Though I had no great love for my husband, Emont’s departure left a hole in my life as well. It was not a hole in my daily routine, for I was used to running the manor on my own, and Emont had rarely been good company. Still, after his death, something was conspicuously missing, like food that lacked flavor or a colorless sunset. When I passed by his empty chamber each night, to my surprise, my throat tightened and tears came to my eyes.
Worse than sadness was the fear that his death brought me. I lost my home when Fernan died, and I was sick with worry that my daughters and I would lose our home a second time. The manor belonged to Ellis Abbey, and while I was an able manager, Mother Elfilda would not pass up the opportunity to bestow lordship of the manor on the son of a wealthy nobleman willing to make a donation to her abbey. I was approaching the end of my childbearing years, and though I was still vigorous, I would not attract a husband without money of my own. Marriage had saved me once, but it would not save me again.
I woke each morning from restless sleep, my head full of wool and my heart racing, imagining the clop of hoofbeats in the courtyard, fearing that the messenger had come. My only hope was that the abbess might wait to transfer stewardship of Aviceford Manor until she found a suitable husband for Ella. Ella was of marriageable age at fifteen, and the abbess would not expend the effort to situate Ella twice if she could avoid it.
I did not share my worries with any of the girls, but Charlotte and Matilda were more than usually solicitous; they must have felt my fear. Ella was, as ever, in her own world. In her initial throes of grief, she spent several days in bed, but she gradually emerged, taking up her old routines. She even began to join us for meals more often than not.
Dressing for mourning was, oddly, Ella’s greatest hardship. To my eye, she looked no less lovely in black than in any other color, but she complained bitterly about her wardrobe. Fashion was a fascination for Ella; in scholarly soliloquies, she told us about silkworms, the cleverest materials for buttons, or the most famous shoemakers in the kingdom. It should have been no surprise that she did not want to be told what to wear, but I never understood Ella’s passions. While she would lecture us enthusiastically about the warp and weft of satin fabric or the art of making brilliant dyes, she was silent on almost every other subject to the point of mutism. I thought that discouraging her obsession was good for her.
In addition, though Ella had never been a vain child, I worried that she might become overly enamored of her own appearance. Ella blossomed late into womanhood; around the time of her father’s death, she filled out the bodice of her gowns for the first time, and the line of her waist curved sweetly where it had so recently been straight and unyielding. Perhaps she wanted to dress in a way that flattered her new figure, but I wasn’t sure that was best for her. Besides, even beyond propriety, I had good reasons to insist that Ella observe the traditional mourning period.
Ella accused me of injustice. It incensed her that Charlotte and Matilda wore fashionable clothes while she could not. In truth, I battled my own sense of injustice every day, the nagging pain, like a rotten tooth, of having to compare my daughters to the kingdom’s most beautiful girl. Even if it couldn’t help Charlotte or Matilda one whit, it may be that I wanted to see Ella’s radiance just the tiniest bit dimmed.
Our worst argument came in early spring, toward the end of her mourning. For the hundredth time, Ella asked, “When shall I be able to wear real clothing again?” She paced irritably and did not look at me when she spoke.
A light rain pattered against the windows in the great hall. Charlotte and Matilda were bent over a game of chess. The board with figures carved from white and dark stone belonged to Frère Joachim; the girls had convinced him to teach them how to play. Ella had no patience for the game.
“You are wearing real clothing,” I said to Ella. “As to when your mourning will end, that will be on May Day, as I have told you many times before.”
She pouted prettily. Ella was more beautiful than she had ever been. Her skin was luminous and unblemished, her eyes clear and lustrous. Although she had lost her childhood leanness, she remained delicate and slender, with dainty hands and feet. Her golden hair was her crowning glory, and even in mourning she often wore it loose, tumbling down her back in silken waves. I insisted that Gisla dress her hair when there were guests, but otherwise I let her wear it unbound and uncovered.
