The new priest was bound to come back soon. Was there enough of the white fabric to reach to Frances’s fat little toes? Jane held it up. Yes, and she might even be able to piece it in such a way to leave enough for a cap, too. It wouldn’t take long. And if she took it to the woodcutter’s house, she could just happen to mention that she had found a whetstone, if they were in need of one.
The fabric was slippery, so she cut it with care, estimating the baby’s size, remembering to add a bit, since surely she had grown since Jane had last visited. She laid the pieces together and was satisfied with the result.
“But I don’t want to go to the ball,” Maude said as though she and Jane had been in the middle of a conversation, startling her sister out of her thoughts. “What if the prince wants to marry me?”
“You?” Jane was astonished. “Why would he want to marry you?”
“I don’t know—but if he did, what would I do?” Maude persisted. “Would I have to marry him?”
“I suppose so.” Jane hoped that the way she mumbled around the pins held in her lips masked her exasperation. She slid the pins into the fabric and threaded her needle. She made the stitches tiny so that Frances wouldn’t catch her toes or fingers in them.
Mamma hadn’t found any happiness with either of her two husbands. So why was she so eager for her daughters to marry? Even if Jane did happen to meet a suitable young man, she knew that no young gentleman would have any possible interest in her, a fortuneless girl living in a ruin. And Mamma would never let her marry someone who wasn’t a gentleman, of the class that she and Papa had grown up with. In Mamma’s day, young people met one another at balls and parties, out hunting and at festivals in the palace—places where Jane and Maude would never go.
“But what would I do if he did?” Maude sniffled, and Jane put down her work and passed her a handkerchief.
“You’d have to marry him if he asked you. He’s the prince.”
“But I can’t!” Maude wailed, burying her face in the handkerchief. “I’m going to marry Hugh!”
“You are?” Jane resumed her work.
“His parents wouldn’t care that I don’t have a dowry. Hannah’s already taught me about herbs, so I can be an herb-woman like her. Nobody would have to know I was a Halsey, and they would buy my herbs and Hugh can be a herdsman like his father.”
“Hugh said all that? I didn’t think he said that many words in his whole life!”
“I said most of them,” Maude admitted. “But he thought it was a good idea. I could tell.”
“Mamma would lock you up forever rather than let you marry Hugh,” she said.
“She wouldn’t let you marry that woodcutter boy, either!” Maude retorted.
“What? Marry the woodcutter? What are you talking about, Maude?” Her face turned hot, and she quickly looked down at her work to hide the redness that she felt spreading across her cheeks. “I’m not going to marry any woodcutter!”
“You like that boy, though.”
“What boy?” Jane pretended ignorance. “Oh, you mean Will Forester?”
Maude nodded and stuck her needle back in the fabric. “You like him.” It wasn’t a question.
“I do not.” Jane glared at her sister. “He’s proud and short-tempered, and he thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
Maude shrugged. “He’s nice. Remember how he helped with Harry?”
“He didn’t do it because he’s nice—his father told him to!”
“But he did it. And he works hard. And he’s handsome.”
Jane didn’t answer but stabbed her needle into and out of the fabric, hardly noticing where it went.
“Don’t you think he’s handsome?” Maude persisted.
“I suppose.” Jane paused in her work. Will was rough and brown from the sun, and his shoulders were broad, not like the slender men in the portraits that hung upstairs and in the ballroom. He had a wide smile, not the elegant simper of those gentlemen, and a firm way about him that somehow Jane couldn’t imagine her painted ancestors sharing. She couldn’t shake the memory of the sweetness of Will’s lips on hers, the green sparkles in his eyes and that small imperfection of the crooked tooth.
“You’re talking nonsense.” Jane looked her sister up and down critically and changed the subject, away from the uncomfortable topic of whether Will was handsome. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about with the prince.” She softened her harsh words by adding, “Nor do I.”
