“As am I. Come on, girl, come measure me and give me your thoughts on a suitable rig. You haven’t a moment to spare.”
The words were prophetic. Madam Fire Hair was the first of three new patrons that came in that afternoon, all looking for rush costumes for the first ball. Ella was pleased with the new work, but when she thought of all that had to be done in a week she groaned. First things first, however. She was going to have to pay for the materials for all these costumes, somehow.
The shop front was long and narrow, and in the rear behind a curtain was her fitting area. Ella drifted down the aisle to the back, where a beautiful full length mirror hung on the wall. The mirror had belonged to her mother, and Ella often sat and thought while staring into it. When she was a girl, after Dame Merriweather began to tell her of her mother, she would hold long conversations with the glass, pretending her mother sat on just the other side.
Today the mirror reflected her form back at her. Ella saw the stray wisps of chestnut hair trailing trailing from her careful coiffure, doubtless blown free in her hurried trip across town. Her brows drew together over worried, brown eyes, and her face looked tight and pinched. Her small shoulders hunched in, while her tiny hands twisted nervously. A portrait of a young woman in distress.
“What can I sell, Mamma?” While she spoke Ella absently ran her fingers over the frame. The silver filigree was twisted into vines and leaves that framed small scenes from a popular fable. Ella’s favorite scene was one near the top of the mirror, where the beautiful young girl steps through her own looking glass and into a world of enchantment.
“None of the things made by Millicent or the girls are worth that much, and I’ve already sold all the little knickknacks we had that would fetch any price at all.” It had been hard taking the small, beautiful items—left over from the time when her father was alive—and selling them to the pawn broker; but Ella had done it. Now she only wished she had kept something in reserve. Something that could buy her the materials to sew her sisters out of this mess.
Millicent would never agree to selling the furniture. The things they never used—such as the more esoteric cooking equipment—were old and worn, and beginning to rust. Her wardrobe had no value, her belongings were all second or third-hand already, she needed her stock to continue her business—
Her fingers caught on a tiny silver thorn amidst the roses, and her attention was drawn back to the fine silver work. It really was a magnificent mirror...
It really was a magnificent mirror.
A valuable mirror.
Ella started to shake her head. Not this. But she knew it was the answer she had been looking for. This mirror was well made and beautifully framed. It would fetch a pretty sum if she sold it, enough to buy materials for these orders and pay the papermakers. Ella knew in her gut what she had to do, but it was hard—so hard. For just a moment she laid her cheek against the smooth polished surface.
“I’m sorry Mamma. It’s the only way.” As she whispered the words a tear rolled down her face, and Ella imagined ghostly fingers brushing it away, and insubstantial lips laying a loving kiss on her cheek. Though the tears still fell, Ella felt comforted. She knew her mother would have approved.
CHAPTER FIVE
Max took a deep breath when the steward told him the king was ready to receive him. He needed to play this just right. He carefully arranged a bewildered look on his face and followed the steward into the king’s study. Heavy oak paneling and red velvet cushions made the room seem like a miniature throne room: an impression that did nothing to help soothe Max’s nerves. He gave himself a little mental shake, and offered the king a bow in greeting.
“You Majesty, I’ve come to ask your help.”
“Of course Max, what’s the trouble?”
“I’m trying to select a gift for Vivienne, but I can’t determine anything she really wants. I was hoping you might have an idea.”
The king laughed. “I’m not sure what sort of help I can be. Normally Vivi is full of requests, but she’s only asked me for one thing over and over ever since the weather improved. She wants to go on a hunting expedition.”
“She is quite a good shot with her bow, Majesty.”
“Oh, yes, it’s not that, I just haven’t wanted her to be out alone with only the huntsmen to protect her.” King Regal gave him a thoughtful look. “If you like, I could send you both on a week long hunt as a wedding gift.”
