“But—but—” Miss Breckenridge flashed into Ellie’s mind, followed quickly by the promise of ten-pound notes and another glimpse of Mártainn Macane. “I’ve made a friend,” Ellie blurted, uncertain if she referred to her client or Mr. Macane, and for the moment, uncaring. She would employ as much hyperbole as necessary. “How can you ask me to leave when I finally belong for the first time?”
“I told you not to make friends,” Mama replied, intractably calm in the face of Ellie’s growing desperation. “If you heed my advice, there will be no problems. End of discussion. Prepare whatever you’d like to take with you. We leave by the end of the week.”
“To go where?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
“I shan’t go.” Ellie took a deep breath. “You can leave if you like, and post me a letter when you arrive. I’m an adult. And I’m happy here.”
It was more than that, actually. More important than mere happiness. For the first time in her life, Ellie felt useful.
No—Ellie was useful. She investigated specious claims of the idle rich.
While her acts were neither heroic nor exciting, she had earned money for her family and was shaping her own life. She enjoyed disproving folktales of werewolves and vampires, and she had absolutely savored the singular experience of dancing with Mr. Macane.
If she listened to Mama, she’d do nothing but sleep her life away, muddling through depressing bouts of wakefulness encaged in the library with brandy-laden tea and endless stacks of spine-creased books. Ellie knew every printed word in their library by rote, could read them all in their original tongues and discuss them in almost any language, but what was the point of any of it, if there was no one to discuss anything with? No chance of experiencing an adventure of her own?
“You can make all the mulish expressions you want, young lady, but we are leaving. Pack, or don’t pack. If you wish to leave with nothing but the clothes on your back, that’s up to you. But we’re going, and that’s final.” Mama’s perfect brow creased as she gave Ellie a small smile. “Darling, I’m doing this for you.”
“You always say that.”
“It’s always true.”
“And yet, just when I’m comfortable with a place, it’s suddenly time to leave. Why must we flee in dead of night? Why must I keep to myself and never make friends? Would it be so terrible if I were to have a bosom acquaintance? Or attend an opera? Or—or—fall in love?”
Mama’s vise-like fingers closed about Ellie’s wrist before she registered that her mother had moved.
“The opera is overrated,” Mama’s soft, steely voice whispered into Ellie’s ear, “and you will not fall in love.”
Ellie jerked her arm back. She squeaked in surprise when she actually wrenched it free.
Mama was visibly shocked. She had always been stronger, in every possible meaning. She won every argument, triumphed in every battle, whether of wits or strength or will. But here they were, toe-to-toe, chin to chin. Ellie’s wrist was sore, but it was free. She was still free.
For the moment.
Ellie well knew that she could refuse to leave as much as she’d like, but in the end, if Mama went, she would go, too. Partly because she couldn’t afford an overnight in an inn, much less an entire life of independence. But mostly because she loved her mother.
If Mama would just stay put somewhere, Ellie would be blissfully content. It was the bouncing about she couldn’t stand. Just when a place became comfortable, just when faces started to seem familiar, just when she began to feel at home... the next moment she was tossing trunks into a carriage at midnight and racing through a starless countryside to a place even stranger than the last.
When Ellie had been younger, she’d actually believed her mother when she’d claimed they relocated at random intervals simply because Mama suffered megrims if she stayed overlong in one spot.
Recently, however, Ellie had begun to notice a glassiness just at the edges of her mother’s eyes during their inevitable fights. Panic. Whatever the true reasons were, Mama did not force Ellie to pick up roots out of idle cruelty. She was truly as desperate to leave as Ellie was to stay. Mama was just better at hiding it.
This time was different.
She might not have a grand purpose to life, but Ellie was in possession of an invitation to a house party, and she’d be damned if she would give that up as well without a fight.
If she couldn’t have the kind of life she’d always dreamt of, she wanted to at least experience the upcoming weekend. Especially since Mr. Macane would be there. When Ellie left, she would carry his memory with her.
Mama was staring at Ellie with narrowed eyes and a brow creased with concentration, as if she was hoping to force her daughter to acquiesce with the mere force of her will.
It almost worked. Every other time, it had worked.
But not today.
Today, Ellie stood tall, with her messy hair, her juice-stained hems, and her bruised-but-unfettered arm akimbo on her hips. They both knew she would end up living wherever her mother wished. But Ellie did not have to pack her things at this moment.
“My dear friend’s birthday is in a few days,” she began, toeing the fine line between exaggeration and outright lies. “If you are asking me to abandon her without so much as a word, the least you can do is allow me to accept her invitation. I may never have the opportunity again. And we can leave the following week just as easily as this one.”
