by Aya Ling
“Where’s Elle?”
“She went home today,” Martha says, buttoning up the back of my dress. “It’s her day off.”
“She...has another home?”
“ ‘Course she does, miss. Her mother and two brothers live in another part of town. I thought you’d know that already.”
Huh? Cinderella’s mother is alive and she has two brothers? Isn’t Lady Bradshaw supposed to be her stepmother? Then…it hits me. Elle’s last name is Thatcher. Not Bradshaw. That explains her other family.
Martha meets my eyes, and I can see that she’s frowning. Probably she’s still suspecting I have lost my mind. To get her out of the room as soon as possible, I shrug and tell her I need to practice the presentation before Pierre arrives.
The mystery of Elle’s parentage bothers me. I can’t find the godmother unless I can ascertain who her parents are. There is this adaptation of Cinderella where the godmother is a family friend, only she hides her magic so humans won’t bother her. Yeah, right. I should go to everyone in the household and ask if one of them is a fairy in disguise.
It’s too risky. Suppose the fairy godmother is still out there somewhere? I can’t be sure she will automatically pop up before the ball. If there is a ball. I still have to work on that. From what Claire and Bianca said of the prince yesterday, I’m not optimistic. Apparently he isn’t keen on marrying, and even if he is, he’s expected to marry another aristocrat.
Oh God, what can I do?
Two hours later, I’m in the hansom, a two-seated buggy half the size of our carriage. I don’t know how I did it—maybe I finally had a bit of luck, because I’d had none so far. I just tell the coachman, Van, that I want to find Elle. He seems reluctant to drive me. Turns out he’s concerned about driving me around the city alone.
“You ought not be going out unchaperoned, Miss Katriona,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It ain’t proper.”
Unchaperoned, my foot. Next thing I’ll be donning a veil and keeping my head covered.
In the end, I manage to bribe him with a lock of Bianca’s hair. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Van is in luuurve with her. Unless Van turns out to be the missing heir to some kingdom, Bianca will continue to treat him like dirt.
Lady Bradshaw has taken Bianca shopping (as if she hasn’t enough clothes already! I’m the ignored sister, and my wardrobe is enough for three girls) and won’t be back until lunch. Without their bossy presences, the servants are in good moods, and who can blame them?
So this is how I find myself clutching my bonnet (Martha was adamant that I not leave the house without it) in the wind and drinking in the sight of the city. For a moment I forget my worries. Everything is so real, yet surreal at the same time. The houses, the people, the streets. I still cannot believe I am living in a world that resembles a Jane Austen adaptation.
The hansom comes to a stop. Schoolchildren dressed in blue-and-white uniforms are meandering across the street. Several of them are happily eating cotton candy. One small girl holds a rag doll tightly. Two boys are tossing a rubber ball between them. Two middle-aged women, wearing fancy hats with feathers, are herding the children along like mother hens. In fact, they don’t look much different from fancy prep–school children in movies.
Then we’re off again. Gradually, we enter a part of the city that doesn’t look as nice. From the well-worn clothing of passersby and the stink of human waste and garbage to the run-down look of the houses, it almost seems a different world. A few children, barefoot and in rags, run past us. One stops and stares, but when I meet his eye, he scampers off like a frightened rabbit.
We approach a tiny, dilapidated house—uh—hut. It smells horrible: rotten meat, soured milk, animal dung, and smells I can’t identify. I rub my hands against my dress and try to keep my head down. What if someone tries to rob me?
“We’re here,” Van says.
I stare at the house before me, trying to ready my nerves. I don’t feel like going in. But then the door is thrown open and a young woman rushes out, nearly colliding with me. I throw out my hands and steady her shoulders.
“Miss Katriona!” Elle gasps. “What’re you doing here?”
Before I can answer, she spies Van and catches my arm. “Oh miss, can you let me borrow the vehicle just once? Please, I beg you!”
“Huh?”
“My mother’s awfully sick, and I need to have a physician for her.” Tears course down Elle’s face. “It’ll be so much quicker if I can use the hansom than flagging down an omnibus.”
