Ella sighed and tucked her needle safely away before following her stepmother downstairs. She traversed the narrow stairs with far less difficulty than Millicent, and entered their tiny parlor only a pace behind her stepmother.
Ella’s two stepsisters were already seated in the parlor, awaiting the news that had Millicent all aflutter this time. Beatrice was nestled by the fire, enthusiastically daubing red and orange paint on a large white feather. Ella had asked her about it, and been told that Beatrice was attempting to “render the glory of the sunset on the delicate plumage.” To Ella it looked quite a bit like an unfortunate accident between a chicken and a box of rouge, but doubtless Beatrice would pursue it with gusto until the next fad came along. At least they’d already had the feathers and paint on hand, thought Ella, although she was going to miss her favorite pillow.
Prudence was half reclining in a window seat, reading a book and watching people come and go in the street outside. At least, she said she was reading. The book on her lap was the same book she had been “reading” for the past year and a half. Ella doubted she would ever actually finish it. Finishing things was not Prudence’s strong suit.
The parlor was terribly dirty, and Ella was filled with exasperation. When her most recent order from Mrs. Minglesall had come in she had sat down with her stepsisters.
“Beatrice, Prudence, I’m going to be busy with work for a few weeks, so I’ll need you to step in and help around the house.”
“Help doing what?” That had been Beatrice. She had a tendency to overlook things that happened under her nose.
“Straightening, dusting, preparing meals, that sort of thing.”
“Smashing! I shall play chef. I’ve heard souffles are brilliant, we’ll have one tomorrow.” Ella had been fairly sure Beatrice didn’t even know what a souffle was, let alone how to go about preparing one, but she was relieved by her enthusiastic assent. She’d looked at Prudence.
“Mother says,” Prudence had spoken in her normal hesitant tones, “that we should never clean or dust. She says that we might have callers, and we wouldn’t want them to catch us acting like servants.”
Ella had rolled her eyes. “I think our callers will be far more scandalized if they come away with dirty skirts from our couches and chairs.”
Prudence had seemed to see the sense in that, and Ella had left them feeling like she’d enlisted some aid; but when Beatrice’s “souffle” came out flat as a pancake and Prudence had given herself a dreadful sneezing fit trying to dust the parlor, both had made their excuses, and begged Ella to resume “taking care of things” once again. Many of Ella’s chores were falling through the cracks, but she did the best she could. Her father wouldn’t have wanted her to abandon the women he had chosen as her family, even if she ended up caring for them, instead of the other way around.
Ella made a show of beating the dust out of her couch cushion before sitting down. She was rather fond of her stepsisters, but honestly! Prudence had the decency to look a bit ashamed, but Beatrice didn’t even notice. Typical. The two were a study in opposites; Beatrice was all plump and ruddy—like a miniature version of her mother—with a happy, if completely oblivious, nature. Prudence, with her pale skin and even paler hair, was rather wan and delicate, and was possessed of rather wan and delicate sensibilities as well.
Millicent waited until Ella had seated herself and then took a deep breath. “Girls,” she announced in excited tones, “the Princess has become engaged to Christopher Wellesley.”
She had caught their attention. Beatrice put her brush down, Prudence closed her book, and Ella, with no other way to signal her interest, sat up straighter in her musty chair. Millicent beamed at all three of them, and then went on.
“The King has declared three weeks of celebration, with each week to be capped by a costumed ball.” Millicent spoke the word “ball” in reverent tones. “During the festivities any number of parties will be thrown, not to mention outings and general merriment everywhere. As it is a celebration for the whole kingdom, we will have the opportunity to mingle with all the ranks of society, aaaaaaaand...” Millicent drew the word out and then took a deep breath, “you will all have excellent chances to find rich husbands.”
