Before the Midnight Bells Page 7

  Clearly she needed guidance, and for Ella that meant only one thing. Swiftly she packed up her work in her newly-returned sewing basket, turned off the gas lamps, and locked up the shop front. Then she set off towards Forest Row.

  ***

  “Ella, my dear!” the Dame seemed a bit alarmed at Ella’s flushed countenance. “What on earth has happened?”

  Ella rushed into the gracious parlor, where her Godmother sat working on her latest tapestry. An intricate rose was taking shape under her hands, and next to her, in a pin cushion, was stuck a variety of needles threaded with hues of red, violet, and green. Heedless of her delicate work, Dame Merriweather rose and drew Ella over to the window seat. The heady perfume of honeysuckles wafted in the open casement, and filled Ella’s senses as she took a deep breath.

  “Godmother, I...” How to begin? How could she explain what had happened, or why it had flustered her so? The words wouldn’t come, and she stared at the Dame hopelessly.

  “I see,” Dame Merriweather’s eyes twinkled a bit, “you’ve met someone.”

  “No, I... I mean, I did meet someone but not... I mean...”

  “Take a deep breath, dear. Stammering is not conducive to conversation,” said the Dame, “Let me call for tea and you can tell me the story from the beginning.”

  So Ella sat quiet while Dame Merriweather spoke a moment with the maid, and then she told her Godmother about Max. The Dame laughed so hard she spilled her tea when Ella tried to describe the rice balls with raw egg.

  “They were truly unpleasant, Godmother.”

  “Well, darling, you knew they were going to be.” Dame Merriweather wiped her eyes with a lacy napkin. “Ah, to be young again.”

  “I’m twenty-two, Godmother, I’m hardly a child.” Ella’s eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “No, dear, of course not. You let the boy goad you into eating that disgusting thing because of your many years and great wisdom.”

  Both of them laughed, but Ella quickly grew wistful.

  “I just had so much fun. It’s seemed like an age since I joked and laughed and enjoyed myself. With Max it was so easy. I had been dreading the ball, but when the time came for me to leave I wished I could stay.”

  “While I can understand your sentiments, my dear, it hardly seems worth bursting in on me like your bustle had caught fire.”

  “Godmother, no one wears a bustle anymore.”

  “My dear child, I wear a bustle. And stop trying to change the subject.”

  “I wasn’t, I was just...”

  “Go on. Tell me what else happened.” Dame Merriweather leaned forward, looking for all the world like one of Millicent’s cronies, waiting for an especially juicy piece of gossip.

  “Well, this morning he came to the shop.” Ella paused, but the Dame just waited. “I had been worried and fretting all morning, but when he walked in it was like it all fell away. He even brought back my sewing basket—I’d left it at the ball.” Ella wasn’t sure what her Godmother would say to the next part of her tale, but she bravely kept going. “I felt like I had to do something to thank him, and he suggested... he suggested...”

  “Yes, dear? What was it he suggested?” Ella got the feeling that her Godmother already knew, but that was ridiculous. That wry tone of voice was just natural to the Dame; she was reading too much into it.

  “He suggested I make him a costume for the next ball.”

  “And you agreed.”

  “Yes, I agreed.” They gazed at one another for a long moment before Dame Merriweather spoke.

  “Dear, you know I’m the last one to care what people think—I mean, look at the household I keep,” she waved a hand vaguely about, as though to indicate all the general oddities that surrounded her, “but you do realize that people will talk if you take on male clients when you have no male staff.”

  Ella shook her head. “I’m not taking on male clients, Godmother. I’m just doing this for Max.”

  “He’s still a man, dear, and last time I checked, people would be scandalized to find you’d fit him for anything.”

  She shook her head again, more vigorously. “Titillated, perhaps, but no more than that. Just enough to give my shop’s reputation a spice of fun, not enough to drive patrons away with the scandal. After all, they’ll all assume that his valet brought me his measurements, not that I...” Ella clapped her hand over her mouth. Perhaps her Godmother hadn’t needed that much information.

