Before the Midnight Bells

by Jessica Woodard

  “Well, I... that is, I’ve been spending time... I mean...” All attempts to explain herself suddenly seemed inadequate. Her eyes filled once more with tears, and she sank to the floor at her Godmother’s feet, resting her head in the elegant lap. Her voice came out in a whisper, “I can’t seem to help myself.”

  Dame Merriweather stroked Ella’s hair in silence. As tears rolled down her face Ella let the words spill out.

  “I plan to be sensible and practical, but when I’m around him I act like a... like a...”

  “Like a woman in love?” Her Godmother suggested gently.

  “Like an idiot in love, perhaps. I don’t even know who he is, and on top of that there are things he isn’t telling me. To be fair, he has tried, but we always get distracted.” Ella heard a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh coming from above her head. “It isn’t funny. For all I know he could be married with three children.”

  “I assure you, he is not.”

  Ella shot up off the Dame’s lap.

  “You know who he is.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what, darling?”

  “Well, who is he? Tell me!”

  “I think not.” Dame Merriweather spoke crisply. “That is his responsibility. You may ask him yourself at the ball tonight.”

  “But, Godmother, I’m not going to the ball.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Ella explained her costume-less state.

  “Well, this will simply not do. You must go to the ball tonight. What about wearing something of your mother’s?”

  Ella stared at her Godmother. “I only own her old mirror; Father didn’t keep any of her clothing.”

  “Pish posh, my dear. I think, if you’ll look in the chest at the foot of your bed, you’ll find you are quite wrong.”

  “That chest has all my old childhood toys in it, Godmother. I think I’d know if there was a ballgown hidden away among them.”

  “Nonsense, darling. Now run along and look.”

  Ella looked skeptically at the Dame, but she obediently rose and made her way downstairs. The closer she got to her room the faster she moved. Was it possible? Had she missed something all along? In her room she pulled open the old chest and hastily threw the toys on her floor, but there was no dress. She should have known better. For just a moment she let her frustration get the better of her, and slammed her hand down onto the bottom of the empty trunk.

  It let out an oddly hollow thunk. Ella tilted her head to listen, and rapped with her knuckles; sure enough, it resonated. She examined it closely, and found a knothole in one corner, just big enough to hook with her finger. After a few moments of tugging, the bottom of the trunk came loose, and Ella lifted it off and gasped.

  There, beneath the false bottom of the trunk, lay a ball gown.

  ***

  Dame Merriweather made a passable hairdresser, as it turned out. She did something graceful and intricate with Ella’s hair, while Ella herself sat at her vanity and applied cosmetics with a light hand. A trace of scented powder went around her shoulders, and then her Godmother helped her into the gown.

  Ella’s dress was layer upon layer of sheer ice blue silk. The huge bell of the skirt rose up to a tightly fitted bodice, flaunting a low scooped neck and tiny puffed sleeves. Under the skirt she wore beautiful pearl-beaded silk slippers that shone like glass and had toweringly high heels. Pale satin gloves covered her arms past the elbow, and Dame Merriweather had threaded an ice blue ribbon through her up-swept hair. Another wide blue ribbon circled her throat like a choker. The Dame cupped Ella’s chin in her hand and smiled fondly at her.

  “Oh my dear, you look so much like your lovely mother.”

  Ella had to agree. In the hallway, outside her room, hung a portrait done of her mother on her wedding day. This dress was the wedding outfit worn in the portrait, right down to the silver slippers.

  “Godmother, why didn’t you tell me you knew who Max was?”

  “I told you, dear, it wasn’t my place.”

  “But..”

  “No buts, Ella.” The Dame spoke firmly. “No matter how much I love you, there are things in which I cannot and will not interfere.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, dear, I imagine you don’t. But that hardly matters, does it? What matters now is that you are ready to go to the ball. Outside the front door is my carriage, which will take you there. And once you are there you can go find your charming young man and ask him yourself.”

  “Alright then, I will.” Ella suddenly felt nervous. “I’m not sure I know what to say.”

  “May I give you a piece of advice?”

  “Of course.”

  “When the time comes, dear, just listen.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Max was lurking in the small deserted room where he and Ella had first met. He planned to whisk her away as soon as her party arrived. He was going to find a quiet, out-of-the way place and finally tell her every detail of this awful mess.

  Maybe he’d dance with her first.

  No. No dancing. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be distracted this time.

  He might kiss her, though. Just once.

  No! No kissing. That would be more distracting than the dancing. Kissing her would lead to other, more intimate activities, and they had to talk. Just talk.

  If he didn’t kiss her, though, it was going to be all he could think about. He’d never be able to focus on the conversation. So maybe he should kiss her. Just once.

  The Embertons were finally announced, bringing a temporary halt to Max’s indecision. For the moment, all that mattered was that he would see her again. He dashed towards the grand staircase; sped along by a combination of nerves and anticipation. When at last he could see the family on the stairs he came to a crashing halt.

  One plump fairy queen, on the arm of a burly tattooed king.

  One rail thin fairy lass, gazing blissfully into the eyes of an adoring Puck.

  One extra buxom fairy, being swarmed by at least a dozen young men.

