OH.
How wonderful she was.
How lucky-unlucky I was.
I exhaled the breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding.
Mandy said, “Time reveals truth, Lady.”
Lady Eleanor sprang up. “Mistress Evie, we chose gowns for you to decide among.” She disappeared behind the screen. “Mandy, help me!”
I hoped the fairy would do magic—make the gowns sail to me on their own, for example—but she just followed Lady Eleanor. A moment later, the two of them staggered out with stacks of finery. Lady Eleanor kept her pile from cascading by pressing down on it with her chin, which made her entirely adorable.
They deposited their burdens on the bed.
Lady Eleanor went to the cheval mirror that stood between two windows and dragged it close. “Dame Baita kept her seamstress busy. I like all of these.” She waved me to approach.
I didn’t want to look in the mirror. “You decide. Please.”
They took turns. One held a gown almost against me while the other stood back. The fabrics never touched me, so only the one I wore would be ruined by my stink.
Nerves took me over. I couldn’t stop chattering. “Something busy, please—something people will look at.” Other than me. “That one.” I pointed at a brocade gown in a large diamond pattern.
“We’ll see,” Lady Eleanor said. “What color complements your complexion?”
“None?” What color did Squire Jerrold like? Which did Wormy?
“Everyone has a best color,” Lady Eleanor said. “Yours may be this light blue.”
“A cloak of invisibility would suit me best.” I wished something in the room other than Lady Eleanor and Mandy were edible—if fairies were. I scanned the floor for mice.
Mandy said, sounding prim, “Only Lucinda dispenses such trifles.”
“Lady Eleanor,” I said, “I suppose everyone accepted your family’s invitation.”
She said almost everyone had.
“I imagine that would be many people.”
“Not many for a ball, but some are still convalescing. A hundred and fifty-three. A smaller number will stay for supper.”
“I imagine they all know I’ll be here.”
She said she hadn’t kept my attendance a secret.
What had I expected? Balls were always big affairs.
“King Imbert isn’t coming for the dancing, so you needn’t worry about that.”
I hadn’t thought of the king!
“He plans to honor us for the supper.”
For a meal, when I was at my worst. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t . . .” I trailed off. The house would have a back door. I’d find the guards. Then I’d go straight to the castle kitchen and gorge.
Lady Eleanor and Mandy didn’t try to persuade me or console me, for which I was grateful. Lady Eleanor busied herself, sifting through gowns.
She’d taken all this trouble for me. The entire ball was for me. It was meant, as much as possible, to make me acceptable to Frell society.
I had to stay. I began to babble again. “I never paid attention to fashion, not even when—” I gave up. “I’d just look for bright eyes, clear skin. I always noticed posture.”
“I’ve told Mandy what a consummate healer you are.”
She must have failed to mention how hungry I always was. “When she gets the unicorn hair, Mandy will be a better healer than I am.” And she could cure anything by magic if she chose. I went on talking, commenting on each gown, wondering what a seamstress’s life might be, hoping the cold would keep everyone away, and then apologizing for the wish.
Lady Eleanor begged Mandy to do something to make me stop worrying.
Mandy refused.
With an attempt at dignity, I said, “I prefer to anticipate every possible catastrophe.”
At last, they settled on a gown—and then repeated the process with fichus and headdresses. I begged for a turban and a mask.
Half the starving afternoon passed before all my garments were chosen. I went from enumerating disasters to praising Wormy.
Fall in love with him, Lady Eleanor, I thought. He no longer wants me, but he won’t be able to resist you when he knows you better. Mistress Chloris, the dainty young lady mentioned by Trunk, whoever she is, can’t compare with you.
“Wormy’s family is good, too,” I said. “Not as elevated as yours, but good.”
Lady Eleanor grinned. “His extreme fondness for you speaks in his favor.”
Extreme? “He knew me bef—” I couldn’t continue. “I’ve cured him of everything.”
“Mandy, isn’t this perfect?”
She arranged on the bed a gown, a fichu, and a cap. If a passable-looking person filled them out, the effect would be charming. The gown had a midnight-blue bodice that tapered to a point below the waist and pale blue flowing skirts. The fichu was creamy lace, the bonnet creamy, too, and small.
