Ella, The Slayer (10 page)

A sigh escaped my chest, but she will always be influenced by her mother, just as I am. Like marionettes, we are meant to dance to different tunes.

"What are you sighing about over there?" Alice asked from across the table. Or it looked more like an azure ocean, as the delicate fabric we stitched spilled over the distance between us.

I shook my head, scattering all the lost opportunities. "Nothing." Well, slightly more than nothing. There was the little fact that today was my birthday and no one had remembered. I didn't expect
them
to notice, but I thought Alice and Madga might have said something.

"Anyone for more tea? I'm parched from licking the end of my thread." Magda laid down her sewing, refilled the kettle, and set it to boil.

"Yes, please," Alice and I said in unison.

I worked the muscles loose in my neck and shoulders. For nearly two days solid we had cut, pinned, and sewed. Somehow, miraculously, a new gown turned up in this morning's mail for Elizabeth. Although I suspect it had a lot to do with a long telephone conversation she held yesterday. The bill for the dress had fluttered to the floor, and my eyes nearly bulged out of my head at the expense. On the bright side, we had only to adjust Louise's dress and sew Charlotte's harem pants. By mutual agreement, we decided to work as hard as we had to. We could have finished earlier in the day, but I'm sure
she
had a list of other jobs waiting for us that Alice and I wanted to avoid. Sitting in the kitchen for two days, chatting and drinking tea, was practically a holiday.

We were nearly done and had only to add the silver embroidered around the leg cuffs. Just as well, they would holler soon for help dressing. We drank our tea and enjoyed a moment of silence as the setting sun caressed the roof of the barn out the window and slivers of light danced over the table.

"Cheer up, you two," Magda said over the rim of her plain teacup. Only upstairs got to use the fine bone porcelain. In the kitchen, we used the rough local-made pottery. "Look at it this way — with all three of them out for the evening, we have the evening off."

That made me smile. Stewart and Henry would accompany them to the big house, and it would just be us three women for the night. I could sit and read to father without worrying about Elizabeth ordering me out, muttering about it being a waste of time.

"Father is looking better," I said. "His eyes are tracking my movements, and today I saw him turn his head to look out the window."

Magda reached out and squeezed my hand. "That's a wonderful sign. He will soon return to us, you wait and see."

Yes, I believed in my heart he would.

Our quiet reflection was shattered all too soon when Charlotte burst into the kitchen. Her mouth made a silent
oh
as she stared at the insubstantial garment that Alice held in her hand, cutting the last thread.

"Is that mine?" she breathed. She reached out and touched the soft material. "Thank you."

She really could be a lovely human being, as long as she was on her own and not having her strings pulled by the other two.

"Our pleasure," Magda said. "You will cause quite a ripple, I'm sure."

Charlotte beamed, kind words were rarely thrown her way and she snapped them up like a hungry dog. Then she remembered her original mission. "They're complaining already. Could you come upstairs and help now, please?"

I steeled myself for the oncoming onslaught. I wonder if this is what our brave men felt like standing in the trenches, taking that last deep breath before they scrambled up the ladders and out into no-man's land. Probably not exactly the same, the shells that dropped tonight would be verbal, but they would still wound. Surely the sense of lead-weighted dread must be similar. There was a question to put to Henry, which task would he rather undertake – charging at Gerry with his bayonet fixed, or help
them
to get dressed?

Alice took my hand and hauled me up the stairs. "Come on; the sooner we start, the sooner they are on their way."

Good point, Alice. Before too long, the room upstairs certainly looked like a battle had been fought, bombs dropped and a bit of rough hand to hand. The wardrobes hung open and clothing was scattered on the floor, tossed on chairs, or clinging to the side of lamps. We had to go through practically everything to find the right undergarments, chemises, and stockings.

A calm had now fallen as all the women were nearly done. Charlotte looked stunning in her harem pants, like an escaped exotic concubine. Louise was sulking that pants were her idea all along, and how stupid were we to mess up the measurements and make them to fit Charlotte. I wouldn't put it past her to spill something on her sister so the poor girl would have to change.

Both Vogue and Les Modes, the French fashion periodicals, lay open on the dresser as Alice and I try to crimp short hair into the small waves taking the world by storm. Giselle had done a fabulous cut on them the previous day, and both sisters now sported the exact same gamin style. Neither of us was a ladies maid and we struggled to follow the latest fashion, when we really didn't know what we were doing. Louise and Charlotte buzzed about the forthcoming party.

"He will of course, only have eyes for me," Louise laid her claim, ensuring Charlotte knew to keep her hands off. "When we encountered him on our ride he couldn't tear himself from my side."

I saw it differently. Louise plastered herself to the man, and he was too polite to scrape her off. She would have climbed onto his horse if he hadn't stayed on the offside – Louise couldn't manoeuvre herself in the side-saddle to get to him.

"And I hear he returned from action with an interesting scar on his torso," Louise continued. "I shall report back when I find it." The two women giggled.

An interesting scar, as opposed to a life threatening one obtained while defending his country. As if men acquired scars like women did hats. Did they stand around and discuss the best place for a bullet to hit to impress the ladies? A quick bayonet to the ribs but not too deep, thanks chaps?

"Ouch!" Louise cried and promptly slapped my face. "Careful you slattern, you pulled my hair."

I rubbed my cheek as she peered at her reflection in the mirror. "Sorry," I managed between tight-ground lips. Thinking of Seth was dangerous, I could lose myself in that forest and he would never come look for me.

At long last they were declared satisfactory for the evening with splendid outfits, crimped hair, rogued cheeks, and red lips. All I wanted to do was sink into a bath while Alice read me a book. I was too tired to hold one up, or even turn the pages for myself.