  “Did you, dear? How interesting. You’ll have to tell me all about that... someday.”

  Ella blushed. Something about Dame Merriweather’s knowing looked made her sure that her Godmother probably didn’t need to be told anything, she’d already guessed quite enough.

  “Anyway, after all our talking and—well, yes, I suppose it was flirting—all of a sudden he just acted so... proper. Like he had never teased me or laughed with me or challenged me at all! I have no idea what came over him, but he just withdrew.” Ella bit her lip. “He’s supposed to come for a fitting in two days time, and, Godmother, I feel so... so...” Words failed her. She was startled to hear a peal of laughter coming for the Dame.

  “Ella, my darling girl, with all your thoughts focused on opening your shop, affairs of a more typical nature may have escaped your notice. But I never thought you could become besotted and not recognize the symptoms!”

  “Besotted! Godmother, I am not besotted. I cannot be besotted. I don’t have time.”

  This pronouncement only provoked further laughter.

  “Godmother, he is a noble. And not an impoverished noble, either. There is no chance that he could have any sort of serious intentions towards me. And as for me, I don’t even know who he is. I enjoy laughing with him, and I enjoy looking at him,” she stopped to glare at her Godmother until the latter’s laughter subsided, “but that is all. That is all it can be.”

  Dame Merriweather’s mirth fell away, replaced by a gentle smile, full of love for her Godchild.

  “Then, my girl, you must ask yourself, if your mind is so clearly made up, why are you so confused?”

  ***

  Ella stepped slowly down from her Godmother’s carriage. After the Dame’s pointed question Ella had found no reply she could make, and, though she stayed to visit a bit longer, her mind was not on their conversation. It was traveling in circles around the question: why was she so confused? She had pondered it the whole way home, ignoring her surroundings, letting her Godmother’s coach woman tell her when they had arrived. She could not care, and therefore she did not care. And if, by some truly horrible chance, she did care (and this thought she whispered, even in her mind), then what sort of hurt would she be in for, since he clearly could not be for her?

  CHAPTER TEN

  At the parlor in the Emberton house, Prudence, Beatrice, and Millicent were all in deep conversation when Ella stepped in. As soon as they saw her they rose, with many cries, much swirling, and an excess of flapping, to draw her down on the sofa and include her in their conference. Ella felt like she was settled in the midst of a flock of giant geese. All three were trying very earnestly to tell her something, and the noise was overwhelming. Finally Ella threw up her hands.

  “One at a time, please.”

  Beatrice and Millicent both looked at Prudence, who immediately turned bright red. Since her daughter was at a loss for words, Millicent began.

  “Well, Eleanor, darling, last night at the ball Prudence concocted a clever little scheme to meet a young man who caught her eye...”

  Ella missed the next few sentences. Prudence had concocted a scheme? Prudence? She glanced at her stepsister quizzically.

  “I read it in a book once,” Prudence told her softly. “It worked well enough there.”

  Millicent was still talking, oblivious to the interchange.

  “... and then, when she finally pretended to trip—get up and show Ella how you tripped, darling...” Prudence dutifully obeyed, walking slowly toward the couch and then, pantomiming alarm and dismay, coll
apsing forwards in a heap on the cushions. Ella was rather impressed.

  “As I say, when she finally tripped, the blackguard stepped aside!” Prudence picked her head up from her inelegant heap, and it was clear from the look on her face that she was mortified. Millicent began to pace, full of outrage at this insult to her daughter, and Beatrice began fluttering her hands, uncertain if she should help and comfort Prudence or loose her temper like Millicent. Ella turned to Prudence.

  “Pru, are you all right?”

  “Oh, I banged my knee a bit, but I hurt my pride more.” Prudence spoke in her quiet way, and Millicent and Beatrice barely noticed.

  “Perhaps he just didn’t see you?”

  “No,” as impossible as it seemed, Prudence was actually blushing even harder, “as he walked away I heard him make a comment about women throwing themselves at him all the time.”