Matilda looked up from her game of chess to where Ella had stopped pacing before the fire. “Mourning dress suits you. You look like a sleek little raven.”
“Exactly. Ravens are ugly.”
“Don’t be vain,” Charlotte said. “Beauty is as beauty does.”
“It’s not vain to point out that this isn’t fair! Your mother buys you new gowns but none for me! I have to wear these horrid black monstrosities. I look like a corpse!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, child.” I could not stand to hear someone so blessed be anything but grateful for God’s gift. I would have given my right arm if that could have restored Matilda’s face to even ordinary plainness.
“Why won’t you buy me new gowns?”
“I have told you many times that I shall buy you new gowns when your mourning is over.”
“I shall have Lady Rohesia bring new gowns for me even if you will not buy me any.”
“You will do no such thing. This is not a time for frivolity, but a time to honor your father.”
“If my father were still alive, he would make you act fairly! You only care about Charlotte and Matilda, and you give everything to them.”
“Now you are being silly. You have everything that you could possibly need.”
“You gave them my chamber and made me sleep in the attic!”
“You could have moved back downstairs anytime if you were willing to share.”
With an exasperated sigh, Charlotte said, “You like having the garret all to yourself!”
“It’s also not fair that I have to take lessons while Charlotte and Matilda sit around in fancy gowns playing stupid games, and anyway the gowns are wasted on them, for nobody ever sees them, and even if they did—well.” She gestured toward her stepsisters.
Charlotte’s voice hardened. “We can’t all be as beautiful as Cinderella.”
Ella’s face flushed, and she said, “You are all mean to me! You treat me like a servant in my own home now that my parents are dead! You are glad that Father died and left you in charge!”
“How dare you say such a thing!” My voice shook with anger.
“Because it’s true! You make me sleep in the attic like a servant, you make me wear these rags, you even made me do the laundry, which was the most horrible day of my life, one I can never forget, because everyone keeps calling me Cinderella!”
I took a deep breath, pushing my fury back down. To stop them from trembling, I tucked my fingers under my arms. I managed to calm myself, but an adamantine coldness filled the void where my anger had been.
“I shall forgive you, because you do not understand what you are saying. You should thank God for all that He has given to you—”
“I shan’t thank you! You give me nothing!”
My hand shot out before I could stop it, and I cuffed the side of her head forcefully. Ella’s mouth snapped shut, and her eyes widened.
“I do not want to hear another word. Get out. Now.”
Ella glared at me with impotent rage, and then she fled.
Charlotte and Matilda sat frozen at the chessboard, staring at me.
“Mind yourselves!” I said.
Matilda raised her eyebrows impertinently, but they turned back to their game.
I retreated to the courtyard, where a listless drizzle pricked at dark, glassy puddles. A lone crow tore at a damp pile of kitchen refuse. The clouds relented, allowed weak rays of light to escape, and then smothered them again. I paced in circles and watched the dreary scene for as long as it took to convince myself that I had done nothing wrong.
Had it not been for these argum
ents with Ella, I might have been more sympathetic to her desire to attend the prince’s ball at Cothay Manor. The gala was an unusual event. There had never before been a gathering of such scale and luxury within the holdings of Ellis Abbey, and the abbey had never before sponsored a social event. I am sure that Abbess Elfilda would have quibbled with the use of the word “sponsor,” but everyone knew the ball would not have taken place without her initiative.
We first heard about the ball from Gisla, who was always abreast of gossip. Though she was frail and hard of hearing, she made it her business to know everything that went on at the three manors belonging to the abbey.
Gisla was still struggling out of her cloak when she found us in the great hall, where we were having dinner.
“Lady Agnes!” she called out in her reedy voice.
I was annoyed that she had let herself into the hall without speaking with the chamberlain, but from her eager expression and breathlessness, it was apparent that she could barely contain her news. She hobbled toward us quickly.
“What is it, Gisla?” I asked.
