Crestfallen, I said, “I am afraid that we haven’t got venison or almond milk here at the manor.”
“No matter, no matter,” Charlotte said quickly. “This is lovely! Thank you, Mother.”
Emont drained the carafe into his cup and signaled for more wine to be brought. “How is the battle-axe?” he asked Charlotte.
Charlotte was mystified. “I beg your pardon, sir?” she said.
“It is so wonderful to have you both home,” I interjected.
“The old shrew, the old harpy,” Emont said, slurring the last words together.
I knew that he meant Abbess Elfilda, but I feigned ignorance. “Ella,” I said, “Charlotte and Matilda can tell you about some of the lessons they learned at the abbey.”
“Oh yes,” Matilda said. “We wouldn’t torture you with Latin, but we know some jolly songs.”
“Tilly was the best of all the girls at Latin,” Charlotte said proudly. “I got the birch for botching my conjugations.”
“You did fine, Lottie,” Matilda said. “Edeline was the one who never knew her lessons. Sister Anne grew tired of birching her, because no matter how much she hit her, she forgot what to say. Poor Edeline.”
“Remember when you wrote the answer on her hand for her? Sister Anne nearly fell over with surprise when Edeline got the right answer.”
Matilda laughed.
I felt as though I were observing my daughters from a great distance. “We shall have to get you new gowns,” I said. “Those gray ones are dreadful. I remember how uncomfortable they were.”
Charlotte shrugged. “We are used to them.”
“Oh, may I have new gowns also?” Ella asked.
“You have plenty of gowns,” I said.
“I have no new ones.”
“Because you have yet to outgrow the ones in your wardrobe.”
“It isn’t fair,” Ella said.
“Let the little angel have a new gown,” Emont said. He kissed the crown of his daughter’s head and stroked her hair with an unsteady hand.
“I shall consider it,” I said tersely.
“I shall make sure that you get the prettiest new frock,” Emont whispered loudly to Ella. He smiled down at her.
“Would you like to speak with the seamstress, then?”
Emont slammed his fist on the table. “I will not be argued with! It is your fault that this has happened! That they have been sent here!”
A cold sweat prickled my brow. I knew that he was upset about the message from the abbess, but I did not want him to make Charlotte and Matilda feel unwelcome on their first day back with me. They both watched him with wide eyes, unsure of what to think.
“This will all blow over, Emont,” I said. “If it does not, you may rely upon me to set it right.”
“What do you know about setting things right?”
“A good deal. I do not believe that I have ever failed you.”
Emont looked like he was groping for a response, but I cut him short, saying, “Ella, you should tell Charlotte and Matilda about the beautiful gown you designed. Please, Emont, do have some strawberries. They are the first of spring!”
The strawberries and cream were a distraction, and my prediction did prove true. The abbess had banished Charlotte and Matilda from the abbey as punishment for my marriage, but she took no other measures against us. Her message exhorted me to be a proper guardian for her godchild and contained a veiled threat of reprisal in the event that we caused her further displeasure. She did not want to take Ella from us, however, nor did she wish to inflict upon herself the task of finding new management for Aviceford Manor, particularly after I had made the manor profitable. The abbess vented her spleen, but she was a practical woman. I understood her, for I was practical too.
After supper, Matilda and Charlotte taught Ella a song with an elaborate accompaniment of hand claps and finger snaps. They giggled at the lyrics and the mistakes they kept making. Ella had trouble following along, but she joined the merriment; her shrill laugh was like the call of a shrike, humorless and louder than was warranted.
I helped Emont to bed, and when I returned, Ella asked if Charlotte and Matilda could sleep in her chambers. I was pleased to see the three getting along so well, but also sad that my daughters were more eager to share Ella’s quarters than mine.