I don’t see any reason to refuse her, so I push her toward the vehicle. “Of course. Let’s get the doctor.”
Van frowns. “But she ain’t allowed. Madam won’t be liking a servant using her conveyance.”
“Screw it,” I say. Both Van and Elle wear twin looks of confusion; I cough and quickly say, “I mean, this is an emergency. We can’t afford to waste time.”
Seeing that he’s still hesitating, I grab the edge of the hansom and send him a withering glare. “VAN. If anything happens to Elle’s mom because we were delayed, you’ll be responsible.”
Van’s shoulders slump. He lets out a long, resigned, defeated sigh and climbs on the sprung seat behind the hansom. “Dr. Jensen’s?”
Elle pauses; her knuckles are white against her maroon skirt. “Yes. I can’t bear to lose Mamsie.”
Van flicks his whip, and soon we’re roaring down the street. Children in dirty rags, their faces thin and haggard, jump out of the way. I bite my lip and look down on my lap.
On the way, Elle buries her face in her handkerchief, her shoulders trembling. I’m not sure what I can do, but I imitate what I’ve seen on TV. I put my hand on her arm. “Hang in there, it’s gonna be okay.”
Slowly, she raises her head. “I’m so scared, miss,” she whispers. “Mamsie has had such a hard time since Father left. If she, if she goes, I don’t know what I will do.”
I squeeze her arm. “She’ll be okay. My mom is also—” I start to talk about Mom, then remember my mother’s supposed to be Lady Bradshaw. “—your mother must be a strong woman to be taking care of the entire family. She will be strong enough to fight through this illness.”
Elle nods, but her tears continue to slide. “That’s what I tell myself too.”
The hansom halts before a large townhouse. Elle starts toward the door, but stops. She twists her hands and plucks at her plain, threadbare dress.
“D’ you think the doctor will refuse to see me?”
I take her arm and pull her along. As if I’d let her retrace her steps when we’ve come this far. I look for a buzzer, realize this is Story World, and rap my knuckles against the door instead.
The door swings open. A maid with the blankest expression I’ve ever seen peers at us.
“What’s your business?”
“We’d like to see the doctor,” I say, since Elle is still close to freaking out. “We have a sick patient who shouldn’t be moved.”
“The doctor ain’t here,” she says, her face still devoid of emotion. Maybe this comes from experience as a doctor’s parlor maid. No doubt she has her share of frantic, hysterical family members. “He’s gone to see another patient.”
And she proceeds to shut the door.
“Hey!” I put out my foot and jam it in the space between the door and the casing. Luckily, the thick leather of my boot and the woolen layering of my stocking prevent any pain.
“When will he be back?”
The maid looks annoyed.
“No idea, we’re never sure, when he’s on an emergency.”
My heart sinks. I shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing ever goes well with me in Story World.
“Pardon me, but is Doctor Jensen not currently available?”
A warm, pleasant voice, the accent cultured and refined. I turn around, my foot still wedged in the door.
SEVEN
A young man, I guess about twenty, stands behind us. He has extremely curly hair, large goofy-loo
king ears, a broad, short forehead, and soft brown eyes shaped like a doe’s. I like him right away. He seems like a person you can trust. Not far away, a carriage has pulled up behind our hansom. Another young man leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest. His expression isn’t clear from the distance, but apparently he is watching us. Perched on the box is another man who is so large and hulky that he probably could have pulled the carriage by himself.
The door swings away from my foot abruptly.
“He ain’t—isn’t here right now, Mr. Henry,” the maid says, her whole face glowing. She holds the door completely open now. “But you’re most welcome to step in and wait till he’s back.”
Whoa. Talk about double standards.
“We’d better go for another doctor,” I tell Elle. “There’s no telling when this doctor’ll return, and your mother needs help.”
She nods, but hesitates. “I don’t know any other. We always have Dr. Jensen over when Madam catches cold.”
