When the worst of his sorrow had been purged, he washed his face in Mama’s washbasin, returning to Father’s room to close the panel as if it had never been opened. Then, he slipped down a servants’ stair to the garden to join Carl and David in the grounds. It would be a lot easier not to cry if he was playing at highwayman. He’d even volunteer to be the victim; then, if his voice faltered or he started to tremble, they’d take it for play-acting. It would be hard not to tell the others. The servants would certainly set up a hue and cry when they couldn’t find Mama anywhere by teatime, and his siblings’ hearts would be broken when she couldn’t be found, but Father’s wrath would have nowhere to fall as long as he didn’t know who to blame.

  Things would probably be horrid—well, they were horrid, because Mama was never coming back—but as he paused on the edge of the garden to look for Carl and David, then cast his eyes to the sky for one last resigned look, he knew he could not have done anything else.

  “I’d do it again, Mama,” he said, though no one could hear him. “I’d do it again.”

  1

  ELENA sat on her hands on the high stool in the nursery and tried not to squirm as Nanny braided her dark blond hair so tightly it brought tears to her eyes. “Stop moving, do!” Nanny scolded. “Your hair is a state. I won’t have your new mama thinking I have raised you to be a hoyden.”

  Elena bit her tongue to keep from saying, “I’m not moving,” because that would be talking back, and Nanny would pinch her for being pert. She knew Nanny was anxious; anxiety always made Nanny strict, and Elena knew she had good reason to be anxious. Elena was thirteen and should have had a governess by now instead of Nanny, and Nanny was afraid she was about to be dismissed once this new stepmother cast her eye over the household and took charge of it all.

  Really, Elena should have had a governess years ago, and would have, except that Father paid her little to no heed. Of all of his children, he paid the most of his scant attention to the two eldest, Arthur and Ben. She was a girl, and the youngest, so of very little interest to him except as an expense in the accounting books. She just felt that she was lucky that the boys’ tutor allowed her to sit and take the same lessons as her twin, Gustav, and that Nanny was able to give her instruction in most of what a young lady was supposed to learn. Not dancing or music, but she couldn’t imagine Father having any interest at all in her coming out, and only girls who were out needed to have accomplishments like singing or playing and dancing. She was about as likely to be invited to a ball as Arthur was to be invited to join a traveling circus. I will probably live here for the rest of my life, she thought with resignation. Father won’t care, as long as I am out of his sight and his mind.

  Not that Father paid a great deal of attention even to Ben and Arthur, except to quiz them now and again at dinner, to make sure their tutor was earning his keep. Once there had been parties and feasts at Whitstone Manor, when Father would line up the boys (never her) and show them off to visitors, but for a long time now, there had been nothing but quiet and occasional trips to Bath on business matters. Since Mama had disappeared when Elena was five, Father had mostly left the care of his children to the servants. It probably had not even occurred to him that his daughter had outgrown her nurse, as her twin had. It was enough that Gus was now under the purview of the tutor. In fact, he probably assumed that Nanny was giving her all the education she needed, and the housekeeper would not have challenged that assumption. Mrs. Farthingworth was happy in her place as the sole authority over females at Whitstone Manor and had had no intention of bringing in a new woman. The boys’ tutor didn’t matter to Mrs. Farthingworth; he was male, and under the governance of the butler. But a governess would have had her own room and a place at the table with the family and complete jurisdiction over Elena—and, most importantly, would outrank Mrs. Farthingworth. Most governesses were of good birth, but poor—often the daughters of clergymen, which made them gentlewomen—where nannies were just servants trustworthy enough to leave in charge of children. Nanny slept in her own little room off the nursery, ate in the nursery with Gus and Elena, was subject to the housekeeper’s orders when it came to Elena, and was equal in rank to the chief housemaid, well below Mrs. Farthingworth. The housekeeper was the undisputed ruler over everyone female at Whitstone Manor, which was exactly how Mrs. Farthingworth liked things.