I was too hungry to think.
“Bath next.” Lady Eleanor laughed at my expression. “The tub is in the kitchen, where the food also is.”
The guards were shooed into a parlor. Before bathing, I was served a dozen mutton chops. Lady Eleanor ate the remaining chop, which I begrudged her.
On to the bath.
Mandy thought keeping the water hot and clean wasn’t too much magic, an improvement that mattered little to me, and shaving was no more pleasurable than usual, though the suds on my face remained hot, too. She did more, however, and better. I felt nothing when she cast the spell, but she promised the hair on my face would cease growing until the ball was over. “And you will smell sweet.”
I thanked her, then frowned. “I still smell pig, sweat, and earth.” As I preferred.
“Not to me.” Lady Eleanor came close and breathed deeply. “Peonies.”
I sensed Mandy’s satisfaction. “Pigs and dirt to one. Peonies to another.”
Back in Lady Eleanor’s bedchamber, I donned the gown. Mandy laced it loosely so I could breathe. The fichu was draped over my shoulders and anxiously tied and retied. I squeezed my feet into Dame Baita’s satin slippers. Pinched toes would remind me to take small steps.
Lady Eleanor seated me at her vanity. I closed my eyes.
“You needn’t look at yourself now, but when we’re finished and your bonnet is on, you must.”
She related every step as she performed it. “Rice powder, just a dusting. Rouge, not much, either. Lip rouge.”
“Ouch!”
“Luxuriant eyebrows are no longer the thing.”
Might the result of their labor resemble the old me? I imagined, when they finished, that I’d see in the mirror my true self merely made large and stately.
If I didn’t smile, no one would see the fangs.
If I danced well—
If I didn’t get angry—
If I minded my table manners—
If I thought of interesting conversation and didn’t go on about herbs—
Then, perhaps, before the evening ended, people would look at me and not see gnawed corpses and dead sheep. Perhaps someone would fall headlong, instantly in love with me. And I would love the person back.
I’d never have another chance like this one.
I didn’t cry out when Lady Eleanor and Mandy each took a side of my head and attacked my hair with a brush and comb, but I ground my fangs so hard I probably loosened them.
Lady Eleanor, on tiptoe, placed my cap, tilted it, straightened it, and tilted it again to an angle that she declared fetching. I tugged on pale yellow gloves.
The day had grayed to dusk. They pronounced me ready.
I had hopes.
“You may—you must!—admire yourself now.” She took my hand and led me to the mirror.
I was a monster in the latest fashion, as much performing bear as ogre.
My rouged lips became redder as I bit them to keep from weeping.
Lady Eleanor saw my reaction and put her fist to her mouth in distress.
“I’m sorry.” I asked to return to the kitchen, where I pumped water and scrubbed off the cosmetics. Back in Lady Eleanor’s room, I looked at my reflection again, which now revealed the ogre clearly. Better to frighten than be laughed at.
The finery did improve me a little. The waist of the gown made my own waist slimmer. And my hair had been softened in the vigorous brushing. By my hair alone, I could have been human. If I kept my back to everyone for the entire ball and supper, I might not be recognized.
“Thank you,” I said. They had spent hours on me. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I’m not.” I thought about it. “This afternoon was wonderful.”
Lady Eleanor stepped back from me, considered, nodded. “I should have realized the cosmetics were wrong.” She started. “It’s late!” She escorted us out of the room. “Mandy, I want to make my toilette myself and surprise you both. Prepare to be amazed.”
We stood outside her door. I whispered, “Have you met Sir Peter?”
Mandy’s whisper was so explosive I felt the wind of it on my face. “The upstart? The cad? The charlatan?”
She’d met him. I let out a long breath, relieved she agreed with me.
“There’s never been a more loyal heart than Lady’s—which the scoundrel carries in his waistcoat pocket.”
“Can we do anything?” But I meant you, not we. Sir Peter would make a handsome squirrel.
She shook her head. “I don’t dare. It would be big magic.”
After that, we waited in silence. I was grateful for her small magic, but most fairies, in my estimation, were worse than people. At least people tried.