All the Ever Afters

by Danielle Teller

  I often found Ella singing or humming to herself, seeming to revel in her isolation. On one occasion, she was chattering merrily to the otherwise empty garret. It was midsummer, and the sun was just setting in a swamp of amber light. Ella’s luminous skin was rosy in the dying rays of the sun, and her hair shone like spun gold.

  “Who are you talking to, Ella?” I asked.

  “Henrietta.”

  “And who might that be?”

  Ella sighed as though she could barely abide my stupidity. “Henrietta the rat. She’s right there.”

  I was startled to see that there was indeed a brown roof rat hunched in the corner. When I gasped, it scuttled under the armoire.

  “I thought that we had closed all of the holes up here!”

  Ella shrugged.

  “They are disgusting.” I shuddered, remembering how I hated to sleep on the floor of the kitchen. The rats would rustle in the corners at night, and in my nightmares they gnawed on my exposed flesh with their sharp yellow teeth. I loathed the furtive, hunchbacked thieves.

  “Henrietta is nice. She keeps me company.”

  “I shall have Wills inspect for holes. It isn’t healthy to have rats running around while you sleep.”

  Ella made a face and got under her covers. I kissed her forehead lightly and said good night. As I walked away, Ella said, “You won’t hurt Henrietta, will you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, child. The world is overrun with rats.”

  “But you won’t hurt her?”

  “Even if I wanted to, I could never catch her. Rats are too fast and sneaky. Now go to sleep.”

  “Good night, Mother Bear.” Ella had chosen this name for me from her favorite children’s story. She rarely used it, but it warmed my heart when she did.

  “Good night, Ella.”

  The next day, I told Wills to have the attic inspected for rats. They found some small cracks and sealed them, and Wills assured me that the problem was solved. I noticed rat droppings on Ella’s bedclothes several weeks later, however, and when I visited her chambers in full daylight, I saw that there were crumbs and scraps of food scattered about. Ella had been feeding them. No wonder they were bold enough to climb onto her bed.

  There were more droppings on the floor, some flattened to dark smears where Ella had stepped on them. I peered under the armoire. Nothing seemed amiss, though the pungent, nutty smell of rodents caused me to gag.

  When I opened the armoire, the stench was overwhelming. A pair of black eyes gleamed at me from a scraggly nest on the lowest shelf. Around the nest were bits of rotting apple and other decaying lumps. The rat staggered to her feet, weighed down by a half dozen pink pups that hung from her teats. Their eyes were sealed shut, and their hairless skin looked raw and angry. The dam’s feet rasped against the rough wooden shelf as she tried to scramble away. She twisted violently, knocking her pups free, and then she darted past me. For a moment I stood frozen, looking at the squirming heap of naked pups. They made impossibly high-pitched, eerie squeaks.

  I sent a pair of servants to clean up the mess. They did not find the mother rat, but they cleaned out the nest, spoiled food, and excrement.

  Ella must have discovered that the nest was missing just before supper, for she came to the table white-faced and trembling. She fixed me with a hard gaze and said, “What did you do to Henrietta?”

  Charlotte and Matilda were already seated at the table, their hands folded politely in their laps. They looked at Ella curiously. Emont tipped back his wine cup and drained it.

  “Ella. That is not the proper way to address me.” She sometimes still spoke to me as though I were her servant. “And you cannot feed rats in your room! I do not understand how you can live like that.”

  “Henrietta is my friend. Did you kill her?” Tears filled her amethyst eyes.

  “You are not permitted to feed rats! Your chambers were a revolting mess.”

  “Father!” Ella appealed to Emont. “Tell her to leave Henrietta alone!”

  “Tell her to leave Henrietta alone!” Matilda mimicked softly in a lisping, babyish voice.

  “She killed Henrietta!” An edge of hysteria had entered Ella’s voice.

  “Who is Henrietta?” Emont asked wearily. He had little tolerance for arguments and wanted peace to be restored as quickly as possible.

  “Henrietta is a rat. Ella has been keeping it as a pet,” I told him.