  The nursery was not a very interesting room. Faded yellow wallpaper was interrupted only by pictures. Some were framed prints of botanical specimens, some were unframed pictures the siblings had made over the years that had been deemed worthy of being pinned to the wall. Heavy, plain canvas drapes framed the windows, and the floor was plain wood much scratched and stained, like the furnishings, which showed the abuse eight lively children had put it through. A pile of worn cushions had been tossed in one corner, the low bookcases were full of old school books and picture books, and there were four chests still full of battered, much-loved toys. From where Elena sat, the most interesting thing was the window, which didn’t show much except an overcast October sky, without even the interruption of a crow or a starling. The nursery at least was not cold; Nanny liked a good fire, and kept them burning in the nursery, the schoolroom, Elena’s room, and her own. That was one economy that Mrs. Farthingworth did not dare challenge, because the one time she had, Nanny had threatened to quit, which would have left the housekeeper in charge of Elena. Mrs. Farthingworth did not want that responsibility any more than she wanted a governess brought in.

  When Elena’s braids were bound off, there was more torture to be endured, for at thirteen Elena was old enough to have her hair put up for this occasion, and Nanny seemed determined to anchor the braids in place by jabbing the hairpins directly into Elena’s scalp. Not a whimper escaped her lips, however, though her eyes stung with tears. She knew very well that they would all have to look perfect and behave beautifully today. Father’s temper was an uncertain thing at the best of times, and now that he had finally done what he had threatened to do for the last eight years since Mama vanished, and married a new wife, Elena did not want to take a chance on angering him.

  Besides, Nanny was normally the kindest of souls, and Elena didn’t want to fray her temper any further. Nanny was under quite enough stress as it was, and it was just as well that Elena’s twin brother Gus was now answerable to Beecham, the tutor, because he had gotten the devil in him this morning, and had been making a nuisance of himself since he woke. Beecham had nearly been tearing his hair out, from the sounds coming from the bedroom Gus shared with Emil and Felix.

  Poor Nanny! Elena wished that there was a way she could assure Nanny that her position was safe, but the fact was, she was very likely to be dismissed as soon as the new stepmother settled in. Unless—well, Stepmother might keep her for any children she would have. If I am good and obedient, that will show Stepmother what a good job Nanny has been doing. Perhaps then she’ll let Nanny stay.

  “There,” said Nanny at last, giving Elena’s sore scalp a pat. “Very neat and tidy. I’ve laid out your Sunday best for you to put on, so run along and get ready. They’ll be here within the hour, according to Mrs. Farthingworth.”

  Elena gratefully climbed down off the high stool she had been perched on and took herself down the hall to her own room, just off the nursery. Dear Nanny, trussed into her most uncomfortable Sunday-best of gray serge, with her gray hair tucked into a lace cap and her bosom properly covered with a modest lace fichu, went on her way. All the children were on this floor of the east wing, though of course they were all treated quite differently. Gus shared a room with the next-youngest twins, Emil and Felix, a room almost as big as the nursery, and far more chaotic with all of their games and toys spread out over it. Carl and David shared a room as well, not nearly as untidy as the three young hooligans’, and it would not be long before they each got their own room. At the moment, though, only Arthur and Ben had rooms to themselves as she did, because they were seventeen, almost men, and in a year or two would be going to university.

  She closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. The room was just big enough for her bed, her wardrobe, a washstand, and a blanket chest at the foot of her bed; it had a single window and was papered in faded yellow wallpaper with a design of green branches that still managed to be cheerful. She often wondered if this room had been intended for something else—the wet-nurse’s room, perhaps. But at least she had it to herself, and some shred or two of privacy, though Nanny was inclined to barge in without knocking. She had mostly outgrown toys, except for her two cherished dolls, carved for her by Ben and sitting on the blanket chest, dolls that she used as little mannequins to plan out potential or imagined gowns for herself. There was a row of storybooks on the mantelpiece, and her three workbaskets next to the hearth; she was as tidy as her twin was messy, and the housemaids had very little work when they came to “do” her room.

