Ella Enchanted (7 page)

I wanted to throw myself on a bed and cry about being so hungry and about everything else, but these were not beds onto which one could throw oneself. A purple chair was placed next to one of the two windows. I sank into it.

If I didn’t succumb to starvation, I would be here for a long time, with hateful mistresses and with Hattie ordering me about. I stared out the window at Madame Edith’s garden until exhaustion and hunger produced a kind of stupor in me. In a while, I slept

*

“HERE, ELLA. You can eat this.”

An urgent whisper pushed its way into my dream about roasted pheasant stuffed with chestnuts.

Someone shook my shoulder. “Wake up. Ella, wake up.”

An order. I was awake.

Areida thrust a roll into my hands. “It’s all I could get. Eat it before the others come in.”

In two swallows I ate the soft white roll, more air than sustenance. But more sustenance than I’d had in days.

“Thank you. Do you sleep in here too?”

She nodded.

“Where?”

The door opened and three maidens entered.

“Look! Queer ducks flock together.” The speaker was the tallest pupil in the school. She pronounced her
l
‘s as
y
‘s, mocking Areida’s accent.

“Ecete iffibensi asura edanse evtame oyjento?” I asked Areida. (“Is this how they behave at finishing school?”)

“Otemso iffibensi asura ippiri.” (“Sometimes they are much worse.”)

“Are you from Ayortha too?” the tall maiden asked me.

“No, but Areida is teaching me the beautiful Ayorthaian language. In Ayorthaian, you are an `ibwi unju.’” It only meant “tall girl.” I didn’t know any insults in Ayorthaian. However, Areida was laughing, which made it seem the worst of epithets.

I laughed too. Areida collapsed on top of me, and together we shook the purple chair.

Madame Edith, the headmistress, bustled in. “Young ladies! What do I see?”

Areida leaped up, but I remained seated. I couldn’t stop laughing.

“My chairs are not made to take such abuse. And young ladies do not sit two to a seat. Do you hear me? Ella! Stop your unseemly laughter.”

I stopped mid giggle.

“That’s better. Since it’s your first day here, I shall excuse your behavior and trust that it will have improved tomorrow.” Madame Edith turned to the others. “Into your nightdresses, young ladies. The Shores of Sleep are approaching.”

Areida and I exchanged glances. It was very cheering to have a friend.

Everyone else reached the Shores of Sleep, but I remained oceans away. I had been given a nightdress so covered with bows and frills that I couldn’t lie flat comfortably.

I slipped out of bed and opened my carpetbag. If I couldn’t sleep, I could read. Madame Edith thought fear of the dark was to be expected in young ladies, so a lamp was left burning.

My book opened to a letter from Mandy.

_Dear Ella,

This morning I baked scones. Bertha and Nathan and I will eat them for a snack before we go to bed. But I baked two extra. We’ll have to divide yours and eat them too.

I promised myself I wouldn’t trouble you by saying how much I miss you, and see how I start.

That parrot man, name of Simon, came here today with one of has birds to give you. It speaks Gnomic and Elfian. He said it wasn’t fine enough for the menagerie, but you might like it. He told me what to feed it. I never thought I’d be cook to a parrot.

I wish it would stop talking once in a while. I wonder if I have a recipe for parrot stew. Don’t worry, sweet, I would never cook your present.

Yesterday, you had a grander visitor, and received a bigger gift than a bird. The prince himself came to see you, leading a centaur colt. When I told him you were away from home, he wanted to know where you’d gone and when you’d be back. And when he heard you were at finishing school, he was indignant. He demanded to know why you needed to be finished since there was nothing wrong with you to start with. I couldn’t answer him because I’d like to ask that father of yours the same question.

I did tell him we had nowhere to keep a growing centaur. He’s a little beauty, but what can I do with him? Your prince said he’d raise him for you. He asked me to tell you the colt’s name, Apple. That made me remember my manners, and I gave him his name to eat before he left with the prince.

Speaking of leaving, your father departed the same day you did. Said he was off to the greenies, which I gathered was has disrespectful name for the elves. Said not to expect him back, anytime soon.

I wish you were coming home soon. Bertha and Nathan send their love, and I send mine, by the bushel, by the barrel, by the tun.