They worked in silence punctuated by an occasional sniffle from Maude. Jane sewed the tiny puffed sleeves into place. She cut in half the ribbon that had once secured this underskirt around the wearer’s waist, and stitched the two pieces onto the opening at the back of the neck so that Mistress Forester could tie it closed. It wasn’t fancy, just a simple white robe with small sleeves and a scalloped hem. Still, she thought it would suit Frances quite well. “I have to go out,” she told Maude, who nodded without interest.
In the hallway, Jane pulled her wrap from the hook. Maude must assume that she was just going to the privy and would wonder where she was when she didn’t return. Just don’t tell Mamma I’m gone, she thought as she slipped out the door.
She knew she shouldn’t leave Maude at work when there was still so much to do, and when Mamma was liable to come in any minute to try once again to show them how to curtsey without looking like bobbing butter churns. She stopped in the middle of the path and half turned back, then faced front again, then back. “This is silly,” she said out loud. “Either go or don’t go.”
She didn’t realize she had made up her mind until she found herself entering the forest on the by-now familiar path. She passed a few of the remaining gold tassels hanging from tree branches. She strode confidently through the clean-smelling woods, hearing and understanding the various rustlings around her without fear. It was hard to remember the Jane of just a short time ago, the Jane who was so ignorant about her neighbors and so fearful of the little she knew.
There was the dog-shaped rock that had sent her into such confusion when she and Maude had gotten lost; it was embarrassing to think how close to home they had been all the time. There was the bush that Annie had hidden behind, no doubt chuckling to herself as Jane stood timidly in front of it, clearly terrified at what she might find when she parted the branches.
The small hut emerged into view. No smoke came from the chimney, so the family must be out. She told herself that this was no matter; she would leave the dress on the kitchen table. They would know where it had come from. She tried to deny the feeling of disappointment that almost brought tears to her eyes. How stupid! she thought as she tried to lift the latch to let herself in.
It was locked. Well, she would just leave the whetstone and the christening robe out here, on that stump—no, it was too dirty for a white dress. On the stool by the front door—and just then a bird flew overhead, and Jane thought of droppings. She had been so careful to keep the little gown clean, washing her hands before working on it, using her least-rusted needle to sew it with. She supposed there was nothing to do but return home and try again another time.
“What do you want?”
Jane whirled around. It was Will, and she suddenly felt ridiculous. “I—I didn’t want to leave this christening dress for Frances outside. The door was locked,” she explained. She held out the little dress, feeling flustered as she remembered the conversation she had just had with Maude.
He took the christening robe and glanced at it, then at her. “Mother will be grateful.” His eyes were hard.
She pulled the whetstone out of her pouch and extended it to him. “And I found this. I thought you might need one.”
His fingertips brushed hers as he took it, and she jumped a little. He turned the stone over in his hands without looking at her. “I do need one. Thank you.”
She wanted to explain
about what had happened at the fair, about how she was just trying to get rid of those girls and stop them from saying anything to her mother, that she truly wasn’t ashamed of kissing him, but she could find no words.
“I’ll just go home, then,” she managed to choke out, and hardly seeing her way through her tears, she fled. He didn’t try to stop her.
Chapter 20
Jane sat on her bed, Maude in the one chair that remained in their bedroom, and they sewed until it became too dark to see what they were doing. Their store of firewood was running low again, and the only fire laid was in the South Parlor. Until now they had worked on their gowns in secret after Isabella had fallen asleep so that she wouldn’t ask questions, but there was no time for secrecy anymore. “Come, Maude,” Jane said as she gathered up the long skirt so it wouldn’t trail on the floor.
In the South Parlor, Isabella sat and stared at the fire. Her hands were idle, as usual. She gazed suspiciously at the brightly colored cloth that the two girls shook out as they got ready to finish their alterations.
As Jane’s needle flew into and out of the rich fabric, she remembered her second walk home with Will, the time when it had seemed as if they might be friends someday. They had spoken little, and only about everyday things, but Will had made her laugh and had listened thoughtfully to everything she said. She remembered the ride to the fair, and then the way he had kissed her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand when Maude wasn’t looking.
