The Stepsister's Tale

by Tracy Barrett

  Jane didn’t realize her mouth had dropped open until Will put a gentle finger under her chin and closed it. “The convent?” was all she managed to say.

  “I know—hard to believe, isn’t it? She’s so merry, it’s hard to imagine her keeping a vow of silence. But she says she has a calling, and even though her parents are against it, she’s determined to leave for the house of the Sisters of St. Benedict as soon as spring planting is over. Ralph told me last week that they insisted she come to the fair today. I think they’re hoping she’ll change her mind when she sees the fun she’ll be missing.”

  Jane still couldn’t speak.

  “Let’s see where that music is coming from,” Will said, and he turned toward the sound of the pipes.

  Jane followed, but the throng was so thick that they became separated almost instantly. Will reached back for her hand and pulled her close to him, and together they wove their way through the crowd. She twined her fingers in his.

  The music turned out to be a group of pipers and fiddlers and drummers who were playing a tune so lively that when Will led her into the circle of dancers, she didn’t hesitate to join them. Her feet remembered the steps that Mamma had taught them two winters before, when the firewood had run low and they had danced to keep warm.

  Every few minutes someone would break free of the circle and dance in the middle to cries of “Hup! Hup!” from those still twirling around. Jane was surprised when Will sprang into the center, and astonished when he performed leaps and acrobatic moves that brought admiring shouts from the other dancers, especially the girls. When someone took his place in the center of the circle he waited until the dance brought her close to him and took her hand again instead of rejoining the circle at the nearest point. She felt herself flush with pleasure.

  The tune finished with a crash of drums. Will and Jane collapsed, laughing, into each other’s arms. Jane suddenly became conscious of his embrace and pulled away. “Where do you suppose we could get some water?” she asked, pretending to be busy gathering her hair off her face.

  “The well’s down there.” Will gestured with his head and started to make his way through the crowd ahead of her. On an impulse she reached for him again. As her fingers slipped into his, Will turned his head, smiled at her and clasped her hand tightly, tugging her along.

  After they had drunk their fill, Will spent a copper penny to take a chance on winning a prize by shooting a target with an arrow. He missed badly, but his strong woodcutter’s muscles helped him at the next stall, where he did well enough at slamming a weight with a huge mallet that he won a length of red ribbon. “That will look well on Annie,” Jane said.

  “It will look even better on you.” His fingertips brushed hers as he handed her the bright ribbon. She awkwardly tied her hair back off her face, feeling her cheeks flame and hoping that he would think her color came from the dancing. “Perfect,” he said.

  “Thank you.” She wished she could think of something more to say.

  Will led her to the stalls where foods of all kinds were being sold. “What do you like?” he asked.

  “It all looks so good,” she said. “You choose. I don’t know the vendors.”

  Will returned shortly with two small cakes dripping with honey and topped with crushed nuts. They settled under a tree, and he handed her one. She closed her eyes as she savored the rich flavor. She didn’t remember ever eating anything so sweet.

  Will chuckled, and she opened her eyes. His face was closer than she’d realized. “What?”

  “You look like Frances when she’s about to fall asleep with a belly full of milk.”

  She grinned at him, and suddenly, but so naturally that she felt no surprise, his lips were on hers, and he was clasping her waist and gently pulling her closer to him. The sweetness she tasted was part Will and part honey, and she put a tentative hand on his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm, and then her forehead, and then each eyelid, and then her mouth again. She was as breathless as she had been after the dance, and her heart hammered against her ribs.

  He pulled back a bit and smiled at her. His brown eyes held little sparkles of green, like the forest floor in spring, and his teeth were white and straight, except for one that was slightly crooked. For some reason this small imperfection made him even more handsome. She reached out to his cheek. “Will—”

  A giggle nearby made her drop her hand and look up. Two girls stood a few yards away. Jane recognized them in a flash of panic: they were daughters of one of the families that had once been cordial to her mother but now snubbed her. The girls wore new spring dresses, and each had a warm shawl and shiny boots. Jane sprang to her feet and smoothed out her clothes hurriedly.

