скачать книгу бесплатно
“Oh, I don’t know—what’s in it?” She peered at the label. Lately, Jane had noticed, Mamma was having difficulty threading needles and making out small print.
“Mamma?” Jane asked. “What are these boxes?”
“Oh, Jane,” Mamma said. “I’m glad you’re here. Look, can you read what this label says?”
The man tilted the box. “‘Serafina’s gowns,’” Jane read. “Who is Serafina, Mamma?”
Isabella appeared at the door, her eyes red and her face swollen. “Serafina was my mother, and those gowns are mine. Just like the jewelry that your mother stole. She can’t have my gowns, too.” A fat tear slid down her pink cheek.
“Isabella, I already explained it to you,” Mamma said wearily. “I did not steal your jewels. I am merely keeping them for you until you are old enough to wear them. You might lose them if I were to give them to you now, and in any case they are not suitable for a girl your age.”
“But they’re mine,” Isabella sobbed. “You can’t have them. You’ll sell them. I know you will.” Jane pressed her lips together. Maude might sound like a child, but at least she didn’t sound like a spoiled child.
“We will discuss it later,” Mamma said. “Poor Jacob is getting tired of holding that heavy box.” And even though the man’s shoulders were so broad that he would have a hard time squeezing into the South Parlor, the wooden crate was indeed sagging in his arms. Mamma pointed. “Through there, and into the bedroom on the right.”
“On the right?” Jane asked as Jacob turned sideways and maneuvered his way in. “But that’s our room.”
“I’m sorry, darling,” Mamma said, “but there is just no space anywhere else. We can’t put them in the rest of the house with the—” She stopped. With the mice and bugs, Jane thought, but of course Mamma wouldn’t admit that there was anything of the sort in their house. “They have to go in your room,” Mamma finished.
“Margaret.” Harry was standing in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“I must ask you to remember that Ella has been through a great deal lately. Her dear mother has died, she was uprooted from her home, and now she has two new stepsisters who dislike her. You must be patient with her.”
“I know how to be patient with a child. My own two girls—”
“And that’s another thing.” Harry cut her off. “The way they act is disgraceful. They are filthy and shoeless. They must comb their hair, at least, and wash themselves.”
Mamma said apologetically, “When I am away, they run a little wild—”
“They are too old to run wild,” Harry said over his shoulder as he turned to go back in the house. “Please, be sure they clean themselves up before I see them again.”
Mamma stood with her hands on her hips, her head on one side, looking at Jane. She considered Jane’s ragged dress, her dirty knees, her bare feet. “Where’s Maude?”
“In the dairy.” Jane’s heart sank. She knew what was coming next.
“I’ll fetch her. I want you two to take a good bath and then comb all the tangles out of your hair. And find some shoes,” Mamma called as Jane headed toward the kitchen, feet dragging, to put water on the stove. Heating the water bucket by bucket and then bathing and drying would take hours. At least it wasn’t winter, when the water would cool long before they were through.
She had almost finished filling the great iron washtub when Maude came in, scowling. Yes, Jane could see that her sister would appear a little wild to a stranger, with her hair a brown tangle, her callused feet dirty, her knees scabbed, her fingernails blunt and filthy. She suddenly felt resentful at the way the newcomers were forcing her to see everything—her home, her clothes, her sister, even herself—in a new and unflattering light.
“Why do we have to get washed?” Maude complained. “It isn’t church day.”
“We need to get cleaned up a little. He says we’re too old to run wild. He thinks we’re living in the city, with dukes coming to visit.” Maude giggled. “You can have first bath.” Jane unhooked her sister’s dress and let it drop to the floor. Maude eased into the hot water. When they finished, they left their clothes in the tub to soak and put on their Sunday dresses.
They sat in the late-summer sunshine of the courtyard and took turns teasing the tangles out of each other’s hair. Jane worked on a particularly nasty knot at the top of Maude’s head as Maude squirmed with pain. When Jane straightened to ease her back, she saw Isabella watching them.
“What are you staring at?” Jane asked.
Isabella didn’t answer for a moment, and then she said, “You look—different.”
“Different how?” Maude demanded, and Jane wondered whether “different” was good or bad. She didn’t want to ask for fear of being ridiculed, so she bowed her head to her work again. Maude said, “Ow! Janie, stop it!”
