Ella Enchanted

“Were you my great-grandmother’s fairy godmother too?” A thousand questions flooded in. “How long have you been our fairy godmother?” How old was Mandy, really?

  Bertha came in. “Sir Peter wants you in the study, miss.”

  “What does he want?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say.” She twisted one of her braids anxiously.

  Bertha was scared of everything. What was there to be afraid of? My father wanted to talk to me. It was only to be expected.

  I finished drying a plate, dried another, then a third.

  “Best not tarry, little mistress,” Bertha said.

  I reached for a fourth dish.

  “You’d better go,” Mandy said. “And he won’t want to see that apron.”

  Mandy was frightened too! I took off the apron and left.

  I stopped just within the doorway of the study. Father sat in Mother’s chair, examining something in his lap.

  “Ah, there you are.” He looked up. “Come closer, Ella.”

  I glared at him, resenting the order. Then I took one step forward. It was the game I played with Mandy, obedience and defiance.

  “I asked you to come closer, Eleanor.”

  “I came closer.”

  “Not near enough. I won’t bite you. I only want to get to know you a bit.” He walked to me and led me to a chair facing him.

  “Have you ever seen anything as splendid as this?” He passed me the object he’d had in his lap. “You can hold it. It’s heavy for its size. Here.”

  I decided to drop it since he liked it so much. But I glanced at it first, and then I couldn’t.

  I held a porcelain castle no bigger than my two fists, with six wee towers, each ending in a miniature candle holder. And oh! Strung between a window in each of two towers was a gossamer thread of china from which hung—laundry! A man’s hose, a robe, a baby’s pinafore, all thin as a spider’s web. And, painted in a window downstairs, a smiling maiden waved a silken scarf. It seemed to be silk, anyway.

  Father took it from me. “Close your eyes.”

  I heard him pull the heavy drapes shut. I watched through slitted eyes. I didn’t trust him.

  He placed the castle on the mantel, put in candles, and lit them.

  “Open your eyes.”

  I ran to look closer. The castle was a sparkling wonderland. The flames drew pearly tints out of the white walls, and the windows glowed yellow-gold, suggesting cheerful fires within.

  “Ohhh!” I said.

  Father opened the drapes and blew out the candles. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Where did you get it?”

  “From the elves. An elf made it. They’re marvelous potters. One of Agulen’s students made this. I’ve always wanted an Agulen, but I haven’t got any yet.”

  “Where will you put it?”

  “Where do you want me to put it, Ella?”

  “In a window.”

  “Not in your room?”

  “In any room, but in a window.” So it could wink out at everyone, inside and on the street.

  Father stared at me for a long moment. “I shall tell its buyer to place it in a window.”

  “You’re going to sell it!”

  “I’m a merchant, Ella. I sell things.” For a minute he spoke to himself. “And perhaps I can pass this one off as a genuine Agulen. Who could tell?” He came back to me. “Now you know who I am: Sir Peter, the merchant. But who are you?”

  “A daughter who used to have a mother.”

  He waved that aside. “But who is Ella?”

  “A lass who doesn’t wish to be interrogated.”

  He was pleased. “You have courage, to speak to me so.” He looked me over. “That’s my chin.” He touched it, and I drew back. “Strong. Determined. That’s my nose. I hope you don’t mind that the nostrils flare. My eyes, except yours are green. Most of your face belongs to me. I wonder how it will be on a woman when you grow up.”

  Why did he think it was fine to talk about me as though I were a portrait instead of a maiden?

  “What shall I do with you?” he asked himself.

  “Why must you do something with me?”

  “I can’t leave you to grow up a cook’s helper. You must be educated.” He changed the subject. “What did you think of Dame Olga’s daughters?”

  “They were not comforting,” I said.

  Father laughed, really laughed, head back, shoulders heaving.

  What was so funny? I disliked being laughed at. It made me want to say something nice about the loathsome Hattie and Olive. “They meant well, I suppose.”

