Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [54]
Poppy hopped to her feet. “I’ll go see what’s amiss.”
“Gently, Poppy, please,” Lord Richard cautioned. “Just because she has not been very agreeable doesn’t mean that she still isn’t a victim.”
Poppy grimaced. “I know.”
“May I come? I shall wait outside her bedroom, of course,” Roger said.
“No, no,” Lord Richard said. “Please rejoin the other guests, Roger. Poppy will probably do best on her own.” He smiled down at Poppy, who grinned back.
She positively flew up the stairs to the little garret room where Ellen slept, and entered without knocking. She had been hoping to catch Ellen up and about, not at all weak or injured, but again was stopped short with surprise.
Ellen was in bed, but she had thrown back the blankets and was clutching one of her feet. She had bitten her lower lip until it bled, and her face was wet with tears.
“What in heaven’s name—” Then Poppy caught sight of Ellen’s other foot, and couldn’t think of what to say next. After a moment she swore one of her brother-in-law Heinrich’s choicest oaths, and quickly shut the door behind her.
Ellen opened her eyes for a moment, but then shut them again. She rocked back and forth and whimpered, clearly beyond caring how she looked or who saw her.
And to Poppy’s mind, she had good reason to be distressed. Because from the ankle down, Ellen’s feet had turned into shining white glass.
Belle
Cold. So cold that it burned.
The paralyzing coldness of her feet was so intense that echoes of it shot up her legs like lightning bolts. Ellen lay on her narrow bed and sobbed, not caring that Poppy was there, staring at her.
How could her godmother have done this to her?
When the Corley first appeared to her—her own magical godmother to protect her and help her—Ellen had been filled with a constant thrill of excitement. At last, her life would finally be put to rights. She could leave servitude behind forever and restore her family’s name. Her godmother had promised her all that and more: marriage to a doting and wealthy husband—a prince even! She would soon be the toast of Society, the most beautiful and envied woman in Castleraugh. The promises were all too glorious.
Far too glorious, in fact.
Since her first appearance as Lady Ella on the night of the royal gala, her godmother would hardly speak to her. In fact, she seemed annoyed when Ellen went to visit her in her glass-pillared palace. She had no time to talk, and when she did it was to scold Ellen for not dancing every dance with Prince Christian.
“But Roger Thwaite is an old friend,” Ellen had protested.
“We need to ensnare the prince,” the Corley said.
“Ensnare? But why? And if he doesn’t fall in love with me—”
“Do not even suggest such a thing, Eleanora,” the Corley had retorted. “You will marry Prince Christian, and that is that! Now be off with you. It’s late, and you need your rest. You look peaked, and I have already expended my powers quite enough on your behalf without having to work over your face to make it less drawn.”
Terrified at what “working over her face” might entail, Ellen had fled. That had been last night, and so it was with great trepidation that she entered the Corley’s palace tonight for her toilette. But her godmother was all smiles, and once again she was petted and pampered, massaged and scented.
And then the slippers, again, of glass.
Her feet had not been right since the night of the first gala. The skin had seemed smooth and unyielding, and her toes felt stiff. She tried to shrug it off as lack of dancing practice, and only mentioned it to the Corley when the stiffness hadn’t faded by the night of Marianne’s ball.
“You should have returned to me before the clock began to strike midnight last time, dear one,” the Corley scolded as Ellen was sewn into the rose and gold gown. “Once you and your handsome prince are married, I will have time to fix your feet. But not now! Now we must get you