  But no Ella.

  Max stood, dumbfounded, at the foot of the stairs. Where was she? He needed to see her. He needed to explain himself. After tonight he would have no reason to explain a visit to a seamstress. It would take months before he could safely call on her in her home. And given Dame Merriweather’s very pointed warning, Max knew he couldn’t risk slipping into her attic again. He had to talk to her tonight.

  How could she not be here?

  Millicent was sweeping down the staircase, followed by her whole party. On the last step she paused, and cast a suspicious look at Max.

  “She won’t be attending. That is, assuming you care.” Millicent clearly had not forgotten that he had never properly introduced himself, and it just as clearly did not sit well with her. As Max gaped at her, speechless, the fairy court gamboled off to take their places on the dance floor.

  Max took a few steps and then slumped in the shadow of the grand staircase. A steady stream of the kingdom’s citizens flowed by above his head, laughing and chattering in their excitement, but Max ignored them.

  She wasn’t coming. He had lost his chance.

  ***

  Ella found that it was impossible to reach the courtyard in the coach. For the third and final ball people from all over the kingdom had traveled great distances to attend, and the palace was overflowing. Squires and pages were turning carriages away at the great stone archway, because the courtyard itself had become much like a grand outdoor greeting room, so Ella slipped from the carriage and finished the journey on foot. She was wending her way through the crowd, looking for a glimpse of her family, when she suddenly heard her name being called.

  “Eleanor!”

  She turned in the direction of the sound, and smiled. There, standing in a circle of admirers, was Mrs. Minglesall.

  The velvet bustier had caused Ella a great deal of trouble, but she was
more than pleased with the results. The gold embroidery had made her think of the constellations, and when she suggested to Mrs. Minglesall that her costume be the Queen of the Cosmos, the older woman was enthusiastic.

  “Such a clever idea! A brilliant thought! What a wonderful concept! I shall be entirely original—oh, how delightful!”

  Ella had made a giant silk hooped skirt of a darker blue than the bustier. Then she had painstakingly reproduced a series of constellations in miniature gold beading. The skirt looked like a giant dome of the night sky. She had artfully draped it with silk illusion of midnight blue, and the thin netting over the dome of the skirt suggested sparse clouds through which the “stars” twinkled. A shrug of pale blue illusion backed with midnight velvet covered Mrs. Minglesall’s shoulders—and some of the more garish fake sapphires. She wore a large crescent moon on a thin chain about her neck, and a headdress of thin golden wires on which were strung many beaded stars.

  “Come here, dear, come right over here, come right next to me.” Mrs. Minglesall beckoned her over. “This is the young woman I’ve been telling you about; the one who made my costume.” Cries of appreciation came from the onlookers, and two actually applauded. Ella gave a small curtsy.

  “Thank you, so much.” Several people asked if she would be willing to take commissions on their behalf, and Ella gratefully agreed. After a few moments, however, she excused herself. “If you will all come by my shop we can discuss this in greater detail. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must find my stepmother.” She smiled, and received a number of answering smiles in return; then began threading her way towards the entrance once more.

  When Ella finally walked into the great ballroom at the palace she paused to collect herself. Managing the train on her skirt and the preposterous high heels had been difficult enough on flat ground, but now she had to make it down the grand staircase, and she was a bit worried she’d trip and fall. She’d loved the outfit as soon as she laid eyes on it, but now that she was wearing the thing she was having second thoughts. Wryly she wondered if marriage might not be the same—more enjoyable when it was only hypothetical. After all, if you’re only a seamstress you can always wear comfortable shoes, metaphorically speaking, of course.

  “Miss Eleanor Emberton.”

  She heard herself announced, and then saw Max practically leap from the shadows beside the stairs. He was looking at her as though she were the answer to every dream he’d ever had, and suddenly she was gliding towards him, handling shoes and train with effortless ease.

  It was obvious, now that she saw him, why Max hadn’t requested she make him another costume. He was dressed as a knight, and the armor he wore shone in the candlelight. It must have been a family heirloom, she reflected; no one could have even a partial suit of armor made to order in a week. Someone had polished it until it sparkled, and he wore a deep green surcoat with an elaborate crest of arms embroidered on it. He was beautiful, she thought. One wasn’t supposed to say that about men, of course, but he was. It wasn’t the armor. It was just... Max. He could dress as a knight or a beggar, still he was Max.

  Lord Rhince and Marcus Havilard were standing with a group of the demimonde, and they all fell silent, watching Christopher Wellesley greet the beautiful nobody on the stairs. Her face was alight with love, and Wellesley moved towards her like a moth towards a flame. As the princess’s betrothed offered his arm to the lovely girl, their eyes filled with the joy of malicious gossip.

  “Oh dear,” drawled Rhince, “it looks as though Wellesley is being a naughty boy once again.”

  “Frankly I don’t see the appeal,” sniffed a delicate beauty in the garb of a swan princess. “She’s not so special.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Marcus Havilard was watching with jealous eyes. “I wouldn’t hesitate to tumble the chit given half the chance. But who is she?”

  Lord Durns was just passing by with his mistress, a gorgeous woman with flame colored hair. She caught the last question, and followed their eyes to the young woman.

