Just Like Magic (2 page)

“Now Lucy’s debut was—what, four years ago?” Anna asked.

“Five! But you’d never know it from talking to her. Did I tell you what she said about Prince Gregory? ‘Rather too young for me!’”
I had to laugh at that. Lucy was twenty-three and the prince was twenty, and he had never paid the slightest attention to her in all the years since she debuted.

“Is she still fawning over Princess Seraphine?”

“Oh, yes. Princess Seraphine writes her occasionally, and Lucy goes on and on about it. ‘It will be good to be in town, so I can take tea with Her Royal Highness more often…Her Royal Highness has a new gown remarkably like mine…Her Royal Highness and I think
so
much alike.’ Well, much good Her Royal Highness does her! Lucy still hasn’t found ‘just the right gentleman’ yet. Not that she couldn’t have had her pick, you understand. Ha!”

“Oh dear,” said Anna, stifling a laugh.

Our conversation was interrupted by the jingle and creaking of another carriage pulling up outside the house. Even through the window, I heard a raised voice. “Mama! My dress! Keep that animal off me!” Mon Petit, Stepmama’s Pekingese, let out a few high-pitched yaps.

“Here they are,” said Anna, looking out the window. “Shall I stay? I could help unpack.”

“No, I—” If I had to fight Lucy over bedchambers, better not to have Anna there. “I am a bit tired after the drive, but I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m sure.”

“Mama has a horrendous schedule of dressmakers and dancing masters and such for me—she’s afraid I’ll seem ‘provincial’ after eighteen months on the island, as if we didn’t learn all the dances there are at Miss Edgewood’s. But we’ll make time—and I know I’ll see you at the Duke of Reynham’s ball.”

We hugged briefly, then she collected her maid, who had been waiting near the door. As Anna reached the street, my stepfamily descended from the carriage.

Gerta was out first, a few blond curls blowing across her chubby face as she held a struggling Mon Petit and snapped at Lucy, “Leave him alone! He couldn’t help it, could you, you little lovey-dovey doggy? He had to stretch his little legs— Oh, it’s you, Miss Cameron. How do you do?”

As Mon Petit started sneezing in the pale late March sunlight, Stepmama staggered out of the carriage, cutting off Gerta’s babbling.

“Mama! We must get inside. Mon Petit will catch a chill,” Gerta said, pouting.

“Yes, my darling.” Stepmama adjusted her cloak with what dignity she could muster and fumbled in her reticule for the driver’s fee. He finished heaving their few bags from the roof, took Stepmama’s money, and counted it carefully as Stepmama caught sight of Anna.

“Oh, Miss Cameron, how nice to see you. Weren’t you away?” Anna smiled, nodded, and made her escape as Lucy, finding no help from the driver, whisked herself out of the carriage. The driver tipped his hat, clambered back onto his seat, and drove away.

“Well!” said Lucy, smoothing down her skirts. “If that is an example of the manners we shall have to put up with—”

“Very distressing, my dear,” said Stepmama, panting slightly as she climbed the front steps past two marble lions.

“And look at those bags.” Lucy’s voice was rising. “He should have taken them inside.”

Stepmama looked around in distress. “I—is he gone? Then the footman shall have to—”

“You forget, Mama,” snapped Lucy. “No servants shall arrive until tomorrow.”

“Then…we’ll simply have to manage, won’t we?” faltered Stepmama. “But isn’t it a pretty house?”

Lucy squinted up at it, then caught sight of me in the doorway. “Hmph!” she said, then added in a lower voice, “Mama, have you spoken to Ella?”

“I—not yet, dearest.”

“Mama, you must! We agreed.”

Now what was that about? Stepmama had seemed to be trying to tell me something in the last few days, but it had never come to anything, only a distressed look in her eyes or a pat on my arm. But before I could think more about it, Lucy and Gerta surged past me up the stairs and into the house. As they peered into the different rooms I could hear, “Mama! The furniture must be unsheeted.” “And a fire started—” “They put my piano in the wrong place!” “I’m hungry. Where’s the food?” “Heavens, can’t you do something about that animal?” That was Lucy, directed at Mon Petit, who was standing up at a sitting room window, panting on the glass.

