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dirt!”
“It isn’t dirt, it’s just a little ash from the oven. I just got a few smudges after I took a bath.”
“Oh?” Lucy looked me over and raised an eyebrow. “So it’s something new, Ella dear?” She picked up her knife and fork and pushed her carrots around. “Yes, I see it. Bathe, then rub with cinders. Ella—no, Cinder Ella, displaying the latest scullery maid facial treatment.”
“Why don’t you try it, Lucy?” I hissed. “It couldn’t hurt, and it might help!” And I slammed my way out the door as her sallow face turned red.
Stepmama was snoring gently when I laid her plate by her bed, so I was able to slip back downstairs, eyes stinging, without having to talk to anyone else.
Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a cloth and scrubbed my forehead until it hurt. Then I sank down at the table and held my head in my hands. How was I ever going to manage this? I was a lady! I wasn’t a grubby scullery maid, I wasn’t!
The still-burning logs popped and settled in the stove. I looked over at it with loathing. Never again! From now on, we would eat salads and sandwiches. Anything, anything that didn’t need the oven. Boiling water over the hearth would be as far as I would go, and I would bring a mirror downstairs, and wash my hands and face after I touched anything to do with fire—
And I got up and scraped my dinner into Archibald’s bowl.

 
    4
    The Season of Madness
A week later, when I entered Lucy’s room to deposit her supper on her little table, she turned, frowned at the plate, and whined, “Sandwiches? Again? This is the fourth time that we’ve had ham!” She lifted the top slice of bread with a disdainful finger. “Surely we could have a real meal, something cooked, once in a while?”
“I seem to recall we had soup for dinner.” I turned toward the door.
“And for the past week!”
“Yes, because it’s so economical, Lucy!”
“But it’s all the same! Sandwiches for supper, tea and toast for breakfast—”
“That’s not true, we had eggs on Sunday.”
“One egg doesn’t make any difference! I insist on more variety in our meals, and I shall speak to Mama about it!”
“What a good idea!” I smiled an unfriendly smile and added, “More variety! I think I’ll make porridge tomorrow.”
In Gerta’s room I found her trying on a ball dress and primping in front of her mirror. “What do you think? Is this dress too big on me?” she asked as I set down her sandwich. She was pinching in the sides of the gown and staring at herself from all angles.
“No, but it doesn’t look too tight.”
“I really think I’ve slimmed down a bit.” Gerta lifted her head and continued admiring herself.
“Really?” I couldn’t tell. “Perhaps my cooking has been just what you need.”
“Do you know, I think you’re right!” She turned and gave me a condescending smile.
“Then why don’t you tell your mama how much good it’s doing you? Think how pleased she’ll be!”
“Oh, I will. And it’s so nice—” she twirled in front of the mirror, hands clasped, “—so nice, because the Season starts next week, with the ball at the Duke of Reynham’s! I shall be much slimmer by then, and by the end of the Season I’ll be a perfect sylph!”
I thought the possibility remote. Gerta had been plump as long as I had known her. Once she got to parties, she’d eat again, and soon she’d be chubbier than ever. But I didn’t say anything. I had a bone to pick with Stepmama, and as I laid down her sandwich plate, I pounced on her with a question.
“Stepmama, why wasn’t I invited to the Duke of Reynham’s?”
“Eh?” Stepmama started and looked up, confused, from the book of edifying essays she was reading. “Why? Because, because you’re not out yet, dear.”
“But I was going to debut this Season! Ever since I was little, I knew I would debut this spring!”
“Plans, plans— How many plans have died this last year? It doesn’t bear to think of it!” Stepmama sniffed and