I had Beatrice put the extra feather bed in Ella’s chamber for Charlotte to use; Matilda took the trundle beside Ella’s bed. While I helped Gisla with the bedclothes, Ella showed her stepsisters the pearlescent hairbrush she had inherited from her mother, and Charlotte volunteered to brush her hair. I expected Ella to say no, because she never let anyone touch her hair except Gisla, but to my surprise, she happily accepted. She sat cross-legged and serene on the bed while Charlotte gently untangled and smoothed one long golden lock at a time. Matilda lay on the trundle, out of sight of the other two, telling amusing stories about the nuns and students at the abbey. I lingered so that I could hear the stories too. The candles guttered as they melted to stubs, and though I wished to stay and listen to more of their conversation, I told them that it was time to sleep and said good night. Charlotte and Matilda pulled me tight and embraced me fervently, but Ella ducked her chin and presented only her cool forehead to my lips. “Where is Gisla?” she asked.
“She was tired, and I sent her to bed.”
Ella yawned.
“Good night, Mama!” Matilda said.
“Good night!” Charlotte chimed in.
As I closed the door, I could hear them already whispering to one another.
Even during our awkward reaquaintance, I was overjoyed to have my daughters home. Like an insecure lover, I tried to please them at every turn, serving favorite foods, purchasing new clothing, being solicitous to their needs. Despite my elation, however, worry gnawed at me. Had Charlotte and Matilda remained at the abbey, they might have become nuns, but that door had been slammed shut by Mother Elfilda. The only alternative was marriage. Emont would have trouble enough providing a substantial dowry for Ella; I was not sure that I could prevail upon him to settle dowries on my daughters. Without pedigree or beauty, I did not know what would become of them.
Matilda in particular was a concern to me. I coiled her hair in thick, lustrous braids behind her ears and gave her a gold chain to wear at her throat, but nothing could alter the fact of her disfigurement. Her intelligent eyes shone bright in her ruined face, and I tried to look only at her eyes, for without a reassuring anchor, my gaze slid and slipped from a sight that broke my heart.
Although Ella refused my lessons, preferring languid reclusiveness, Charlotte and Matilda did not resist being kept busy. Life at the abbey had been regimented and punishments harsh, so they were used to hard work.
Charlotte remembered little of Old Hilgate and Matilda nothing, but I told them stories of the alehouse and encouraged them to learn how to brew. They seemed to understand the value of acquiring such skills.
We were by then producing our own ale at the manor and selling the excess for profit. I brought the girls to the brewery, a new outbuilding designed expressly for the purpose of making ale, and introduced them to the servants who worked there. For several hours each day, Charlotte and Matilda learned the proper way to grind the barley, wet the mash, boil and skim the wort.
“These young lasses are quick to learn,” the brewer said.
“Perhaps it runs in the blood. I used to make a nice lavender ale myself,” I replied.
“Ye don’t say, my lady. I would not have guessed it.”
He meant this respectfully; he was new to the manor and had not known me as a servant.
When Charlotte and Matilda completed their first batch, I brought some to supper for a tasting. I handed Ella a cup, saying, “Try this, sweetheart. This is your stepsisters’ first effort, and I believe it is quite good. You ought to join them in the brewery someday.”
Ella took a sip and made a noncommittal sound.
Charlotte smiled and said, “Yes, you shou
ld join us!”
“It would be good for Ella to get out of her chambers,” I said to Emont.
Emont made a vague noise very much like Ella’s.
I persisted, saying, “It cannot be healthy for her to spend so much time alone.”
“Her tutor will arrive soon.”
“I promised the girls a share in the profits if they continue to brew. Ella, would you not like to earn your own money?”
Ella shrugged. “I have no need for money.”
“Eat your carrots,” I said.
Ella had picked all of the vegetables out of her stew. She poked them with her fork and said, “I hate carrots.”
“It is wrong to waste food. Look, Charlotte and Matilda have eaten theirs.”
“That’s because they like them.”
“No it isn’t,” Matilda said. “We were taught to eat everything in our bowls.”
“We should be grateful for the bounty God has provided,” Charlotte added.
“God had an idiotic idea when He made turnips and carrots,” Ella said. “They are horrible!”
“Ella! Watch your mouth! Eat up, or there will be no supper for you tomorrow.”
“Why do you always carp at me? You never yell at them!” She pointed across the table at her stepsisters.
I looked to Emont, but he just shook his head. “It harms nobody if she leaves a few carrots,” he said. “And why should she work in a brewery like a servant? Let go of your ridiculous schemes, Agnes. Ella is happy. Why must you always be plotting?”
