Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [63]
“Drink your medicine,” Roger said grimly, and poured some sludgy potion out of a flask and into a glass one of the maids brought in.
Dickon shrugged, drank, and threw the glass in the fireplace, the movements well practiced by now.
“And put this on,” Poppy said, wrapping a bracelet around his wrist. She couldn’t stand the expression on Marianne’s face one second longer. Dickon shook himself like a dog and then his gaze went to Marianne.
“I’ve been making rather a fool of myself, haven’t I?” His normally cheerful demeanor was subdued.
“Yes. Are you quite finished doing so?” Marianne’s soft voice was tart.
“I hope so,” he told her.
“Then you may sit by me while we plan what to do next,” she said.
“I hate to say this, Poppy,” Roger said. “But I’m not convinced that your knitted charms are that efficacious. It seems to take the potion as well to make any difference. And even that wears off.” He frowned at Dickon.
“Roger,” Poppy said evenly, without looking up. “As the knitting doesn’t do any harm, either, I will continue to knit these things and tie them on people until the Corley and her glass slippers are just a memory. And that is all I will say about it.”
Roger stopped pacing to look at her, then resumed. “Very well, I understand,” was all he said.
Poppy didn’t think he truly understood—but then, he was the one pacing. She had to keep her hands moving, she had to be doing something, something to help, or she would run mad. If she knit a thousand charms and none of them did a thing, at least she could say that she tried.
Lord and Lady Seadown came in, looking subdued. They had been talking with Eleanora for the last hour, and Poppy saw that Lady Margaret had been crying.
“The poor girl,” she murmured, and sank down beside Poppy.
“Eleanora is in no condition to attend the masked ball,” Lord Richard announced. “Her feet… the skin …”
“Her feet are turning to glass!” Lady Margaret cried out as she sank onto the sofa beside Poppy. “Glass, the poor child! The physician has never seen anything like it. He’s not sure if it can ever be cured. How could it be? We need to get rid of that Corley creature, and find someone to heal Eleanora.”
“Don’t worry, Cousin Margaret,” Poppy said, knitting even faster. “If it cannot be done in Breton, I’ll take her to West-falin. Galen can help her, and if he can’t, we’ll find someone who can.”
Poppy, who had once shunned Ellen as irritating and depressing, now wanted to help her just as much as she wanted to free Christian from his infatuation with Lady Ella. She had realized in the night that she and Eleanora were really quite similar: their parents had made horrible mistakes, and the children were forced to pay the price.
“What will happen if Eleanora doesn’t dance?” Poppy’s voice was much more tense than she would have liked. There had been penalties for her and her sisters if they didn’t attend the Midnight Balls, even if their absence had not been by their choice.
“I don’t know, but the Corley’s plans seem to hinge upon the masquerade,” Roger said gravely. “Christian will soon return to the Danelaw, and the Corley told Eleanora that the prince must propose to her by the end of the ball.”
“But if she doesn’t go,” Marianne said eagerly, “then he can’t propose and the Corley’s plan will be ruined!”
“I fear it won’t be so easy, my dear,” her father said. “The Corley will likely find some way to force her to attend, even if it cripples her, or she will exact her revenge upon Eleanora for failing.”
“It’s best to let these things play out,” Poppy said, striving to sound knowledgeable but coming out anxious instead. “There’s always a chance for escape, but you have to wait for just the right moment.”
She thought of the last night she had spent in the Palace Under Stone, not in a dream, but in reality. She thought of dancing at the ball with one eye on her sister Rose, who had tried to make a bargain of her own before Galen had helped them escape. The scream from the