Stepmama gazed at me, face drooping. “Ella, dear, could you bring in the bags? I must see to the girls, it shan’t take long, I know. And the food…did you find the kitchen, dear?”`

“Why should I bring them in?” I asked, shocked.

“The driver didn’t do it, and we really can’t leave them in the street, can we? Coming, girls!” This in response to Gerta’s petulant “Mama!”

So I had to be a porter? Well, I would carry in Stepmama’s, but that was all. Let Lucy and Gerta complain; I wasn’t their servant.

I trudged upstairs with Stepmama’s bag and met Lucy on the upper landing.

“And where is mine?” she demanded.

“In the street.”

“Then get it now. I need it.”

“Go get it yourself, Lucy, since you didn’t get the servants here in time to do it!”

Lucy glared at me, then stormed down the stairs. I opened the door to the front bedchamber. It was full of mahogany furniture. I dropped Stepmama’s bag next to the bed, then looked around curiously. No, there was only one bed. I must be squashed into the third bedchamber with Gerta. Frowning, I turned to leave when Lucy appeared, propelling Stepmama before her. “Mama, speak to her now! Ella does not appear to understand our situation.”

Gerta’s head popped around the door, too. Stepmama looked at me unhappily and began twisting the edge of her shawl. I raised my chin. “I certainly understand our situation, Lucy,” I said. “We’re poor. We don’t have quite as many maids as you’d like. And I think I’ll retire to my room now and get out of your way.”

“Your room! Well, my dear,” said Stepmama, looking around like a trapped sheep. “It’s just that this is a very little house, you know. We couldn’t afford a larger.”

“I know that. I know someone will have to share. I assume I’m sharing a chamber with Gerta?” Glancing from Lucy to Gerta, I saw they were both smirking. I looked back at Stepmama. “Isn’t that so?” My voice rose.

“Well, actually, dear, we’ve given you the most comfortable room in the house. So warm!” babbled Stepmama, waving her hands with an anxious look.

I stepped back. “What do you mean? Where?”

Stepmama looked at me pleadingly, and Lucy spoke. “In the kitchen,” she said shortly.

“Wha-a-at?” My voice was incredulous, and Stepmama grasped at my arm.

“My dear, it’s the only way. There are only three bedchambers, and the attic is for our boxes. We couldn’t leave all our things at Merton Manor, not with the tenants—”

I pulled away from her, trying to keep my temper. “I don’t understand,” I snapped.

“It’s very simple, Ella,” said Lucy in a maddeningly calm voice. “Mama decided. You are to sleep in the kitchen.”

“That’s ridiculous! Kitchens are for servants. Stepmama, you couldn’t mean—”

“Besides,” interrupted Gerta, “it’ll be so handy for you to do the cooking.”

“What? The cook will be doing the cooking—”

“But we couldn’t afford the cook and the maid, dearest,” wailed Stepmama, wringing her handkerchief. “Not with a house on this street! Not with all the expenses of the Season, the dresses and jewels!”

“Why didn’t we rent a different house, then?” A chill was growing inside me.

“The girls showed me how we
needed
a house with a good address for the Season. We’ll be having a boy to do chores and errands a few days a week, and we’ll all be helping out, Ella. It won’t be only you.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Then what will Lucy and Gerta be doing? Tending the fires? Washing the clothes? Stepmama, this is ridiculous.”

“That
would
be ridiculous,” said Lucy, with an unpleasant half-smile. “But we shall dust our rooms—”

“And I shall walk Mon Petit—” Gerta added.

I was angry but still couldn’t make myself believe they were serious. “And I’m to cook.”

“Well, yes, actually…you are. That’s what we decided.” Stepmama said, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“
We
decided? Who decided? I’m not a cook!”