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” Henry says. “Although I am only Dr. Jensen’s apprentice, I have practiced medicine for three years. If you can describe the patient’s symptoms, maybe there is something I can do.”
Elle takes a deep breath. “Well, she keeps vomiting, and she has to, uh, go to the latrine a lot.”
“Diarrhea, I suppose,” Henry says. “Go on, please.”
“Her eyes are sunken, her lips are dry and cracking, and her skin is awfully cold and clammy.”
“The color of her skin...does it have a bluish tint?”
“Why yes, sir.” A glimmer of hope flashes in Elle’s eyes. “You know what disease she has?”
“I cannot be absolutely certain, but it could be cholera.” Henry straightens his coat and starts toward the carriage, where the other guy is still waiting. “Lead us to your mother. Is that your vehicle over there?”
“Come on, Elle.” I take her arm and pull her toward the hansom. “Let’s go.”
We return to Elle’s house in a flurry of creaking wheels. I look over my shoulder to make sure that Henry’ carriage is following us. Thank God he didn’t change direction once we entered the poorer district.
“We’re here now.” Elle springs off the hansom. I do the same and am thankful I chose the least fancy dress to wear. God knows what Martha might say if I soiled it.
Elle pushes the door open. “Mamsie, I’ve brought a doctor to see you.”
Inside, there is only one room. One dark, dingy, dirty room. The windows are cracked, the walls decaying, and the floor is only dirt and slime. In a corner there’s a stove and a few blackened pans. In another corner, two small patched straw mattresses. A larger mattress is set beside the two, with a middle-aged woman lying on it. Her face is angular, sickly pale, and her hair straggly and streaked with white.
Elle and I start to go over to her side, but Henry stops me. “Don’t go too close; her disease may be infectious.” He takes out a handkerchief and ties it over his face. “Can you fetch me some clean water?”
“In a moment.” Elle rolls up her sleeves.
Just then a little boy, no more than five, totters into the room. “Elle!” Then, noticing us standing around, he runs and hides behind her. “They...they’re not going to take us away?”
“Of course not,” Elle soothes him. “These people have come to help us, Billy. See that man in black with a briefcase? He’s a doctor.”
“A doctor...” Billy stares. “Someone who saves people?”
“Yes, and he’s come to save Mamsie. Just wait a bit. I need to help the doctor now.” Elle pats his head. “I’ll be right back.”
Elle vanishes out the door. It is then I realize the other guy—Henry’s friend I guess—has followed us inside. I take one glance at him and my cheeks burst into flame. Whoa…where did this walking personification of hotness come from? He has the sexiest eyes ever: heavy-lidded, espresso-brown with a cinnamon undertone, framed with lush, smoky eyelashes. The rest of his features are perfect as well: oval face, strong chin, and a chiseled nose. Dark wavy hair curls down his neck. Oh, and his figure is to die for. Well over six feet, with a body that looks like a champion boxer’s. Actually, he could be a champion boxer. With a face that could give Mr. Darcy a run for his money.
But I don’t—can’t—take advantage of the chance to talk to him. He is looking at me with an impassive, appraising eye, as though I am a mathematical equation he’s trying to solve.
Instead, I squat down beside Billy. He’s awfully thin—his eyes seem to take up his face. “What’s the stuff you’re carrying?” I try to make my voice as friendly and non-threatening as possible.
He hesitates, stares at me for a few seconds, and raises his arms.
“I found three bottles today,” he says proudly. “We can exchange ‘em for a whole loaf of bread.”
I notice numerous tiny scars and scratches on his hands—not even the abundant amount of dirt can hide the injuries. “Why don’t we put them away, Billy? The glass can cut your skin.” I use the same coaxing tone as I do when Paige insists on carrying a heavy soup bowl to the table.
“Where did you find the bottles?” Darcy Guy asks.
“By the river,” Billy grins proudly. “Usually I can’t find anything but a few scraps. Today I’m bringing in more than Jimmy does.”
I catch my breath. “You don’t go to school, do you?”
Billy shakes his head.