“Wouldn’t a comb with wider teeth be easier?” Isabella asked. Jane’s hand halted, suspended above Maude’s head. “I have one,” Isabella said. “I’ll go find it.” She glided into the house.
Maude snapped her mouth shut audibly and looked up at Jane, but Jane just shook her head in bewilderment. “Maybe she’s settling in, like Mamma said,” she suggested. Maude looked skeptical.
Isabella reappeared holding a tortoiseshell comb, its handle covered in gleaming silver. “Here, let me.” She gently worked the comb into the end of the tangle, smoothing and straightening Maude’s hair. Her small hands were so deft, and the comb had such wide, even teeth, that Maude could have felt scarcely a twinge as Isabella worked. Jane saw her sister’s shoulders drop as she relaxed. One smooth lock followed another as Isabella worked her way around Maude’s head.
As Isabella continued and Maude smiled up at her, Jane, too, lost her tension. Maybe Harry was right. They had not been upset when their father died, but a mother was different, Jane thought, feeling a twinge of sympathy. Maybe Isabella had just needed some time to feel comfortable with them. Maybe tonight she would move into their room and the three girls would stay up late talking, and tomorrow they would show Isabella how to find eggs and tell her which trees were best for climbing, and Isabella would tell them about the boys she knew and would show them how to curtsey like the ladies in town and—
Her daydream was interrupted by a shriek from Maude. Isabella held a long damp strand of hair in one hand, and she appeared to be twisting the comb deeper into it. Jane leaped to her sister and slapped Isabella across the face.
Harry came running and shouted, “Stop!” He pulled Isabella to him, shoving Jane away so hard that she fell in the dust. “What do you think you’re doing? You brat!”
Mamma came running. “Girls, what happened?”
Isabella was sobbing. She lifted her face from her father’s vest, and the marks of Jane’s fingers were clear on her cheek. “I was helping. I was combing that one’s hair, and the comb got stuck. I was trying to pull it out and I think it hurt her and then she—” Isabella pointed to Jane, who quailed but stood her ground “—she hit me. And she broke—” her voice shook, and she swallowed before going on “—she broke my mother’s comb. Her beautiful comb that came from Spai-ai-ain.” She sobbed as she held it up. Two of the brown teeth were missing.
Mamma swung to Jane. Her eyes were hard. “Jane?”
“She was hurting Maude,” Jane said loudly.
“She did it on purpose,” Maude broke in. “Janie had to hit her to make her let go.”
“She’s lying!” Isabella cried, her pale skin flushed.
“I don’t lie!” Maude shouted back. She ran at Isabella, but Jane managed to catch her.
“Stop it!” Jane hissed at her sister, who wriggled to get away. For answer, Maude pinched Jane in the tender spot inside her upper arm. Jane gasped and almost let go. She looked at her mother, begging for help with her eyes, but Mamma stood as if thunderstruck. She neither moved nor spoke.
“Be quiet, all of you!” Harry said. “Margaret, I expect you to punish these girls. Come, darling,” he said to Isabella. “Come inside and let me put some cool water on your face.” He shot a ferocious look at Jane and went into the house, carrying Isabella, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
With a sudden twist Maude managed to break away, sobbing loudly, but to Jane’s relief she ran off toward the woods instead of into the house after Isabella. Jane hesitated, rubbing the sore spot on her arm. It was red, and she knew it would bruise. Mamma raised a hand to her mouth and turned away.
Jane’s hurt and indignation drained away like whey from cheese. She was suddenly so tired that she could barely keep to her feet. Maude must have run to Hannah Herb-Woman’s house, where she would be consoled and soothed, to be sent home with an apple or a slice of new bread to fill the empty hole in her heart.
And where do I go? Jane asked herself. Who will comfort me? Not Mamma, certainly. She knew that Mamma would never refer to the incident again, as though nothing had happened.
She went inside to start supper but didn’t want to see Harry and Isabella. If Harry was going to wash Isabella’s face, he must have taken her outside. Creeping through the dank kitchen, she heard the squeak-squeak-squeak of the outdoor pump as someone worked its handle. She peered through the crack of the door and saw the man kneeling before Isabella, wiping her face with a large handkerchief. Were there really tear tracks to remove? Jane wondered. Had the girl really cried?
