can we go to her?”
“Now, if you like,” said Serge. “She’ll probably be at the ball, of course, but —”
Jasper was on his feet instantly. It required uncomfortable effort, but Serge dredged up a bit of dust, enough to make them both unseen, and they arrived at 76 Cardinal Park East.
The house was nearly dark, but behind Ella’s bedroom curtains, light shone. A carriage approached along the dark park-side avenue. It pulled up to number 76, and a footman began to unload what appeared to be musical instruments from the carriage roof. Two figures stepped out of the carriage, and Serge recognized them as the same young people he had seen in the house yesterday, playing the drums and fiddle.
<
br /> “Clover and Linden Sourwood Gourd,” whispered Jasper. “Ella’s stepsiblings. They have a band — the Current.” He grabbed Serge’s arm. “They’re talking. Let’s go closer —”
“No need.” His fingertips still bore a touch of fairy dust; he rubbed a bit into Jasper’s ear and the rest into his own. Clover and Linden’s conversation now sounded as though it were happening right beside them.
“— like a lunatic, screaming at everybody.”
“You thought she was wrong?” A womanly voice. Clover, the stepsister.
“You thought she was right?” Linden snapped out his words.
“I’m not sure.” Clover climbed the stairs to the front door. “The people in this city … no offense intended …”
“They’re snobs,” said Linden. “Offense intended. But insulting every noble in town? I can’t see the benefit. It definitely doesn’t help us any. And Ma will kill her.”
“Slowly, I imagine.”
“Anyway, the new trend had better change soon, or I’m going to start wearing both sleeves again.” Linden sounded deeply affronted. “Did you see how many people tonight had one missing, or sheer? That’s been my thing for years.”
The door closed, and their voices became indistinct.
“Chime Ella to let her know we’re coming,” said Serge.
For the next three minutes, he concentrated, trying to bring enough dust to his palms to transport them both into Ella’s room. Finally, he produced a thin layer. He found Jasper’s sleeve and snapped the fingers of his other hand, bringing them right to the middle of Ella’s bedroom. She was sitting on the carpet, still in her ball gown, leaning against her bed with her bare feet sticking out. Her face was tear-streaked.
Serge made himself and Jasper visible once more. When they materialized, Ella jerked but didn’t otherwise move.
Jasper crouched next to her. “What happened?”
“Are you hurt?” asked Serge.
“Yeah,” said Ella. “No — I don’t know. I really …” She pulled her knees up and hugged herself. “I tangled it,” she whispered. “I said things. Bad things. To everyone — even the king. And now Sharlyn thinks I’ve got one foot in prison, and my dad thinks I’m out to destroy Practical Elegance, and I’m not. I just don’t understand how he can be nice to the Jacquards and the rest of them. Guess I’m supposed to get over Mum and forget how she died, but I can’t — and everyone here is so awful —”
Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella Page 13