Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [25]
“You’re not burning things on purpose?” This surprised Poppy as much as anything else Ellen had said. She and Marianne had assumed that Ellen was protesting her “fallen state” by wrecking the clothing and making the beds uncomfortable.
“Of course not!”
Tears started to spill from Ellen’s eyes, and Poppy suppressed a groan. She never could stand to see anyone crying.
“Sometimes it’s like something has taken over my body,” Ellen sniffled. “I know what my hands should be doing, but I can’t make them work right. Or I’ll do something correctly, and then it undoes itself as soon as I turn my back.” She shuddered. “It’s a horrible feeling. I think my father’s ill-luck cursed me.”
Poppy knew that Ellen was probably speaking in the metaphorical sense, or at least being histrionic, but the words chilled her. Cursed. Poppy knew all about being cursed, at finding your body doing things you didn’t want it to do. Like dance all night, even though your feet were bleeding inside your wornout slippers.
She narrowed her eyes and studied the other girl. Perhaps Ellen was cursed, but why and by whom? Her life was already in tatters, what good would it do to ruin her career as a maidservant?
There were, of course, no outward signs that Ellen was cursed. What there was instead was a great deal of ash and soot drifting down on Poppy’s carpet.
“But why are you so filthy? Did Mrs. Hanks tell you to clean out all the chimneys in the middle of the night?”
Ellen’s tears dried as if by magic, and a sly, closed look came over her face. “Just trying to do my duty,” she said stiffly. “If Your Highness will excuse me.” It wasn’t a question, and Ellen certainly didn’t wait for an answer. She turned her back on Poppy and went out of the room.
Poppy flopped onto her bed. “Another mystery I’m not sure I want to solve,” she muttered to herself.
Eencer
Dear Mother and Father,
Please help! I am being auctioned off to the highest bidder by King Rupert. Since I made it clear that I have no matrimonial interest in either Princess Hermione or Princess Emmeline, the king has determined that I will find a wife from among the Bretoner nobility. I am beginning to panic, and the holidays with their welcome return home are not for another month. What shall I do?
Your devoted son,
Christian
P.S. I have become good friends with the Westfalian princess, Poppy. She is tremendous fun, not at all the dangerous enchantress rumored. She does not dance (anymore) but is ruthless at cards. You would like her, Mother.
Christian sealed the letter and summoned a footman to post it. He thought about going himself, but he was hiding in his room. King Rupert had been quite frank about his reasons for throwing the balls and the fact that Christian was appalled had gone right over the Bretoner king’s head. Princess Emmeline was in a snit that he hadn’t chosen her, despite the obvious unsuitability of her young age, but seemed to agree with her father that Christian should at least marry a Bretoner lady, and right away.
He had tried to mollify them, to say that perhaps in a few years, when Emmeline was older, he might return and they would see if they suited. Although privately vowing to never set foot in Breton again just to avoid having to marry Emmeline, he had thought that this might help matters. But no, the king was insistent: he would see Christian betrothed by the holidays and there would be no argument.
Hoping that his parents truly weren’t involved in Rupert’s plan, Christian left the letter in the tray in the hallway for the butler to post. A bit behind schedule, he had to scramble to get dressed for the evening.
The Thwaites were having a dinner party to celebrate their oldest son’s return from traveling the Far East. There was to be music and cards afterward, and Poppy was sure to be there with the Seadowns. Christian loved