“What are you doing?” Isabella asked.
“Sewing,” Maude said shortly, keeping her eyes on her work. Jane could hear the smirk in her voice.
Isabella fingered the gleaming fabric. “Why are you sewing silk? Where did you get it?”
Maude jerked away, stabbing herself in the thumb with her needle. “Ow! Look what you made me do! Go away, Cinder-girl.” She sucked on her thumb, glaring at Isabella.
“Why are you sewing silk?” Isabella persisted.
“We’re making ball gowns,” Jane answered.
“Ball gowns?” Isabella squeaked. She burst out laughing. “Are you having a ball? In there?” She stood up and gestured toward the ruin of the ballroom. “Who are you inviting? Mice?” She laughed again. “Mice!” She shook her head.
Jane bit back a sharp retort and concentrated on her work. She wondered which ancestor had worn the dress she had just finished hemming. The harsh blue-green might have looked well on a white-skinned black-haired beauty, her paleness set off by the bright color, but Jane knew that her tan skin would look yellow and awful against it. Still, it was the only one of Mamma’s old gowns with pieces large enough to be cut into a dress for her, and anyway, it was too late to change. Maude wouldn’t look any better in her salmon-pink, she thought, glancing at her sister, but she had insisted on it. At least the blue and white of Mamma’s dress suited her, it having been made especially for her years earlier, before Papa had gone away. Mamma had shown no surprise when she found it spread out on her bed.
“Mice!” Isabella said a third time.
Her scorn made Maude color deep red. “Not mice.” She bowed her head over her work and glanced up furtively at Isabella as she said, “Counts. Dukes. The prince.”
“Oh, yes,” said Isabella. “The prince.” She laughed.
“It’s true,” Maude said, ignoring Jane’s warning looks. “He’s giving a ball tonight and bids all the unmarried ladies of quality in the neighborhood to attend.”
Isabella stood stock-still. “You’re lying,” she said uncertainly.
“It’s true,” Jane answered.
“No, it isn’t,” Isabella insisted.
“It is,” came Mamma’s voice from the door. Maude started guiltily, then bent over her sewing, a flush rising up her neck to color her cheeks. “I told the girls not to tell you, Isabella, because I knew it would disappoint you not to go.”
“I’m not to go?” Isabella asked. “But if the prince says all unmarried ladies—”
“You’re in mourning,” Mamma said. “You can’t go to a party for a year.”
“My father,” Isabella said, and paused, her thin chest heaving. She made a visible effort to control herself. “My father would want me to have this opportunity. He would want me to meet people of my own kind, not roofers and wild people who live in the woods.”
Mamma said nothing but looked stunned. To break the unbearable silence, Jane put down her needle and said, “Shoes! What shoes are we going to wear?”
“Grandmamma’s dancing slippers are still in the chest in her room!” Maude said suddenly. Jane tried to shush her, but Maude went on eagerly. “And they’re big enough. Remember, Janie? The last time you tried them on—” She subsided as she realized what she was saying.
Jane felt a mixture of fear and excitement. Now Mamma would have to admit that she knew where the silk had come from, that it was not yard goods chosen to suit them, purchased in the city and carried home by servants, wrapped in delicate tissue. She would have to tell them that they were to wear Grandmamma’s dancing slippers, if they had not dried out and stiffened in the years since they had been worn.
“I wish I had thought of shoes earlier,” Mamma finally said in a tight voice. “Every cobbler in the city must be working day and night to ready dancing shoes for the ball. All the young ladies will want new ones.” That doesn’t make any difference to us, Jane thought. We don’t have money to buy new dancing shoes that we’ll wear only once, even if the cobbler was sitting idle, waiting for customers. “It’s a good thing you made the dresses long enough to sweep the floor. Janie, you can wear my shoes.” Jane looked at Mamma’s feet. Her thick clogs were cracked and scuffed.
