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All the Ever Afters

Page 24

by Danielle Teller


  “Eight years old,” I said. “Nearly nine. I was not much older when I worked in the laundry. If a tutor is coming, she had best learn to read her prayers, not just rattle them off.”

  Ella yawned and pressed her face into her father’s shoulder.

  “She will eventually learn to read,” Emont said complacently. “Let her be a child. She will have time to be a lady when she grows up. She will have little use for reading anyway.”

  I bristled but answered pleasantly, “Lady Wenslock is frowning from heaven.”

  “Abbess Elfilda does the frowning here on earth. She will ensure a tutor. That family has a fixation with educating girls.”

  “Idleness is to the soul as rust is to iron.”

  “Idleness is Ella’s birthright.” Emont smiled and stroked his daughter’s hair as though she were a pet.

  “Ella may become the lady of a great house,” I said stiffly, “but no manor runs itself. She will have duties, and it is best that she does not learn to expect leisure.”

  “You hear that, lambie? You had best listen to Agnes. She is to be your stepmother soon.”

  “I don’t want you to marry, Father,” Ella said, her eyes wide.

  “But you love your nurse!” Emont responded.

  Ella wound her arms tightly around Emont’s neck.

  “She is worried about the change,” I said.

  “I shall not call you Mama!” Ella said.

  “There is no need for you to call me Mama.”

  “I shall not call you Mother either!”

  I waited for Emont to reproach her for being disrespectful, but he did not.

  “Manners, Ella, mind your manners,” I said mildly, knowing that my words fell on deaf ears.

  Ella peered at me from over her father’s arm. As was so often the case, her face was inscrutable.

  It was Gisla who eventually found a way through the girl’s defenses. Ella had a fascination with women’s clothing that went beyond the usual childlike interest in dressing up. She sorted her mother’s gowns by style and then by shade, and she made small alterations, such as pinning a skirt into the semblance of flounces, to surprisingly pleasing effect. Gisla suggested that Ella might design her own gown for the wedding. This project was a double blessing, for it both occupied the child and distracted her from the significance of the day.

  I pushed Emont to have a wedding within the month, as I did not want to give him the chance to lose courage. As we planned to wed quietly in the chapel at the manor, there was no need for a formal betrothal or the posting of banns. We informed the manorial staff of our intent, and though there was some outrage, there was also a communal sigh. Not everyone was happy to have a new lady of the manor, but at least they were familiar with me and my ways. They did not miss Lady Alba, and they had feared that her replacement might be worse.

  Emont and I married in early spring with only Ella and Gisla in attendance. Ella was resplendent in a rose silk gown with her mother’s emeralds around her neck. Gisla coiled her hair into cauls, provoking squirming and complaints, for Ella was not used to wearing her hair dressed. Still, she bore herself proudly and simpered happily when we told her how beautiful she looked.

  Emont was pale and stiff, but he showed no signs of regret. He gave me a lovely gold ring, which I had not expected, and he smiled as he slid it onto my finger.

  Although the marriage was more than I could have hoped for, my heart still ached. I longed to return to Old Hilgate, to the merry alehouse and my daughters. I even missed Fernan, who had been strong and wholesome, for all of his flaws. The same could not be said of Emont, nor of his strange daughter, who watched the world through limpid eyes but kept her thoughts secret. They lived in silent passivity and gloom, like soft-bodied creatures that dwell beneath stones in the forest floor.

  On my wedding night, I ate supper in the great hall for the first time, and Ella joined us for the special occasion. Servants glided quietly around us, carrying enough food for a party many times larger than ours. Emont said little; he looked tense and unhappy, and he gulped his wine for solace. Ella gazed absently into the distance, picking at her food.