From your old cook,

Mandy

P.S. Drink your Tonic._

I closed the book, and whispered to its spine, “Don’t erase the letter, please.” Then I drank my Tonic.

A centaur colt! A little beauty. If only I could see him, and pet him, and let him know me.

The tears that hadn’t come in the afternoon came now. Mandy would be desperate if she knew I hadn’t eaten in three days and if she knew I was under the thumb of a monster like Hattie.

*

THE NEXT morning, Music Mistress led us in song, and singled out my off-key voice.

“Ella does not notice that there is more than one note,” she told everyone. “Come here, child. Sing this.” She played a note on the harpsichord.

I wouldn’t be able to. I could never carry a tune. What would happen when I couldn’t obey?

I sang the wrong note. Music Mistress frowned.

“Higher, or we shall send you to a different school to sing with the young gentlemen.” She depressed the key again.

My next attempt was much too high. One lass covered her ears. I wished her an earache.

Music Mistress played again.

My temples throbbed. I sang.

“A little lower.”

I hit the note. She played another. I sang it. She played a scale. I sang every note. I beamed. I’d always wished I could sing. I sang the scale again, louder. Perfect!

“That’s enough, young lady. You must sing when I tell you to, and not otherwise.”

An hour later Dancing Mistress told me to step lightly.

My partner was Julia, the tall maiden who had teased Areida the night before. I pressed on her arms, using her to support my weight so I could step lightly.

“Stop that.” She pulled away.

I fell. I heard giggles.

Dancing Mistress took Julia’s place. I couldn’t lean on her. I pretended my feet were balloons. I pretended the floor would crack if I didn’t move lightly. We stepped. We glided. We sprang forward, jumped back. I wasn’t graceful, but I didn’t shake the ground. My gown was soaked with perspiration.

“That’s better.”

At lunch Manners Mistress said, “Don’t rap your knuckles on the table, Ella. The king would be ashamed of you.” She frequently invoked King Jerrold.

Tables were forever safe from me.

“Take small stitches, Eleanor, and don’t yank the thread. It’s not a rein, and you’re not a coachman,” Sewing Mistress said later in the afternoon.

I stabbed myself with the needle, but my stitches shrank.

It was the same every day. I dreaded new orders. The curse didn’t make me change easily. I had to concentrate every second. In my mind, I repeated my commands in an endless refrain. When I awoke, I instructed myself not to bounce out of bed. Leave the nightdress for the servants to put away. At breakfast don’t blow on my porridge, and don’t spit out the lumps. On our afternoon walk, don’t skip, don’t leap about.

Once I actually spoke aloud. It was at dinner. “Don’t slurp,” I instructed myself. I said it softly, but a pupil seated near me heard, and she told the others.

The only subjects that came easily were those taught by Writing Mistress: composition and ciphering. She also taught penmanship, which was the one subject in which I did not attain excellence, because Writing Mistress issued no orders.

She taught Ayorthaian but no other languages. When I told her I knew a little of the exotic tongues and wished to learn more, she gave me a dictionary of exotic speech. It became my second-favorite book, after Mandy’s present.

Whenever I had time, I practiced the languages, especially Ogrese. The meanings were dreadful, but there was an attraction in speaking the words. They were smooth, sleek, and slithery, the way a talking snake would sound. There were words like
prySSahbuSS
(delicious),
SSyng
(eat),
hijyNN
(dinner),
eFFuth
(taste), and
FFn00
(sour).

My progress in all my subjects astounded the mistresses. In my first month I did little right In my second I did little wrong. And gradually, it all became natural: light steps, small stitches, quiet voice, ramrod-straight back, deep curtsies without creaking knees, no yawns, soup tilted away from me, and no slurping.

But in bed, before I fell asleep, I’d imagine what I would do if I were free of Lucinda’s curse. At dinner I’d paint lines of gravy on my face and hurl meat pasties at Manners Mistress. I’d pile Headmistress’s best china on my head and walk with a wobble and a swagger till every piece was smashed. Then I’d collect the smashed pottery and the smashed meat pasties and grind them into all my perfect stitchery.