  The older, a sharp-nosed girl with cold eyes, clucked her tongue in reproof. “Oh, these woods people,” she said to her sister. “They’re just like animals.”

  The younger girl rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you go back to the cave you live in?”

  Will had risen to his feet as well and started to say something when the older girl said, “Why, that’s not a girl of the woods! Lavinia, isn’t she one of the Montjoy girls, from Halsey Hall?”

  The younger one gasped in mock horror. Her hand fluttered over her heart as though she felt faint. “I think it is! Mamma was right—she says her mother lets them behave like savages. Look at her with her fair finery in her hair and wearing her best gown!” The older girl snickered.

  Jane’s heart thumped again, only this time not from the pleasure of Will’s caresses. She tried to speak, but no words came from her mouth.

  “Wait till I tell Mamma,” the older girl said. “She’ll want Lady Margaret to know what her daughter is doing.”

  Jane finally found her tongue. “Oh, don’t tell your mother!” she begged. “Please!”

  “What’s the harm?” Will asked, his voice suddenly hard. “Let them do what they want. Come, Jane, let’s go.”

  But Jane couldn’t move. Hearing that her daughter had been kissing a boy of the woods, especially in public, might kill Mamma. She heard words tumbling out of her mouth and was unable to stop them. “You’re mistaken—we weren’t kissing, we were just talking. Don’t tell anyone! I wouldn’t kiss him.”

  The older of the girls looked at Jane thoughtfully, as though considering what she was saying. Jane squirmed under her penetrating gaze. “All right,” the girl said finally. She wagged a finger at Jane. “But you should be more careful. Your family is one of the oldest in the county. You cast all of us in a bad light with that kind of company.” The two girls left, their heads together as they whispered and giggled.

  Jane went weak-kneed with relief. She sat down and said, “Oh, thank heaven. If Mamma found out—”

  Will wasn’t listening. “We were just talking?”

  “I had to say that! My mother—”

  “Your mother would be ashamed that you were kissing someone like me, is that it?”

  “No!”

  “You’re from one of the—one of the oldest families in the county, and I’m just a boy of the woods.” He was nearly shouting. “You were ashamed of me in front of your fine friends. And here I thought that we were... I should have known better. You people, you Montjoys and Halseys, you think we’re nothing. We’re just here to do your work and not be paid.” She grabbed his wrist and he flung her hand off. “I’ll take one of the children home with me on the pony. That will leave enough room in the wagon for you to ride home.” His tone was so bitter that she winced.

  He stormed off so quickly that in an instant he was lost in the crowd, and even though she ran after him and called and called until her voice was hoarse with shouting and with tears, she didn’t find him, and when she went back to where Bartholomew was standing near the wagon, the pony and Will were gone.

  Chapter 18

  One evening, Jane went up
stairs to see if there was anything left to burn. The few books left were so damp and moldy that they would throw off more smoke than heat. All the wooden furniture that they could wrestle down the stairs had long ago turned to ashes. Maybe there was something in the cupboard in Papa’s chamber.

  She rooted around among the few things he had left. The smell of his shaving soap lingered, making her remember the feel of his scratchy face against hers. She replaced it hastily. There were some pipes and a broken knife next to a whetstone. She was putting the stone back when it occurred to her that Master Forester might need one for his wood ax. No, he certainly had one—every woodcutter owned a whetstone. But did Will?

  The thought of Will made weary tears start to her eyes. She slid the heavy stone into the pouch she wore around her waist. It would be a good excuse to visit the hut. If she could only talk to him—but somehow he had always “just left,” according to Annie, whenever she went to the little house in the forest. Her heart felt as cold and hard in her chest as the whetstone did in her pouch.