Isabella suddenly gave a large hiccupping sob that must have startled the man, for he rocked back on his heels and stopped what he had been doing, the handkerchief dangling from his hand. “Ella?” he asked, almost fearfully. “Ella, darling—”
She had bent her head and stood twisting the hem of her gleaming dress in her fingertips. She murmured something.
“What is it, my own?”
She raised her head, and Jane was shocked at the misery in her pale face. “Father, please take me home.”
“Ella—” he began, but she rushed on.
“They hate me. She only likes her own girls, and they don’t like anyone but themselves. It smells bad in that house, and there are mice and bats and spiders. You said I would have servants and fine clothes and my own bedroom with my own fireplace....” She turned her head from her father, but Jane could tell by her shaking back and hunched shoulders that she was crying silently. After a moment, the girl said in a voice thick with tears, “I was trying to be nice. I tried to tell them how much prettier they were now that they were bathed, but they didn’t want to talk to me. And Mother’s comb truly was stuck in a knot. I didn’t mean to hurt her—I was just trying to take the comb out without breaking it.” Jane swallowed a lump of guilt. Had she misunderstood what had happened?
“Ella,” the man said again, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my darling, but I had no idea. She told me that the house was in disrepair, but I thought she was so accustomed to fine things that a little mold or a broken stair rail would strike her as disrepair. I didn’t know it was this bad.”
Isabella took a deep breath and straightened. “There aren’t any servants. They do all the work themselves, and they want me to do it, too. They act like I’m stupid because I don’t know how.” Jane stifled a cry of protest. They acted like she was stupid? But it was Isabella who treated them like ignorant country girls!
“They don’t really work,” the man answered, but Jane heard his uncertainty. “A little fine needlework, keeping poultry, making cheese—she told me that these were their occupations, and those are all suitable ways for a lady to keep herself amused.”
“No, father,” Isabella said. “No, it’s not just a little fine needlework and keeping poultry. They make stockings, and they sew everything they wear. They cook and clean the house. They must also chop the wood and do the laundry, because who else is there?”
“Well, Ella.” He stopped. Jane wondered if his face mirrored the discomfort in his voice. “Well, Ella, I’m having a bit of difficulty getting the bank to release my funds. They don’t want to send gold over such a long distance until the king recovers from his illness and puts more guards on the road. I’m working on it,” he said hastily, as she seemed about to speak again, “and soon we’ll have maids and cooks and footmen. Won’t that be nice?” He stood and took her hand. They started toward the door, and Jane fled back through the empty dining room to the South Parlor. She wiped the table and set out the bowls for the midday meal, trying to act as though she had been there ever since the incident with the comb.
The man and the girl passed through the parlor, still talking to each other, and took no notice of her. As soon as they were out of sight, Jane sat down in the big chair, her thoughts flying in and out of her head as she tried to sort them. Had Isabella really been trying to be friendly? And had she meant it when she said that she and Maude were pretty—or at least prettier—when they were clean and neat?
Clean and neat, perhaps, but hardly the ladies Mamma kept insisting they were. Jane winced at the recollection of Isabella’s biting words, even though the girl had merely repeated what Jane herself had recognized long ago: she and Maude weren’t ladies who were so bored with their lives of ease that they played at being dairymaid and hen girl and needlewoman. She and Maude were dairymaids and hen girls and needlewomen, and they were also wood choppers and floor sweepers and cooks. It was a triumph, in a way, that an outsider had seen so quickly what Jane had been aware of but that Mamma had been denying for years.
Jane didn’t feel triumphant, though. She felt sick and so weary that she didn’t ever want to get up.
She had to, though. She hoisted herself out of the chair and went to look out the big door. In the drive, the man was still holding his daughter’s hand. “I’m taking Ella to the village,” he was saying to Mamma. “She needs something to divert her.”
Don’t say anything, Jane pleaded silently. Just let them go.
