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applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
“But we’re out of mourning, and I have all the dresses I need. Why can’t I debut?”
“You don’t have a court dress,” Stepmama pointed out, sniffing gloomily. “We shall have to get one made for Gerta, and they’re terribly expensive. That’s why we couldn’t engage a housemaid, you know, and I still don’t know how we shall manage, I really don’t!” She took refuge in her handkerchief again.
“But Gerta already has a court dress!”
“It’s from last year, dearest! And then she wasn’t able to use it at all because of your father dying right before the start of the Season. Not that I mean to blame him, of course!” Stepmama’s pale blue eyes brimmed with tears. She gulped and added, “So Gerta must have a new dress for the new Season. I’m sure you understand.”
I grasped desperately at a last chance. “I could wear Gerta’s dress from last year. We could alter it.”
“Oh, no,” said Stepmama, waving her handkerchief feebly. “No, that would never do. It would be so, so penny-pinching, which would present a very bad appearance, besides not looking well on you at all, because it’s such a pale blue, which suits dear Gerta because she’s blond, but you’re so dark, my dear. No, it really wouldn’t do at all. We mustn’t think of it.”
“Then when shall I debut?” I demanded.
“I suppose it shall have to be next year! If only dear Charles hadn’t died when he did!”
“But what about the Little Season, in the fall?”
“But the dresses…I don’t know, Ella, I would like to. We shall think it over, dear! One can always hope!”
Hope. That was all I had, then. I’d been cheated out of my father, my home, and my inheritance, and now my chance to enter society was gravely threatened. But I could hope! Hope for what? A raven to drop a bag of gold down our chimney? Or for my stepsisters to marry well? Either one would solve my problem, but the raven seemed more likely.
Still, there were things I could do to remind myself that I was a lady and that my depressed state was only temporary. For one, I absolutely refused to do the laundry. Lucy raged, Gerta whined, and Stepmama moaned, but I held firm. We all wore the same things for a week until Stepmama finally gave in and arranged to hire a laundress (recommended by the agent, Mr. Simms) as Lucy snapped, “There goes my new necklace for the ball!”
Also, I refused to live in such horrid surroundings anymore. If my stepsisters were to have any chance of marrying, we needed to look like wealthy society members, and dirt and dust did not help.
So I enlisted Henry. He’d spent a few days planting the garden, but from then on, I drove him with a ruthless hand. He polished and shined the front door and windows (I had decided the back windows could wait). He scrubbed down the stone lions and the front steps and hall, complaining all the while. But I insisted, and then had him thoroughly clean the sitting room walls, dust the paintings, brush and polish the furniture, shake out the curtains, and beat the rugs. By the time he was done, he was barely speaking to me, but any caller coming to our door would be greeted by shining woodwork and the distinct smell of lemon oil, not dust. Of course, it was necessary to keep the doors to all the other rooms firmly shut.
“And you can answer the door when callers come,” I informed Henry, as I stood admiring the hall while he polished the kitchen doorknob.
“Me, miss? I’m not a footman! I ain’t got no livery, and I won’t do it. Besides, I’m only here three mornings, and part of the time I’m running errands. Who answers the door the other times?”
Who indeed. “Well, it won’t be me. I’m not a maid!”
“Well, then,” said Henry with great sarcasm, “If callers come, miss, you’ll just have to holler at them through the window.”
“No, no, I have an idea! When we see someone approaching, we can slip out the door as if going for a walk, and then