  Jane heard a distant pounding of hooves and looked out the window listlessly. It didn’t matter who was going by on the road. It wouldn’t be Will—neither Bartholomew nor the pony could run as fast as that. Down the road, near the river, a horseman was riding. He must be on his way to the village. She stood on tiptoe and peered at the cloud of dust that the horse was raising. To her surprise, the horseman turned his mount up their drive. She abandoned her search for tinder and clambered down the stairs, the whetstone thudding against her thigh.

  Mamma was staring at nothingness, and Ella was asleep in the big chair in front of the fire, but Maude and Jane ran to the hall and wrestled the heavy door open. They stood gaping on the porch as a horse thundered to the house. A man, magnificent in purple velvet, dismounted and stood holding the reins, looking up at the house.

  Mamma appeared in the doorway, pushing a stray lock of hair back into place. Together they watched the man reach into the bag at his waist and pull a large scroll out of it.

  Maude nudged Jane and pointed at Mamma. Jane stared in astonishment. Despite her shabby clothes and cracked shoes, Mamma held herself like a queen as she looked down her long nose at the messenger. The strange glitter in her eyes had been replaced by a haughty stare, and she stood as composed as a statue.

  The messenger removed his hat and made a deep bow. “Lady Margaret Delaville, formerly Montjoy, formerly Halsey?” Mamma inclined her head in assent but still said nothing.

  The man held the scroll out to her. She continued to stare at him. He appeared confused and then took a few steps forward, knelt on one knee, and extended the paper to her with his head bowed. Mamma read it rapidly, holding the parchment at an angle to catch the last rays of the sun. Jane saw her suppress a smile. Mamma said nothing but nodded as though in satisfaction, then rolled up the scroll and handed it back to the messenger.

  “What is it?” Maude whispered to Jane. Jane shrugged impatiently. All she had seen were large letters and a purple signature.

  But the man had heard her. “A royal ball, Miss. All the young ladies of quality in the vicinity must attend, by the king’s command.” He turned to Mamma. “You have two daughters?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s also—” Maude started.

  “There’s also our other sister and our brother,” Jane broke in, shooting Maude a fierce glance. Didn’t Maude know anything? Mamma would never let Isabella go to a ball while she was still in mourning. The man might not understand this, and he might enforce the king’s command to the letter, and Mamma would be furious. Such a breach of propriety was against everything suitable for young ladies. Better to pretend that Isabella didn’t exist.

  “Where are your brother and sister?” the herald asked.

  Jane pointed down the hill. “There. In the graveyard.”

  “I meant living,” the man said patiently, as though to someone slow of wit. “Just living daughters of the house.”

  “We’re both here,” Jane said. “There are no more living daughters of this house.”

  No sound came from inside. Thank goodness Isabella’s asleep, Jane thought. She would never miss the chance to speak to someone so important-looking.

  The herald wrote on the scroll. “Montjoy—two. Names?”

  “Jane Evangeline,” Mamma said, “and Maude Arianna.”

  The man made a few more marks and then handed a smaller scroll to Mamma. “Don’t lose that. It’s your official invitation. On the night in question, all the ladies on this list—” he tapped the stiff parchment of the larger scroll with his fingernail “—must come to the palace or they will be answerable to His Majesty.” The man mounted his horse and cantered down the path as though he couldn’t wait to leave the crumbling mansion.

  “Why didn’t you tell him about Isabella?” Maude asked.

  Mamma didn’t seem to hear her. Her eyes danced, and she clasped her hands like a girl. Jane eyed her warily. She couldn’t remember the last time Mamma had been so animated—almost hysterical, in fact. “A ball! At the palace! I can finally present you correctly. A royal ball, Janie—just think of it! Think of the young men you’ll meet, perhaps someone who is there to find a wife to be mistress of his grand hall.” Jane didn’t answer, and Mamma gave her shoulder a playful shake. “What, so excited you can’t talk?” Jane groaned, but quietly, so that Mamma would not hear.