  “That seems harmless enough.”

  “It is not harmless! Rats are a pestilence.”

  Emont rubbed his brow and refilled his cup. “Fine. Ella, apologize to Agnes so that we may have our supper.”

  Ella was outraged. “She should apologize to me!” Her cheeks flushed, and her chest heaved. “Henrietta was my friend!” She ran from the room, sobbing.

  Emont called after her halfheartedly. He had no appetite for disciplining his daughter, and her tears invariably melted his heart. I shook my head at him with irritation. Ella’s behaviors needed to be tamed, but Emont was no help.

  Charlotte and Matilda exchanged a significant glance. I sighed and patted the back of Emont’s hand. “Shall I call for supper?” I asked.

  19

  Cinderella

  Ella did not enjoy having a tutor. She found the discipline of lessons tiresome; if it were up to her, she would have spent that time sorting buttons or curled up in a corner, gazing at the ceiling. Unlike most children, Ella did not often seek out playmates or diversions, but she never complained of boredom when she had the leisure to daydream.

  Despite Ella’s dislike of lessons, she was an able and obedient student. She had a quick mind and a prodigious memory. She became fluent in Latin and French, and she could rattle off the names of every member of every royal family in the civilized world. Her speech had a queer cadence back then, but that has faded with age.

  Ella’s tutor, Frère Joachim, was handpicked by Abbess Elfilda. He had a silver beard and merry blue eyes, and he usually took dinner with us at noon. At the table, he shared lively stories about biblical and historical figures. Charlotte and Matilda grew fond of him, and for a while I had them sit in on his lessons with Ella.

  “A riddle, a riddle!” the girls would say at dinner.

  Frère Joachim would scratch his shorn head and pretend to be flummoxed. “I have no more riddles in this old head,” he said.

  “Please, Frère, one more!” Matilda pleaded. She was always the best at guessing the answer.

  “One is dark, two are fair, one is small, two are tall, how many girls plague the poor old teacher for riddles?”

  “Ha! You make fun of us, sir,” Charlotte said. “Anyway, only two plague you, as Ella doesn’t like riddles.”

  The monk’s eyes were wreathed by wrinkles when he smiled at Ella. “Who is the fairest in the land?”

  “That is hardly a riddle,” I said dryly, “and perhaps it is not wise to teach children vanity.”

  Ella had the grace to blush. “I am no good at riddles,” she said.

  “You are good at many other things,” Frère Joachim said kindly. “Let me see, a riddle. I’m told a certain something grows in its pouch, swells and stands up, lifts its covering. A proud bride grasped that boneless wonder, the daughter of a king covered that swollen thing with clothing.”

  I felt the heat rise to my own cheeks and avoided meeting the tutor’s eyes. I wondered if he teased me for my rebuke. Fortunately the girls were unaware of the double entendre.

  “A seed sprouting?” Charlotte said.

  “Bread dough!” Matilda announced triumphantly.

  “Yes, dear child, bread dough. Now, one more: On the way a miracle: water became bone.”

  “Ice,” I said softly.

  “Mother! You have ruined it!” Matilda said.

  Frère Joachim looked at me with his piercing blue eyes. “Yes, my lady,” he said. “Ice.”

  Deportment, music, and dance were taught by Ella’s maternal second cousin, Lady Rohesia. She was a stern, matronly woman whos
e barrenness and widowhood were etched deeply into her sharp features. She visited the manor for one week every several months, making it amply clear that this duty was beneath her station. Lady Rohesia did not teach Ella out of charity, but because she relied on Abbess Elfilda for an income.

  The deportment lessons made Ella the elegant creature she is today. Her famous gracefulness is not innate, but the result of diligent work. She had to master a tranquil air and erect carriage. No detail was too small; she even learned to lower her eyes to just the correct degree. It would surprise many people to know that dancing did not come naturally to Ella either, but she polished her steps through hours of reluctant practice.