Excellent. Vivi had told him the king would think of this, but he was relieved that she was right. It would have been awkward leading the king around to it. “That would be marvelous, your Majesty.” Now to bait the hook. “It doesn’t solve my problem, though. I am still lacking a gift for your daughter.” Max waited. Knowing the king, any moment now—
“Give her hunting gear, Max! While you’re at it, give her a sturdier horse, too. That palfrey she’s got is only good for short rides.”
“What a wonderful suggestion, your Majesty!”
Max excused himself, feeling extremely self-satisfied. With one quick conversation he had gotten the king to instruct him to provide Vivienne with everything she would need.
***
“Well, you were right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’m the princess. I’m always right. Even when I’m wrong it’s your job to tell me I’m right anyway.” Vivi was arranging her hair for dinner and not really paying attention to Max, who had just dropped by. “What am I right about, again?”
“Everything, obviously.”
Vivienne inspected herself closely in the mirror. Apparently she found nothing wrong with her raven-haired, violet-eyed perfection, so she heaved a mighty sigh and turned to her friend. “Don’t be tiresome Max, feed my ego. How have I been vindicated this particular time?”
“Your father has instructed me to gear you for a hunting expedition.”
The princess’s teasing attitude suddenly fell away, and she laughed joyfully and gave Max a brief but enthusiastic hug. “Well done, Max! I knew you could get him to suggest it. You’re brilliant.”
“As brilliant as you?”
“Well, almost, anyway.”
The co-conspirators grinned at each other in mischievous glee.
“So, what color do you want your horse to be?”
“Purple.”
“Vivi. Please.”
“What? It’s the royal color.”
“It won’t exactly blend with the mountain terrain.”
“I don’t care.”
“Also, they don’t make them in purple.”
“They don’t?” The wide-eyed, innocent look the princess gave him made Max snigger. “Very well then, pick whatever you think best, my darling betrothed.”
“Fine, I’ll get you a mule.”
“A mule?” Vivienne was startled.
“I think it will suit your temper admirably.”
“A mule.” The princess’ eyes narrowed in irritation.
“What? I hear they come in purple.”
Vivi dove for her cushions, and Max fled the room before she could hurl them. Her normally impassive guard gave Max a bewildered look when he heard the thuds on the door to the hallway. As the guardsman went charging into the room to check on Vivienne’s royal well-being, Max laughed and sauntered off, whistling a dancing tune.
CHAPTER SIX
Ella’s needle flashed in the lamp light as her hands drove it over and over into the heavy, felted broadcloth she was working on. Each night this week she had fallen into bed exhausted, only to force herself up again a few hours later with the sunrise. It had taken almost an entire day to sell the mirror and purchase cloth for all the costumes. For the last two days, Ella had let the hearths in the house grow cold and left her stepmother and stepsisters to feed themselves as they could—she’d had no time to cook for them. All of the orders had been picked up now, and Ella had spoken with each maid who came to fetch a costume, making sure that the girls all knew how they should be worn.
In the attic of
the Emberton town house, Ella was finally putting the finishing touches on her family’s costumes. She looked with satisfaction at the three dress forms holding the outfits. The first ball was the Paupers’ Ball, with all the attendees dressed like the inhabitants of the lowest rungs of society. It was a nice conceit, though Ella suspected the nobles of the kingdom would make poverty look very clean and pretty. She had certainly done so for Beatrice, Prudence, and Millicent.
Beatrice was going to be dressed as a tavern wench, with her skirts kirted up to show her legs, her blouse scooped low to display her bosom, and a very stout leather belt cinched tight to give the illusion of more waist than that to which she was rightfully privileged. The deep burgundy and rich brown fabrics were heavy and lush; they would look marvelous on the dance floor.
Prudence had opted to be a milk maid, and Ella had spent one long night sewing enough frills onto the snowy white peasant’s blouse that even Prudence would look well endowed. The forest green skirt fell in heavy velvet folds that stopped just above the petticoat’s white lace ruffles; Prudence’s legs, bared to the calves, would be covered with delicate white stockings to which Ella had added thin green ribbons which wound around in spirals.
