Ella Enchanted

chapter 19

MY GUEST'S name was known to me. He was Edmund, Earl of Wolleck, uncle of Hattie's friend Blossom, the uncle whose marriage she feared because it might cause her disinheritance. I suppose I should have been amused, but I was too lost in worry that the uncle would be as unpleasant as the niece.

I waited for him in the study, a half-finished square of embroidery spread across my lap. I had barely seated myself when Father opened the door.

"This is my daughter, Eleanor," he said.

The earl bowed. I stood and curtsied.

He was older than Father, with shoulder-length curled gray hair. His face was as thin as a greyhound's, with a long nose above a drooping mustache. He had a hound's sad eyes too -- brown with white showing above the lower lid and bags of skin below.

I sat again and he bent over my handiwork. "Your stitches are neat and so tiny.

My mother made the smallest stitches too. You could barely see them."

When he spoke, I saw teeth as small as a baby's, as though he'd never gotten a second set. I could picture the toddler earl, peeking into his mother's lap and flashing those wee pearls at her exquisite embroidery. When we married, I would try to imagine that he was almost as young as his teeth.

Leaving my side, he turned eagerly to Father.

"You could not hold such a position as I heard you express yesterday, my friend," the earl said. "I hope you will explain yourself more fully."

They were discussing punishments for bandits. The earl thought they should be shown mercy. Father believed they should be treated harshly, put to death even, as an example.

"If a bandit came here and made off with these valuables" -- Father waved his hands at the things he was in the process of selling -- "I'd be unnatural if I weren't enraged. And unnatural if I didn't act on my rage."

"Perhaps you couldn't help being angry," the earl answered, "but you could certainly stop yourself from repaying one offense with another."

I agreed with the earl and thought of an argument tailor-made for Father.

"Suppose the thief didn't steal outright," I said. "Suppose he robbed you through deception. Would that thief deserve the same punishment as a bandit?"

"A different case entirely," Father answered. "If I allowed a rogue to cheat me, I would deserve my fate. The knave would deserve some punishment perhaps, but not a severe one. I would have been a gullible fool and not worthy of my wealth."

The earl nodded at me. "The cases are not so different," he said. "If an armed bandit made off with your possessions, you might be at fault for failing to protect your home. You might then also not be worthy of your wealth. Why should a robber sacrifice his life for your carelessness?"

"Your logic is irrefutable, although its foundation isn't sound." Father smiled.

"Two opponents are more than I can defend against. You have much in common with my daughter, Wolleck. You are both soft hearted."

Neatly done, Father. Now the earl and I were a pair.

Dinner was announced. Father led the way to the dining room, leaving the earl to offer me his arm.

The torlin kerru appeared in our first course, as a salad accompanying chilled quail eggs.

"The mushrooms are elf-cultivated," Father said. "Our cook found them in the market and I wanted to serve them to you, although, frankly, I detest fungi.

Try them, Ella."

The mushrooms were bland. Their only flavor came from the lemon and sage Mandy had sprinkled on them.

"I'm sorry, Sir Peter," the earl said. "Mushrooms of every variety make me ill. I do enjoy quail eggs, however."

The torlin kerru's effect was rapid. By the time Mandy had whisked away my plate, I was wondering why I had thought the earl resembled a hound when he was really quite handsome. I was liking Father too. By the time we reached the soup course, I was calling the earl "sweet Edmund" in my thoughts and smiling at him after every spoonful. When the fish stew arrived, I suggested to Mandy that she give him an extra ladle.

Father struggled not to laugh.

Even without mushrooms, the earl warmed to me. "Your daughter is charming, Sir Peter," he said during dessert.

"I had no idea she'd grow up so well," he answered. "I must marry her off quickly, or spend all my days looking over her beaux."

Back in the study after dinner, I drew my chair close to the earl. Then I picked up my embroidery and tried to make my stitches so tiny that they were invisible.

Edmund and Father were discussing King Jerrold's campaign against the ogres.

Father thought the king's knights weren't aggressive enough; the earl believed them to be valiant and praiseworthy.

Although I wanted to pay attention to my sewing, I couldn't. Every time the earl or Father made a point, I nodded my agreement, even though they disagreed.

Then I noticed that the room was chilly and settled back into my seat for warmth.

"Perhaps we should build up the fire, Father. I should hate for our guest to catch cold."

"I've never seen Ella so solicitous," Father said, adding a log to the fire. "She seems enamored of you, Wolleck."

"I am," I murmured.

"What did you say, dear?" Father asked.