  After supper, Emont retired to his chambers, and I retired to mine. I could have taken Lady Alba’s solar, but I did not wish to evict Ella from her bed. Instead, I chose the more modest guest solar as my sleeping quarters. I did not yet have a maid to undress me, so I removed my own gown and put it away. I waited until I was sure that Emont was undressed, and then I made my way down the corridor wearing only my shift. Emont was waiting for me in bed. The fire had already burned to embers; when I held my candle aloft, I could see Emont’s eyes gleaming in the darkness. I fumbled with the bedclothes to get under the covers. For a long time, Emont lay with his head propped up on his hand, gazing at me and stroking my hair tenderly. He ran his fingers over my ribs and told me that I was too thin, but he said it so warmly that I knew he was not disappointed by my body. Just as I began to wonder if he was too tired to consummate our marriage, he tugged at my shift, signaling me to remove it. I obliged. His member was soft from too much wine, and it took some effort to accomplish our coupling, but when it was over, Emont sobbed with relief.

  After I crept back from Emont’s bed and into my own, I lay awake, staring into the dark. I would never be a servant again. I was Agnes Vis-de-Loup, the lady of the manor of Aviceford.

  18

  Ugly Stepsisters

  My first act as lady of the manor was to gather all of the servants together in the kitchen at dawn. From that day, they were accountable to me, and I wanted to make certain of their obedience. I also wanted to establish my own discourse with the servants. Having observed firsthand the relationship of chamberlains to both underlings and master, I knew that truth frequently fell victim to expediency, self-interest, or sycophancy. I did not want to have to rely on Wills for all knowledge about what transpired in my own manor.

  Scullions put out bread and ale while Wills played the reluctant shepherd, herding sleepy servants into the kitchen. Wills was unhappy about my request, which he viewed as both eccentric and a threat to his authority.

  The servants gathered in silence against the back wall by the fireplace, yawning and shuffling their feet. Their eyes glinted suspiciously in the dim morning light that filtered through the grimy skylights. Those who had come in from outside were still damp from rain, and steam coiled from their cloaks along with the scent of wet wool. The laundress tried to hide herself at the back of the group, but her effort was unavailing. It made me think of a groundhog grown too fat to scurry into its hole in the ground.

  “Welcome.” My voice echoed from the high ceiling. “I know some of you better than others. I am Agnes Vis-de-Loup, your new mistress.”

  Several of the men glared at me with hard expressions. My resolve faltered, but I took a deep breath and continued.

  “I intend to make Aviceford the most profitable of Ellis Abbey’s manors. You can benefit from the manor’s wealth through improved living conditions, but nothing can be accomplished unless you all do your part.”

  The yawning stopped, and they watched me intently.

  “I shall demand that you work hard, and I shall hold each of you accountable. Today, I shall release anyone who chooses from his obligation to the manor. Leave unfettered and find your fortune elsewhere. Those who choose to stay will be given a wage, be they serf or free, and that wage shall rise or fall in proportion to our manor’s fortune. Work hard and you shall be rewarded. If you will not do your part, then leave. I shall extend amnesty until the week is out.”

  The silence was profound. Some of the servants looked confused, and some looked angry. I resisted the temptation to wring my hands nervously. Doubt gnawed at me. I had counted on the self-interest of these men for my scheme, but I had not taken into account how hidebound they were. Why had I been so proud to think that I could change the way the manor had always functioned? If I loosened Will and Emont’s grip on the servants too much, I risked rebellion. Until
the day before, I had been a servant myself, and they were unconvinced of my authority.

  I opened my dry mouth to break the terrible silence, and a burly man stepped forward, saying, “How much will you pay us, and what will you expect of us?”

  I noted the absence of deference in his words. “Jack, isn’t it? Pay will depend upon each man’s position, between two and six shillings each year for most of you. An extra shilling at Christmastide in a good year. What I shall ask is that you assist with building projects, transportation of goods, harvest, shearing, or whatever other tasks need to be accomplished once you have finished with your own work. Gardeners will not be idle in winter, and scullions will not be idle when we have no guests. You will work hard, but you will be rewarded. The more profit comes to the manor, the more you will earn in your wages, the better the living quarters will become, and the more meat we can afford to feed you.”

