“Mama!” Rosamund sprang up and rushed to my side. “What happened?”
Mathilde followed and kissed my cheek.
“Hello, darlings.” I kissed them each in turn.
“Tell us everything. Every single detail,” Rosie demanded. “Do not leave out even the tiniest observation. Were the queen’s slippers pigskin or silk? Does she reveal her petticoats or keep them covered?”
“In good time,” I promised. “But first…” I turned to the curtains in front of the window seat, under which I could see the tips of two shoes peeking through. “Elin, would you please join us?”
The window dressings twitched, and, after a moment’s hesitation, were pulled aside. Elin stepped forward, pressing, between her hands, her constant companion.
“You were in there this whole time?” Mathilde scowled.
Elin nodded, eyelashes fluttering like escaped pieces of down. “Far be it from me to disturb such sisterly revelry.”
We all stared at her, and she, only slightly abashed, continued: “And I must thank you both. To listen to the silence between words is a wonderful opportunity to meditate on meaning.”
“Yes.” Mathilde’s frown deepened. “And the space between curtains makes a good place for eavesdropping. What does your little book say about that?”
Elin blinked. “It counsels the importance of prudence.” She began to sway on her feet, and I wondered if we would need smelling salts.
“And what,” I asked, taking her elbow and leading her to a chair, “did you determine in your moments of cautious listening?”
“After consideration, I might now tell Rosie that I do not think her hat is ugly.”
“See?” Rosie sniffed, glaring at Mathilde. But her elder sister only crossed her arms and raised a questioning eyebrow at Elin.
Elin, cowering under the force of Mathilde’s glare, explained at last: “I was reading. I must have dozed off for I didn’t hear you come in, and then it was too late to reveal myself. It does get awfully hot behind those curtains.”
Satisfied, I turned back to the girls, but Elin continued: “Though, if I may—I beseech you to scorn your vanity. Appearance is but afleeting shadow. The pursuit of inner beauty should be your greatest endeavor—”
“Elin.” I stopped her. The girl, soberly dedicated to properness and correction, could not see her own contradictions—or how fine a line lay between preparation, which she esteemed, and pride, about which she lectured. “When a young woman does not have the opportunity to speak, it is, on occasion, only her appearance that she can use to recommend herself. While we’re on the subject: How is your dress coming along for the ball?”
I had given her a length of fabric to begin working with. I was waiting until market day—and hoping to see some of her pennies—before purchasing the rest.
She hesitated. “I have been working diligently. Though—I am greatly troubled by a few trifling details. The bodice, and the arms.” She paused a moment. “As well as the skirt.”
“I see.” I nodded. Elin had learned to stitch the perfect sampler, but had never been required to complete the finger-breaking work of piecing together an entire dress. More diminutive than her stepsisters, she had benefitted from hand-me-downs that only required minor improvements—bits of lace and bows. “And the coins you are to give me?”
“Wenthelen is helping me with the ashes.”
“I see,” I said again, feeling the beginnings of a curdling inside of me.
“For the dress, I thought, perchance, Rosamund may find the kindness in her heart to assist me.” She turned to Rosie. “‘Knowledge is a treasure: In the pursuit of it, do not hesitate to seek guidance.’”
“Rosamund will have no time to work on your dress. She will be working on her own.” I glanced to the other two young women. “For we are all going to the ball.”
Rosie shrieked, a high-pitched squeal of unbridled excitement. “Oh, Mother, I do not know what to say. It cannot be true. It must be. I thank you!”
Mathilde, looking pensive, sank back to her chaise. “We will have to get started on everything right away.”
“Yes, we will,” I agreed. I looked around at their upturned faces. “We’ll start by picking some apples.”
Elin, for once, was silent on the matter of virtue.
Over the years, I had learned many ways—sending Wenthelen to market to sell apples chief amongst them—to save or make small amounts of money. Cutting barley and rye and oats into your wheat lowers the cost of bread. If firewood is scarce, meat can be boiled. Old scraps of linen can be collected into a rag bag and sold to a paper maker. Bones make good fertilizer. Textile guilds will pay good coin for homespun white warp. Brickmakers will even purchase dust.
After Robert died, when our financial situation was made clear, I had all three of the girls stand with me when I gathered the staff in the entry hall. Here was our retinue: footmen and porters and grooms and cooks. Buttoned fronts and stiff, correct posture. I had only been introduced to them as their new lady months before. Now, readying to voice our collective turn of fate, I stood without Robert at my side.