Beatrice and Prudence were full of questions. What sorts of festivities? Who would hold the parties? What of the balls? Ella’s questions were of a more practical nature. How much would their costumes cost? How would she manage to make costumes for her family on top of her already groaning work load? Her stepmother and stepsisters began excitedly discussing the details of the first ball and she quietly excused herself. As she made her way out of the parlor her stepmother had one final thing to say.
“Ella, our costumes will need to be the best.”
***
The best. Of course Millicent wanted their costumes to be the best. As Ella climbed the stairs she stared with a numb gaze at the brick-a-brac cluttering the landings. All three landings were littered with worthless paintings, embroidered cushions, glass knickknacks, stone mosaics, ridiculous hairpieces, and instruments none of them could play, the only tangible remnants of the comfortable lump sum her father had left on his death. These passing fads had consumed Millicent and devoured their security, and now her stepmother wanted her to, what? Magically produce costumes from thin air? Even with Ella doing the work herself, materials cost money.
Her mind spun as she reached the attic rooms that were her own private space. Originally they had been a nursery, but when Ella began sewing she had slowly filled the rooms with dressmaker’s dummies, hat blanks, fabrics, feathers, and buttons of all kinds. Most of her work was actually completed at the house; she only used her storefront space for taking orders and measurements. The low, sloping roof and walls with their faded nursery paper defined the boundaries of Ella’s sanctuary. From here she did her work, dreamed her dreams, and occasionally peered out the high dormer windows. As she ran her hands over the few bolts of cloth racked against the wall, she imagined the shelves filled with bolt after bolt of brocade and silk, waiting for her hands to transform them into wearable art. The blue print under her fingers was so different from her wild imaginings that she laughed, but it was a soft laugh that led to tears filling her eyes. Her dreams seemed so far away, and were blocked by so many obstacles. How would she ever find her way?
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning Ella stepped into the bright autumnal sunshine and firmly shut the door behind her. The narrow, three story townhouse looked just the same as its neighbors nestled on either side. The brick facade and whitewashed shutters presented a brave face to the world, giving no hint to the problems of its occupants. Only inside, in the musty, dusty rooms; the empty, echoing kitchen; and the frayed, faded carpets could the real troubles be seen.
Ella had woken this morning with a renewed resolution to eradicate those troubles. Her family solicitor had requested she come by this morning, but once that meeting was taken care of she planned to spend the rest of the day in her shop, finishing Mrs. Minglesall’s dress and hopefully garnering a few more orders in the process.
She set off for the merchant’s district, regretfully waving on several passing hackneys. Someday, when she was successful, she was only going to walk for pleasure. Having made herself that little promise she quickened her step with a light heart. It wouldn’t do to be late.
***
“She what?!” Ella couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“I’m sorry Miss Emberton, but Mrs. Emberton was very insistent, even when we recommended she rethink...”
“I’m not blaming you, gentlemen, I’m asking you to explain, in short, easy words, exactly what it is my stepmother has done.”
Mr. Carnes, of Carnes and Nobble, the legal firm that represented the Embertons, gave her a look filled with pity. “Your stepmother took out a mortgage on your home some four years ago. It provided her with a lump sum, and in return she must repay the balance of the loan, plus interest, over time. She has fallen behind on
her payments, and the bank has levied a punitive fine, which has been added to the balance of the loan.”
“But we already have more debt than we can repay, how can we pay off this loan as well?!”
“We tried to dissuade her from her course of action, but...”
“Did you draw up the contract?” When Mr. Carnes nodded, Ella went on, “Can you tell me the precise terms of the mortgage?” Ella blanched at the monthly payment named, and then turned red when the solicitor mentioned the interest rate Millicent had agreed to. “That is highway robbery! How could she have been so foolish? What happens if we still can’t repay?”
“If you miss two more payments in a row, the bank has the option to... that is, they are likely to...” He trailed off, and then somewhere found the courage to speak the awful truth. “I am very sorry, Miss Emberton, but they will take your home.”
