Before the Midnight Bells

by Jessica Woodard

  Max felt the full weight of the Dame’s words. He had been hiding it from himself, hoping that somehow he could get through this last ball, and then somehow make it through a decent period without anyone suspecting, and then introduce Ella to his world. He had been hoping that Ella would understand, when he got around to explaining himself; that she would willingly engage in some sort of subterfuge to make everything come out all right. Now he felt guilt come crushing down. This was crazy. He was going to ruin her—either her life or her reputation. It was with a heavy heart that he replied.

  “Madam, you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right, boy. I’m always right. It’s one of my special gifts.” The words were firm, but Max sensed great sympathy behind them. She must know how his thoughts and feelings were at war inside him.

  “I should have told her long ago. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew that would be the end of it. And I... I didn’t want it to end.”

  Ella’s Godmother looked at him with piercing eyes. When she spoke again her voice was beautifully gentle.

  “All you can do, my lad, is tell her the truth, and let her choose her own way. But don’t give up hope. Sometimes things do come out all right in the end. Sometimes.” With her point made Dame Merriweather stalked back out of his garden the way she had come.

  Max watched his visitor leave, and then turned for the house. The Dame was right. He had been foolish. More than foolish. Ella deserved to have the truth from him before she unwittingly followed him into ruination.

  He wanted nothing more than to run to her home and tell her everything, but that would only make matters worse. If he was seen calling on a young woman rumors would fly faster than bullets, and Ella would be the subject of the most vicious ones. Worse, if he visited her again at night he would only compound his error. The compulsion to touch her was strong even when they were standing in a crowded room. If they were alone in her attic he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, and once he touched her... Well, last night had shown them both what happened then.

  He’d been interrupted more than once in Ella’s shop. If a patron walked in on them at the wrong moment, it could raise almost as many rumors as if he visited her at home. Mrs. Minglesall would be concerned if she came in and Ella was upset; she was bound to make a fuss. And Lord Durns’ mistress would actually recognize him. If she saw him making her seamstress cry, no telling what rumors she might spread around court.

  He would have to wait until the ball, when they could be in public together without raising suspicion. The thought of waiting five more days to see her made him want to pull his hair out, but he could think of no better way. He penned a hasty note and called his valet. He only hoped that Ella would forgive him, when she finally understood.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ella was singing as her needle flew along. She loved the costume she was making for Madam Fire Hair, but the cause of her joy had nothing to do with clothing. From the moment she had woken that morning she felt as though she were floating on air. The monumental task of completing a score of costumes seemed trivial; because nothing could be impossible when she was this happy.

  During her usual morning ritual of packing up materials to take to the shop, Ella had found Max’s cravat on her work table. Underneath had been a short note:

  Wonderful Ella, I’ll see you soon.

  Ella had tucked his cravat into her sewing basket, and all morning long, every time she caught sight of it, her heart filled with excitement. She would see him, soon. Perhaps even today—they hadn’t discussed his costume for the final ball; he might visit the shop today to make his decisions. Or, and when Ella thought of this she blushed, perhaps she would see him tonight. After climbing four trees surely he had the hang of it. It wouldn’t be so very difficult to climb just one more.

  The bell above the door tinkled, and Ella looked up. For a moment she was disappointed it wasn’t Max, but she quashed the feeling firmly. It was early yet, and she couldn’t get so lost in Max that she forgot all her other obligations.

  Madam Fire Hair came in with an exclamation of delight when she saw what was in Ella’s hands.

  “How marvelous! I must admit, I had some reservations when you described it to me, but you were right. I will be a sensation at the ball.”

  Ella was working on the headpiece of the costume. She was stitching a delicate ceramic asp, reared back to strike, on the top of the heavy cloth of gold that draped from the forehead all the way down to the shoulders. A wide circular collar and a long tapered sash sitting on the counter were also made of the gold cloth, and all three were edged with red embroidery and tiny garnets. The asp itself was painted cream with gold banding, and two more deep red garnets had been set in place of the eyes. Behind her on the wall hung a white shift, made of three layers of ultra-sheer silk. Madam Fire Hair ran her fingers appreciatively over the simple undergarment.

  “I’ve only heard stories of Kairo; is this really what their rulers wear?”

  “As I understand it. It’s much warmer there.”

  “Imagine all the revealing things we might wear, if only our climate were different!” The flame haired woman laughed. “Perhaps we would all parade around in our night rails, with only a light robe now and then for propriety’s sake.”

  At the mention of night rails, Ella felt her face grow warm. She knew the Madam was just indulging in a bit of racy humor, but it drew her thoughts back inexorably to the previous night. She saw Madam Fire Hair give her a speculating look.

  “I say, Miss Emberton, you are looking uncommonly pretty this morning.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Madam.”

  “I would go so far as to say you’re glowing.”

  Ella opened her mouth but didn’t say anything; she couldn’t figure out how to respond. Madam Fire Hair chuckled.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Emberton, I’ve been known to glow like that, myself, on occasion. I shan’t say another word.”

  Ella decided the less said the better, and ushered Madam Fire Hair to the back so she could try on the costume. While she was marking the little adjustments that were needed, the Madam asked about her own costume.

