Never Been Bitten (5 page)

Her mother closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as if wishing very hard that she did not have a daughter who skulked about the pantry at half eleven, gnawing on root vegetables and dropping trays of raw meat. This was, of course, a wish destined to remain ungranted, but Ellie sank to her knees anyway and did her best to gather up what had most likely been meant for tonight’s supper. Her mother unscrunched her porcelain face and opened her long-suffering blue eyes.

“Elspeth, darling,” Mama began in her softest voice. The one Ellie dreaded above all others.

Being called “Elspeth darling” was never a good sign, nor was the sight of her mother awake before noon. All indications suggested Ellie should flee, and flee now. If she weren’t already on her knees grappling for the fallen carrot, she would have obeyed the impulse.

“What the devil are you about, girl?” Mama demanded in much put-out tones.

“I was hungry,” Ellie murmured without looking up. “Just looking for a light repast.”

Mama’s incredulity was palpable. “A light repast of whole carrots and a pound of venison?”

“You’re awake a few hours before schedule,” Ellie interjected, hoping some quick misdirection would save her from having to invent an explanation. “What could have possibly dared to disturb your slumber?”

“The howling of the wind.” Mama pulled her shawl tighter and glared over her shoulder at the frost-specked windows. With luck, she had forgotten about the carrot.

Having gathered the foodstuffs, Ellie rose to her feet and returned the tray to the larder. The majority of the venison could be salvaged. Ellie had hoped to be a breadwinner, not exacerbate their poverty.

She shook out her skirts, rolled back her shoulders, and met her mother’s gaze bravely. A wasted effort, of course, since even if Ellie had been decked in finery fit for a queen, she would still be a pale shadow of her mother. Mama awoke from slumber with golden ringlets, big blue eyes, and a perfect cupid’s-bow smile. Ellie awoke from slumber with a lopsided mane of red-blond tangles, bloodshot eyes, and a crick in her shoulder from falling asleep curled up on the library sofa. And an inexplicable yen for raw vegetables.

“I’ve been thinking . . .” Mama said. Another bad omen. Mama tended to think things like
you would look lovely in orange damask,
or
why don’t you read the original text in ancient Latin,
or
if you don’t stop complaining about your hair, I’ll cut it off and have done
.

Ellie braced herself. “Say your piece.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Mama repeated more firmly but without meeting Ellie’s eyes, “that it’s time.”

“No.” Ellie’s heart began to gallop. The pantry was suddenly too small to comfortably breathe. “Mother, no.
Please.
”

“Elspeth, you knew when we moved here it would not last forever.” Mama’s voice was calm, steady, and vexingly reasonable. “This cannot be a shock.”

“But why now?” Ellie hated her own powerlessness, despised her inability to keep the panic out of her voice every time she found herself participating in these dreaded conversations. “I truly like it here.”

Her mother sighed. “You always do. And we cannot stay.”

“But—but—” Miss Breckenridge flashed into Ellie’s mind, followed quickly by the promise of ten-pound notes and another glimpse of Mártainn Macane. “I’ve made a friend,” Ellie blurted, not certain whom exactly she referred to, and for the moment uncaring. She would employ as much hyperbole as necessary. “How can you ask me to leave when I finally belong for the first time?”

“I told you not to make friends,” Mama replied, intractably calm in the face of Ellie’s growing desperation. “If you had listened to sound advice, there wouldn’t be anyone to fit in with. End of discussion. Prepare whatever you’d like to bring. We leave by the end of the week.”

“To go where?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

“I shan’t go.” Ellie took a deep breath. “You can leave if you like, and post me a letter when you get there. I’m an adult. And I’m happy here.”

It was more than that, actually. More important than mere happiness. For the first time in her life, Ellie felt useful.

No—Ellie
was
useful.

She investigated specious claims of the idle rich. While her acts were neither heroic nor exciting, she had earned money for her family and was shaping her own life. She enjoyed disproving folktales of werewolves and vampires, and she had absolutely savored the singular experience of dancing in a Society ballroom.