“A ball, my lady! At Cothay Manor!” She looked around the table at our puzzled faces with a gap-toothed grin. “The abbess is organizing it in honor of Prince Henry. And she’s invited everyone from hereabouts.”
“Everyone including us?” Matilda asked.
“Why, yes!”
“Whatever is the occasion?” I asked. “It is very strange for the abbess to host a party for a prince.”
Gisla gave a wheezy laugh. She enjoyed being the messenger. “You would not believe the rumors! The goose girl at Cothay told me the abbess is trying to find the prince a wife. I hated to be the one to tell her that goose girls were not invited to the ball. Sweet thing.”
“I thought Prince Henry was already betrothed?”
“There was a foreign girl, maybe a countess? I think she died. Prince Henry has so many older brothers in line for the throne, I don’t doubt that it’s hard to find him a fancy wife. But a king would not be looking to marry his son off to some country girl! That is just goose girl nonsense. No, I’m sure the abbess wants a favor from the king, and Prince Henry is just the one who got sent to visit Ellis Abbey.”
“Is it true that he is so handsome?” Charlotte asked.
“I sure have never laid these old eyes on him, but it’s said that he claimed the maidenhood of many a lady-in-waiting!” Gisla looked suddenly guilty and clapped her gnarled hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t say such things in front of Lady Elfilda.”
Ella did not seem to be paying attention. She ate placidly, a dreamy expression on her face.
“This is so exciting!” Charlotte said. “We may go to the ball, mayn’t we, Mother?”
“When is the ball?” I asked.
“The Saturday after All Fools’ Day.”
“Oh. You and Ella will still be in mourning,” Matilda said.
I sighed. “Yes, that is true.”
“Please, Mother, may we all go to the ball? Ella can plan what we shall wear!”
Ella lit up and joined the conversation. “We can have ball gowns made!” she exclaimed.
“Yes! Will you help us to choose fabric and designs?” Charlotte said.
“Of course! I already have some ideas. We will need to know our budget . . .”
“Ella, our mourning doesn’t end until May Day,” I reminded her.
“But I want to go to the ball!”
I sighed again. “It would be unseemly for you to go while still in mourning, and you are too young to go without a proper chaperone. Do you think it appropriate for me to chaperone you in my widow’s weeds when all you want is a new gown? You hate crowds and parties.”
Gisla glared at me. Ella’s face clouded over, and for a moment I thought she would cry, but then she surprised me.
“I shall help Lottie and Tilly with their gowns, then,” she said. “It will be such fun!”
“Mother, can’t Ella come too?” Matilda asked.
I wavered for a moment, but I did not give in. I wanted Ella to learn patience.
One fresh April day, the abbess’s messenger came to Aviceford Manor. I was surveying the herb garden when he crested the orchard hill. The apple trees were thick with blossoms; a breeze scattered pale petals like snowflakes around him. The gardener prattled on about sage and mint, not noticing that I had turned to stone.
The messenger dismounted and handed his reins to a boy. As he walked toward the door, I wondered how he would ask for me. Lady Agnes? The lady of the manor? Or was I simply Agnes again, the penniless and homeless mother of two unfortunate young women?
I excused myself to the gardener and walked stiffly to the front entrance. When I overtook the messenger in the foyer, my panic was like a hand around my throat, strangling me, preventing me from speaking. The messenger, a slender lad of no more than sixteen, bowed respectfully. He handed me a parchment from his satchel, telling me that it was from Abbess Elfilda.
Not wanting anyone to witness me reading the letter, I instructed the boy to find some food in the kitchen, and I took the letter to my chamber. My hands trembled as I unfolded the small parchment. There were only two lines written in a cramped, neat hand. Elfilda will be excused from mourning to attend the ball. All necessary arrangements are being made.
I fell back on the bed, laughing with relief. A reprieve! We were safe, at least for a time.
My next thought was one of annoyance. Ella had evidently sent a complaint to her godmother through Lady Rohesia. She was privileged by birth and would always have the upper hand. There was nothing I could do about it.