  “Oh Prudence,” Ella wrapped her arms around her stepsister’s shoulders, “I’m sorry. Whatever did you do?”

  “Well...”

  Beatrice had overheard the last question, and, seeing Prudence hesitate, rushed to answer.

  “Never fear, another chap was standing by, and he helped her right up.” On hearing this, Millicent abruptly stopped pacing.

  “Another chap?” Prudence didn’t respond, but Beatrice was happy to continue.

  “Oh yes, a lovely fellow with red hair. He leaned right down and picked her up, must be rather strong, and then dusted her off a bit. She tried to thank him, but he just said to think nothing of it, he was glad he could be of some use to her, and then he walked off.”

  Millicent began questioning Beatrice about the helpful young man, but Ella looked at Prudence. There was a look of such embarrassment on her face that Ella knew there was more to this than Beatrice had related.

  “Pru...”

  “He’d wanted me to dance.” Prudence was whispering, but Ella heard her.

  “What?”

  “He had wanted me to dance. Earlier.”

  “Well, was he a good dancer?”

  “I don’t know, I wouldn’t dance with him.”

  “Why ever not?” Prudence didn’t respond, and for a moment Ella thought she didn’t intend to at all. Then, very quietly;

  “His hair.”

  “His... hair?”

  “Yes, his hair. It’s red.”

  “It’s red.”

  “Yes, it’s red. And redheads can’t wear pink.”

  “They can’t?”

  “Of course not. So, you see, it wouldn’t do at all.”

  “Wouldn’t do..? Prudence, you aren’t making any sense.”

  Prudence’s eyes filled with tears, and Ella watched in utter confusion. Why on earth would Prudence want her dance partner to wear pink? Few men ever wore pink, red-headed or not. Ella’s bewilderment might never have ended, but Prudence sniffled and managed to say;

  “It’s our daughter.”

  Ella blinked. Prudence seemed to be implying... No. Surely not...

  “I want to dress her in pink silk.”

  Then again, maybe so.

  “She can’t be red-headed.” Prudence’s voice rose in a wail of misery.

  Ella’s last hope that her stepsister had anything resembling a rational though in her head dissipated, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. Trust Prudence to worry about the color of a daughter’s hair before she’d even dance with a man. Well, at least the mystery was cleared up.

  “Don’t cry, Pru, if it’s that important to you we’ll find you a nice blond or brunette to dance with.” Ella expected the tears to abate, but Prudence cried even harder. Beatrice and Millicent descended on the couch to wrap the poor girl in comforting arms, but before her head disappeared from view Ella heard her whisper one thing more.

  “He was just so nice.”

  ***

  Ella was up in her attic work room, pulling fabric and threads for the next day at the shop, when she heard a tread coming up the stairs. Presently Millicent came sweeping in, but with far less swish to her sweep than was usual. Her face was thoughtful, and when she spoke her voice, for her at least, was low.

  “Eleanor, dear, I thought I’d come talk to you about the costumes for this next ball.”

  “Yes, Stepmother? What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, Prudence first. She took the little mishap with her scheme so hard, I thought perhaps we could make her next costume a bit more eye-catching?” Millicent sounded uncertain, a thing she almost never was, and Ella assumed she didn’t want to give her stepdaughter any offense. After all, Ella had designed the first costume, and if it wasn’t “eye-catching” enough that was surely a fault. Ella smiled sincerely at the plump little woman. The more eye-catching the better, as far as she was concerned.

  “I think I could manage that. Do you think Prudence would like to go as a gypsy dancing girl?”

  “Oh yes, I think that would do nicely. Nothing too scandalous, I assume?”

  “I think you can count on me to make it just scandalous enough.”

  “Oh excellent, excellent.” Millicent smiled happily, clearly relieved that this was so easy. “And now for Beatrice, she was very popular at the last ball. She danced almost every dance with a new partner, and I’m just a bit concerned,” Millicent’s heavy emphasis made it clear she was more than “just a bit” concerned, “that she might have appeared a teeny little bit flighty. I’d like her costume to show some, some... constancy.”

