Page 22 of Disenchanted
Imelda sniffed and blew her nose. “N-nothing to worry about. No money. I was r-refused.”
“Oh.” I heaved a great breath of relief although it was obvious that being denied the loan had left my stepmother devastated. “Who did you approach with your request?”
“Madam Dearling.”
“That woman? Oh, Em, whatever possessed you to go that spiteful shrew for money?”
I already knew the answer to that. The ball. The frapping ball.
“I know you don’t like her, but Matilda is my closest friend!” Imelda said but another tear rolled down her cheek. “My only friend, or so I thought. She is certainly rich enough to have lent me such a sum and I was feeling desperate. You have not been able to find a way for us to buy the tickets. Not that I blame you in the least, Ella dear.”
My stepmother reached out to pat my hand. “I know that you would if you could. And after all, I am the mama. I am the one who should be looking out for the interests of you girls. When I explained to Matilda why I needed the money, I felt sure she would sympathize. It is not as if she has daughters of her own to worry about, so she could not consider you and your sisters as rivals. I assured Matilda, I would be able to repay the debt very quickly, because I know one of you can secure the affections of a wealthy nobleman if we can just attend that ball.
“Amy and Netta are such darling girls and you, Ella. If you could just learn not to speak your mind so freely around the gentlemen, you are so dazzlingly beautiful, I am sure you could be the one to win the heart of Prince Florian.”
“The fairies forbid,” I muttered. Although I could well guess what had happened next, I asked, “How did Madam Dearling respond to your request?”
Imelda’s lip quivered. “She laughed at me and said I needed to get my head out of the clouds, that you girls could consider yourselves fortunate if you were able to wed some honest tradesmen. And really, it was too bad of me to place her in such an awkward position by coming to her and groveling for money.”
Imelda’s cheeks flushed pink. “I didn’t grovel, Ella. I swear I didn’t.”
Mentally I called the Dearling woman a name that would have shocked my stepmother. Aloud I said, “I am sure you did not. You are far too proud and elegant for that.”
My assurance comforted Imelda a little. She continued, “All the same I apologized to Matilda for distressing her with my request.”
“Apologized? You should have just spit in her teacup and stalked out.”
“My behaving in such vulgar fashion would not have improved the situation, Ella dear. Indeed, Matilda was quite gracious about accepting my apology.”
I barely suppressed a snort.
“She said we need not ever mention my humiliating request ever again.” Imelda sighed. “But she kept talking about the ball and how every eligible young lady in Midtown was going. It was almost as if Matilda wanted to rub salt in my wounds, as if she was taking great pleasure in the fact, I could not afford to send my girls to the ball.” Imelda’s eyes clouded with distress and confusion. “But I don’t understand why she would.”
Because Matilda Dearling was a sour woman with a cramped soul and shriveled up heart whose only source of enjoyment was the misery of others. Imelda would never be able to understand that.
I was not blind to my stepmother’s faults. Imelda could be vain, shallow, and even foolish at times. But she did not have a single mean fiber in her very sentimental heart. Consequently, this left her quite vulnerable to the spite and cruelty of others. That was why from a young age, I felt protective of my stepmother, although I was unkind enough myself when she first married my father.
I wasted little time informing her she was never going to replace my mother. I would never call her “Mama” and I thought Imelda was a stupid name. If I spoke to her at all, I would call her “madam” just as my father did; only I infused the word with all a seven-year-old girl’s scorn. I was astonished when Imelda started to cry. I had never realized before that a child could reduce an adult woman to tears.
It made me squirm with discomfort, but I still refused to retract my words or apologize. Perhaps because I felt guilty for being so mean to my stepmother, I resented it when anyone else did so. As I have said before, when Imelda’s first husband brought her into disgrace, she was shunned by all her former friends from the Heights. The Countess of Pangbourne took a particular delight in Imelda’s downfall and she sought out every available opportunity to snub my stepmother in the most public and humiliating manner possible.
I had not wanted Imelda as a stepmother, but like it or not, she was part of my family now and I seethed over these insults that sent Imelda weeping into her pillow every time she returned from town. I knew my father could not be counted upon to redress this wrong, so I resolved to seek retribution upon the countess myself.
Mal had never liked my stepmother from the first, but he entered my scheme for vengeance with great enthusiasm. One afternoon, we hid behind some hedgerows and lay in wait for the countess’s carriage to pass by. This was long before she ever came up with her absurd design for the cucumber carriage. Her coach in those days was an ordinary box-shaped vehicle with rather large windows enabling Her Ladyship to gaze haughtily down upon the peasantry as she rattled by.
Thus, it was an easy matter for two enterprising children with good aim to launch a pair of large and excessively repulsive toads through the coach windows. The shrieks that came from the interior of the carriage were spectacularly loud and gratifying. It was a fortunate thing that the coach was not traveling at any great speed when the door was flung open, and the countess leapt out to tumble in the road.
Miraculously, the countess was not hurt. The only harm was to her dignity as she fell facedown into a mud-filled rut, but years later, my conscience continued to plague me about this incident. I still feel bad about what Mal and I did to those poor toads.
As the countess dragged herself out of the mud, looking like some sort of swamp troll, Mal and I erupted into such giggles, we did not make our escape as stealthily as we should have done. Despite the mud water dripping into her eyes, the countess had no difficulty identifying us as the culprits.
That same afternoon, Her Ladyship called upon my stepmother in a state of high dudgeon, declaring that I was the most evil, monstrous child she had ever encountered and demanding that I be whipped. I expected Imelda to cringe before this harridan as she usually did. Maybe she would even hand me over to the countess for punishment.
To my delight and astonishment, she stood up to the countess with a ferocity that would have done credit to Queen Anthea leading her army of women onto the battlefield.
“How dare you!” Imelda had cried in such furious accents, as the countess took a wary step back. “How dare you accuse my daughter of such a thing! Ella is the sweetest, most darling little girl you could wish for. A perfect young lady who would never dream of behaving in such an awful way.”
By this time, my mouth was gaping as wide as the countess’s. If Imelda had not mentioned me by name, I would have had no idea whom she was talking about. I folded my hands in front of me, doing my best to look all innocent and demure.