EXCEPT FOR Areida, I had little pleasure from the society at finishing school. Only Hattie’s set pretended to be friendly, and they treated me with the same oily condescension Hattie visited on me in public. They were an odious group, Hattie and the two she called her special friends, Blossom and Delicia. Blossom was the niece and sole heir to an unmarried earl. Her conversation was mostly worries that the earl would marry and have a child who would replace her as his heir. Delicia, the daughter of a duke, spoke rarely. When she did, it was to complain. The room was too drafty; the meal was ill prepared; a housemaid had acted above her station; one of the other pupils wore rouge.

The mistresses came to dislike me too. At first, while I struggled to satisfy them and began to succeed, they made a pet of me, which I hated. But when “finished” behavior became my second nature, they learned I was nobody’s pet. I spoke as infrequently as I could and met their eyes only when I had to. And I returned to my old game.

“Sing more softly, Ella. They can hear you in Ayortha.”

I hecame inaudible.

“Not so soft. The rest of us would like to hear your sweet tones.”

I sang too loud again, although not so much as before. Music Mistress had to spend a quarter hour inching me along to the desired volume.

“Lift your feet, young ladies. This is a spirited gavotte.”

My leg shot up above my waist.

And so on. It was a tiresome game, but I had to play it or feel a complete puppet.

*

HATTIE DIDN’T tell anyone about my obedience. When she had an order for me, she’d tell me to meet her in the garden after supper when no one else was near. On the first such occasion, she instructed me to pick a bouquet for her.

Luckily, she didn’t know I was goddaughter to a fairy cook. I picked the most fragrant blooms, then ran to the herb garden hoping to find something useful. Effelwort was my preference. If I found it, Hattie would have an itchy rash on her face for a week.

Most of the herbs were the ordinary sort, but as I turned to leave, I spotted a sprig of bogweed. Taking care not to breathe its scent, I plucked it and placed it next to a rose.

Hattie was delighted with the flowers and buried her face in them. “They’re sublime. But what…?” As the scent of the bogweed worked on her, her smile faded, and her expression became vacant.

“What would make you stop giving me orders?”

She answered in a flat voice, “If you stopped obeying them.”

Of course. I had wasted a question and I had no idea how long the bogweed scent would last. But as long as it lasted, I could ask her anything and she would answer honestly.

“What else would stop you?” I asked quickly.

“Nothing.” She thought. “My death.”

No likely release from that quarter. “What orders do you plan to give me?”

“I don’t plan.”

“Why do you hate me?”

“You never admired me.”

“Do you admire me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’re pretty. And brave.”

She envied me. I was amazed. “What do you fear?” I asked.

“Ogres. Bandits. Drowning. Becoming ill. Climbing mountains. Mice. Dogs. Cats. Birds. Horses. Spiders. Worms. Tunnels. Poi—”

I stopped her. She was afraid of everything. “What do you want most in the world?”

“To be queen.”

A rabbit queen. Only I would obey her.

Her face was changing, resuming its usual expression of gleeful malice. I tried one more question. “What are your secrets?”

She didn’t answer, just tugged cruelly on a handful of my hair. Her eyes lost their dull cast.

“Why am I standing here?” She looked down at her flowers but didn’t sniff them again. “Oh, yes. What a good lady-in-waiting to bring me such a beautiful bouquet” She frowned. “But one scent is not sweet. Take it out.”

I removed the bogweed and ground it under my foot. If I had thought of it, I could have asked her how she could be defeated.

*

HATTIE’S ORDERS were chiefly chores. I think she lacked the imagination to devise more interesting commands. I brushed her clothes, cleaned her boots, rubbed her neck where it ached. Several times I had to sneak into the pantry and steal cookies. On one occasion I had to clip her toenails.

“Do you rub brine into your feet?” I asked, trying not to choke.

I took revenge whenever I could. Spiders and mice from Madame Edith’s cellar found their way into Hattie’s bed. I’d stay awake at night and wait for the satisfying shriek.

And so it went. Hattie issued commands and I retaliated. But there was no balance. Hattie was always ahead. She had the power. She held the whip.

Areida was my only comfort. We ate our meals side by side. We sewed together. In our dancing lessons, we were partners. I told her about Frell and Mandy and Char. She told me about her parents, who kept an inn. They weren’t wealthy, another reason she was unpopular. When she left school, she would use her accomplishments to help them.