  It was Lady Rohesia who told the abbess that my daughters sat in on Ella’s lessons. Frère Joachim received a letter forbidding him from taking time away from his pupil to teach her stepsisters. I tried to continue lessons for Charlotte and Matilda on my own, but their knowledge had surpassed mine. Happily, however, Frère Joachim brought several books from Lady Wenslock’s collection at the abbey, and when Ella did not require them for her lessons, we read to one another. They were better readers than I, but I improved through practice. Listening to Charlotte’s rich, clear voice, braiding Matilda’s soft hair, watching the late-afternoon sunshine shimmer across the gilded cornice in the guest solar—those were sweet hours.

  When Ella turned twelve, Lady Rohesia brought her to the city so that she might be introduced at court. They were absent for a month, which made Emont more restless than usual. He was uncommonly attached to his daughter, who still visited him every morning in his chambers. Ella liked to jump on his bed and snuggle against his soft, round belly; sometimes she told him about her lessons, but usually they just lay together quietly. I told Emont that she was too old for such behaviors, but he merely shrugged. Ella looked and acted far younger than her twelve years, and that suited her father fine.

  Upon Ella’s return, Emont had the cook prepare her favorite dishes, including pigeon pie. After we had all gathered around the table, Emont welcomed Ella home with a toast. Her stepsisters were excited to ply her with questions; Charlotte wanted to know about the people she had met at court.

  “Oh, I met so many people,” Ella replied vaguely.

  “Were there foreigners?” Charlotte wanted to know if there were women in the city with complexions as dark as her own.

  “There was a man with a funny accent. He gave me a basket of sweetmeats.”

  “Did you see the queen? Or Princess Anne?”

  Ella took another bite before she answered. “I saw the queen. I don’t know which princesses. I’m no good with names.”

  “What about the gowns?” Matilda asked. “They must have been magnificent!”

  Ella had always taken a special interest in the design of gowns, so she answered with far more enthusiasm than she had shown up to that point. “I did see the most striking gowns,” Ella said. “My favorite was blue with slashes in the sleeves that showed silver underneath and a gauzy little train. Also, so much velvet! Silk velvets with floral brocades and the most astonishing finishes. Also, many of the surcoats had patterns embroidered into the back gores with gold thread . . . Who would have imagined such a thing?”

  “How was the food? It must have been divine!”

  “Charlotte, let Ella eat her supper,” I said.

  Ella dug her spoon into her pigeon pie. “I missed regular food. I don’t want to go back.”

  “You are mad,” Matilda said. She leaned forward eagerly, the long loops of her plaits nearly dragging in her bowl. “I would give anything to go to court. Did you see any of the princes? Prince Henry is said to be charming and handsome.”

  “He is also said to be a rake,” I interjected tartly.

  The girls ignored me.

  “You wouldn’t be invited to court,” Ella said to Matilda matter-of-factly. She had no sense of diplomacy. “Anyway, you wouldn’t like it. It is the most boring place imaginable. All people do is talk, talk, talk.”

  “I should like to talk to people,” Matilda said defensively. “I like company.”

  “Well, you would never fit in, and people would stare at you.”

  “Don’t mind her, Tilly,” Charlotte said. “Good company is wasted on her. The way she fidgets and stares off at nothing, they probably thought she was a half-wit.”

  “Charlotte! Apologize to Ella!” I could see the clouds of anger gathering in Emont’s face, and I wanted to head off any further bickering.

  Ella dropped her spoon with a clatter. “That is not true! Lady Rohesia told me that everyone said that I was the fairest and most delightful demoiselle they had ever seen. You’re just envious!”

  Matilda snorted and I lifted my hand saying, “Enough! You know how your quarrels upset Sir Emont. Remember your manners!”

  Ella looked sheepishly at her father, and his frown vanished. He smiled at her adoringly. “You are the most beautiful girl in the kingdom,” he told her, “as well as the sweetest. Now tell me what you think of the pie. I had the cook make it just the way you like!”

  Ella brought back from the city several fancy gowns commissioned by Lady Rohesia and bought by Abbess Elfilda. They were intricately ruffled and pleated, and some had lace at the bodice and cuffs. Cleanliness was not among Ella’s attributes, and I worried that she would ruin the expensive garments in her carelessness. I instructed her to fold them neatly and keep them in her mother’s armoire.