Because misfortune does not wait idly by until we are prepared for it, I wanted to say. Because there may not always be enough money or food. Because the world may not always be kind to your precious daughter. I wanted to say these things, but I held my tongue.
One day, Ella asked Gisla to open the cabinet where her mother’s gowns were kept. Gisla’s rheumatism was bothering her, so I sent her to lie down and opened the cabinet myself. The fabric still smelled strongly of lavender, and the scent transported me back to a dark and airless chamber, where Ella crouched in shadows, gazing at the corpse that had once given her life. Ella never spoke of her mother, and I wondered how much she remembered.
Ella chose a fancy gown for Charlotte to wear, and though Charlotte was nearly fourteen and too old for dress-up, she agreed indulgently to play along. Charlotte was so tall that the hem of her gown did not even graze her ankles, though it hung loose around her shoulders and gaped at the neck. Tiny Ella disappeared into the folds of her garment; Matilda and Charlotte found ingenious ways to belt the skirt high enough that she could walk and fold the sleeves back so that her slender fingers peeked out from the ends. Even dressed absurdly, Ella was beautiful. The girls had fun until Matilda asked for a gown to wear.
“You should dress as a boy,” Ella told her.
“But I don’t want to be a boy! I should have a blue gown so that we may all have different colors of nature. We can pretend to be three ladies, all sisters, who are imprisoned. You can be the baby sister who is small enough to fit through the window. We can lower you to the ground.”
Ella furrowed her brow. She did not like stories or imaginary games. “If you like,” she said uncertainly. “But you don’t look like a lady. Your face is all lumpish and ugly.”
Charlotte lashed out as quick as a viper, knocking Ella to the floor. She towered over the small girl, her dark face ablaze, roaring, “Never speak to my sister that way! You are a beast! For shame!”
Ella looked horrified. Her expression crumpled into one of misery, and she began to sob.
To separate the girls, I stepped between them. I should probably have tried to comfort Ella, but her abject prostration repelled me. I helped her out of her gown and sent her, still weeping, to find Gisla in the anteroom.
I rebuked Charlotte without much force. She should not have pushed Ella, but love for her sister was a cleansing fire. Ella and her father grew like mushrooms, soft. Charlotte had unsheathed something pure, a noble loyalty that was new to Aviceford Manor, and I was glad for it.
That night, Charlotte came to me complaining that Ella would not let her and Matilda sleep in her chamber as they had been doing. I had just gotten my drunken husband into bed with the aid of two servants, and I was in no mood to arbitrate the squabbles of little girls. I strode to Ella’s chamber while Charlotte trotted behind me in an effort to keep up.
“What is going on here?” I demanded as I walked through the door. Ella was sitting on her bed with her chin on her knees, and Matilda sulked nearby.
“Ella says that we can’t sleep here anymore!” Matilda was indignant.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ella! Where else are they to stay?”
Ella lifted her chin. Her expression was stony. “They can sleep in the attic.”
“Ella! Charlotte and Matilda are your sisters now, not servants. You will have to learn to share.”
“These are my chambers! They belonged to my mother!”
“That is true, but circumstances have changed. We are your family now.”
Ella leaned her forehead on her knees for a moment; when she looked up again, her eyes brimmed with tears. She said, “Fine,” almost inaudibly, and then she lay down, burying her face in her pillow.
I was relieved that Ella had capitulated so easily. I told Charlotte and Matilda to go to bed and returned gratefully to my own bed.
The following morning, Ella burst into my chambers just as Beatrice finished dressing my hair. It had taken an eternity and an excessive number of pokes and tugs for Beatrice to complete the task; she was uncouth and poorly suited to the work of a chambermaid, though she was diligent and kindhearted. Ella was crying again, and I could not make out what she was trying to tell me.
“Where is Gisla?”
“Fetch—fetching bread.”
I sighed. “What happened?”
“Matilda hit me!”
“Why did Matilda hit you?”
“I don’t know!”
I rose and sighed again. “Come, let’s go and speak with Matilda.”