Why shouldn't he know how I felt? I wanted him to know. "I am enamored of him, Father," I said clearly, smiling at sweet Edmund. He smiled back.

"This isn't the first time I've sampled Sir Peter's hospitality and his superior table, but you were never here before." He leaned toward me in his chair.

"She was away at finishing school," Father said. "At Madame Edith's establishment in Jenn."

"The time was ill spent," I said, "if it delayed our meeting."

Father blushed.

"My niece, Blossom, is at that school. Were you friends?"

The torlin kerru had no influence over my memory, but I hated to say anything that would cause sweet Edmund pain. "She is several years my senior."

"Blossom is almost eighteen, I think. You can't be very much younger."

"I was fifteen in September."

"You are a child." He drew back in his seat I couldn't bear it.

"Not such a child," I said. "Mother married when she was sixteen. If I were to die young as she did, I should like first to have lived, and loved."

The earl leaned toward me again. "You have a loving heart. I see that. More woman than child."

Father coughed and offered the earl a brandy. Then he poured a small amount for me.

Edmund touched his glass to mine. "To the eagerness of youth," he said. "May it always get what it longs for."

When he left, he took my hand. "Tonight I came to visit your father. May I return to see you?"

"You cannot come too soon," I said. "Or too often."

WHEN MANDY came to kiss me good night, I told her every word the earl had said after I ate the mushrooms. "Isn't he wonderful?" I asked, wanting her to share my happiness.

"He sounds nice enough," she said grudgingly. "Not like your father, the poisoner."

"But Father is wonderful too," I protested.

"Yes, wonderful!" She slammed the door as she left. I fell asleep telling myself stories in which I was the heroine and Edmund the hero. But my last conscious idea was an image of Prince Char when he'd caught the bridle of Sir Stephan's horse. His face had been close to mine. Two curls had spilled onto his forehead. A few freckles dusted his nose, and his eyes said he was sorry for me to go.

MANDY WOKE me when she had finished her work for the night. I was hard to wake. The torlin kerru still had me in their grip.

"I've been pondering. Sweet, think back. Did Lucinda give you a new gift when she made you happy about being obedient?"

"She didn't say." I closed my eyes and pictured our meeting. "She said,

'Obedience is a marvelous gift... Be happy to be blessed with such a lovely quality.' Why?"

"Ah... it wasn't a new gift, just an ordinary command. Don't be happy about being obedient, Ella. Be whatever you feel about it."

I was happy to obey. No, I wasn't! The room spun. I began to sob from relief mixed with sadness. I had been a begging puppy and a delighted slave, yet I hadn't felt cursed since I met Lucinda. Now I did again.

After Mandy left me, I fell back to sleep and slept late. When I awoke, my head felt heavy enough to sink through the mattress.

The mushrooms! I bolted up in bed, although my temples throbbed. Every moment of the evening before played in my memory. I pounded the pillow in rage at Father for making such a fool of me.

I found a note on the table next to me.

My dear Eleanor,

You are a charming flirt. Woffeck appeared at dawn to request my permission to declare his intentions to you.

I dropped the letter, afraid to read on. If Father wrote I must marry the earl, I would have to do it. If he came home and told me, I'd have to as well. But before he arrived, I could act. Mandy would tell me the letter's contents without making them an order.

I found her in the henhouse, talking to the chickens.

"Up, Secki."

A hen hopped off its roost, and Mandy collected three eggs.

"Thank you." She went on to the next hen. "Up, Acko. I need only one from you." To me, she said, "Do you fancy an omelette?"

I held the eggs while she read the letter.

"Sounds just like his lordship," she said when she finished. "But it's safe to read."

Father had rejected the earl's suit. Upon close questioning, the earl had confessed that most of his property had recently been consumed by fire. He wasn't rich enough for us.

Poor Blossom. Her inheritance wouldn't be worth much, whether or not the earl married.

Father continued,

I haven't time now to find another suitor. But never fear. I shall secure a rich husband for you yet. For now, however, my own neck will have to go into the noose instead of yours.

There is a lady who will wed me, unless I miss my guess. I have gone to offer her my hand, and to tell her that my heart is already hers. If my suit is successfull, I shall send for you so that you may become reacquainted with her.

Reacquainted?

Spare her any tidings of our poverty, although I flatter myself that there is not a shred of greed in Dame Olga's affection for me.

As an accepted suitor or a disappointed lover, I shall see you soon. Until then, and always,

Your father

Dame Olga! Hattie would be my sister!