  “Oh, that’s Eleanor Emberton. She’s a brilliant seamstress. Who is that she’s walking w...” Madam Fire Hair trailed off. She moved in court circles. She recognized the Duke of Yarrow’s heir. Suddenly her mind made the connection between Ella’s glow and the rumors around Christopher Wellesley’s behavior at the last ball. “Oh no.”

  The group of gossipers was no longer paying attention. They were following Wellesley and his working girl with their eyes, until the crowd obscured them from sight.

  “Well, well, well, a seamstress.” Lord Rhince cast a significant glance at Marcus. “That seems like information that the king might wish to have.” Havilard gave a nasty smile and slithered off through the crowd, in the direction of the royal apartments. Meanwhile Lord Rhince and the Swan Princess circled through the assemblage, spreading their poison.

  Max and Ella were aware of none of it. They were looking at each other, although neither had spoken. As they neared the whirling dancers, Max finally broke the silence.

  “You look beautiful.” His voice was husky, and Ella felt a small shiver run down her spine.

  “I would compliment you, as well, but that would puff up your ego.”

  “True enough, and we can’t have that. I’ll do it for you. I look fantastic.” Max smiled wickedly, and the shiver turned into a full body tingle. “We’ll look fabulous on the dance floor together.”

  “Max...” Ella’s voice held some of the conflict she’d felt over the past days, “I don’t think I can manage a dance in these shoes.”

  Max looked at Ella. When he had seen her on the stairs, and realized he hadn’t lost his chance after all, he’d rather lost his head. He’d rushed over, and taken her off, and pretended as though everything was fine. The hesitation in her voice brought him crashing back to reality, though. They had to talk. He had to tell her... everything. But he couldn’t do it here, standing in the middle of the entire population of the kingdom. He thought for a moment.

  “How about a walk in the garden, then?” Ella looked doubtful. “Come on, you can take your shoes off. We’ll talk.” Talk. Such an inadequate word for something Max was dreading so much, but Ella’s face cleared and she nodded. She laced her arm through his and allowed him to steer her out the patio doors, across the strolling lawn and into the intricate hedge maze.

  ***

  Vivienne heard footsteps running down the hall, and then her maid burst into the room and slammed the door behind her.

  “Hurry, your Highness!”

  “What?” She was dressed in her riding habit, and had been about to sneak down to the stables. What was the rush?

  “Take that off!” Her maid flew to her side, and began unfastening buttons as fast as possible. “A page is on his way to summon you to the ballroom.”

  “WHAT?”

  “That bubble-headed lout has the entire ball in an uproar.” Lottie had been Vivienne’s maid since childhood, and was one of the few people the princess trusted implicitly. She had been in on the plan from the beginning, although she very much disapproved of including Max in the plotting. She thought him, well, bubble-headed. “He’s off with the seamstress again, and someone told your father.” While she spoke Lottie’s fingers flew, hurrying Vivienne out of her habit and into a dressing gown. “Quick, sit down, let me fix your hair. The king has sent several pages to find you, and any minute now one of them is going to actually use his brain and think to check your rooms.”

  “Then why am I not running right now?” Vivienne spoke with alarm, and tried to stand up, but Lottie pushed her firmly back down and kept working on her hair.

  “If you go now they’ll realize you’re gone and be after you right away. You need a head start. You’re just going to have to deal with this and then slip out later.”

  “I don’t have time, Lottie, this guard shift only lasts until midnight. I have to leave now.”

  “You can’t. You’d never make it.”

  “I’m not going to ma
ke it.”

  “You’ve got a little less than an hour. Better set your mind to fooling your father quickly, instead of worrying about what you can’t change. There, you’re done.”

  Vivienne was wearing a sumptuous dressing gown that had been commissioned for her trousseau, and Lottie had twined her dark hair into artfully disheveled locks.

  “And what, pray tell, am I supposed to be?”

  “You’re the Sleeping Princess. Everyone will think it’s inspired. Tell them you had to work up your courage to appear so scantily clad.”

  The princess gave her maid an exasperated look, but had no chance to speak. A loud knock came at the door.

  “Lottie! Lottie!” The page’s voice was frantic. “Is she in there, Lottie? Please tell me she’s in there. The king says the next one of us that comes back without finding her is going to be flayed alive. I don’t think he means it but he sure is angry...” As Lottie yanked the door open the boy cut off.

  “For shame, Timothy. Is that how you summon a member of the royal family? And what a nonsensical question, of course she’s here! Can you not see her guards to either side of your foolish face?” The boy looked up at the imposing men standing watch outside the princess’s door, and then hung his head in shame. Lottie went on in a kinder voice. “Run on and tell his Majesty that you’ve found his daughter, and she’s on her way. She was just having a problem with her costume.”

  Vivienne watched the boy run off and then looked at her wily maid. “Get everything ready, Lottie. One way or another, I’m leaving tonight.” Lottie just nodded, and Vivienne was grateful. She gave one last look in her mirror and pinched some color into her bloodless cheeks. Then she strode off down the hall to answer her father’s summons, followed by the three guardsmen exchanging worried glances.