  The thin late-autumn light coming in her window at the head of her bed fell on her dark blue “Sunday best” dress, laid out on a faded green wool counterpane that matched the green wool hangings of her four-poster bed. This gown would probably remain her best for another couple of years, as it had a deep hem and she was not tall and not growing very fast. It was not much to her taste, but then, no one had asked her what she would have liked when she outgrew the last best gown to the point where not even adding a flounce at the hem or letting out seams would make it fit. The seamstress from the village had turned up, taken her measurements, appeared two weeks later with this, fitted it to her, then returned a day later with the finished garment, never to be seen again. Apparently the handiwork of the maids—and of herself!—was not deemed good enough for Sunday best now that she was old enough to put her hair up. That had rather hurt her feelings at the time, since her current everyday gowns, spencers, and pelisse had mostly been made by her own two hands, with assistance from the head housemaid, Mary Ann, with fitting. She was very proud of her sewing; not only had she cut and sewn the everyday gowns, she had added touches of embroidery and needle-lace to brighten them, and had knitted the spencers, her shawls, most of her stockings, and her knitted gloves too. She had even made slippers to match and the slippers that she was going to be wearing, cut from the scant leftovers of this new gown. Nanny might not have given her the kind of education a governess would have, but she had given Elena excellent tutelage in plain and fine sewing, and indeed needlework of all sorts.

  Elena had been sewing since she was five, knitting and crocheting since she was six, doing lacework since she was eight, and even knew how to spin, though that was scarcely an accomplishment Father would have approved of. She’d teased Nanny into teaching her, though Nanny had been reluctant. “Not what your father would like,” she would tut whenever Elena brought out the drop spindle and flax. “That’s not the work of a lady.” But Elena liked it; it soothed her, and it suited her very well to have all the linen thread and lambswool yarn she cared to use without having to wait for someone to buy it and bring it from the village. The shepherd who tended the sheep that kept the manor lawn close-trimmed was happy to supply her with lambswool, and it was easy to get finished flax from his wife in return for butter from the dairy.

  This gown was a very sober blue linen, with long, tight, buttoned sleeves, fitted very closely in the high bodice. It was unrelieved by any embroidery or touches of lace, and Nanny had not permitted her to make any additions of that sort. She decided today to make up for that lack with one of her lace kerchiefs tucked into the neckline as a fichu.

  As for the rest of her outfit, since they were all supposed to be standing outside at the front door to greet Father and the new stepmother, and the wind had some bite to it today, she elected to wear lambswool stockings and a lambswool shift over her chemise and stays instead of the silk and cotton stockings and shift Nanny had put out. She reasoned no one would be able to see them anyway. And I don’t think Stepmother is going to demand that I pull up my skirt so she can inspect my underthings. She slipped her feet into the blue slippers she had made to match the gown, tying the ribbons around her ankles while she could still move freely because her gown was not yet laced up the back.

  Nanny came bustling in, as usual without knocking, just in time to lace up her gown while she used the button hook to do up the buttons on her sleeves. If Nanny noticed the change in shifts, she didn’t say anything. But probably, given the obvious state of Nanny’s nerves, she wasn’t thinking about anything except hoping she wouldn’t be dismissed on the spot.

  “Take your pelisse, it’s right cold out there,” Nanny said, turning her around and inspecting her. “Make sure you keep your gloves on. A lady isn’t without her gloves.” She went to the clothes-pegs on the wall where Elena’s bonnets were, selected the plain blue bonnet that matched the gown, and tied it over Elena’s hair. “Go down and wait in the front hall for your brothers.”

