Midnight in Everwood(13)
‘Is this tale going to be as long as your beloved Paradise Lost?’ Marietta crossed her arms over her cream silk robe, her hair in two curtains down to her waist. ‘I have yet to eat and my toes are bleeding.’
Frederick eyed her feet, clad in satin slippers, warily. ‘Take a seat, I have a feeling you’ll be wanting to hear this.’ His shoe tapped against his knee, measuring the beat to which his enthusiasm marched. ‘You asked me some time ago if I knew of anyone who might be willing to construct a set for your Christmas production.’
Marietta sat on her window seat. It was cold beneath her silk and she shivered with anticipation. ‘Am I to understand that you’ve found someone?’
‘Not only did I find someone, I have found someone who will craft the most exquisite, wondrous set you’ve ever dreamt of.’ Frederick spread his hands like a magician’s reveal.
Her irritableness melted away. ‘Are you serious, Freddie?’
‘When have I ever been less than serious?’ He winked. ‘Now you shall have the finest stage in all of England for your swan song. And I have been given assurance that it will even possess …’ he paused for effect ‘… moving parts!’
‘Oh, do you mean to tell me what I think you’re implying?’ Marietta clapped her hands together in delight. ‘However did you persuade Drosselmeier to take on such a task?’
‘It seems my years of studying the fine art of persuasion were not wasted after all.’ Frederick grinned. ‘Drosselmeier is eager to reach new customers ahead of opening his latest venture. And everybody who’s anybody in this city will be attending our Christmas Ball; I merely pointed out what a brilliant opportunity it would be for him to advertise. He readily agreed and is prepared to engineer it at cost to himself. He’s a dammed fine inventor, I’m certain you shall have the finest of all sets.’
‘It sounds wonderful. Madame Belinskaya might finally crack a smile upon hearing the news,’ Marietta said and Frederick snorted.
‘I have already accepted the deal on your behalf; now go and relax.’ He nodded towards the steam gathering in the bathroom; a rose-and bergamot-scented storm. ‘I’ll have a plate sent up for you.’
When he took his leave, Marietta disrobed in her white bathroom, peeling back the thin bandages on her feet. The floorboards were cold and she stepped into her clawfooted tub with a hiss and a sting. She lay back, melting into the bathtub. The water settled around her in a delicious moment, easing the winter that had seeped into her joints. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the perfumed aroma, allowing her thoughts to drift unmoored. They floated out of her control, onto the Rose Adagio and the forbidden audition. Trying to tug them in one coherent direction, planning how she might attend, failed. The memory of her previous conversation with Frederick unhinged her concentration. As did the knowledge that there were institutions for ladies of a certain mindset. She was at an impasse. How could she battle against the limitations on her freedom if doing so would bear a steeper cost? Her mood disintegrated.
Later, she ate alone from a silver tray. Cheese tart with butter-rich pastry, a crystal dish of ratafia trifle, orange segments. Her silk sheets welcomed her but sleep slipped further and further away as her worries clamoured louder than the call of her dreams.
The performance drew closer and her future was held tighter than ever in her parents’ grasp.
Unless she could find a way to audition.
Chapter Eight
Upon awakening the following morning, Marietta felt an insatiable urge to be idle. It was a Sunday and there were no ballet classes or rehearsals to absorb her time. Nor was there any luncheon or afternoon tea she was promised to attend. She slipped a white cotton tulle peignoir over her night chemise and stretched, luxuriating in the time unspooling out before her. She breakfasted long after her parents and brother before donning her woollen winter coat and stepping out into the gardens.
Wide stone steps led down onto the frost-encrusted lawn that swept out before her. The sky was gunmetal-grey, the trees skeletons, the remnants of the rose and wisteria garden rendering the landscape bleak. A spectral fog drifted by. In the distance, the manicured lawns fell away to the most expensive view in Nottingham: the castle. Though castle was a generous term, Marietta mused, stepping onto the lawn, as it better resembled an ornate mansion perched on Castle Rock, the original edifice having been destroyed hundreds of years prior. The frosted grass crisped beneath her buttery kidskin boots, buckled at her ankles, and a solitary thrush’s song fluted out. Marietta paused to search out the bird when an accompanying crunch sounded.
Drosselmeier’s voice was arresting in the haunting expanse. ‘At once a voice arose among the bleak twigs overhead in a full-hearted evensong of joy illimited.’
‘I would not have placed you as an admirer of Thomas Hardy,’ Marietta said. ‘You do not strike me as a man enamoured with Romanticism.’ At last she spotted the black-spattered cream breast of the songbird. It granted them a final tune before spreading its wings and vanishing into the silvered air. Marietta turned to Drosselmeier.
‘Is that so?’ He smiled but offered no opinion. ‘Forgive me for imposing myself upon you. You cut such a romantic figure wandering through the mist before the castle that I felt quite compelled to join you.’
His black gloves were clasped behind his back, a Chesterfield coat in charcoal tweed with a velvet collar keeping out the worst of the chill, his top hat a hasty addition, the fact betrayed by his dislodged hair.