Mamma lowered her gaze without answering him. Harry led his daughter into the barn, and in a few minutes he emerged, leading the chestnut horses, now harnessed to the carriage. They tossed their heads and lifted their legs high. He helped Isabella inside and climbed awkwardly into the driver’s seat. The horses set out at a brisk pace as he sawed ineffectually at the reins. When the carriage was gone, Mamma said, “They’ll be back this evening.” Then she looked down the drive again.
Maude reappeared, scuffing her feet in the dust as she came up the drive. She didn’t say where she had been, and Mamma didn’t ask.
Harry and Isabella did not return in time for supper, and they still had not come when Jane lit the lamps in the South Parlor. They sat on the rug, one girl leaning on either side of Mamma, as she told them stories of parties she had gone to when she was young. The ladies all in silk, their dresses so long and their movements so graceful that they looked as if they were floating as they danced. The tall men in their elegant black clothes, their hair sleek, their hands sheathed in white gloves.
Jane allowed her mind to wander. Maybe she was wrong about never being able to meet a suitable man. If Harry’s money restored the house, Mamma could give a party, the way she had said. Maybe some young man would see her and lead her into the dance, his warm hand holding hers, his arms around her as they joined the others. Maybe he would have so much money he wouldn’t care that she had none, and he would carry her away from here, to a place where she wouldn’t have to worry about feeding and clothing and caring for herself and her mother and sister, a place where she could relax and be happy.
Don’t be stupid, she scolded herself. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.
Now that supper was over, they allowed the fire to die down. That big ember in the middle looked like the castle, as Jane imagined it, with its fantastic spires and towers stretching up to the sky. The other coals looked like the forest, where the rarely-seen people of the woods lived. That little lump could be the hut where Hannah Herb-Woman lived with her husband and their son, Hugh. The larger ember to the right could be their own house, glowing and shifting in the red-gold light of the dying fire.
Suddenly the ember flared into flame, and the little copy of their house crumbled into ash. Jane sat up. She was half asleep, and Maude was yawning. She knew that Mamma was about to tell them to go to bed, but she didn’t want the cozy evening to end. Neither did Maude, apparently, because before Mamma could say anything, she asked, “Did you have a dance at the party that Harry talked about?”
“Which party was that?” Mamma looked puzzled.
Maude glanced at Jane, who suddenly realized what her sister was going to say. She shook her head, but Maude ignored her. “The one where he said your engagement to Papa was announced.”
Mamma was silent for so long that Jane hoped she hadn’t heard, but then she said quietly, “Yes, it was a lovely party.” She smoothed the ragged skirt over her knees and stared into the flames. “We danced.... Papa was a wonderful dancer, and he was so handsome and he always made me laugh.” A smile came and went fleetingly over her face, making her eyes look even sadder. Jane slipped her hand into Mamma’s and squeezed. Mamma squeezed back. “We were very happy, and I thought it would last ever after.”
She sighed and let go of Jane’s hand, and then said, “I don’t think they’re coming back until tomorrow, after all. Go to sleep, girls.”
“Aren’t you going to bed, too, Mamma?” Maude’s words were almost swallowed up in a giant yawn.
“In a little while,” she answered. But when Jane got up a few hours later to visit the privy, she saw Mamma sitting in the big chair, wrapped in a shawl, her head turned toward the door.
They did not return that night.
Chapter 5 (#u7bd853b0-545a-5b30-be18-6249a4e20660)
Breakfast was silent. As soon as Mamma left the room, Maude said, “Maybe they went back where they came from and we’ll never have to see them again.” Jane didn’t answer.
Shortly before noon, Betsy’s bark drew them outside. They stood on the steps as the carriage drew into the drive, the horses pulling it more easily than they had that first day, when it had been loaded with heavy crates. A small copy of the carriage was tied behind. It was painted deep yellow and white, and harnessed to it was a little brown pony, her head bobbing up and down as she trotted to keep up. Seated on the driver’s seat was Isabella, proudly clutching the reins, a coach whip in a holder next to her.
“She pulls your hair out, and he buys her a pony and carriage,” Jane said.
“It’s all right, Janie,” Maude said quietly, and looked at the ground.