  A low rumbling passed through the crowd. My breast shook with each heartbeat. Jack grimaced and wagged his head indecisively, causing the sinews of his thick, short neck to bulge. Then he nodded slowly and said, “That sounds fair. I have never been afraid of hard work.” He turned to his fellow servants and said, “What she says seems fair. She is our mistress.”

  Another servant stepped forward, a scowling young man with a rust-colored beard. I did not recognize him. He said, “This is just a trick to get us all to work our fingers to the bone. She tricked the master into marrying her, and now she brings her sorcery to bear on us.” Several others murmured in agreement.

  I had to assert myself, or I would lose control. I squared my shoulders with confidence I did not feel, and I raised my voice until it rang clear in the cavernous kitchen, using a tone that I had so often heard Abbess Elfilda use from the pulpit. “You have one week to leave quietly. But make no mistake. Insubordination will not be tolerated. Hard work will be rewarded, but if you make trouble, you will be flogged until your back runs with a river of blood. I shall have no mercy on anyone who threatens the security of my manor.”

  As the echoes of my voice died, the sun cast its first rays through the windows and skylight, banishing the gray pall of dawn. I held my ground, staring down anyone who met my eye. The red-bearded servant clenched his fists and snarled, but he said nothing. Most of the others looked at the floor. I decided to count it as a partial victory. If they insisted on being sheep, at least they would be my sheep. I raised my hands as though in benediction and said, “You may go.”

  The laundress scurried for the door, but Wills stopped her as I had instructed. He also detained the only other female servant, a wiry young woman with a ruddy complexion, ashes on her apron, and blisters on her fingers. After all of the men filed out, I approached them. Elisabeth eyed me warily from beneath the graying curls that escaped her shapeless bonnet. The laundry girl quivered like a rabbit.

  “Wills tells me that you have to do more of your share of the work in the laundry now, Elisabeth. That must be hard for you.”

  The laundress pursed her small mouth. Fine lines now radiated from her lips, and her chin was framed by deep grooves. “I have always been a hard worker.”

  “I have a different memory. I see that your hands are still white and soft, not chapped and blistered like this girl here. What is your name, young woman?”

  “Beatrice, my lady.”

  “Beatrice, do you agree that the laundress does her share?”

  The woman glanced at Elisabeth’s face and then mine with panic in her eyes. “Why yes, my lady.” She stared fixedly at her shoes.

  “Then I suppose that she can manage on her own without you for some time?”

  Beatrice looked even more agonized.

  “You do not need to answer. I know that she will manage fine. I do not have a chambermaid, and until I find one, I would like you to work for me.”

  Beatrice stared at me with dumb surprise. The laundress began to complain, but Wills cut her off sharply.

  “How long will you keep her from her proper duties?” Elisabeth asked, trying to hide her frustration.

  “As long as I please,” I replied.

  “I shall leave!”

  “You haven’t the courage to leave. In any event, you are not allowed.”

  “You just said that anyone could leave!”

  “Is this how you address your mistress?”

  “You said that anyone could leave, my lady,” she said, barely moving her lips.

  “That is for everyone else. You will have to earn your freedom if you wish to leave.” I would gladly have been rid of the woman, but I could not ask one of the men to do laundry, and it would take some time to find a replacement.

  “I cannot keep up with the laundry without help!”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “My lady.” She choked on the words.

  “You will do your best. I believe that you remember the punishment for sloth. You set it yourself.”

  The laundress’s face turned bright red, but she said nothing further.

  “You are dismissed,” I said sweetly. “Wills, show Beatrice to my chambers and make sure that she knows her duties. She will return to the laundry when I decide. Perhaps she will get a promotion to chief laundress if she does her duty well.”

  In the end, only two servants left Aviceford Manor. The rust-bearded one, who worked in the kitchen, departed that same day, and the boy who kept the pigs left the next. There was resistance to change, but when the servants received pay, some for the first time, they softened. We managed the manor better with fewer staff. They became more vocal, and when we had meetings at dawn, the servants gathered gladly around the table for bread and ale. Wills grumbled that it was not properly respectful for the servants to speak with the lady of the manor, but even he had to admit that the added income was welcome.

