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“Cinders, cinders, smoke and water, take me to visit my dear godmother!”

The fireplace expanded, stretching like a waking cat until it was a tall doorway. Ellen scrambled to her feet and hiked her skirts high to step over the fender, into the mucky remains of her fire, and then on into the dark corridor beyond.

Her heart was hammering loudly in her throat, but more with excitement than fear. At the end of the corridor was a bright light, and she could hear music.

After eight years of neglect, she had finally found someone who wanted her.

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“Whatever do you think you’re doing?” Poppy found it hard to berate the girl in a whisper, but she made do. “The Seadowns take you in, give you a job when no one else would, offer you gowns to attend the royal balls, and you – you –” She threw her hands in the air and then tried again. “You still break everything you touch, scorch the ironing – and why was there sand in my pillowcase last night? Is it really that hard to be a maid?” She stared at Ellen by the light of the candles she had lit in her room to chase away the shadows of the nightmare.

Ellen gazed down at the filthy toes of her shoes, peeping out from her sooty hem. When she at last looked at Poppy, instead of being ashamed or even sulky, her face was blazing with rage. Poppy took a step back in shock.

“Yes!” Ellen spat the word at Poppy. “Yes, it is that hard to be a maid, as you would know if you had ever lifted your little finger to do one simple thing for yourself, Your Highness!’ She sneered as she said the other girl’s title. “Do you know how to make up a featherbed? To iron lace? To serve milady’s tea just so?” Ellen was panting with the force of her emotions.

“N-no,” Poppy stammered, still taken aback. “Well, I do know how to serve tea without breaking the –,” she began, but Ellen interrupted her.

“And do you know what’s it like to feel a tray of heirloom china leap from your hands and crash to the floor? To feel the iron suddenly go red hot even though it’s not on the stove, and smell linen scorching? To find towels that you just folded in disarray even though no one has touched them? There is something horribly wrong with me. I wasn’t meant to be a maid. And I just. Can’t. Do it.”

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She lifted the pitcher and poured water into the basin. As it ran into the white porcelain, the water turned green. Ellen nearly dropped the heavy pitcher, only just managing to put it back on the table in time. From the glowing green water, she heard a kindly voice speaking.

“Poor dear! All alone in the world, aren’t you?”

Ellen whirled around, but the door was still closed and there wasn’t another soul in the room. “Who said that?” Her voice came out thin and shaky.

“They call me the Corley,” the voice said. “But I am also your godmother, my dear. Pour more water into the pitcher, that I may see you.”

“What?”

“When you pour water, I can see you,” the voice said, still patient and soft. It was a plump voice, a gentle voice, the voice of a grandmother in a lace cap and woolen shawl. “Pour the water, dear Eleanora, and let us talk.”

Still shaking, Ellen picked up the pitcher again.

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“I’m not even sure that I was invited,” Poppy said, looking for an excuse to get out of the royal celebrations once and for all. “If it was for the Seadown family… Invitations have come specifically for me in the past.” She smiled inwardly, thinking that she had hit on the perfect answer.

“Actually, what it said was that ‘every eligible young lady was invited along with her guardians,’” Lady Margaret gave Poppy a triumphant smile. “You happen to be an eligible young lady.”

“And so am I,” Ellen said.

They turned to look at her.

“I’m an eligible young lady,” she said louder. She thrust her chin out. “And you know that I wasn’t born a maid.”

Poppy gave a low whistle. She had to admire Ellen’s bravery. Sullenness was one thing, but coming right out with her grievance in front of her employer was quite another.

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Christian fit de son mieux quand ils dansèrent pour ne pas se laisser distraire par la situation de Pavot. Ella était une bonne danseuse et elle semblait plus détendue, maintenant.

L’odeur de son parfum lui donnait envie d’enfouir son visage dans ses cheveux et il se concentra sur Pavot pour

éviter de faire un idiot de lui avec la magnifique lady Ella.

Sa partenaire, pour sa part, continuait à lancer des regards étranges vers Roger et Marianne, qui étaient en pleine conversation, de l’autre côté de la pièce.

Christian se demanda s’il serait impoli de lui demander simplement où elle s’était procurée la robe et pourquoi elle avait copié celle de Pavot, mais il ne pouvait simplement pas se résoudre à faire cela. Alors, il rit de bon coeur aux plaisanteries forcées de lady Ella et il la mena à travers les mesures de la danse.

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- j'aimerais avoir l'occasion de planifier quelque chose de plus romantique pour la demande en mariage, dit Christian

-Oui! Non!

Pavot savait que son visage était si rouge qu'il brillait probablement.

-Non?

Christian se retourna et se redressa de sa position agenouillé pour la regarder.

- vous voulez dire que vous ne voulez pas?

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