Page 87 of A Slipper in the Smoke
Finally, everyone was ready. They stood in the parlour in their finery, great spectacles of silk and ribbons, preening in front of the mirror in their masks of gold and silver.
“Such a shame we couldn’t find a gown for you,” the Baroness crooned, not looking in her direction. “But I’m not sure any dress would havequitedone you justice.”
Elena pursed her lips, biting back a smile. “Such a shame indeed.”
The Baroness snapped her fan shut, as if registering that the barb hadn’t hit as intended. “Make good use of this free night,” she said. “I want to see my reflection in those pans by morning.”
It would have been easy to sayyes, of course—to smile coyly, to agree, “yes, Stepmother, I will make very good use of tonight” but that prayer for bravery had clearly worked.
She would never see her stepmother after tonight.
She could say whatever she wanted.
“No,” Elena whispered.
The Baroness turned to face her, her hold on the fan sharpening, making it look like one elongated finger.
“No?”
“No,” Elena reiterated, trying to make the word solid. “You will be at the ball. I don’t want to scrub pans.”
Ivanka sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened underneath her plated mask. She held up her hands as if to sayno, no, stop, what are you doing?
The Baroness’ eyes widened too, but they were beyond a warning. “You do notwantto scrub pans?” she hissed. “Well, Elena, if only the world worked like that. But we all must do things we do not want. I did notwantto be without a husband, I do notwantto live in this dusty apartment. I do notwantan ungrateful child under my roof—”
“I am not a child,” Elena said. “And I have no reason to be grateful.”
“No reason to be—” venom coated every syllable of the Baroness’ words. “I have looked after you, housed you with us—”
“I haveprovidedfor you,” Elena went on, “I’ve worked for you, broken myself for you, worn myself to the bone looking afteryou.I am not the ungrateful one, Stepmother. You are.”
Quick as a serpent, the Baroness struck her fan across Elena’s face. Her cheek stung, but she did not flinch.
“Go to your room,” the Baroness hissed.
Elena held firm. “No.”
Before anything else could happen, there was a knock at the door; the carriage had arrived.
The Baroness smiled. “Very well,” she said, “enjoy your solitude, Elena.”
Elena tried not to show her confusion, tried to still her brow to stop from frowning. There was no reason for the Baroness to smile, to reason for her not to strike her again.
But the Baroness offered no explanation, no other remark. She crossed the room, her daughters trailing behind her. Mariah cast one final look over her shoulder, half pity, half puzzlement, and then the door closed softly behind them, and they were gone.
Elena waited a long while to release her breath, hardly daring to believe it.
They were gone. It was over. She’d survived it.
She turned to the clock. There was no time to waste.
She ran to her room, pulling on her boots and coat and grabbing her bag. She turned to look around the room, thinking that perhaps it deserved some sort of goodbye, and then swiftly changed her mind. There was nothing here to say goodbye to, nothing she would miss.
She went to the front door, seizing the handle—
It wouldn’t turn.
Elena’s stomach dropped.
