by Abigail Agar
Marina set to work, her eyebrows furrowed. Elizabeth’s sister mentioned that Elizabeth had stated that Marina might be a bit of trouble. “I’m surprised. You haven’t said a single peep since you came in here,” she spoke. She had an air of elegance to her, assumedly because she spent so much time in this other universe. The big house.
Marina chose not to utter a sound in response. She tied off a string, and then sprung back, inspecting her work. From where she stood, the stitches were too teensy to see. She gave the work a nod of approval before marching towards the left sleeve, eager, to begin again. As long as her fingers moved and her eyes focused, she held no panic about the approaching ball.
An hour before departure, the Lady of the house arrived for the final fitting. She strutted into the room wearing her garter, her stomach oozing out from all sides. Her skin was a strange, off-yellow colour as if she’d been recently ill. Her make-up had already mostly been finished: powdered a bit white, with pink lipstick and rouge. When she smiled—a momentary thing, of course—she lent sight of her yellowing teeth.
Marina bowed down, assisting the Lady with putting on the dress and then stitching it up the back. All the while, the Lady tittered, speaking of the many grand men and women who would be at the ball that evening. She rattled one name after another, making Marina’s head spin. But when she made mention of the music—and of the Duke of Wellington—Marina snapped her head up.
The Lady seemed to notice Marina for the very first time at this moment. She arched her brow—perfectly drawn to her face—and demanded, “What’s gotten into you? This foolish girl seems to have something to say.”
Elizabeth’s sister scowled down at Marina, her lips shoving out from her face. “Shut up, girl,” she murmured, her voice hardly audible.
But Marina’s fingers had begun to quake, even as she stitched up the back of the dress to the Lady’s wide-set neck. The Lady snapped her fingers, crying out, “Girl, tell me. Why are you having some sort of epileptic fit back there? Should I have someone else take up the stitching of my dress? You do know the importance of this evening, don’t you?”
Marina forced herself to focus, her eyes narrowing in on the last of the stitches. She made no peep, knowing full-well that if she argued, or even said what was on her mind, she would be left behind. She felt the occasion of the royal ball swarming towards her, wild and alive. And she felt that if she missed it, she might, herself, die. Certainly, she would no longer have a reason to live.
“Regardless,” the Lady continued, returning to her regal tone, “the Duke of Wellington’s said to have fitted the orchestra with an entire new selection of some of his instruments. I know my dear husband isn’t a great lover of music, but I have to admit, I’m a romantic in that sense. Last time we went to a ball, I grew so woozy from it. Nearly fell to the ground.”
Marina snipped the last of the string near the Lady’s neck, narrowly missing her perfectly-wrapped curls. She stepped back, admiring her work, then glanced down at her black rag-like dress—suited, perhaps, for a kitchen maid. Certainly not a woman about to assist a grand Lady of the house with her ball attire for the evening.
The Lady noted this, to her credit. She pointed a thick finger towards the far wardrobe, speaking in a guttural voice. “If you like, my dear, you can have a perusal through my old things, from previous nights. I can’t imagine anything will fit your outright skeletal frame, but it’s probably better than what you’re wearing just now. I can’t very well have you reeking of kitchen cabbage at the royal palace, can I?”
Marina tapped towards the wardrobe, gripping the golden handle and twirling it open. Within, a selection of perhaps thirty dresses and gowns awaited, all smashed together in a glittering array of colours. Marina’s fingers glazed across them, feeling the different textures, the different nights in the midst of regal crowds.
“Take whatever you please, as long as it doesn’t overpower this one,” the Lady howled from behind her, gesturing towards her golden gown. “Something dark, perhaps.”
Marina opted for an elegant, dark green gown, which trailed perhaps two inches too long and pooled out a bit at her stomach. She cinched it and pinned it, moving quickly as the Lady reared up from her stool and began to strut towards the door. Time was moving far too quickly. Marina scrubbed her cheeks with a splash of water from the basin in the corner, and then took a final glance in the mirror. She looked very much like a maid, playacting a grander life. But it would have to do.
Lucas manned the carriage that would take them to the royal ball. Marina skirted her eyes away from him as she entered the carriage behind the Lady, adjusting her gown to ensure that it didn’t snag on the carriage wheels. The Lady’s gown filled one-half of the carriage completely, widening out on all sides of her, so that Elizabeth’s sister and Marina had to sit on the opposite side. As the carriage cantered towards the palace, Marina studied her hands: already so scabbed and red, like those of a rat’s, in the few weeks since she’d left the Duke’s mansion.
Would she look strung-out? Exhausted? Would the children still find solace in her, or would they retreat? Marina was reminded of baby birds. When they fell from their nest, you weren’t meant to touch them, as their mother would no longer recognise their scent. Perhaps it was the opposite, in this way. Marina had fallen so far from the Duke’s estate that she now reeked of peeled potatoes and the Lady’s face powders. She was a separate entity.