  Not long after the wedding, Abbess Elfilda sent a messenger with the news of her displeasure. Emont fretted and drank himself into a stupor, but I was too joyful to care, for the abbess also sent a gift far greater than any I could have dreamt of: Charlotte and Matilda were returned to me. Since I had vexed the abbess, she refused to continue my daughters’ education. When Wills brought the news, I flew down the stairs, barely touching my feet to the ground. The girls were dark silhouettes against the bright blue sky, standing on the threshold on either side of the messenger. In the years since I had last seen them, they had grown tall; Charlotte was nearly the same height as the messenger. Matilda had not lost her old habit of standing with arms akimbo, her head tilted to the side.

  When I reached the bottom steps, I burst into tears, which caused them both to hesitate in confusion, but when I called to them, they rushed into my embrace. I had never been so happy as in that moment, holding their narrow, sturdy bodies against mine, Matilda’s face buried against my breast, Charlotte’s strong arms around my neck. I held the girls so long that Matilda began to squirm; I let go reluctantly and looked at them. They both wore the rough woolen frocks issued by the abbey, and their hair was entirely covered by modest veils. Charlotte was more willowy than I remembered, which emphasized her doelike quality. Matilda, not yet teetering on the brink of womanhood like her sister, was sturdy, and her hazel eyes were still bright, but her pockmarked face had lost its roundness. I stood with my hands clasped, tears streaming down my face, until Charlotte wiped my cheek with the tips of her fingers and said teasingly, “Mother, we would never guess that you are happy to see us!”

  After Wills put the girls’ little bundles away, I gave Charlotte and Matilda a tour of the manor house. I told them that I had been a little younger than Matilda, ten years old, when I first arrived at Aviceford Manor. The girls were polite, but unimpressed by the building; compared with the abbey, Aviceford was rustic and small. They were more interested in the sleeping quarters, particularly Ella’s chamber. Matilda ran to the canopied feather bed and threw herself on it with a delighted squeal, while Charlotte mused aloud about how enchanting it would be to sleep on a soft mattress next to a warm hearth
.

  I instructed the cooks to serve meat pies for supper, and as a special treat, I had the gardeners forage for early strawberries to serve with honey and clotted cream.

  Emont was already at the table drinking wine when we arrived in the great hall for the meal; he greeted us pleasantly, but from the vagueness of his smile, I could tell that he was drunk. Ella sat shyly next to him with her head bowed.

  “Ella,” I said, “these are your stepsisters, Charlotte and Matilda. You met them several years ago, but you may not remember.”

  Charlotte stepped forward and knelt down next to where Ella sat on the bench. “Hello,” she said, pitching her voice to a register friendly to young children. “I see that you have a lovely purple necklace.”

  Ella had tied a satin ribbon around her neck as a makeshift choker, an adornment that seemed odd then but would one day become a signature flourish. She touched the ribbon self-consciously and glanced at Charlotte with a timid smile.

  Matilda joined Charlotte and put her arm over her sister’s shoulders, saying, “I am Matilda. I played with the frogs with you.”

  At the sight of Matilda’s scarred face, Ella started and squirmed backward along the bench. Matilda stood gracefully and stepped away, while Charlotte turned sharply to look at her sister. Matilda flashed her a smile that said “I am not troubled,” and Charlotte’s expression softened. It made me sad to realize that such reactions to Matilda’s appearance were a common occurrence.

  “Sit, please,” I said to the girls. “I see that the food has arrived!”

  We arranged ourselves on the bench opposite Ella and Emont, with Matilda farthest from her young stepsister. Servants placed a steaming meat pie in front of each of us; the aroma made my mouth water as Emont mumbled through grace.

  “I recall that you both love this meal,” I said.

  “Oh, we do!” Matilda said. “At the abbey, we had one made all of venison, with dates and ginger spice.”

  “That was delicious, but remember the pork pie with almond milk?” Charlotte said. “That was my favorite.”

 

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