Millicent’s costume, though, was the true masterpiece, at least as far as Eleanor was concerned. Millicent was attending the Paupers’ Ball as a baker woman, and her dark blue gown hid an amazing number of undergarments all designed to restrain her overly generous figure. The square neckline was cut low, allowing Millicent’s more obvious assets to be viewed, while the V of the waist hid many of her flaws. The gown had sleeves that were turned up and pressed, so that Millicent’s hands—which were her only delicate and truly pretty feature—would be displayed to full advantage. Ella had rummaged among the stairwells one afternoon and found a real prize: a beautifully embroidered apron. It was left over from Millicent’s embroidery phase, and after being washed and starched it made an excellent addition to the costume.
Ella was just finishing Millicent’s hem, and then she would be done. The tastefully dark blue fabric was hard to see in the lamplight, but Ella worked on, knowing that soon she would be able to seek her bed. As she bit off the final thread, the bells of the city chimed out the hour—not so much late at night as hideously early in the morning—and Ella thought wryly that it was a good thing she was finally finished. She could sleep the day away, and then rise in the afternoon to prepare both herself and the ladies for the ball.
Prepare... herself... Ella looked wildly about the attic, as though if she looked hard enough she would find it, but her heart plummeted.
She had forgotten her own costume.
With tears of sheer exhaustion in her eyes Ella walked over to the wall and began pulling fabrics. Her bed would have to wait.
***
Ella relaxed back into the seat of the hired carriage and took a deep breath. She had finally fallen into bed mid-morning, hoping to sleep until late afternoon, but her stepsisters had roused her after only a few hours, clamoring for her assistance with their toilettes. Ella had spent two hours artfully tousling Beatrice’s hair and almost as long carefully painting her face, and in the end Beatrice resembled the ideal of tavern maidenhood. Prudence’s hair fell in two thick braids down her back, each plaited and bound with yellow and green ribbons, and Ella had woven the same ribbons in intricate knots around her face, making her look delicately pale, rather than pasty white. Even Millicent had asked Ella for her help, and Ella had enjoyed giving her stepmother a gracefully low knot in her hair and some artfully placed “flour” smudges to complete the look.
Ella was proud of what she had accomplished for her family, but even with the early start she had little time left to see to her own appearance. In the wee hours of the morning she had decided a simple shift and a large woolen wrap made an excellent costume for a matchgirl, and they only took a few hours to piece together. She added to that her own sewing basket, emptied and filled with matches, and her outfit was complete. She left her hair down and used no cosmetics, and still she was barely ready to go when the carriage arrived. It didn’t matter though; she was pleased. Her stepsisters would have every advantage her hands could provide as they trolled for husbands, and she could find an out-of-the-way corner and rest. A most satisfactory situation for everyone.
***
It seemed as though there were miles of carriages winding towards the palace grounds. Each carriage carried its own light, and they made a twinkling pathway up to the gloriously lit castle. As the Embertons’ hired coach pulled through the massive stone gates into the courtyard, pages and squires, dressed as street urchins and buskers, directed each driver to an empty space where his passengers could disembark. Ella watched in amusement as a new group of costumed children poured into the courtyard and took over the duties there, while the young busker who had helped her descend gave a shout of glee and ran off in the direction of the music. Even the palace staff would have an opportunity to join the celebration in honor of the Princess’s betrothal.
At the entrance to the ball, a majordomo dressed as a one-legged beggar was announcing the guests. Each guest was announced with the same gravity, and Ella struggled to keep a straight face on hearing “Mr. Edward Treacher, the Dwimple Street Fishmonger” pronounced in grandiose tone. At the top of the grand staircase they paused to be introduced to the crowd, “Mrs. Millicent Emberton of the East Side Embertons, and her daughters, Miss Emberton, Miss Beatrice, and Miss Prudence.” Ella gasped at the sight spread out before them, and to either side she heard Beatrice and Prudence doing the same.