The carriage arrived at Buckingham Palace, aligning itself behind a half-dozen carriages that were dropping their Dukes, Lords, and Ladies off behind the golden gates. Marina strained for some sign of the Duke’s carriage, a familiar face above the horses, but then reasoned that he must have already arrived.
When it came time for their carriage, Marina shuffled from the side, fumbling onto the mud and nearly toppling over. From above, Lucas cackled at her. She frowned up at him, her nostrils flared.
“Get up, girl,” the Lady said. “Stop dawdling.”
Marina assisted the Lady down the first step, towards the rock walkway below. She brought her skirts from the ground, allowing her own emerald ones to cut across the mud. To do her job well, Marina had to hunch slightly as she walked, but she kept her eyes up and scouting. Dukes, Lords, and Ladies walked with their chins high—Lords’ firm hands upon their Ladies’ lower backs, guiding them like sheep. Buckingham Palace, before them, seemed to swallow them up: each person, so elegant, like a piece of glittering candy.
Marina tried to imagine how she might tell herself the story of this night, into her old age. She tried to gobble each image—the Lord who knelt to give his young wife a small kiss on the cheek, as they stepped into the marble-laden foyer; the young girl, perhaps thirteen, wearing a light pink gown and twirling beneath the chandelier; the child, perhaps five years old, who, upon first hearing the string instruments, leapt up against his father’s arm, squealing. These men and women and children seemed to stare directly through Marina as if she didn’t exist. But this gave Marina the opportunity to stare directly back—to inhale the images, the sounds, and the life.
The music was certainly gorgeous, providing a backdrop of romance and swells of passion. The orchestra was situated near the far end of the ballroom, with its thirty or forty players, their heads down and their eyebrows stitched tight together. Marina’s Lady sniffed at this, seemingly with approval. “It’s quite true what they said,” she offered.
“What’s that, My Lady?” Marina asked.
“It’s quite true about the instruments. Look at them. Incredibly fine work, the Duke of Wellington’s done. I can’t imagine a better musical instrument maker. I may speak with him shortly, regarding a harp I’d like him to craft for my nephew.”
Marina felt as though she’d swallowed her tongue. “Where is the Duke, My Lady?” Marina asked, straining to see the horizon of the ballroom. She peered across the gliding dancers, their up-dos and their crooked noses, trying to find the Duke or his children.
But the Lady busied herself
in conversation with another woman, flailing her hand towards her and crying out, “You can’t imagine how gorgeous you look, darling.”
Marina stepped back, pressing her hands against her back and thrusting her hips forward. Everything in her body ached as she turned her eyes from corner to corner, hunting for them. Her ears strained, piecing through the swells of the violins and cellos. Why couldn’t she hear Lottie’s familiar squeal? Why couldn’t she make out Christopher’s volatile laughter?
Her eyes returned to her Lady, who she was meant to be watching over, taking care of. If she did a proper job at this, she sensed she would be allowed to further functions throughout her life. Perhaps she could live for them. They would be fits of light in a sea of darkness.
The Lady was near a table of hors d’oeuvres, reaching for a glass of champagne. As her arm snaked outward, however, Marina watched as part of the table crumpled to the side—as if an entire leg of it had given out. Glasses of champagne began to turn over, slipping from the table and crashing to the ground. Marina’s Lady let out a shriek before turning back towards Marina, as if this was all her fault. Her gown was now stained with champagne, which dripped to the marble ground below.
The music waned in the wake of this crashing. But soon, the violins swelled around them again, filling Marina’s ears. Marina raced towards the table, watching as the last ten champagne glasses scattered to the ground. Lords and Ladies collected in a circle around the table, watching as something shuffled beneath the tablecloth. It was almost animal-like, bumping against the cloth. Then, a small shoe snuck out from beneath. Marina dropped to her knees, so that her own dress fell into the puddle of champagne. She was careful to avoid the broken glass.
Beneath the tablecloth, she heard snickering, then a shriek. “Shhh! You’re going to get us caught!”
“We’ve already been caught, silly! Don’t you see, you’ve broken the table!”
“Where is Claudia? She can get us out of this.”
Marina felt a grin stretch over her cheeks. Her heart swelled. She reached for the tablecloth, flipping it up to discover Christopher and Max, hunkered beneath the table, each of their hands filled with cookies and other snacks. Crumbs dotted their cheeks. When they looked up at her, they did so like wild animals, found in the forest. They’d been captured.
But within seconds, their faces, too, returned to wide grins.
“Marina!” Max cried, first, before tossing his cookies to the ground and leaping, placing his arms around her neck.
Marina hugged him back—hard, feeling her eyes fill with tears. Christopher joined the hug seconds later, throwing his arms around both of them. “Marina! What are you doing here?” he demanded, still laughing.
