Midnight in Everwood(93)
Marietta reached out, rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘I wish the world was different for you. Perhaps one day it might be.’
‘Perhaps. Until then, he is who I fight for. I paint every day and I shall continue to do so. Once I have my own house, Father cannot control where I direct my energies and I see no reason why I should not pursue my love of the arts alongside a successful career.’ He offered Marietta a wry smile. ‘I do enjoy the finer things in life; I should hate to relinquish my champagne and silks when I need not. I do believe the tortured artist’s soul is romanticised, not a necessity for creating great art.’
Marietta felt her eyes glisten, her heart brighten like a crisp winter’s day, when everything is lighter, cloudless. ‘I am gladdened to hear your plans.’ Frederick would paint, Legat would write and she would dance. ‘As I hope you are for mine.’ The world shone fiercer and Marietta blinked away her budding tears. ‘For I cannot lose my brother.’
Frederick was suddenly at her feet. ‘And you never shall,’ he said firmly, clasping her hand. ‘Though I worry for you, my loyalty remains, as ever, yours. Besides, you shall need someone to visit and supply you with some small luxuries.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I cannot imagine your new accommodations will be quite what you are accustomed to.’
Marietta’s laugh took her by surprise. ‘Oh, Frederick, you cannot imagine how your support has gladdened my heart.’
Marietta hummed to herself as she made her way back to her bedroom to dress for the day. A song infused with a magic more potent than anything Everwood had to offer. Hope.
Sally dressed Marietta in her corset, its rigid, unyielding shape unfamiliar after what seemed like months of forgoing one, and a dark-green taffeta with an overlay of French lace and jet beadwork. She pinned a spring of holly into her hair to mark the festive occasion and slung midnight beads over her dress. Marietta tucked her new golden necklace inside her bodice and looked into her cheval mirror, wondering if she appeared as altered as she felt. Frederick hadn’t noticed the irrevocable changes that had been wrought on her yet he never had been gifted with observance. She smoothed down her dress and thought of Pirlipata. Marietta hoped the princess possessed a wardrobe of gowns in a rainbow of brilliant, glittering shades, not one of them gold.
Her daydreaming was interrupted by the announcement of breakfast.
Ever a formal affair in the Stelle household, Marietta walked downstairs to see her parents for the first time since she’d been swept away into Drosselmeier’s dark and delicious magic. The house bore its familiar scent of tea, hothouse roses and the trailing smoke of her father’s tobacco. The lack of sugared air was noticeable. Maids and valets scurried around in starched uniforms. Evergreen wreaths complemented Marietta’s gown and the Christmas tree was as she’d remembered it; commandeering the drawing room in its robe of tapered candles, strung with ribbons, baubles and sugarplums. A clockwork mouse wore tracks around the Persian carpet, each perambulation slower than the last as its mechanism faded. It darkened Marietta’s mood as she recalled the faceless guards that had been another invention of Drosselmeier’s, in a world where his machinations ran far crueller and colder than anyone would know. She banished the thought at once and strolled on to the dining room. Everything felt duller and smaller as though she was peering into a cracked looking glass that distorted her own recollections of how things had been.
During breakfast, Marietta’s attention kept drifting over to the windows, observing the pale English sun in its cloudy basin.
‘Merry Christmas, darling Marietta,’ Ida said upon her arrival, in a manner that touched Marietta. Perhaps her mother sensed that something had altered. ‘I do so adore the festive season,’ Ida continued, seating herself at the table and admiring the wreaths of ivy and holly festooned round the candles. Her attention slid across to Marietta. ‘Though I do not doubt that the arrival of the new year shall bring about other occasions to celebrate.’
Disappointment clouded Marietta. She said nothing.
‘Indubitably so,’ Theodore chimed in from the head of the table, gesturing for his coffee to be poured. A valet scurried forth. ‘Though I had an appointment earlier this morn to discuss matters further with Drosselmeier. I had thought our good doctor was keen to be wed at once, yet—’
Ida shot him a look of alarm. ‘Why Theodore, you must temper his enthusiasm. I shall require sufficient time to organise a proper society wedding. It must be superlative in all regards.’
Frederick glanced at Marietta, his concern fading into quiet puzzlement when she smiled into her Sèvres coffee cup. She paid no heed to her parents’ discussion as she added an extra lump of sugar to her cup with silver tongs, relishing her long-awaited taste of coffee.
‘Must you interrupt me so?’ Theodore met Ida’s eyes in a clash of steel and willpower. He cleared his throat as Frederick frowned at him. ‘As I was saying, I had believed him keen yet was most disgruntled to find him absent.’
‘Perhaps he had forgotten? It is Christmas, after all,’ Frederick said.
‘That’s the curious thing. I spoke with his butler and it transpires that he did not see Drosselmeier this morning. Neither did anyone witness his homecoming last night. It appears the man has quite vanished,’ Theodore said.
After taking one final sip of her coffee, Marietta set her cup down. ‘As it happens, I believe I was the last to speak with Drosselmeier. I am afraid he left most displeased. Perhaps he has disappeared to lick his wounds.’ Her hands did not tremble as she recalled how he had dusted away to nothing last night. After all, it had been the consequences of his own actions that had led to his death. Marietta refused to allow guilt to stain her heart. Nor did she invite speculation that she might be blamed if his disappearance were to be investigated; for who would believe in such a thing as magic?