Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [12]
“But that girl,” Mrs. Hanks finished for her sister, her voice hard. “That girl, who now insists on being called Ellen because it’s more ‘common sounding,’ has caused nothing but trouble. Sulking, ruining things, shirking her duties, and quitting jobs or being fired!” She gave her sister’s arm a squeeze. “You always were more patient than I, Louise. I’d have boxed the girl’s ears and set her to peeling potatoes in the scullery if she’d given me a tenth of that trouble.”
Poppy rather agreed with Mrs. Hanks. She’d often wondered what would happen to her if she was disowned (something her father frequently threatened). She had watched the maids, and decided that she could probably make a go of it. She certainly wouldn’t beg help from someone and then treat her the way this Eleanora/Ellen was treating Mrs. Hanks’s poor sister.
“Mrs. Shields, the Laurences’ housekeeper,” the sister said, having composed herself, “says that if she makes one more mistake, she’s out on the street for sure. They made her hide in the scullery during the ball, so she wouldn’t accidentally injure a guest or set the house on fire!”
“If she’s sacked just send her here,” Mrs. Hanks said. “I’ll give her a job.”
Poppy finished her tea in silence, wondering how soon Ellen would be working for the Seadowns, and if she was really as horrible as Mrs. Hanks made her out to be.
Odd
Ahem, ahem, Your Highness?”
By now Christian was so used to the red-haired maid’s skittishness that he didn’t look up from the letter he was writing. Despite her years serving the Bretoner royal family, she seemed to find Christian highly intimidating.
“Put it on the table, please,” he said, and went on describing the opera he had seen the night before. He was writing to the oldest of his sisters, ten-year-old Margrete, and he knew that she would want each act described in detail.
The sound of an entire tea tray falling to the hearth was too much to ignore, however.
“What in the world?” He dropped his quill and turned to see the girl standing in the middle of a pile of broken china, tears welling from her eyes.
“Oh, Your Highness! I’m so sorry!” She pointed to the puddle of tea. “It looked green!”
“Green?” He frowned at the brown liquid.
“I thought … it glowed … just for a moment. I was so startled!”
“Glowed green? That is odd.” He shrugged. “It looks fine now, though. Here, I’ll help you gather it up.”
She turned bright red and gave a little laugh, wiping her eyes with her apron. “No, no, Your Highness! I’m not half so bad as Ellen; Mrs. Mills won’t sack me over this.”
“Ellen?”
“Oh, a maid from a few years back,” the girl chattered, now suddenly at ease with him as they squatted by the hearth and gathered up the shards of china. She mopped up the tea with a napkin and wrung it out in the remains of the pot. “She broke everything she touched; it was awful. Mrs. Mills gave her second and third chances, but Their Majesties found out and she was fired.”
“I see,” Christian said. He handed her the tray, and she bobbed a curtsy and went out.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised.
When he turned around he saw a green gleam, just like the maid had said. This one came from the oil lamp on his writing desk. He went over to tweak the wick, and the flame was yellow and orange as it always was. As he fiddled with it, it guttered and smoked and went out. He needed to finish his letter, but the lamp wouldn’t relight. The wick felt slick and cold, and the oil in the cut glass bowl was oddly discolored.
Christian rang for a footman, who brought him a new lamp and reminded him that it was almost time for his ride with the princesses. Putting aside the letter to his sister