  “I hadn’t thought of it, actually.”

  “Well,” Fire Hair’s voice was muffled as she pulled the sheath off over her head, “given your talent, you should try for something spectacular.”

  Ella thought about that as she helped Madam Fire Hair dress, and set a time for her maid to pick up the finished costume. Once she was alone again her mind continued to dwell on the problem. She needed a costume, and, if she were honest with herself, she would love to dress somehow to match Max. Maybe they could both go as Gods from the Hellene pantheon. She had enough fabric remnants, it wouldn’t take her too long to whip up a costume for Iris, the Rainbow Bringer.

  She was giggling at the idea of Max attending the ball dressed in nothing but winged sandals when the bell tinkled again. Her head shot up, and this time she didn’t attempt to suppress her disappointment. Max’s valet was standing in her shop, and if his valet was here that meant he wasn’t likely to be coming.

  “I’ve a note for you, Miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  He placed it in her hand and turned to go.

  “Wait!” She looked at him in surprise. “Let me see if I need to reply.”

  The valet looked at her mistrustfully. When he had come to pick up the last costume, Ella had asked a number of questions about Max, all of which he had gracefully side-stepped and then practically fled before she could think of more inquiries. Clearly he was suspicious of her motivation in asking him to remain. Ella smiled a bit and broke the seal on the note.

  Ella, I’m not going to be able to get away to see you. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll explain everything. Later. Save me a dance at the ball. Max.

  Not able to get away?

  Not able to get away from what?

  And he’d see her at the ball? Not before? Not for a costume fitting?
Was he going to someone else? Had he not liked her work? Had his usual tailor thrown a jealous fit?

  Was he just avoiding her?

  The valet asked her something, but she waved him off. Her mind was too full. What could be keeping Max away? He obviously wasn’t under physical restraint. Did he have great obligations? Was he a protector of the realm? Was his presence being commanded by the king?

  Ella didn’t even notice when the valet slipped out.

  Maybe his family owned land and he was out in the countryside during the week. Maybe there were unseasonal rains causing flooding in all their pastures, and Max was even now wading around, rescuing lambs from drowning. Maybe he was hunting down a rabid dog that was ravaging the flocks.

  That was ridiculous. They hadn’t even had a thunderstorm in weeks, and shepherds were perfectly good at hunting rabid dogs without involving a city boy. Ella shook her head impatiently. If she was going to dream up excuses she should at least make them plausible.

  She picked the Kairon headpiece up and returned to securing the snake. The problem with refusing to be ridiculous was that none of her reasonable explanations were... good. He could be a second son, and dedicated to the priesthood. That would make their previous night together not only a very bad idea but also a mortal sin. At least on his part. He could be the heir to some impoverished fiefdom, and therefore obligated to find a wealthy heiress to marry. That would leave out the mortal sin issue, but it was hardly better as far as Ella was concerned. He could be already married...

  At that thought Ella’s needle slipped and gashed her finger. When she jerked her hand away she lost her grip on the headpiece and it crashed to the floor, shattering the ceramic asp. Ella looked in horror at the ruined snake. It was a costly item that would need to be replaced, and Ella had neither the time nor the money to spare. As she ran to fetch the broom, Ella scolded herself. Max was a distraction she could not afford right now.

  ***

  The Emberton household was awash in a sea of excitement. Mr. Binkley had called on Prudence twice the day before, and Sir Henry was practically living in their parlor. Ella had been privy to one of his many conversations with her stepmother.

  “Milly, have you ever considered a life on the sea?”

  “Why no, Sir Henry, I always thought my place was on land.” Millicent fluttered her lashes coquettishly.

  “Oh you’d love it, Milly. Traveling from port to port, always in a new place, with new people. You could learn dance steps from the Castillians, and new-fangled cookery from the Chins.”

  “I’d rather see the latest fashions from Toldas.”

  “You know, Milly, I spend most of my time here in Albion these days, but I get a hankering for the wide open ocean. Someday I might sail to Toldas.”

  “Perhaps you could tell me all about it, when you return.” She sounded a bit sad.

  Sir Henry moved closer on the couch, clasping Millicent’s hands in a lover-like embrace. “I was thinking you could come with me, Milly, and see it for yourself.

  “Oh, Henry!” Ella chose the moment of that rapturous exclamation to excuse herself, but not before she saw Sir Henry take Millicent’s plump body into his large, beefy arms.

  Beatrice, chatting with Ella later while the other two ladies were off swooning with their swains, remarked that it seemed as though engagement fever had hit the kingdom. No less than seven of her card playing friends had stopped by to settle up their debts, and each and every one of them had asked her to go walking, driving, or riding with them.

  “Which one are you going with?” Ella had asked. Beatrice had laughed at her.

  “All of them, of course!”

  So, as the week passed, Beatrice gallivanted here and there with half the well born young men in the kingdom. Prudence drew sketches of little red-headed girls in pink dresses, and Millicent went around singing sea shanties softly to herself. Ella just worked in her attic. Her concentration wasn’t what it ought to have been; she would suddenly come to realize she had been staring at the fresh crack in the plaster for several minutes, ruminating on how it got there. All of her work took longer than planned, because she couldn’t focus on what she was doing.