Ella didn’t know what she said next. Somehow she found her way out the door and back onto the street. A hackney barreled past her along the uneven cobblestones, and several other pedestrians leapt back from the blur of horseflesh and wheels, but Ella just stared at it. It would almost be a relief if the driver lost control and the horses trampled her. Then, at least, she wouldn’t be faced with this wretched mess.
She took one deep, shuddering breath. She would not cry, here on the street, for all the world to see. She would not. Without conscious thought she turned and began walking, and her feet, of their own volition, took her where she needed to go.
Ella’s family home was in a fashionable part of town, a choice made by Millicent when she and Ella’s father united their households. Until she was ten, however, she and her father had lived in the older, more graceful area of the city known as Forest Row. Grand old trees grew on the properties here, and overhung the streets and foot paths that wound among the homes. Now, in a daze of anger and despair, Ella found her feet flying along the familiar path that led to one particular door. She was breathless when she finally rapped the brass knocker, and waited to be admitted.
Dame Fae Merriweather was an eccentric old dowager who lived on Forest Row. Her neighbors whispered about her so much that the whole city knew of her oddities. They knew, for instance, that Dame Merriweather allowed honeysuckles and night-blooming roses to grow in such profusion over the outside of her house that it appeared to be nothing but a giant hill of flowers with a bright red door in it. They knew that she refused to employ men in her home, so that all visitors were met by a maid dressed in an odd skirted butler’s uniform, and her stables were kept by a pleasant woman who wore a shockingly narrow riding habit. A few of her neighbors had even been heard to declare that the gardening was done by the Dame herself, by the light of the moon.
When Ella was very young, so young she could barely remember, she had been out playing in her gardens one day when an older woman with snow white hair and a warm smile came and sat near her on a bench. They had played a game—making fairy hats out of tulips and garments out of leaves—and then Ella had asked this woman who she was. The response had been unexpected. “I’m Dame Merriweather, dear. I’m your Godmother.”
Ella had never had any kind of mother before that, at least, not one that she remembered. She was delighted at meeting a Godmother, especially one so regal in her bearing, and so elegant in her dress and manners. Her long, tapered fingers were clever at dressing dolls or soothing scrapes; and her aristocratic features could look exceedingly kind when she smiled on her tiny Goddaughter.
Over the years, Dame Merriweather had told her the story of her long-gone mother—how they had been friends for years, and how the Dame had promised that she would help look after Ella. Through Dame Merriweather, Ella had grown to know her real mother, and also had gained an excellent Godmother, always there to lend love and support to her Godchild. At that first meeting, though, the Dame had told her very little, just that Ella’s father didn’t much approve of her mother’s old friend, and that, for now at least, Ella should keep this meeting just between the two of them.
Somehow Ella never did end up telling her father about the Dame. Perhaps if she had known that her father was marrying to provide her with a mother she would have been tempted, but as it was, her friendship with the Dame had been... not secret, no, merely never spoken of. Ella would take the footpaths through Forest Row to see her Godmother whenever she wished, and, once in a while, Dame Merriweather would come to Ella in her own garden—always when Ella was alone, and always, after the first time, when Ella needed her. She came the day that Ella’s first pet, a tabby cat named Purrbles, went missing, and she came the day that Ella found out she was gaining a new stepmother. She had never come to Ella’s new home across town, but after Ella’s father died she had sent a letter to Millicent, introducing herself and begging permission for Ella to come visit regularly. Millicent had seen no harm in the connection, and over the years Ella had always been free to visit her Godmother when the Dame’s carriage had been sent round for her.
This time, though, she arrived on foot, and out of breath.
Ella flung herself into the morning room where Dame Merriweather was taking tea. Before the Dame could rise or even offer a greeting Ella was kneeling at her feet, sobbing into her Godmother’s lap. She felt a gentle hand smoothing her hair, a soothing, repetitive motion that comforted and calmed her. When she finally lifted her tear-stained face, the Dame was looking at her tenderly.
“Tell me, darling.”