  Father wiped tears from his eyes. “They didn’t mean well. The older one is an unpleasant conniver like her mother and the younger one is a simpleton. It never entered their heads to mean well.” His voice became thoughtful. “Dame Olga is titled and rich.”

  What did that have to do with anything?

  “Perhaps I should send you to finishing school with her daughters. You might learn how to walk like the slip of a thing you are and not like a small elephant.”

  Finishing school! I’d have to leave Mandy. And they’d tell me what to do all the time and I’d have to do it, whatever it was. They’d try to rid me of my clumsiness, but they wouldn’t be able to. So they’d punish me, and I’d punish them back, and they’d punish me more.

  “Why can’t I just stay here?”

  “I suppose you could be taught by a governess. If I could find someone …”

  “I would much rather have a governess, Father. I would study very hard if I had a governess.”

  “But not otherwise?” His eyebrows rose, but I could tell he was amused. He stood and went to the desk where Mother used to work out our household accounts. “You may go now. I have work to do.”

  I left. On my way out, I said, “Perhaps small elephants cannot be admitted to finishing school. Perhaps small elephants cannot be finished. Perhaps they …” I stopped. He was laughing again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next night I had to dine with Father. I had trouble sitting down at the table because Bertha had made me wear a fashionable gown, and my petticoat was voluminous.

  On Father’s plate and mine was sparrowgrass covered with a tarragon-mustard sauce. In front of his plate was a many-faceted crystal goblet.

  When I finally managed to settle in my chair, Father signaled to Nathan to pour wine into the goblet. “See how it catches the light, Eleanor.” He raised it. “It makes the wine sparkle like a garnet.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Is that all? Just pretty?”

  “It’s very pretty, I suppose.” I refused to love it. He was going to sell it too.

  “You may appreciate it more if you drink from it. Have you ever tasted wine?”

  Mandy never let me. I reached for the goblet and trailed my balloon sleeves through the sparrowgrass sauce.

  But the goblet was too far away. I had to stand. I stood on my skirts and lost my balance, pitching forward. To stop my fall, I brought my arm crashing down on the table and knocked into Father’s elbow.

  He dropped the goblet. It fell and broke neatly into two pieces, stem severed from body. A red stain spread across the tablecloth, and Father’s doublet was dotted with wine.

  I steeled myself for his rage, but he surprised me.

  “That was stupid of me,” he said, dabbing at his clothes with a napkin. “When you came in, I saw you couldn’t manage yourself.”

  Nathan and a serving maid whisked away the tablecloth and broken glass.

  “I apologize,” I said.

  “That won’t put the crystal back together, will it?” he snapped, then collected himself. “Your apology is accepted. We will both change our clothes and begin our meal.”

  I returned in a quarter hour, in an everyday gown.

  “It is my fault,” Father said, cutting into a sparrowgrass spear. “I’ve let you grow up an oaf.”

  “I’m not an oaf!”

  Mandy wasn’t one to mince wor
ds, and she’d never called me that. Clumsy, bumbling, gawky—but never an oaf. Blunderer, lumpkin, fumble-foot—but never an oaf.

  “But you’re young enough to learn,” Father went on. “Someday I may want to take you into civilized company.”

  “I don’t like civilized company.”

  “I may need civilized company to like you. I’ve made up my mind. It’s off to finishing school with you.”

  I couldn’t go. I wouldn’t!

  “You said I could have a governess. Wouldn’t that be less expensive than sending me away?”

  A serving maid whisked away my uneaten sparrowgrass and replaced it with scallops and tomato aspic.

  “How kind of you to worry. A governess would be much more expensive. And I haven’t the time to interview governesses. In two days, you shall go to finishing school with Dame Olga’s daughters.”

  “I won’t.”

  He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll write a letter to the headmistress, which I shall entrust to you, along with a purse filled with enough KJs to stop her protests against a last-minute pupil.”

  “I won’t go.”

  “You shall do as I say, Eleanor.”

  “I won’t go.”

  “Ella …” He bit into a scallop and spoke while he chewed. “Your father is not a good man, as the servants have already warned you, unless I miss my guess.”