The two carriages pulled up in front of the house. Ella stood, still holding the reins, not looking at the girls. She wore a coral-colored dress, and on her feet were the most astonishing shoes Jane had ever seen. They were covered in a mosaic of tiny pieces of glass. They sparkled and shone so that Isabella seemed to be wearing diamonds on her dainty feet. Isabella saw the girls’ stare and lifted one foot up, its toe pointed. “Papa had them specially made just for me.” She turned her foot slowly. “There’s not another pair like them in the entire kingdom. Isn’t that right, Papa?”
“That’s correct, Ella, dear.” His voice was thick with love as he untied her miniature carriage. “As there is no other like you in the entire world.” Well, thank goodness for that, anyway, Jane thought.
“Help your sister,” Mamma said.
“She’s not my sister,” Jane said.
“Jane,” Mamma said, and startled at the sadness of her tone, Jane went to hold the reins. Harry swung his daughter out of the carriage without acknowledging her. She grimaced at Maude, who giggled. Harry and Isabella went inside, leaving Jane and Maude to stable the pony and the big horse.
When they finally went in the house, Mamma was slicing cheese. She appeared calm, but Jane saw that her hands were trembling. The man, seated at the table with Isabella, rubbed his hands together. “Sorry we couldn’t send word that we were delayed,” he said to Mamma, as though nothing unpleasant had happened.
“Yes, I was concerned.” She poured his tea. She, too, sounded calm. Why didn’t she say something to Harry about his daughter’s behavior? Why did she pretend that she wasn’t angry? Jane thought she would explode from frustration.
“We had to wait for Ella’s carriage to dry.” He smiled fondly at the girl as she nibbled on the corner of her bread. “It was white when we bought it, and nothing would satisfy her but to have it painted the color of the pumpkins by the road—”
“Stop it, Father.” Isabella flushed. “I keep telling you, it’s not the color of a pumpkin. It’s gold like the prince’s carriage.”
“All right, then, it’s gold.” Harry was still smiling at Isabella. “Have some cheese, darling.” The girl ate her bread and cheese without looking at anyone, ignoring her father’s attempts at conversation. When they had finished, he stood up. “I have business to do,” he announced importantly. “Have to see about getting that roof fixed.”
Mamma nodded. “Ask the priest first. He’ll know who needs work.”
Harry sighed heavily. “Margaret,” he said, in a patient tone that made Jane wince, “running the household is your business. This is man’s business.” Mamma’s face turned red. She didn’t answer, and after kissing the top of Isabella’s golden head, the man left. His daughter trailed after him. Jane peeked through the door and saw her, looking even smaller than she really was in the huge empty front hall, standing at the door and staring out at the empty drive.
Jane returned to the South Parlor and scrubbed the remains of their breakfast off the worn wooden table. “What did he mean, ‘man’s business’?” Maude asked. “This is our house, isn’t it, Mamma?” Mamma didn’t answer. Maude and Jane washed the dishes with the last of the soap. Maude opened her mouth to speak, and Jane knew that she was going to ask whether Mamma had brought any more back with her. She shot her sister a warning glance, and Maude subsided.
Isabella came back as Jane and Maude were getting ready for their morning chores. She didn’t look at them, but a line on her cheek sparkled where a tear slid down it. Jane sat down to pull on her boots and heard Maude say, “You can’t wear that dress or your new shoes to do chores.” Jane couldn’t resist looking up to see Isabella’s reaction.
After what seemed like a long time, the girl squeaked, “Me? Do chores?”
“You can choose,” Maude said. “You can help me find eggs or go to the barn with Jane and milk the cow and the goats.”
“I’m not—” Isabella began.
“You have to,” Jane interrupted. “We all have to work, or there’s nothing to eat.” Mamma acted as though she hadn’t heard, but she pressed her lips together tightly. Isabella glanced at Mamma, but even she seemed to know that no help would be coming from there. With a frown that somehow made her look even prettier, she stalked out.
Jane was soon instructing Isabella in the art of milking. “First, you wash your hands.” She worked the pump handle up and down. Isabella complied but didn’t look at her. Fine, thought Jane. You don’t have to talk. She rinsed her own hands and wrung out a cloth in the cool water before the stream from the pump subsided. She sat down on her milking stool and wiped Baby’s pink udder. The cow, a wisp of straw hanging from her mouth, swung her huge head around to look at Isabella. The girl yelped and jumped back.
