Midnight in Everwood(16)

Frederick shrugged. ‘It looks as if you’ll have to give this one a miss then.’ A footman cloaked him in his winter coat and he hurried down the steps and onto the porch that swept out before the townhouse, where the family chauffeur was waiting for him with the automobile. The same one Marietta had specifically requested. She took a deep breath, suppressing her irritation, half-frozen on the front step. Though it was early, winter had already seized the afternoon, transmuting it to deepest dusk. The sky was stained like wine, the edges of clouds tinged with purpling scarlet.

Jarvis shut the front door behind her to keep the heat in. Carlton, the chauffeur, started the engine and the motor trundled past her. Frederick stuck his head out and gave her a jaunty wave as he was driven past. Resentment stole into Marietta’s mood. She couldn’t afford to miss an entire rehearsal, not when she had been cast in the principal role. A role which she needed to perfect for her upcoming audition. If only her father didn’t possess such ridiculously outdated views. Her eyes fell on the automobile displayed further back in the drive.

Theodore’s Rolls-Royce 10 H.P. With twin cylinders and a massive horsepower of ten, the Rolls-Royce was his prized possession, one which not even the chauffeur, had he been here, was permitted to drive. That pleasure was reserved for Theodore alone. Marietta slid her gaze back onto the house behind her. The curtains were drawn against the early night, its inhabitants either otherwise engaged or occupied outside the slumbering townhouse.

Pulling on her leather gloves, Marietta strode towards the Rolls, her breath pluming. After a moment’s consideration, she began the process of starting the engine. When it hummed to life, she slid into the driver’s seat, stunning herself with her own audacity.

Despite being a behemoth, the white automobile handled lightly and with precision. Marietta grinned, stroking the wheel as it purred and preened beneath her touch. It was faster and smoother than the old Rover in which she’d learnt to drive. Her plait whipped over her shoulder as she drove out of the wrought-iron gates and through the estate with no one any the wiser. ‘Thank you, Freddie,’ she murmured.

It had been two years since she’d insisted on him instructing her how to drive an automobile in secret, much against their father’s wishes. The day had dawned clear and bright with the snap of autumn in the crisp fallen leaves. Marietta’s hair had flown out behind her as she’d accelerated down the roads hidden behind their country estate, hitting over twenty miles per hour, the countryside flaming with the rich colour of a fox’s tail.

Now, she chugged past an assortment of stately homes, past the castle and through the city centre as night sighed and settled in. The dome of the town hall was a shadowed husk, the last of the lamplighters trailed past ancient spired churches and modern department stores, their streetlights sputtering to life. And everything dripped with festivity. Carols leaked from church doors, chestnuts roasted on carts and children pressed their faces against toyshop windows. Tomorrow would bring December. Marietta cast her gaze over the streets, her sudden freedom wild and heady. A woman, dressed in evening silks, looked askance at her as she drove past. ‘How very scandalous of me!’ Marietta called out, giddy with her own daring.



‘The Sleeping Beauty is the first true ballet russe.’ Madame Belinskaya prowled along the front of the class. She wore a single egg-shaped emerald strung on a pendant, swinging heavy and pendulum-like over her heliotrope chiffon dress. A delicate tracery of diamonds cobwebbed over it and Marietta had already overhead several speculations on the priceless jewel’s history. Now and then, the soft thud of Madame’s cane adjusting legs, arms, hips and backs interrupted her oration. Marietta swept her right leg out in a circular motion, brushing the floor with her toes, moving in synchronisation with the class as they executed rond de jambes at the barre. ‘When you dance ballet, you are dancing through history and into art. It is steeped in culture and so you must understand what has led you to this point, where the dance has been and what it has represented. Within The Sleeping Beauty, we witness the departure of ballet from Paris and discover the shape the Russian Court has held since Peter the Great, its rules and forms as intricate as the inside of a Fabergé egg. An entire world contained within its jewelled shell.’ Her hand fluttered to her emerald pendant and Marietta wondered at its origins once more.

Madame Belinskaya had repeated this particular speech many times during rehearsals, and with each repetition, Marietta felt the words burrow deeper into her soul. Some nights she dreamt that she was a tiny porcelain doll, dancing inside a Fabergé egg. In those dreams she danced to music so ancient it no longer carried a name, her heart blazing hot and star-bright. The morning coffee sipped from her Sèvres cup tasted bitter after those dreams, her days were duller, the skies greyer and drowned in clouds.

Madame Belinskaya’s cane slammed into the floorboards. ‘Grand battements, ladies.’

The dancers faced the mirrors as one, assumed fifth position with their feet, their arms gliding out to the side, and swept their right legs up high in front of them. In front of Marietta, Harriet whipped her leg up at a dizzying height. Marietta strove to reach higher and higher until her leg strained its protest. She glanced at the windows but the darkness was too absolute to discern anything beyond the department store where she’d left the car before racing over to the studio at an inelegant speed.

‘Victoria,’ Madame Belinskaya called out, ‘show us the Bluebird variation once more.’