  I didn’t deny it.

  “They may have said I’m selfish, and I am. They may have said I’m impatient, and I am. They may have said I always have my way. And I do.”

  “I do too,” I lied.

  He grinned at me admiringly. “My daughter is the bravest wench in Kyrria.” The smile vanished, and his mouth tightened into a hard, thin line. “But she shall go to finishing school if I have to take her there myself. And it will not be a pleasant trip if I have to lose time from my trading because of you. Do you understand, Ella?”

  Angry, Father reminded me of a carnival toy, a leather fist attached to a coiled spring used in puppet shows. When the spring was released, the fist shot out at a hapless puppet. With Father, it wasn’t the fist that frightened me; it was the spring, because the spring determined the force of the blow. The anger in his eyes was so tightly coiled that I didn’t know what would happen if his spring were tripped.

  I hated being frightened, but I was. “I’ll go to finishing school.” I couldn’t help adding, “But I shall loathe it.”

  His grin was back. “You are free to loathe or to love, so long as you go.”

  It was a taste of obedience without an order, and I didn’t like it any better than the Lucinda-induced kind. I left the dining room, and he didn’t stop me.

  It was early evening. In spite of the hour, I went up to my room and donned my nightgown. Then I moved my dolls, Flora and Rosamunde, into bed and climbed in. They had stopped sleeping with me years before, but tonight I needed special comfort.

  I gathered them on my stomach and waited for sleep. But sleep was busy elsewhere.

  Tears started. I pushed Flora against my face.

  “Sweetie …” The door opened. It was Mandy with Tonic and a box.

  I felt bad enough. “No Tonic, Mandy. I’m fine. Truly.”

  “Oh, lovey.” She put down the Tonic and the box and held me, stroking my forehead.

  “I don’t want to go,” I said into her shoulder.

  “I know, honey,” she said. She held me for a long while, until I was almost asleep. Then she shifted her weight. “Tonic time.”

  “I’ll skip tonight.”

  “No you won’t. Not tonight, especially. I won’t have you getting sick when you need your strength.” A spoon came out of her apron. “Take it. Three spoons.”

  I braced myself. Tonic tasted nutty and good, but it felt slimy, like swallowing a frog. Each spoonful oozed along my throat. I continued to gulp after it was down, to rid myself of the sensation.

  But it made me feel better—a little better. Ready to talk anyway. I settled myself back in Mandy’s lap.

  “Why did Mother marry him?” This question had troubled me since I was old enough to think about it.

  “Until she was his wife, Sir Peter was very sweet to Lady. I didn’t trust him, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Her family didn’t approve because he was poor, which made Lady want him even more, she was that kindhearted.” Mandy’s hand stopped its comforting journey up and down my forehead. “Ella, pet, try to keep him from learning about the spell on you.”

  “Why? What would he do?”

  “He likes to have his way too much. He’d use you.”

  “Mother ordered me not to tell about the curse. But I wouldn’t anyway.”

  “That’s right.” Her hand went back to work on my forehead. I closed my eyes.

  “What will it be like, do you think?”

  “At school? Some of the lasses will be lovely. Sit up, sweet. Don’t you want your presents?”

  I had forgotten about the box. But there had been only one. “Presents?”

  “One at a time.” Mandy handed me the box I’d seen. “For you, wherever you go your whole life.”

  Inside the box was a book of fairy tales. I had never seen such beautiful illustrations. They were almost alive. I turned the pages, marveling.

  “When you look at it, you can remember me and take comfort.”

  “I’ll save it until I leave, so the stories will be new.”

  Mandy chuckled. “You won’t finish it so fast. It grows on you.” She fished in the pocket of her apron and fetched out a tissue-paper packet. “From Lady. She would have wanted you to have it.”

  It was Mother’s necklace. Threads of silver ended almost at my waist in a woven pattern of silver studded with tiny pearls.

  “You’ll grow into it, sweet, and look as lovely wearing it as your mother did.”

  “I’ll wear it always.”

  “You’d be wise to keep it under your gown when you go out. It’s that valuable. Gnomes made it.”

