Midnight in Everwood(92)
The pain of missing Legat was fierce, a branding she wore upon her heart. Yet had any of it truly been real or had they all been mere marionettes in Drosselmeier’s puppet theatre? She wished she had a tangible memento to remind her it had all happened, been real. The good and bad, painful and delicious. To prevent the entire experience from melting like snow in the first wash of spring. She withdrew the ice mouse from her pocket with a pang. Oh, how she wished Legat had crafted it from stone or sugar.
She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath.
Something warm wriggled in her hands. Marietta’s eyes flew open. A real mouse was peering back at her. With snow-white fur and a sugarplum-pink nose. She laughed. ‘It seems Everwood had one last sigh of magic.’ She named him Marzipan for the streets of that enchanting town and the night she had danced with Legat when her hair had been spun with marzipan. Ever since, the scent had wended its way into her dreams, filling them with the memory of his touch.
She had sunk to the depths of fear and despair and emerged victorious, imbued with a courage she had been capable of all along and fortified by her wits. There was one final plan yet to enact.
Pulling together wisps of ideas and spinning them into her own kind of magic, Marietta eased her pointe shoes off and hung up her dress. The petticoat beneath was the elaborate confection Dellara had insisted upon. It was ivory and enchantments dripped off it in puffs of vanilla and marzipan, the spangled icicles losing their sparkle and trickling to the hemline. Marietta folded it in tissue paper in an attempt to retain the last, lingering snap of magic in a world that couldn’t sustain it. Instead she pulled on a simple nightdress then laid her head down upon her silk pillow to sleep the night away in her own bed.
The following morning, on Christmas Day, Marietta rose late, pulled on a robe, and wandered along the corridor to her drawing room, sleep still tickling her mind with wild fancies and shadowed figures. As she awaited her brother, she sifted through a small stack of envelopes, no doubt delivered by her lady’s maid, Sally, during their Christmas celebrations. Yesterday, she amended to herself, fumbling to order time. Letters from her correspondences, Christmas cards and, residing at the very bottom of the stack, an envelope stamped with the return address of the Nottingham Ballet Company.
Marietta opened it with trembling hands.
Dear Miss Stelle,
We are delighted to confirm your acceptance …
Marietta scanned the lines and closed her eyes. Held the paper tightly to her chest. She had fallen out of her turn during the audition, victim to Drosselmeier’s magic. Yet she recalled how the judges’ eyes had seemed glazed over, their attention scattered. They must not have seen it after all.
‘Merry Christmas, old girl. Now I do realise you are playing the principal role in The Sleeping Beauty but I truly had not expected you to commit yourself this heartily to it. Were you intending to sleep the day away in its entirety?’
Marietta laughed and embraced her brother. ‘It is good to see you, Frederick.’
‘Steady on, what’s all this?’ he asked and she knew that if she glanced up at him that instant, his brow would be furrowed, pleased but befuddled at her show of affection.
Marietta relinquished her hold on him. ‘Nothing but the sentimentalities of the season.’
‘That was quite some night. Though I noticed you disappeared before midnight; where did you vanish to?’ Frederick raised his eyebrows. ‘I would have accompanied you, you know.’
Oh, the things she longed to confide in him. Of a world of enchantments and exquisite creations that set your imagination aflame. Where you might find yourself and follow your star. The sisterhood and first love she had left there. Instead she struggled back into her societal poise like an old dress, over-starched and poorly fitting, and offered him a smile. ‘I felt the most incessant urge to rehearse for today.’
‘Well, you quite deprived me of the chance to gift you this.’ He handed her a small box with a satin bow affixed on top.
She opened it to discover a gold ballet slipper on a glistening chain, delicate in its size and detailed down to the diamond bow on its laces. ‘Why, it is beautiful. Thank you, Frederick.’ She fastened it round her neck and pressed it to herself.
‘I am glad you admire it. I wanted you to always possess a reminder of that which you love,’ he said.
Marietta hesitated. ‘Freddie, I’ve been accepted to the Company.’ She showed him the letter.
‘Oh, Ets—’ He took it. Read it twice through. ‘I was unaware you had even auditioned.’ He handed her it back.
‘I shall not hear a word against it; my mind is quite made up, you know.’
He gave her an evaluating look. ‘Yes, I do believe it is. I am proud of you, you know that. Though I had wanted an easier path for you.’
‘Sometimes the easy path is harder than one might ever imagine,’ Marietta said softly. ‘Was that why you decided to follow in Father’s footsteps?’
Frederick seated himself on the wingback chair nearest where Marietta sat, at the little writing desk. ‘Is that what you have thought of me? That I decided against fighting for what I wanted?’
‘I confess I did not know what to think, Freddie. We speak of everything; why have we never spoken on this?’
Frederick rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘I fight every day, Ets. After a time, it simply grows wearisome. I can never hope to be with Geoffrey in the way in which he may be with his betrothed. It pains me to think of it, much less voice that pain.’