If she listened to Mama, she’d do nothing but sleep her life away, muddling through depressing bouts of wakefulness encaged in the library with brandy-laden tea and endless stacks of spine-creased books. Ellie knew every printed word in their library by rote, could read them all in their original tongues and discuss them in almost any language, but what was the point of any of it if there was no one to discuss anything with and no chance of experiencing an adventure of her own?

“You can make all the mulish expressions you want, young lady, but we are leaving. Pack, or don’t pack. If you wish to leave with nothing but the clothes on your back, that’s up to you. But we’re going, and that’s final.” Mama’s perfect brow creased as she gave Ellie a small smile. “Darling, I’m doing this for
you.
”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

“And yet, just when I’m comfortable with a place, it’s suddenly time to leave. Why must we flee in dead of night? Why must I keep to myself and never make friends? Would it be so terrible if I were to have a bosom acquaintance? Or attend an opera? Or—or—fall in love?”

Mama’s vise-like fingers closed around Ellie’s wrist before she registered that her mother had even moved. “The opera is overrated,” Mama’s soft, steely voice whispered into Ellie’s ear, “and you will
not
fall in love.”

Ellie jerked her arm back. She squeaked in surprise when she actually wrenched it free. Even Mama was visibly shocked. She had always been stronger, in every possible meaning. She won every argument, triumphed in every battle, whether of wits or strength or will. But here they were, toe-to-toe, chin to chin. Ellie’s wrist was sore, but it was free.
She
was still free.

For the moment.

Ellie well knew that she could refuse to leave as much as she’d like, but in the end, if Mama went, she would, too. Partly because she couldn’t afford an overnight in an inn, much less an entire life of independence. But mostly because she loved her mother.

If Mama would just stay put somewhere, Ellie would be blissfully content. It was the bouncing about she couldn’t stand. Just when a place became comfortable, just when faces started to seem familiar, just when she began to feel at
home
. . . the next moment she was tossing trunks into a carriage at midnight and racing through a starless countryside to a place even stranger than the last.

When Ellie had been younger, she’d actually believed her mother when she’d claimed they relocated at random intervals simply because Mama suffered ennui if she stayed overlong in one spot. Recently, however, Ellie had begun to notice a glassiness just at the edges of her mother’s eyes during their inevitable fights.
Panic.
Whatever the true reasons were, Mama did not force Ellie to pick up roots out of idle cruelty. She was truly as desperate to leave as Ellie was to stay. Mama was just better at hiding it.

She might not have a grand purpose to life, but Ellie was in possession of an invitation to a house party, and she’d be damned if she would give that up as well without a fight. If she couldn’t have the kind of life she’d always dreamed of, at the very least she wanted to experience the upcoming weekend. And when she left, she would carry the memory with her.

Mama was staring at Ellie with narrowed eyes and a brow creased with concentration, as if she was hoping to force her daughter to acquiesce with the mere force of her will. It almost worked. Every other time, it
had
worked. But not today. Today, Ellie stood tall, with her messy hair, her juice-stained hems, and her bruised-but-unfettered arm akimbo on her hips. They both knew she would end up living wherever her mother wished. But Ellie did not have to pack her things right now.

“My best friend’s birthday is coming up,” she began, toeing the fine line between exaggeration and outright lies. “If you are asking me to abandon her without so much as a word, the least you can do is allow me to accept her invitation to visit first. I may never have the opportunity again. And we can leave the following week just as easily as this one.”

Mama’s frown increased. “Elspeth, darling. Please listen. We are not leaving for me. I do this for
you.
”

“Then wait for me.” Ellie relaxed her stance and softened her voice. “Let me call on my friend for the weekend. I will only be gone a few days.”

“But why would you wish to? You’ve never spent a single night from home.”

“You’ve never allowed it.”

“And why should I do so now?”

“Mother, you don’t have a choice. I’m old enough to mind my manners and not embarrass myself. I’m also old enough to have a little fun. Look at it this way: We will leave soon. If you allow me one small freedom, this will be our last word on the subject. When I return, I will pack peaceably and immediately, and we can set off as soon as you’d like.”

Her mother’s lips pursed. “And if I cannot agree?”

Ellie lifted a shoulder. “Then it will be a battle every step of the way.”