Elle hurries in with a pan of water. “Here,” she gasps. “Got it from a well.”
Henry takes a small bottle from his briefcase, uncorks it, and lets a few drops mix with the water.
“What’re you doing?” Elle cries, looking alarmed.
“That’s iodine, a kind of chemical,” I say. “He’s purifying the water so it’ll be safe to drink.”
Henry stares at me. I’m not facing Darcy Guy, but I can feel his gaze on me as well.
“How do you know this?” Henry asks, looking confused. “Few educated gentlemen, unless they’re in medical practice, have heard of iodine. To hear of it from a young lady like you is…remarkable.”
Crap. I forgot that in this world, normal people don’t take chemistry.
“I...I read it in a book,” I stammer. “A long time ago, I don’t remember which one.”
The sick woman starts coughing, which arrests everyone’s attention. Henry gives her a dose of medicine from another bottle and pats her back.
“Mamsie...will she be all right?” Elle asks, a tremor in her voice.
“As long as she’s taken good care of, she will be fine,” Henry says. He gives her a warm, encouraging smile. “Make sure she consumes clean water and washes her hands before she eats. Cholera is caused by bacterial infection through water, so you would not want to make things worse. She will recover, but it will take months of close supervision.”
Elle and Billy look at each other—despair is written in their eyes. I wish I could transport them into the modern world. We never have to worry about diseases like this.
“All...all right,” Elle says. “We’ll do our best. How much is that bottle? The thing you use to make water clean?”
“I can...” I begin, but Henry interrupts me. He writes something on a slip of paper and hands it to Elle.
“You may pay in multiple installments. Don’t worry, I won’t charge any interest or set a deadline.”
Elle nods. “Thank you, Mr.—er—”
“Henry,” he says, smiling. “Just Henry will be fine.”
I give myself a mental slap. Of course this is the better way. From the look on her face, Elle isn’t the kind of person who happily accepts charity. She earns a wage, however meager it might be, and prefers not to rely on others.
Still, my heart goes out to her and her family. Little Billy, still clinging to his sister’s skirt with his scarred hands. Elle’s mom, lying on a dirty mattress in a one-room hut. And did Billy mention he has another brother called Jimmy? He can’t be much older if he earns less than Billy collecting
glass bottles.
“What kind of imbeciles are running this country?” I can’t help it, the words burst from my lips.
Henry chokes—he seems to be trying not to laugh. I don’t get it. I am totally serious. I’ve seen lots of horrible things happening on the news, but I’ve never witnessed one tragic event personally. Even if this is Story World, it feels real. So real that I want to puke.
Elle tugs on my sleeve and shakes her head, but I’m not done yet.
“Seriously.” I wave my hand at Billy. “A child his age should be in school, but he’s out scavenging glass? Isn’t there any charity that can help him? Isn’t there a law that states children must be educated?”
Silence falls. I am breathing heavily; I expect my face is bloated red and my freckles must stand out horribly. I must look wild and unprincipled and unladylike before these two gorgeous men, but I can’t say I regret it. I’m far from being philanthropic; I don’t volunteer or organize funding campaigns or anything, but I just can’t keep quiet when looking at all those scars on Billy.
Darcy Guy turns toward me with an unreadable expression. I stare back, willing myself not to back down.
“Certainly there is much to improve, lady.” Darcy’s voice is rich, warm, like dark chocolate. “The government has made too many excuses under the pleas for progress, ignoring the sacrifices that go behind the scenes.”
Henry turns to Elle. “With your permission, I shall find a respectable craftsman and see if he can take young Billy here as an apprentice.”
Tears glisten in Elle’s eyes. For a moment, she appears even more beautiful than Bianca, and that’s saying something. “That’ll be lovely, Mr. Henry. Oh, I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
Henry’s ears become pink and he deliberately coughs as he turns back to Elle’s mother.
It is then I remember I came here to inquire after Elle’s ancestry, but seeing her mother sleeping peacefully, I suppose it’ll have to wait. How long have I been here? Do I have time to return before dinner?