“What about Maude?”
“She’ll just have to wear her boots,” Mamma said. “She’s too young to dance, anyway. She and I will sit and watch you, Jane, as the counts and dukes lead you onto the dance floor.” Isabella rolled her eyes, and Jane felt like doing the same.
Maude’s boots, like Jane’s, were old and worn, and even if they had been new, they would still have been farm boots. Jane shuddered at the thought of her sister walking into a ballroom filled with elegant ladies and gentlemen, wearing an ill-fitting gown in a color that did not suit her, and farm boots on her feet. She glanced at Maude and saw her own thoughts mirrored on her sister’s face.
Jane stood. Mamma might continue to pretend that all was as it had been when she was a girl, but Jane had had enough. “Come, Maude.” She strode from the room, her sister at her heels. Mamma didn’t even ask where they were going.
Another step had rotted through since their last foray to the bedrooms, so it took longer than usual to climb the stairs. They had no time to pause for ritual but immediately began inspecting the shoes. Maude pulled a dancing slipper out of the chest. She turned it upside down and shook out a mouse nest. “Too smelly.” She tossed it aside.
“I’m tired of this.” Jane held up a pair of shoes that must once have been crimson, but that now were faded to a dull red-brown, and put them with the “maybes.” “I’m tired of pretending, and tired of being a Halsey. Most of all,” she added bitterly, “I’m tired of not talking—of not saying anything important, not telling Mamma how hard we’re working, just so she can keep on pretending.” Tears burned her eyes and nose. She wiped at her cheeks furiously.
“Everything was fine until she came along.” Maude put high-heeled gold slippers in the “yes” pile that Jane had started. Jane moved them to the “no” pile.
“It wasn’t fine,” Jane said angrily. “We pretended it was until Isabella and the man came here.” Simple dove-gray shoes with low heels would do, she thought, and she tried one on. Grandmamma must have had long feet, as the fit wasn’t bad, so she added them to the “yes” pile.
“I want her to leave.” Maude’s lower lip was stuck out in a pout. “She doesn’t like living with u
s. But even her own relatives don’t want her.”
“Maybe her mother’s friend will change her mind about taking her in,” Jane suggested. “Maybe she’ll come and take her away, or arrange her marriage to some young man.”
“That kind of thing doesn’t happen,” Maude said. She stood. “Janie, we have enough shoes. Can’t we go to Mamma’s room? I want to see her jewels.”
Jane started to answer, “They’re not real,” but suddenly a thought was born in her mind. She sat still. If she moved, she would dislodge it, so she held her breath and let it grow. Yes, she thought. Yes, it might work. Excitement swelled in her chest. “Maybe...”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe I can do something to make it happen,” Jane said slowly. She sat in silence a few more minutes and thought. Her plan wasn’t formed, but at least it was beginning. Ella would go to the ball if she could, wouldn’t she? There might be a way to make that possible....
She went into the corridor, leaving Maude sitting on the floor trying on shoes. She stopped and looked at Great-Great Grandmamma Esther and then at Great-Grandpapa Edwin, and then at the others, Halseys and Montjoys and everybody else, who stared down at her in disdain or off into the distance with superior detachment. Jewels twinkled in their clothes, on their fingers, in their hair. Jewels that looked like the worthless ones in the box in Mamma’s room.
She smiled. Yes, she thought. Yes, I think I can do it.
“And there’s nothing,” she said out loud to all of them, “nothing any of you can do to stop me.”
She went back into Grandmamma’s bedchamber. “Come on, Maudie. Let’s go downstairs. We still have to do our hair.”
“Do you think I could use Isabella’s comb?”
Jane shook her head. “Don’t even ask. It’s not worth the trouble. Don’t forget the shoes!”
Chapter 21
They were surely the only people going to the ball in a rickety farm wagon, Jane thought as they joggled over the road. Mamma had decided that Saladin was up to the long drive to the palace. At each jolt, Maude bounced against Jane.
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