Just Like Magic Read Free Page A

of me?” My mouth dropped open.
“Because we were so deceived in your father’s financial situation—”
“I—you—” I was so furious I couldn’t speak.
“Ella.” Lucy’s voice cut in with a sneer. “Must you two stand there and bicker? I require my bag now, and tea at five.”
“Then get it yourself!”
“I wouldn’t protest too loudly, Ella,” said Lucy smoothly, but there was a spark in her green eyes. “You ought to be grateful that we’re taking care of you at all, when you’re no relation to us. Mama could have put you in the poor house.”
“Besides,” said Gerta, halfway into her room, “When I marry, or Lucy, we shall be rich again, and I don’t expect you shall have to cook. Just keep Mama company, perhaps. But for now— You wouldn’t disobey Mama, would you? Lucy and I shall be attending balls and parties this Season. You wouldn’t have us ruining our hands and complexions, would you?”
“Well, what about me? I shall be attending balls and parties, too!”
“We’ll see about that,” said Lucy with a little smile before she swished into her room and shut the door.
I stood frozen, staring at their doors, listening to the noises of their moving about, unpacking. This couldn’t be happening. How could Stepmama have listened to them and dismissed the cook and maid? I knew they had always despised me, but—
I finally turned from their doors and trudged down the stairs. The bags. Stepmama had said to bring in the bags.
Hardly knowing what I was doing, I went outside and carried them in, dumping them upstairs in the hall. Then I paused.
The kitchen. My things were in the kitchen. That was why the driver had taken my trunk downstairs.
With a shaking hand I pushed open the kitchen door. It moved with a squeal, revealing a shadowy descending stairway. Shutting my eyes, I smelled a faint trace of garlic mixed in with the onion. I stood for a minute, trembling. Then I started downstairs and slammed the door behind me.

 
    2
    Dishes and Dogs
At the foot of the kitchen steps, I paused and looked around. A black iron stove squatted against the far wall; in the center of the room hulked a battered oak table and chairs and a stack of barrels and crates. Near the stove loomed a cavernous brick fireplace with dark andirons and a big black hook; above the fireplace sat a silent clock. On my left, in an alcove under the stairs, stood a narrow bed and dresser. To my right, two small-paned windows let in as much sunlight as the dirt would allow, with a door between them. Cobwebs, dust, rotting sacks, dirt—and a corner of my trunk glinting in the pile of crates. I slowly threaded my way to the door. It was locked; I rattled the knob, then went to the table and sank into a chair.
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be true. How could I end up in the kitchen as a servant? I was Ella Merton of Merton Manor! I shouldn’t have to put up with this! I should just leave—pack up a few bags, march up those stairs, and head out the front door!
But then what?
Go back home to Little Owlthorpe? But how? I had no money, only some of my mother’s jewelry which I had no intention of selling. Walk? I drummed my fingers on the table, then got up and strode around the room. It was only ten or twelve miles. It might take all day, but I could find some food here and take it along, and Lucy could cry for her tea! Yes, I would walk back home, and then—and then—
And then what?
Go back to Merton Manor? But it was being rented. The Camerons’ home was there, but they were staying in town. What about my godmother’s house? She had a home in Little Owlthorpe and had told me after Papa’s funeral that she would love to have me visit if I wanted. But she was a dressmaker, and poor. True, she had been my mother’s best friend when they were young and my mother was just a farmer’s daughter. But—
I didn’t want to be poor! I didn’t want to give up the dream I had of coming out in society, of parties and balls