I put off telling Ella about her godmother’s message for as long as I could. I suppose it was petty; I did not want to have to swallow my pride. We were expecting a visit from Lady Rohesia the week before the ball, however, and I had to tell Ella by then.
One evening at supper, I decided to get it over with. “Abbess Elfilda has requested your presence at the ball,” I told her. “I imagine that Lady Rohesia will bring a gown for you to wear.”
Ella gasped, and then she clapped her hands together. “How wonderful! I wish that I had some say in my gown though. This new fashion of lacing the sleeves at the shoulder is all wrong. I do hope Lady Rohesia won’t bring one of those.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, but Matilda smiled, saying, “You see, I told you, dreams can come true!”
“I have learned all of the dances,” Ella said. “I should teach you the steps!” She bounced in her chair.
“Nobody will dance with us,” Charlotte said dryly. Ella’s childlike mannerisms irked her.
Ella smiled. “Probably not, but you never know.” She laughed. “Do you suppose that the prince will dance with me?”
“He will fall in love with you directly, like everyone does, I’m sure,” Matilda said.
“I would not be too glad about dancing with the prince,” I said. “Though he may be charming, he has no reputation for integrity.”
“But he is so handsome,” Charlotte said, winking at Ella.
“And rich!” Matilda added.
“Rich only matters if he marries you,” I said grimly. “Handsome matters not at all.”
Lady Rohesia arrived as planned, and she brought with her a gown that surpassed Ella’s highest standards. The fabric was an opalescent water silk that shone like mother-of-pearl; glass beads sewn into the bodice glinted like diamonds. The shoes matched the extravagance of the gown, as they were encrusted with so many beads that they appeared to be made entirely from glass. Though the slippers were uncommonly heavy, Ella adored them. When Lady Rohesia was not watching, she danced across the great hall, fiery glitter scattering from her pretty feet.
Lady Rohesia told us dourly that the abbess would send a carriage for Ella, that she herself would accompany Ella to the ball, but that she would not act as chaperone. Tilting back her head, the noblewoman looked down her beakish nose at me. I gathered that I was expected to chaperone Ella, and that my daughters and I we
re to make our own way to Cothay Manor. This last part did not bother me, as I loathed the lady’s company. I would wear my widow’s weeds to the ball, and nobody would expect me to dance, or even to make conversation. Ella would soon tire of the noise and commotion, and then we would come home. Anyway, I was curious to see the prince. I had never met a member of the royal family before, and it didn’t seem likely that I would have the opportunity again.
On the day of the ball, Lady Rohesia’s maid dressed Ella’s hair. It took two hours for her to weave pearls through a labyrinth of delicate braids, but the effect was breathtaking. Poor Charlotte and Matilda had only Gisla and my uncouth chambermaid to help with their hair. The well-meaning servants should have kept to the common hairstyles they knew best, but in an effort to do something special for the girls, they created oddly lumpy coiffures that lacked both sophistication and simplicity.
Charlotte wore a pale blue silk gown that set off her chestnut complexion and raven hair. In typical fashion, Matilda chose fabric as yellow as summer irises. Despite her ugliness, Matilda never hunched her shoulders or shrank from anyone’s gaze. Both girls had learned at the abbey to carry themselves tall, and with the flush of excitement on their faces and joy in their luminous eyes, they looked lovely to me.
Even if Charlotte and Matilda had been true beauties, however, they would have faded like ghosts next to Ella, just as the moon disappears when the sun rises in all of its glory. The older girls gasped as they beheld their resplendent stepsister at the top of the stairs. Ella stepped carefully down to where we stood and twirled self-consciously so that we could admire her from every angle. It is said that no woman since Bathsheba has been as alluring as Ella on the night of the prince’s ball, and I believe that to be true. She was so exquisite, so sublimely beautiful, that it was impossible to look away.
All the Ever Afters Page 28