  The bell tinkled downstairs. “That father of yours is ringing.”

  I hugged Mandy and clung to her.

  She disentangled herself from my arms. “Let me go, love.” Planting a kiss on my cheek, she left.

  I settled back into bed, and this time sleep claimed me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, I woke with my fingers curled around Mother’s necklace. The clock in King Jerrold’s palace was just striking six. Perfect. I wanted to rise early and spend the day saying good-bye to the places I loved best.

  I put my gown over the necklace and crept down to the pantry, where I found a tray of freshly baked scones. They were hot, so I tossed two in the air and caught them in my skirt, pulling it out to make a basket. Then, looking down at my breakfast, I ran to the front of the house and right into Father.

  He was in the entranceway, waiting for Nathan to bring the carriage around.

  “I don’t have time for you now, Eleanor. Run off and bang into somebody else. And tell Mandy I’ll be back with the bailiff. We’ll need lunch.”

  As instructed, I ran off. Aside from its dangerous aspects, the curse often made a fool of me and was partly the reason I seemed so clumsy. Now I had to bang into someone.

  Bertha was carrying wet laundry. When I bumped into her, she dropped her basket. My gowns and stockings and undergarments tumbled onto the tiles. I helped her pick them up, but she was going to have to wash everything over again.

  “Little mistress, it’s hard enough getting your things ready so quick without having to do it twice,” she scolded.

  After I apologized, and after I delivered Father’s message to Mandy, and after she made me sit down and eat breakfast on a plate, I started for the royal menagerie just outside the walls of the king’s palace.

  My favorite exhibits were the talking birds and the exotic animals. Except for the hydra in her swamp and the baby dragon, the exotics—the unicorn, the herd of centaurs, and the gryphon family—lived on an island meadow su
rrounded by an extension of the castle moat.

  The dragon was kept in an iron cage. He was beautiful in his tiny ferocity and seemed happiest when flaming, his ruby eyes gleaming evilly.

  I bought a morsel of yellow cheese from the stand next to the cage and toasted it in the fire, which was a tricky business, getting close enough for cooking but not so close that the dragon got the treat.

  I wondered what King Jerrold planned to do with him when he grew up. I wondered also whether I would be home to learn his fate.

  Beyond the dragon, a centaur stood near the moat, gazing at me. Did centaurs like cheese? I walked toward him quietly, hoping he wouldn’t gallop off.

  “Here,” a voice said.

  I turned. It was Prince Charmont, offering me an apple.

  “Thank you.”

  Holding out my hand, I edged closer to the moat. The centaur’s nostrils flared and he trotted toward me. I tossed the apple. Two other centaurs galloped over, but mine caught the treat and started eating, crunching loudly.

  “I always expect them to thank me or to say, ‘How dare you stare?’” I said.

  “They’re not smart enough to talk. See how blank their eyes are.” He pointed, teaching me.

  I knew all that, but perhaps it was a princely duty to explain matters to one’s subjects.

  “If they had words,” I said, “they wouldn’t be able to think of anything to say.”

  A surprised silence followed. Then Char laughed. “That’s funny! You’re funny. As the Lady Eleanor was.” He looked stricken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you.”

  “I think of her often,” I said. Most of the time.

  We walked along the edge of the moat.

  “Would you like an apple too?” He held out another one.

  I wanted to make him laugh again. I pawed the ground with my right foot and tossed my head as though I had a mane. Opening my eyes as wide as they’d go, I stared stupidly at Char and took the apple.

  He did laugh. Then he made an announcement. “I like you. I’m quite taken with you.” He took a third apple for himself out of the pocket of his cape.

  I liked him too. He wasn’t haughty or disdainful, or stuffy, as High Chancellor Thomas was.

  All the Kyrrians bowed when we passed, and the visiting elves and gnomes did too. I didn’t know how to respond, but Char raised his arm each time, bent at the elbow in the customary royal salute. It was habit, natural to him as teaching. I decided on a deep nod. Curtsies often tipped me over.