  “Why didn’t you tell him about Isabella?” Maude repeated.

  “Don’t be silly! Isabella is in mourning. It would be a disgrace if she were to attend a ball. It’s not really proper for me as a widow, either. You girls must attend, though, and you need a chaperone, so I must go, propriety or no. Who knows when you’ll get another chance to meet someone suitable? Besides, the king himself has ordered it.”

  Jane still couldn’t speak. What was Mamma thinking? How could she and Maude be presented at a court ball? Didn’t Mamma realize that Jane had never attended a party, hadn’t even seen people dancing in a ballroom since she was four years old? All she knew about balls and hunting parties and soirees came from Mamma’s descriptions of long ago. Hunting parties—if those people who had come by on just such an outing that winter had treated them with so much contempt at their own house, how much worse would they be when Jane and Maude appeared at the palace in rags and without knowing how to behave?

  And as for meeting a suitable young man—what young man would ever look at her or her sister? If by some miracle a young man asked her to dance, what would they talk about? Terror rose in her throat as she thought of the contemptuous stares that would be leveled at her until she felt she was going to choke. She envied Isabella, who would have to stay home whether she wanted to or not.

  Somehow she thought Isabella would not want to stay home. If only they could change places!

  “I think I know what the ball is for.” Mamma’s voice shook with excitement. “It’s so the prince can meet some girl. I heard about it in the village a few weeks ago. People were saying that the prince fell instantly in love with a girl he saw last winter.”

  Isabella! Jane thought with a jolt. He wants to meet Isabella!

  “The problem,” Mamma went on, “is that they haven’t been properly introduced. I imagine he arranged this ball so he could meet her.” She paced back and forth. “We have two weeks to get ready. You have to practice some simple dance steps, and you need to work on your curtsey, and we have to go over your deportment.” She laughed and seized her daughters’ hands, twirling them around. “You’ll be the loveliest girls at the ball—just wait and see!”

  Chapter 19

  Maude and Jane carefully cut apart the ball gowns they had chosen from among the few whole ones in Mamma’s wardrobe. Jane had waited until Isabella was asleep before examining the contents of the box marked “Serafina’s gowns,” but she needn’t have bothered; Isabella’s mother
must have been as small as her daughter; the gowns had impossibly tiny waists and narrow sleeves.

  Mamma stayed away while the girls measured each other, Maude figuring out the best way to use the scraps by making two sleeves out of the back of a wide skirt and turning the pieces of a bodice to make a new one. They would have to add darts and tucks that would make the fabric lie smoothly, since their bodies had changed so much since the last time they had made clothes for themselves.

  The actual sewing was easy in comparison. They were making no flounces, no fancy pleats, no cunning gathers. Mamma could attribute this simplicity to ladylike modesty if she wanted; Jane knew that it came from her own desire to be invisible.

  Jane sewed tight, even seams and they tried the gowns on. They had to take one long piece apart, reset it and sew it again, but even that went quickly. They worked in a feverish near-silence, occasionally murmuring only “Give me the scissors,” or “Can you thread this needle?” Finally all that was left were the hems, and Maude was capable of doing them by herself, as they were straight lines that required no special skill.

  Jane flexed her tired right hand open and shut to ease the cramping. She slid her fingers into the pouch at her waist. The whetstone was still there; every time she thought about taking it to the hut, her courage failed her. She laid her hand on the table to stretch the wrist, and her fingers brushed against a length of white satin that had been the underskirt of one of Mamma’s gowns. She turned the glossy fabric over. It had been kept from stains and damage by the length of cloth that had lain over it all those years. It was also pretty and soft, and Jane hated the thought of not using it. The piece was so small, though. She started to fold it up regretfully and then remembered what Annie had said when she had asked Jane to alter her mother’s dress. Mistress Forester hadn’t been churched since Frances was born. That meant that the baby hadn’t been christened either.