  One morning, Beatrice passed me with a bundle of laundry, and I spotted one of Ella’s gowns. It was a lustrous moiré, robin’s egg blue, that shimmered like rippling water. I told Beatrice to wait and sent another servant to fetch my stepdaughter.

  Ella skipped down the stairs, glad to have been freed from lessons, but her pace slowed when she saw my expression.

  I pointed to the dress in Beatrice’s bundle. “What is that?” I asked evenly.

  “A gown, my lady mother.” Ella remembered to address me politely, but she did not sound contrite.

  “And what is your gown doing in the laundry? You have had no occasion to wear it.”

  Ella shrugged. “The laundress must have picked it up by mistake.”

  “Do you think that Beatrice spends her time riffling through the armoire?”

  Beatrice began to tell us that she had found the gown on the floor, but Ella interrupted her. “How would I know how she spends her time? Anyway, the dress needs to be cleaned and pressed, and she can return it to the armoire.”

  “You see nothing wrong with leaving your dress in a heap on your dirty floor and then expecting Beatrice to clean, press, and fold it for you?”

  “I should not have left the dress on the floor. I do remember now that you asked me not to. I am sorry, Mother Bear. But it is her duty. Why else do we have servants?”

  “Do you not understand how hard Beatrice works?”

  Ella shrugged and yawned.

  “Come with me!” I grabbed Ella by her thin wrist, and her eyes widened. I dragged her down the corridor to the laundry.

  “Let me go!” Ella whimpered.

  The worried Beatrice trotted behind us.

  The damp, acrid smell of the laundry room stung like a slap across my face. I had not been back since I was fourteen years old. The new laundry girl was up to her elbows in the basin; her bobbing white bonnet gleamed against the darkness behind her. She looked at us with curiosity.

  “You may take the rest of the day to do what you like, Polly. Ella will do your work today.”

  The girl looked at me dumbly.

  “Go on, Polly. Give Ella your apron and then off with you.” I gave Ella a shove. “Put on that apron. You are going to learn how to do laundry.”

  Ella regarded me in disbelief. “You cannot mean to make me do the work of a servant! My father won’t let you do this to me!”

  I was too furious to answer her. I turned to Beatrice, who looked miserable. “Make sure that Ella does the bucking from the beginning. You have trained Polly well. Treat Ell
a the same way. She is your laundry girl today.”

  “You cannot do this to me!” Ella looked at me with tears in her eyes.

  “Yes, I can. It’s nothing more than what Polly does every single day of her life. You may come to supper tonight if you have finished your duties. I suggest that you start now.”

  Beatrice fluttered around Ella, looking concerned.

  “Do not let her get away with shirking,” I snapped at her. “If you do her work, you will have to answer to me.”

  Beatrice did not meet my eye but hung her head and nodded.

  I rode the wave of my anger out of the laundry room, but as my emotion drained away, an ache set in around my heart. I plodded through my quotidian meetings and duties, finishing in the late afternoon, and then I stood cheerlessly by a window in the great hall and watched the snow fall. The flakes were downy, and in the absence of wind, they plummeted thick and fast. Snow accumulated on the windowsill, and before long, the gargoyles wore white veils.

  Charlotte and Matilda sat by the fire, embroidering. They had brief, murmured conversations, but spent most of their time in companionable silence. Servants brought cider and took a pitcher of mulled wine to Emont, who remained in his chambers. He had been fatigued, and his skin had a dull, yellow cast; he had not been down for meals in several days.

  I was restless and uneasy. As the shadows grew long, I resolved to fetch Ella from the laundry room. No sooner had the thought entered my mind than the girl appeared like a dark phantom in the doorway. She was covered in ash except where her tears had carved bright rivulets through the soot on her cheeks. To my surprise, she ran to me and buried her face against my breast. I recoiled from the filth, but when she sobbed, I twined my fingers in her silken hair and held her close.