Stewart tapped on the door, smart in his driver's uniform that
she
insisted he wear when he drove the motorcar, as though they were proper aristocrats and not the bottom rung of the gentry. She muttered under her breath as Stewart held a hushed conversation with her.

An ugly, deep frown marred her brow. "If it cannot be helped," she said.

Stewart nodded, threw me an apologetic look and slipped back down the hall. Uh oh.

Lady Jeffrey took one look at my brown trousers and man's linen shirt and shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. This will not do."

The hands went heavenwards in horror, and I wondered what the problem was; never before had she complained of me wearing trousers while working around the house. Although technically, that wasn't true. She complained a lot, I just ignored her for the most part. I suspect this had something to do with Stewart's news.

"The mute cannot accompany us due to some precious livestock dropping its offspring at an inconvenient time."

That would be one of the heifers that the bull got into late. Poor thing was a maiden and probably having a hard time of it. Although naturally she had crossed her legs until now, just to inconvenience step-mother.

"You are to ride as our protection, Eleanor."

Oh, bugger. I saw my lovely, hot bath being emptied into the yard. I would cry, but I was too worn out to muster up the tears. My notebook of horrors needed a new column, entitled:
things Henry owes me for.

Elizabeth glided to the wardrobe, rummaged in the back, and pulled out a pale apple-green gown of Charlotte's. "Put this on, it is too small and unfashionable for Charlotte. We need to maintain a modicum of decency, in case someone sees you while you're lurking with the motors and other servants."

Charlotte smiled and Louise scoffed as I took the gown. "I don't think we need
her
at all, I hear the vermin have quite gone from London."

"We're not in London, dear, and I do not intend to take the risk." Elizabeth reminded her daughter with a sharp tone. "Besides, Eleanor is farm raised and used to wielding a shotgun. Get changed quickly. We want to be fashionably late, but we can't have anyone getting the jump on Louise's claim."

Heck. No time to go to the attic room, so I headed in the opposite direction, to the kitchen with Alice hot on my heels. I pulled the shirt over my head as I trotted along the hallway, and burst into the kitchen in trousers and my chemise.

Magda took one look, rolled her eyes, and went back to the pile of dishes. Henry had probably passed this way heading out to the field, to check on the labouring bovine.

Alice snatched the shirt from my hands. "Boots and trousers, hurry."

The trousers were barely past my hips when Alice dropped the gown over my head. Too small for Charlotte turned out to be just right for me. With my extra height, it stopped just below my knee and draped in a wonderful, soft silhouette that was very similar to the style just unveiled by Callot Soeurs in the latest fashion magazine.

"Hair," I said to Alice. "What about my hair?"

We had less than a minute before I was expected out the front bearing a shotgun.

"Ah," she cried and grabbed the waist tie. The small scissors were whipped out of her pocket and she cut the stitches. Then she wrapped the band around my head. "Perfect." She grinned at her creativity and pulled the last loose thread free.

Magda handed me a pair of high-heeled buttoned shoes from the discarded shoe box. The leather was worn over the toes, but no one would notice in the dark. Hopefully, no one would notice me at all.

"Say hello to Frank for me, and give him this." Alice pecked me on the cheek.

"I'll do no such thing!" I called out as I grabbed the loaded shotgun from the rack by the door and raced out to meet the motorcar.

Outside sat father's pride and joy, the torpedo-bodied Star 15.9 HP motor vehicle. When he heard they were reaching speeds of nearly 60 miles an hour on the race track, he had to possess one. Who would guess the quiet, country-dwelling knight harboured the soul of a speed demon? Or perhaps I shouldn't be surprised, since I seemed to have inherited it. I still remembered the day in 1913 when ours arrived, a brilliant cherry red; and we all pitched in to maintain and polish the paintwork. As I walked over the lime-chip drive, I looked up at the window, hoping to see father looking down at his beloved motor, but of course he had gone to bed already.

My heart hung heavy in my chest as I ran a hand along the front guard. Whenever there was an outing, Stewart played chauffeur, the lady of the house and my two step-sisters sitting behind. I breathed a sigh of relief that the motor didn't have a dickie seat, or I would be clinging on at the rear like a foot servant hanging off a carriage. At least I got to sit up front.

Stewart held the door open as they climbed in, and latched it shut behind them. There was a slight gleam in his eye as he turned to me. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I sighed and took my place, the shotgun resting over my knees. Some birthday this was turning out to be.

Chapter Ten

Stewart drove the motorcar along the graceful sweep of the driveway. Tonight was a private affair; there was only a small number of people expected, and our motor sat alone at the front portico.

"Do keep out of the way, Eleanor," Elizabeth said under her breath as the butler opened the side door and offered his hand. Louise pushed Charlotte out of the way to go next.

As they disappeared up the wide steps, I saluted. "Yes, ma'am." I waved my hand into the dark. "Around the back my good man, before any respectable person claps eyes on me."

Stewart chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

In the rear yard of the sprawling Serenity House, nine other motors were all lined up. Chauffeurs gathered in the dim light of the stables and smoked cigarettes, rolled dice, and chatted.

I slung the shotgun over my back and joined the edges of the group. I didn't want to dampen the men's conversation, and I still longed for time to myself.

Frank broke away from the game and walked toward me. He wore an uneven smile, and it struck me he was a man comfortable with his looks and charm. Similar, and yet at odds with his employer. Seth held a mild hesitance, perhaps because women saw the title first and the man second, or possibly even third after the size of his bank balance. Frank had the swagger of a man who knew women wanted him and not any trappings. No wonder Alice found him appealing.

"Hello, Ella. No night off?"

"Hi Frank. No, apparently my discreet presence was required."