The ballroom was aglow with hundreds of candles, their flames dancing in the polished crystal holders. Light shone off of the gilt carvings that framed each door and window, all of which were thrown open to allow the ball-goers access to the rooms and gardens beyond the ballroom. Tables groaning with food were placed around the room, and Ella could see more set up in nearby rooms, all laden with golden platters from which heavenly scents emerged. On the far wall an orchestra played in their balcony, and below them the marble floor of the ballroom was filled with dancers, swirling about in their Paupers’ finery. Above the dancers hung a giant chandelier, glittering brightly on the beautiful scene.
Millicent was the first to recover herself. “Come girls, let’s see if we can push our way through the throng, and find partners for the next dance.” Prudence and Beatrice eagerly agreed, but Ella demurred.
“I’ll join you in a bit, Stepmother, I’m going to visit the edibles first.”
“Ella.” Millicent gave her a stern look, “it is simply not the done thing. You must find a dance partner and ask him to fetch you a plate after you’ve taken a turn with him on the floor.”
Ella was too tired and hungry to get angry. “Stepmother, I have worked myself to the bone preparing for this ball. If I don’t eat something first I will not make it through a turn on the floor. You must excuse me.”
Millicent frowned, but said nothing further, and Ella took the moment to escape. She didn’t really want to dance, it was just an elaborate ritual for flirting, but she hadn’t been lying to her stepmother. Her schedule over the past week had forced her to skip several meals, and the day before she hadn’t eaten at all. If she was going to stay on her feet for the rest of this ball she was going to have to eat something. Maybe a number of somethings. Casting about, she spotted a table that was not being swarmed with guests, probably because it was tucked in a side room far from the dancing. Perfect. She wouldn’t have to elbow anyone out of the way while she was stuffing herself.
When she reached the table Ella was overwhelmed at the variety arrayed before her. She set her sewing basket of matches to one side and began to survey her options, but somewhere between the roasted squab in rose petal sauce and the whole grilled kid goat, she gave up attempting to pick what she wanted to eat and just started trying everything. She was reaching towards a particularly flaky-looking puff pastry when she heard a low, masculine chuckle off to her right.
; “Unhand that cream puff, you urchin. I have set my sights on it and I will not be denied.”
Ella froze, hand hovering over the pastry, and raised her eyes to the man standing on the other side of the banquet table. A broad grin adorned his handsome face, and the twinkle in his eyes as he waited for her reply sparked something in her. She cast a quick glance at his costume—an assortment of rags—and replied saucily, “But beggars can’t be choosers.” Snatching up the treat, she went on, “Particularly not when the urchin gets there first.” With that she flashed him a grin of her own, and stuffed the cream puff in her mouth.
The man laughed, and helped himself to a chocolate-laced puff. “I thought I would have sole claim to everything in such an out of the way spot.”
Ella gave a shrug. “I was hungry, and I didn’t want to wade through the masses. It seems all the other ladies out there are either hunting husbands for themselves or chaperoning someone who is.”
“And you are neither hunting nor chaperoning?”
“I find my desire for a husband vastly outweighed by my desire for puff pastry.”
Her companion laughed, and gave a little bow of his head, as though acknowledging a point.
“And why might you be here, with so many ladies in need of partners for the waltz?”
“I am hiding.” This was said somewhat grimly, and Ella fancied she knew why. He was young, and the rags that made up his costume were obviously cut from the finest silk, displaying a wealth that most of the folk attending the ball only dreamed about. More than that, he was handsome. Not tall, perhaps, but possessed of blue eyes and a wicked smile that made even Ella’s heart skip a beat. She could only imagine what it would do to a girl in a more receptive frame of mind. His body looked neat and trim beneath the layers of silk “rags”, and his fine mop of curly hair was thick and dark. He would have been a prime catch for any of the young ladies rabidly circling the dance floor, and keeping in the semi-shadows in an empty room must have been one of the few ways to avoid their notice and the subsequent inevitable pursuit. She did wonder, for a moment at least, why he had attended the ball if he wanted so little to be seen, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately. After all, women were not the only ones to be pressured into things.
Before the Midnight Bells Page 3