Charlotte and Matilda, still wearing nightcaps, were huddled together and conferring in low, angry voices.
“What is it this time?” I asked impatiently.
Matilda jabbed her finger toward Ella. “She took our stones!”
“What are you talking about?”
“The stones you gave us! She took them!”
I had not thought about my stone collection in years. I couldn’t help but smile. “You still have those?”
In unison, Charlotte and Matilda answered, “Of course!” Matilda added, “They are very precious to us.”
Ella, who had by then stopped crying, said, “I was only looking at them! You hit me!”
“I did not! I barely touched you! Crybaby.”
As though to prove Matilda’s point, Ella began to cry again.
“Where are the stones now?” I asked wearily.
Matilda pointed to the bed and said, “There’s one missing. The sparkly white one.”
I looked at the rows of stones on the blanket. Ella had arranged them in a perfect square with the smallest at one corner and the largest at the opposite corner. I picked up the green stone and ran my fingers fondly over its smooth surface. “Where is the white one, Ella?”
“I don’t know.”
“You had better think about it some more!”
“Why am I in trouble? She is the one who hit me!”
“Matilda, you will apologize for hitting her.”
“Sorry,” Matilda muttered. “I barely even touched her,” she repeated under her breath.
“Matilda!”
“Sorry.”
“Now where is that stone, Ella?”
She pulled it reluctantly from her pocket. Charlotte said, “See? She stole it!”
“I did not steal it!” Ella said, blinking back more tears. “There was no room for it in the square. Anyway, it’s just a stupid stone!”
Matilda jumped to her feet
and stepped toward Ella menacingly. Ella shrieked and cowered behind me.
“Stop it, all of you! I am going to separate you. Ella, you can sleep in the attic until the three of you can get along!”
Ella stamped her little foot in fury. “It’s not fair! Why do I have to sleep in the attic? This is my room! They should sleep in the attic.”
“Because there are two of them and only one of you. Besides, you like the attic. We shall move up the feather bed, and I shall have Beatrice sleep there with you.”
“It’s not fair!”
“When you can get along, you can move back down.”
“It’s not fair!” Ella was by then yelling in her shrill voice. “I am going to tell Father that you are being mean to me!”
“Enough!” I thundered back. I knew that Emont would be sick in bed all morning from his excesses the night before. “Your father is still sleeping, and you will not disturb him! I shall hear no more about this!”
Ella sank to the floor, hiccupping and sobbing, as I walked out the door.
We moved Ella to the attic that day, and as it turned out, she never moved back downstairs. Like a magpie, she built a nest for herself out of colorful and shiny objects that she skimmed from her late mother’s vast collection of statuary and miscellany. I was impressed by how comfortable and appealing she managed to make her garret.
Beatrice slept with Ella for the first few weeks, but as Ella preferred to have the space to herself, I returned Beatrice to sleeping in the kitchen. Once I found a more suitable chambermaid, I made Beatrice head laundress, much to Elisabeth’s dismay. She was lucky that Beatrice had such a good heart, for Elisabeth deserved far worse. The young woman could not bring herself to force her former supervisor to work, and she lied to me about how the tasks were divided. Finally, I hired a new laundry girl and sent Elisabeth to look after the chickens and geese. I could count on the cook to keep her under a tight rein.
As Gisla did not like to climb the winding stairs to the attic, it became my habit to visit Ella in the garret at bedtime. I learned the location of every loose, splintering board and the warped lintel that sagged over the last turn of the staircase, so I could make my way up the narrow, dark steps without a candle. Crossing the threshold into Ella’s domain was like leaving Aviceford Manor. A high, peaked roof covered the spacious southern wing of the attic, and though the windows were small, the entire space, including the rafters, had been whitewashed to a milky pallor that reflected the half-light pearlescent glow from the casements. Ella had draped her canopied bed with whimsical swaths of pastel silks, and she had strung a cascade of sparkling bits of glass and pieces of broken mirror between the posts; the effect was alluring and strange. Statues that had belonged to Lady Alba crowded the rough floorboards. Ella had chosen mostly representations of animals, and she dressed them with queer bits of clothing and jewelry.
All the Ever Afters Page 25