Midnight in Everwood(25)

Marietta closed the doors behind her and crossed the ballroom in a spark of defiance and delicious anticipation. She ascended the steps. The velvet curtains were thick and heavy, falling behind her with a swish as they enclosed her on stage. A secret world only she could enter.





Chapter Thirteen


The ballet set was a frosted night. Fir trees glistened under the bright starlight, twinkling with electric lights. A tower hulked in the corner, brooding and sinister, and in the centre, a palace sprawled out, its twisting spires piercing the night sky. There were no doors to enter the palace. In their place, a large grandfather clock counted the hours, the gatekeeper of time and doorways both.

Half-hearing the opening strains to the Rose Adagio – the scene scored into her memory, echoing with her almost-fall – Marietta rose en pointe in a series of fluttering steps across the painted snow-white stage. She traced one pointed foot up her other leg in a développé, reaching her knee before stretching it out and up, her weight balanced on one pointe. Though she twisted her body into unfeasible shapes through ballet, she never felt as relaxed or as free as when she surrendered herself to the dance. Marietta smiled as she closed the position, pirouetted and repeated it, twirling across the stage and into an arabesque, her heart beating as if it might take flight. If only she could have danced in such a manner during her audition. The grandfather clock ticked with each perambulation of its hands about the clock face. Marietta’s thoughts fouettéd through her mind, turning faster and faster, each one sparking a new whirl before the previous had expired. Her life had taken a crooked turn as if it were a pirouette destined to crumble.

Something behind her clicked.

Marietta looked about herself but she was alone. The sound appeared to have originated from the palace. It was painted in the pale pink of the peonies that bloomed in the Arboretum in May, with lily-white towers. Small mechanised figures had now materialised in backlit windows, affording a glimpse inside. Two young princes in livery similar to that of Drosselmeier’s toy soldiers were sword fighting. A queen sat beside a king, both waving from their thrones. And high above them all, sequestered in the tallest tower, was the oldest story of all. A princess. A vision of beauty clad in her lovely gown, whirling before her mirror. Again and again she turned, spinning a dark fairy tale, trapped within the mechanism. Inside a prison of silk and satin and gauze. When Marietta peered closer, she saw golden mice embroidered on the princess’s dress, ballet slippers on her feet. A facsimile of her own Cartier brooch pinned above her heart.

Marietta stormed back onto the stage.

She did not notice the hours deepening into night or the hands sweeping round the grandfather clock. She lost herself in her dancing, spinning and turning until her vision blurred, determined to execute a perfect string of fouettés, her frustration a swelling tide spilling out into her leaps across the stage, propelling her further and higher, the invisible orchestra swallowing her pain until she felt fierce once more and a new feeling bubbled to the surface. Rage.

Her lips curved into a new shape of smile; a promise.

Then came an unmistakeable sound further back in the ballroom and her smile faltered. It appeared she was no longer alone. She flung open a velvet curtain, revealing Drosselmeier standing there.

She stepped back in astonishment. ‘Dr Drosselmeier. You quite startled me. I had not thought we would still have guests at this hour.’

‘My apologies.’ His frosted eyes trailed down her thin dress. ‘I had hoped to secure a moment alone with you tonight before you absconded.’

‘And what matter could be so imperative that you wished to discuss it tonight?’ she asked, with a sharpness to her tone that would not have been there several weeks prior.

Drosselmeier stepped closer. ‘Dear Marietta, I believe you already know the matter of which I speak. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ He reached for her hand.

Dazed, Marietta allowed him. ‘I am greatly honoured by your request yet I am afraid I must decline.’

Silence fell between them. His grasp on her hand tightened as she tried in vain to withdraw it, her face becoming hotter as her unease grew.

Drosselmeier’s stare hollowed her out. ‘As I have already told you, what I covet, I find a way to possess. And you, Marietta, I have coveted for quite some time.’

Marietta’s thoughts tumbled and spun. ‘Why, whatever for? I am not a beautiful woman; there are others far lovelier than I. Far kinder, far more caring and far richer, too. I urge you to turn your attentions elsewhere.’

‘Ah, but you are a creature as driven as myself. I can see the ambition, the longing, the wanting in your blood. I hear it singing to me. It was you that has summoned my attention, Miss Stelle. I am quite under your spell.’ He spoke in a sonorous voice, deep as wild magic. His words were a violent promise.

Marietta stepped back, pulling her hand from his. ‘Do not transfer the blame upon me, I refuse to have anything to do with it. You know very well I did nothing to lead your thoughts in such a direction.’

‘Are you playing games with me?’ he murmured. ‘For I must confess, that is a delicious thought.’ He moved closer to her, his hands coming to rest lightly on her shoulders.

Marietta was suddenly afraid. ‘Do not dare to presume you may touch me in this manner.’ She pushed his hands off her. He let them trail down her arms, holding her tighter in his grasp.