Marina couldn’t stop the tears, not now. She hugged them tighter, remaining on her knees. Around them, the crowd of Lords and Ladies had grown even quieter, sensing something was amiss. Max drew his head back, placing his hands on her cheeks. His eyes were large and orb-like when he finally spoke. “Why did you leave us, Marina?”
Marina felt her heart crackle in her chest. She sniffed, trying to give the boys her most optimistic smile. “Never mind that, darlings. Where are your sisters? I want to say hello to all of you. To everyone.”
“Excuse me, girl,” Marina’s Lady said coolly from behind. “Get yourself off the floor and assist me. You know why you’re here, don’t you?”
Christopher and Max turned eagle eyes towards the Lady, with Christopher looking almost ominous as if he might charge towards her, fists flailing. Marina held him back, rising to her feet to face her Lady.
“They’re only children, My Lady,” Marina whispered. “I’ll ensure they’re taken to a better environment, so that something like this, um, accident doesn’t occur again. I’ll be back shortly to clean your dress.”
The Lady sniffed, her eyes pinching tightly together. When she spoke, she seethed with anger. “Get yourself back here this instant, girl.”
But already, Marina had fled, placing her hands behind Christopher and Max’s backs and pressing them away from the champagne table, away from the glittering glass that threatened to tear through their little feet. Marina blinked wildly, tears spinning down her cheeks. She knew only her first instinct, which was to protect these children from harm. It was to uphold their laughter and their joy, above all things.
Christopher and Max began to skip alongside her, gripping her hands, as they’d done in the moors near the mansion. To them, surely, this day was no different. Suddenly, Marina was back in their lives, and certainly it would be forever, this time. Max pointed a rogue finger towards another tower of cakes and cookies, squealing. “Marina, we have to go!”
But Marina knew she had limited time. “Where are your sisters?” she asked, slipping up against a large pillar and dropping back down to speak at their height.
“Claudia was with Father,” Christopher said.
“I need to speak with her. And with Lottie,” Marina said. She felt all the blood draining from her cheeks. “Can you find them and bring them right here, Christopher?” She swallowed. “It’s my biggest task for you. Possibly greater than the task of finding that buried treasure in the forest. Do you understand? And you can’t let your father know I’m here, either. It’s our little secret.”
“Why is it a secret, Marina?” Max asked, tilting his head. His black curls swirled over his ears. He so needed a haircut, something Marina had loved giving him. She’d loved twirling her fingers through his soft curls, watching the little hairs drop to the ground.
But before she could answer, Christopher leapt to his feet, darting through the crowd. Marina returned her gaze to Max.
“How are you, darling?”
Max’s eyebrows snuck over his eyes. There was certainly no fooling him. “Marina, why did you leave us? Aren’t you going to come back? Our new teacher is absolutely horrific. And we’ve not found a governess. Claudia says you’re not coming back. But you didn’t even tell us where you were going …”
“Darling, I had to leave. It wasn’t good for me to stay with you any longer. There are other people who can teach you so much more than I can,” Marina whispered. Again, tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying, Marina?” Max asked. He brought his hands to her ear, curling a small strand of hair behind it.
But seconds later, Christopher ambled up beside them, dragging Lottie. The sea of people parted slightly, allowing Claudia to enter their space. She held her chin aloft, like a much older, regal woman, and her dress was for a teenager—a dark turquoise, with jewels along the neckline. The moment Claudia’s eyes met with Marina’s, however, she increased her speed—darting directly to Marina’s chest. Lottie, too, wrapped her arms around Marina’s legs, rubbing her face in her skirts. Marina’s nose filled with the smell of Claudia—perfume, perhaps her mother’s, retrieved from one of the storage rooms.
“Claudia. You look absolutely stunning,” Marina murmured.
But Claudia was shaking. She wrapped her arms tighter around Marina, seemingly unable to speak. Christopher bobbed around them, giggling. “Father didn’t see us sneak away, Marina! It’s just like you told me. Keep it a secret.”
Claudia brought her face back. Marina sensed that within the next year or two, the girl would be nearly her height. She ached with the knowledge that she wouldn’t see that transformation.
“You look more like a woman than you did a few weeks ago, you know,” Marina murmured, trying to give Claudia an assuring look. “Beautiful. Sure of yourself.”
“You left us,” Claudia said in return. “What are you doing here? At the palace, of all places? Father said …”
“Your father can’t know I’m here,” Marina murmured. “It’s terribly important. I just wanted to see you children a final time. I wanted to hear the music. And to tell you—tell you all the things I was unable to say, before I left.”
“You didn’t have to leave,” Claudia said, her voice low. “We wanted you there. You were all we
had.”
Marina felt the words slip through her like a knife. She felt cut, bleeding out with sadness. But she just shook her head, turning her eyes towards little Lottie beneath her. “I want to be there for you in every moment. But it’s simply too difficult. This life, it doesn’t always give you what you want.”