  Ella tried resolutely to quash her fears, but they kept returning. She had been foolish to... to... to crack the plaster with him before he had revealed more about himself. Perhaps he had ruined numerous women. Perhaps he told all of them they were wonderful. Perhaps he was a nefarious seducer of seamstresses...

  Ella shook her head in impatience. Her thoughts were ridiculous and useless. There was a lot she didn’t know about him—too much, really—but she could only trust that what he had told her, while not overly revealing, was at least the truth. Speculating on what it might be that he had not told her was pointless. It only wasted time she didn’t have.

  Her work load this week had been impossible. For the Nobles’ Ball everyone’s costumes had to be ornate and opulent, which translated into hours and hours of detail work. Also, thanks to the fervent endorsements of Mrs. Minglesall and Madam Fire Hair, Ella had even more patrons requesting costumes. She couldn’t turn them down; she had almost enough money to pay the first payment due on the mortgage, but there were still so many other accounts to settle, and the second payment would be upon her before she knew it. No, she had to take as many customers as she could. And with her distraction over Max, she’d made an unconscionable number of errors this week, setting her back even further in time.

  On the night of the ball she was frantically finishing the hem on Prudence’s gossamer gown, holding back her tears as she sewed. She desperately wanted to see Max. Needed to see Max. But it wasn’t going to happen. All week she had fretted and sewed, and now her time had run out. To her great regret and sorrow Ella would not be attending the final ball. She couldn’t. She didn’t have a costume.

  She worried that if she didn’t attend, Max would take that as some sort of sign that she didn’t want to see him. Even worse, if he was going to avoid her, if he really was a cad, this might be her last chance to find him and speak with him. She’d thought and thought, but she didn’t see any way around it. She couldn’t attend without a proper costume, and there was no way she could complete one in the scant hours between now and when her family would leave for the ball; nor did her own wardrobe hold anything even remotely suitable. A few tears fell from her eyes, but she brushed them away. She had to go help her stepmother and stepsisters dress for the ball. She could cry later, where no one could see.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Titania and her court were gathered in the parlor. Millicent made an extremely stout Fairy Queen, but at least she matched well with the hearty Oberon presented by Sir Henry. With Puck in the form of Mr. Binkley and two attendant fairy maids in her daughters, it was quite the regal assemblage for the Nobles’ Ball. Titania, Oberon, Puck, and one blushing fairy maiden were all bundling up for the ride in Sir Henry’s barouche, while the other buxom pixie hovered at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Ella! Hurry up! We’re leaving!”

  Ella came slowly down the stairs with a tin of glitter in one hand. She sprinkled a final dusting on both fairy maidens and Titania, and then stood back.

  “There, I pronounce you perfect.”

  Both girls beamed, and kissed their stepsister goodbye. As the rest of the merry be-winged party traipsed out the door, Millicent hung back.

  “Darling, isn’t there any way you can come? Beatrice hardly needs more suitors, you could wear her...”

  “No, Stepmother,” Ella interrupted gently, “I made Beatrice’s costume for her to wear and enjoy herself. She shouldn’t have to stay home because I ran out of time to make one for myself.” Ella discreetly didn’t say that there was no way she could have made the dress fit herself. “Go to the ball and have fun. Tomorrow you can tell me all about it, and it will be almost like I was there myself.”

  Millicent gave her a smile, but Ella could see she wasn’t fooled. She hoped her stepmother would go before she broke dow
n and cried. Almost as if she’d read her thoughts, Millicent reach up and gave Ella a gentle pat on the cheek, and then left, closing the door behind her.

  Ella sat down on the stairs and leaned her head against the railing. A tear ran down her face, followed quickly by another. She got up and ran up the stairs, fleeing her feelings, but the tears kept pace with her. By the time she reached her workroom she was crying in earnest, and she slumped to the floor. She wanted to go to the ball. She wanted to find Max. She wanted to knock him down and sit on him until he told her his giant, mysterious secret. She banged her fists into the floor and sobbed. She was so wrapped up in her misery that she never heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

  “I see I arrived not a moment too soon.”

  “Godmother!” Ella tried to check her sobs. “What are you doing here?”

  “What a question, Ella! I came to see you, of course.”

  “But, Godmother, you never come here.” She scrubbed furiously at her face, drying her eyes, trying to wipe all evidence of her recent bout of self pity away.

  “Well, darling girl, desperate times call for desperate measures. And I would most definitely call these desperate times.” Dame Merriweather looked around the room, her gaze lingering on the work table and the wall, and Ella turned a fiery red. She didn’t know how, but she was certain her Godmother knew that she and Max had been here, together, and Ella was mortified. “Now, now, don’t look that way, child. I was young once myself, although you wouldn’t know it to see me now. I’m not here to chastise you. We just need to talk.” Dame Merriweather settled herself on Ella’s work stool, resting her hands on her walking stick. Her eyes, as they focused on Ella, were full of worry, with a good helping of compassion and just a touch of humor thrown in. “And by we, I of course mean you. So talk. Tell me what has possessed my normally practical Ella.”