  “Yes, Nanny,” she said obediently, pulled the pelisse over her gown, and slipped out the door before Nanny could tell her not to run. Then she ran, down the two flights of stairs to the first floor and to the front hall. Ben was already there, though none of the others were, sitting on the hallboy’s bench, hands clasped between his knees. He looked up as he heard Elena’s footsteps, and his blue eyes warmed as he smiled. He was, she judged, very handsome: chiseled features, thick blond hair, and bright blue eyes. But then, again, they were all judged to be handsome children, and as alike, as Nanny liked to say, as peas in a pod.

  “Come sit with us,” he said, patting the bench beside him. “Beecham and Addams have had to enlist Arthur’s help in forcing the barbarians into their clothing. Your twin in particular is objecting to having a cravat tied properly under his chin.”

  By “us,” of course, Ben meant himself and the little flock of fairies that had dispersed themselves all over the hall furniture, what little there was of it—the staircase, the hallboy’s bench, a landscape on the pale blue wall, a little ornamental table, and a chandelier. The fairies were mostly festooned on the chandelier and the wrought-iron handrails of the staircase.

  The hall bench was not particularly comfortable—the hallboy, after all, was not supposed to get so comfortable there that he would fall into a doze—but it was better than standing on her feet. She sat down next to her brother, who made an abortive movement, as if to ruffle her hair as he was inclined to do, but he pulled back his hand. “You look very proper,” he said instead. “I am certain Father will approve.”

  “I don’t look anything like Mama, you mean,” she replied shrewdly. “She never looked proper.”

  “She did when there was a party, a ball, or a dinner, but otherwise . . . no, you are right, she never looked proper when she was being herself,” Ben agreed, with a wistful tone to his voice.

  She sighed. “I miss her.”

  Ben patted her hand. “I do too. But she is probably much happier now that she has gone home.” That was all that Father had said, when he returned after he had been summoned home when Mama had disappeared. “She’s gone home to her people.”

  “I wish she had taken us with her.” That was something she could never have said to anyone except Ben, not even Gus. But Ben would understand. Ben always understood.

  “Father would never have let her,” Ben reminded her. “We’re his property, not hers. Well, according to the law, she was his property as well, which is probably why she slipped out of the house while he was gone. He never would have let her go, you know.” He grimaced. “It would have been hard enough for her to get away; she’d never have been able to escape trailing a crowd of children, like a s—a hen trailing a flock of chicks.”

  “I wonder how ever she escaped,” Elena said, voicing something that had occupied her thoughts many nights over the past eight years. “No one saw her go.”

  Ben got an odd look on his face, as if he knew something. But what he said was what he always said. “She must have been writing to her people, and perhaps had help. She must have, really, she could have slipped out of the house and run down the drive to the road without anyone noticing she was gone, but she didn’t take any of the horses, and she couldn’t have gone any farther without flying.” He paused. “And of course, that’s absurd. She didn’t have wings like our fairies do.”

  Elena sighed. “She must have been dreadfully unhappy, to leave us without saying goodbye.”

  “She was.” Something about the way Ben said that made her look up at him, to see certainty on his face. Did Mama confide in him? She might have, though he wouldn’t have been all that old at the time. Nine—but then, Nanny called him an “old soul,” and certainly, except when they were playing games, he always seemed much older than his years. Arthur might be the better scholar, but not by much; Ben always seemed to understand how the world worked better than anyone, even Beecham.

  “What do you think Stepmother is like?” she asked.

  “Well, she has to be handsome. Father won’t settle for anything he can’t boast about.” There was a bitterness to his tone she understood completely. Father always had to have the best of anything, whether it be offspring or horses. Anything that wasn’t the best was gotten rid of, or at least put somewhere out of sight.

  Maybe that’s why I’m put out of sight. I’m not the best because I’m not a boy.

  “Will she be kind?” Elena asked, more out of forlorn hope than anything else.

  “I wish I knew.” Ben sighed. “I don’t even know her given name. Beecham let me look at the letter Father sent him, and all it said was that he had married and he was bringing his new wife home today from Bath and that we were to be made ready to be presented and receive her.”

  “That sounds cold,” Elena said, with a shiver.