  Constancy? Ella was stymied a moment.

  “I could dress her as a vestal virgin, from Hellas.” Ella wasn’t truly serious, but Millicent beamed.

  “That will do nicely dear. Just the thing.”

  A vision of Beatrice, draped in white folds and wearing sandals, came to Ella. She wasn’t entirely sure that Millicent knew what a vestal virgin was, but it was as fine an idea for a costume as any.

  “Now, about my costume, I was wondering if... I mean, would it be possible to...” Millicent paused, and seemed to search for words. “Could you make me a mermaid?”

  Ella wasn’t sure what to say. Millicent, clad in a fish tail and seashells, was a horror not to be imagined. She couldn’t even fathom what had prompted such a request, so she went with a safer objection.

  “It’s hardly a costume from around the world, is it? I mean, a mythical creature?”

  “I know, dear, but I was looking for something that would go with a sailor.”

  Ella looked hard at her stepmother. Millicent’s gaze flickered around the room, and there, a the base of her collar, was the faintest flush. Ella’s eyes widened as the improbable thought struck her.

  “Stepmother, are you husband hunting?”

  “Oh Ella, darling, really, you mustn’t think I don’t miss your dear father, it’s not that I don’t...” Millicent was rushing to get the words out. Ella smiled and let the confusing jumble of verbal negatives wash over her. She knew that Millicent wasn’t the type of woman to enjoy being alone, it had just never occurred to her that her stepmother might try to remarry. The thought didn’t actually bother her, though; in fact, she thought it marvelous idea. She hastened to give reassurance.

  “I think it’s a lovely idea. Furthermore, I’m sure Father would approve. You’ve been alone too long, with only us girls to keep you company.”

  Millicent beamed with relief.

  “Well, dear, you and Prudence and Beatrice are all the company I could ever want. But it would be handy to have a husband around, just for the little things, you know.”

  Ella looked at the floor, hiding her grin. Indeed. The little things.

  “Tell me, Stepmother, if you want to match a sailor... do you have a particular gentleman in mind?”

  “Well, Sir Henry did happen to mention he was planning on attending the next ball as an old sea dog. Something about showing everyone he still knew how to dance the hornpipe.”

  Sir Henry was a portly older gentleman living in the neighborhood. He had purchased his knighthood after returning
from a long sea voyage years ago, when, so rumor put it, he had discovered a hidden pirate treasure. Sir Henry himself would never confirm or deny the rumor, only say, with a sly twinkle in his eye;

  “The sea holds many things, lass, and ‘tis a sure thing I found something out there.”

  Ella liked Sir Henry, but more importantly, she thought he would be a good, if somewhat odd, match for Millicent. The man’s blunt manners and sly humor often hid his true character, which, as far as Ella could determine, was kind and generous, and stable like bedrock. Ella thought her stepmother could use that kind of firm support. Her mind was wandering, though, and she pulled it firmly back to the question of Millicent’s costume.

  “I think I know just the thing, Stepmother. Leave it to me.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Max... Max, are you listening to me?”

  Max started. In truth, his mind had wandered when Vivienne began explaining, for the third time, where and when he should drop off the supplies he was gathering for her. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—he very much wanted his friend to succeed with her plan—but the princess was only going over all this out of nerves. One never walked out on royalty when they were orating, though, so here he was, watching her pace and talk, while he thought about a certain petite seamstress who had refused a kiss.

  “Max!” Clearly he’d missed some significant point. Again.

  “Yes, your royal craftiness, mistress of well laid plans?”

  “Max, I can still have you beheaded.”

  “Ah, but then to whom would you babble all your secrets?”

  Vivienne laughed, disarmed. She knew she was running on, but she had been hoping Max might actually contribute a worthy idea. Instead he was sitting there, staring off into space.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of the charming girl from the other night, would you?”