Midnight in Everwood(11)
‘I would have thought that you of all people would understand that nothing about that would be easy.’ Marietta regretted the impetuous words the instant they’d burst from her lips but she could no more bite them back than she could stop the rain hammering down the window.
Frederick took several beats to respond. An uneasy silence neither of them were accustomed to settled between them. She was all too aware how unusual it was that her brother was her closest friend and entrusted keeper of her secrets, but that had been their way since they were children.
It traced back to the moment Marietta had decided she would pen a letter to Pierina Legnani, prima ballerina assoluta, whom the young Marietta had just witnessed perform an astonishing thirty-two consecutive fouettés en tournant during her tour of Cinderella in London. Pierina’s dancing had brought resolution to her heart; she too would dance. In selecting the creamiest sheaf of paper on which to inform the ballerina of how much her performance had moved Marietta – set beside a pretty specimen of heliotrope pilfered from the garden – she had picked up her father’s most treasured fountain pen and placed it on the paper with enthusiasm. To her horror, the nib had shattered upon the page. Ten-year-old Frederick had borne the blame and punishment in her place. Her memories were still stained bloody with the crack of Theodore’s letter opener splitting open her brother’s knuckles.
‘Frederick—’ she began.
‘Our situations are entirely different; you cannot pretend to know how I—’ He stopped and cleared his throat roughly. ‘You are unaware of your own privilege, Marietta.’
She pressed his hand. ‘I do know that. I am sorry. Truly, I am. I’m a hateful creature and you are free to despise me!’
Frederick sat beside her. He patted her knee. ‘I could never despise you.’
‘I’m not afraid, Frederick. Being disinherited doesn’t give me sleepless nights. I would prefer it to being married off against my wishes. Even a man like Drosselmeier holds no attraction for me; am I to spend the rest of my days serving and smiling at him as I become a shadow of my former self? I could not bear such a thing.’ Marietta kept her voice hushed; the townhouse was crawling with spies, gossip the currency of choice. Frederick’s discomfort deepened. He fiddled with his necktie. ‘Frederick?’ Marietta sharpened her voice.
‘I don’t suppose you remember Lucy Fatherdale?’ he asked. ‘We picnicked with her and Geoffrey last spring on the banks of the Trent.’
Marietta recalled the air had been scented with blossoms and grass and the ginger beer the men had drunk after rowing along the river. She had flung her hat onto the blanket, its ribbons trailing like a collapsed rainbow, and basked in the sunlight. Lucy, a pretty, petite blonde, had laughed and dashed her own sunhat aside, declaring, ‘I doubt a few freckles will much change the course of events now!’
‘Of course I remember her. Geoffrey’s betrothed,’ she said now, pretending not to notice Frederick’s hand tighten on his knee. This was the other subject which they did not broach. Though Marietta knew of their true relationship, to everyone else, Geoffrey was merely an associate and friend of Frederick’s. They had met while studying for the same degree but Geoffrey had recently done what was expected of him and become engaged. Even though the siblings were close, this was one matter Marietta did not know how to ask her brother about and disliked to pry. ‘What of her?’
‘Well, Geoffrey informed me that her older cousin, Lola Castleton, eloped with a man she’d fallen wildly in love with: an acrobat with a travelling circus, if you can imagine that. It was all a rather torrid affair. Her family were incensed and mounted an effort to retrieve her at once. They hunted the pair down until they were discovered in a seedy bolthole just below the Scottish border. Her beau was beaten and left bloody. As I hear it, he’d be lucky to walk again, much less perform with a troupe.’
‘And Lola?’ Marietta whispered.
‘They were too late; She had already lost her reputation. Her father was incandescent with rage and had her committed.’
Marietta’s blood chilled. ‘Surely you are not suggesting that our father would—’ She could not finish the thought.
‘I do not pretend to know what he would or wouldn’t do.’ Frederick’s whisper was pierced with anger. ‘Though I do know our father and he is not a man that would allow his authority to be questioned.’ He ran a finger over the scar that ran in a deep groove across the knuckles of his right hand. ‘You’ve witnessed plenty of his tempers for yourself. Do not cross him.’
Marietta’s heart fluttered anxiously. She had been holding onto the thought of auditioning, guarding it, polishing it bright with wishing and hoping and longing until it gleamed like a pearl. Now that pearl felt lost in some fathomless ocean she didn’t know how to traverse.
Frederick stood. ‘At least you shall be performing your Christmas ballet here. I’m still making inquiries into a suitable constructor for your set. The budget, or lack thereof, is proving to be a challenge but give me a little longer and I’m confident we’ll have someone. I can take photographs on my Sanderson for you as a keepsake if you’d like?’
‘Oh, I would treasure that. Thank you, Frederick,’ Marietta said quietly.
She sat there long after Frederick had sauntered out. She stared at the moon, almost swept from the sky by the curtain of rain, yet refusing to relinquish its position; the brightest spark in the night. Taking heart from this, she crossed the room to their old writing desk and penned a letter, requesting an audition. She could not be a puppet in her own story; she must at least see if there might be another way for her. Then she sought out Sally.