Mama was silent for a long moment. Perhaps she could not fathom why her daughter had lost her habitual obedience.

For her part, Ellie wasn’t certain when Miss Breckenridge’s invitation had gained such importance, but there was no denying that it had now become the brass ring dangling just out of reach, and she was determined to make one last leap.

And earn the promised fee. Running away cost more than staying put, and they had enough trouble making it through each day.

Mama shook her head. “Elspeth darling ...”

Ellie longed to collapse her shoulders in defeat. She forced her spine even straighter rather than give the impression of submissiveness.

“Ladies?” The deep voice came from beyond the pantry, where their sole manservant stood in the shadows bearing a single white card upon a small silver tray. “It appears Miss Ramsay has a visitor.”

“Who?”
Mama demanded, wild-eyed.

“The card says Miss Lydia Breckenridge.” The manservant proffered the tray.

If Ellie thought her mother had been blindsided by her daughter’s recent demonstration of will, Mama was downright apoplectic over the shock of impending company.

“Show her to the sitting room, if you please,” Ellie commanded before her mother could catch her breath. “I’ll be there posthaste.”

With that, she edged past her mother and raced to her bedchamber for a fresh gown.

Although she changed as rapidly as she was able, she fully expected to discover Miss Breckenridge half-mad from one of Mama’s brutal interrogations. Instead, Ellie found her benefactress to be unattended, drifting about the sitting room with what could only be described as an air of befuddlement.

“Good afternoon.” Ellie glanced about the simple room in search of whatever might have discomfited Miss Breckenridge so. “Is something amiss?”

“Amiss?” the young woman echoed, her brow clearing. “That’s precisely it. Nothing at all is amiss!”

“I’m afraid I do not follow.” Ellie motioned her guest onto a sofa and took the seat opposite.

“The Breckenridge estates are a positive museum, every inch filled with antiquities fighting for space with the latest Parisian baubles. Your domicile—while quite serviceable, Miss Ramsay, I mean no insult—hasn’t a single gewgaw on display. It gives your home quite a refreshing, timeless appeal.” Miss Breckenridge shook her head and laughed. “I daresay your staff is the more content, not having to spend every minute dusting the same tired gimcracks.”

Ellie forced a smile, unsure whether her home had just been complimented or slighted. She tried to see her plain surroundings through a stranger’s eyes.

While everything was tasteful and tidy, the “everything” in question did in fact consist of no more than the bare necessities. Aside from a few pieces of furniture and a handful of candelabra, the sitting room contained nothing else. Ellie could scarce imagine living in the chaotic opulence Miss Breckenridge described. Not only were antiquities and Parisian baubles quite above the Ramsays’ means, their inevitable midnight flights from one corner of England to another inherently prohibited attachment to any given item.

It was therefore a happy accident indeed if their inability to own any belongings had produced an ambiance of—what had Miss Breckenridge called it?—timeless appeal.

Ellie frowned slightly upon the realization that her benefactress might have been using the term in a more literal sense than originally interpreted. The Ramsay home contained no clocks, no newspapers, no correspondence, no diaries, no family portraits.... It looked exactly as it always did, with nothing in vogue and nothing to mark the passage of time. Viewing her home from such a perspective, Ellie began to suspect she had been quite cleverly insulted, and could not help but take affront on behalf of her family’s simple lifestyle.

“Miss Breckenridge, I hardly think—”

“Do I interrupt?” came a smooth voice from the doorway.

“Mama!” Ellie rose to her feet, an attack of nervousness overwhelming her momentary pique. She had stood her ground against her mother, and there was no telling how Mama would react in consequence. “Miss Breckenridge, this is my mother, Mrs. Ramsay. Mama, this is my—this is Miss Breckenridge, whom I’ve told you so much about.”

Mama arched a slender brow. “The one with the birthday, I suppose.”

Miss Breckenridge could not suppress a startled blink at that rejoinder. Wordlessly, she, too, rose to her feet.

“Just so, Mama.” Ellie tamped down a grin at the idea of Miss Breckenridge’s being on the receiving end of an uninterpretable comment, unsure whether she had just been subtly insulted.