“Millicent has all but lost the house.” Ella’s tears threatened to rise again as she spoke the awful words aloud. She didn’t expect the Dame’s reaction.
“Why, but that’s marvelous! You can come and live with me!”
The delight in Dame Merriweather’s face suddenly brought forth an answering mirth in Ella. Perhaps all was lost, but the Dame could find a bright side to anything.
“Godmother, I don’t think you’d enjoy living with Millicent Emberton.” Ella spoke the words impishly as she dashed tears from her face.
“Perish the thought, you naughty girl, you know I didn’t mean her, too.”
“True, but Godmother,” abruptly Ella sobered again, “I couldn’t leave them to the poor house and move in here. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Surely that woman has relatives somewhere. She must. Giddy gaddy people always have scads of relatives hidden away somewhere. She can move to the countryside with them, whoever they are.”
“No, Godmother,” Ella tilted her chin in a willful manner. “However flighty they may be, my father chose them to be my family, and I will not abandon them. A leisurely lifestyle in the country is all very well and good, but being a poor woman living on her relatives’ charity is...not. Beatrice and Prudence shouldn’t have to feel like cast-off refuse, just because their mother is a...” Ella saw the Dame’s little smirk. “That was very sneaky of you, Godmother.”
“Why, thank you, dear. I’ve always found a good stiff prod in the morals can get a person thinking again instead of bemoaning her fate.”
“I’m afraid I’m still not thinking well. My mind is going in circles.”
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps this isn’t your problem to solve?”
“What do you mean, Godmother?”
“I mean, darling, that you take entirely too much upon yourself. This ought to be Millicent’s responsibility, not yours. She is the head of your household, is she not? And she is the one who plunged you all into this ridiculous predicament, is she not? Why is it your obligation to deal with it?”
Ella sighed. “I can’t just sit back. Prudence and Beatrice can’t take care of themselves, they don’t have the slightest idea of how to do anything. And Millicent’s solutions are often worse than the problems themselves.”
“Well, how is Millicent planning on solving the problem?”
“She isn’t. She’s trusting on us all to make brilliant matches, whereupon our money problems will magically disappear in a puff of smoke.” Ella spoke wryly.
“As much as I loathe sayin
g this, she may have a point.”
“What?!”
“Don’t fly off the handle, darling, I don’t mean you. Consider the difficulty, however, and look at the solution objectively. If both your stepsisters married, they would have their own households, yes?”
“Well, yes.”
“And Millicent, as their mother, would obviously be welcomed into either household, correct?”
“Mmmm... indeed.”
“And presumably, paying for all their extravagant amusements would be the province of the poor sods—I mean, the lucky gents who married them.”
Ella laughed aloud. “You really do have a wicked tongue, Godmother.”
“Darling, you have no idea.”
***
On Low Street, the local children played an endless game of tag. Their shrieks and giggles filtered through to Ella as she sat at the counter in her shop, staring at the broad expanse of the work surface. She thought as hard as she could, but she couldn’t find a flaw in her Godmother’s plan. Beatrice and Prudence actually wanted to get married, and with husbands and homes of their own they would be secure, even if the Emberton townhouse was lost. Ella found it difficult to admit, but Millicent was probably right: the balls would be excellent times for husband hunting. Now if she could just do her part, and provide her stepsisters with costumes fit to snag a prince—or at least a nice wealthy gentleman...
Ella heard the bell over her shop door tinkle. A harried-looking woman with a wealth of fiery red hair came marching into the shop.
“Please tell me you’re taking rush orders!” Ella was startled, but answered calmly enough.
“Of course, my lady.”
“Hah! If I were a “my lady,” one of the large design houses would make time to cobble me together a costume for the first ball. I’m just a “Madam,” and as such I have been trying every dress shop on Low Street, looking for one still willing to take orders.”
“Well, I’m pleased that you’ve found me.”
Before the Midnight Bells Page 2