“But we can’t afford one,” said Stepmama, raising her voice plaintively. “You must, Ella!”

“Your mother was a cook. Surely it runs in the blood,” said Lucy, staring intently at her nails.

I stared at Lucy, my mouth open.

“And, and I bought you something,” Stepmama added as she bent over and fumbled about in her bag. “Where could it be? Here…no…ah!” She straightened, holding a book, which she pressed into my hand with a pat. “This is just for you. I’m sure everything will work out in the end. And now I’ll be taking a nap. I find travel so fatiguing.”

“As do I,” said Lucy. “I shan’t be disturbed for the next hour. My bag, Ella.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Stepmama!”

“Oh, Ella dear! We all must help with a few odds and ends. I’m sure I can’t see any other way.” She was gently herding us out of the room now, moaning, “My head! How I do miss Marie.”

Gerta hissed at me as Stepmama’s door shut, “You see? Because of you, Mama can’t even have her maid anymore, who’s been with us for years and years—”

“Because of me?” My mouth dropped open.

“Because we were so deceived in your father’s financial situation—”

“I—you—” I was so furious I couldn’t speak.

“Ella.” Lucy’s voice cut in with a sneer. “Must you two stand there and bicker? I require my bag now, and tea at five.”

“Then get it yourself!”

“I wouldn’t protest too loudly, Ella,” said Lucy smoothly, but there was a spark in her green eyes. “You ought to be grateful that we’re taking care of you at all, when you’re no relation to us. Mama could have put you in the poor house.”

“Besides,” said Gerta, halfway into her room, “When I marry, or Lucy, we shall be rich again, and I don’t expect you shall have to cook. Just keep Mama company, perhaps. But for now— You wouldn’t disobey Mama, would you? Lucy and I shall be attending balls and parties this Season. You wouldn’t have us ruining our hands and complexions, would you?”

“Well, what about me? I shall be attending balls and parties, too!”

“We’ll see about that,” said Lucy with a little smile before she swished into her room and shut the door.

I stood frozen, staring at their doors, listening to the noises of their moving about, unpacking. This couldn’t be happening. How could Stepmama have listened to them and dismissed the cook and maid? I knew they had always despised me, but—

I finally turned from their doors and trudged down the stairs. The bags. Stepmama had said to bring in the bags.

Hardly knowing what I was doing, I went outside and carried them in, dumping them upstairs in the hall. Then I paused.

The kitchen. My things were in the kitchen. That was why the driver had taken my trunk downstairs.

With a shaking hand I pushed open the kitchen door. It moved with a squeal, revealing a shadowy descending stairway. Shutting my eyes, I smelled a faint trace of garlic mixed in with the onion. I stood for a minute, trembling. Then I started downstairs and slammed the door behind me.

2

Dishes and Dogs

At the foot of the kitchen steps, I paused and looked around. A black iron stove squatted against the far wall; in the center of the room hulked a battered oak table and chairs and a stack of barrels and crates. Near the stove loomed a cavernous brick fireplace with dark andirons and a big black hook; above the fireplace sat a silent clock. On my left, in an alcove under the stairs, stood a narrow bed and dresser. To my right, two small-paned windows let in as much sunlight as the dirt would allow, with a door between them. Cobwebs, dust, rotting sacks, dirt—and a corner of my trunk glinting in the pile of crates. I slowly threaded my way to the door. It was locked; I rattled the knob, then went to the table and sank into a chair.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be true. How could I end up in the kitchen as a servant? I was Ella Merton of Merton Manor! I shouldn’t have to put up with this! I should just leave—pack up a few bags, march up those stairs, and head out the front door!

But then what?

Go back home to Little Owlthorpe? But how? I had no money, only some of my mother’s jewelry which I had no intention of selling. Walk? I drummed my fingers on the table, then got up and strode around the room. It was only ten or twelve miles. It might take all day, but I could find some food here and take it along, and Lucy could cry for her tea! Yes, I would walk back home, and then—and then—

And then what?