Just Like Magic by Elizabeth Townsend

couple of months and already’s Chief Assistant to the Assistant Chef! She’s right pleased about it, and so’s our mum and dad.”
“Don’t you have some garden work you’re supposed to be doing? I need fresh lettuce for dinner.”
“Well—I suppose so, miss.” He stared at the teapot for a few seconds longer, then clumped back out into the garden.
I was arranging a pretty tray for Stepmama’s lunch. Tea and toast, with a little salad and a hard-boiled egg. Once Henry had returned with the lettuce, still sulking, I carefully balanced the tray upstairs. Stepmama was reclining in an armchair in the sitting room, curtains drawn against the heat.
“Stepmama,” I said, carefully putting her tray down on a side table, “you know, summer will be over in a month!”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” she replied in quavery tones, looking up from an old Country Digest . “This heat! We weren’t made for it, you know.”
“But with summer ending, the Little Season will be starting soon,” I continued inexorably.
“That’s true,” Stepmama replied, brightening. “Invitations have started to arrive already, you know. Of course,” and she sank lower in her chair and reached for her tea, as if for a fortifier, “it means a lot of work! But the girls—it’s all for them! Perhaps we’ll have to give a party ourselves—really we should—but the expense! I haven’t the least head for it all—oh dear—”
“And that means,” I interrupted, leaning forward, “that I will be making my debut, doesn’t it, Stepmama? Because you said—”
“Making your debut?” Stepmama sat up straighter, startled. “Why, I hadn’t really thought of it. The girls need new dresses, and—”
“We certainly do,” said a voice from the doorway. It was Lucy. She and Gerta had been walking Mon Petit, and he bounced about at their feet as they folded their parasols. Lucy handed the leash to Gerta with a look of disgust and added, “And we really ought to think about hiring more servants, besides Ella. I could certainly use a ladies maid.”
“Servants besides Ella? Don’t you mean instead of Ella? And where on earth would we get the money?” I was stunned.
“A maid could run errands. I hate walking,” said Gerta, sinking into a chair and bending to undo Mon Petit’s leash. “Only for you would I do it, you dear little fuzzy doodlums—” She rubbed her face against his, and he squirmed, wriggled out of her hands, made a dash for Stepmama’s tray and started sniffing at it.
“We’ve already discussed this with Mama,” said Lucy, stripping off her gloves and slapping them onto a table. “It’s so sad to have to postpone it, Ella, but it simply won’t be possible for you to debut this fall.”
“There, you see?” said Stepmama, patting my hand. I snatched it away and backed up.
“There’s no reason why I couldn’t make my debut except that Lucy and Gerta don’t want me to!”
“Oh, now, Ella,” moaned Stepmama.
“You’re upsetting Mama,” said Lucy, facing me squarely. “Hadn’t you better go back to your room?”
“My room! You mean the kitchen?”
“Yes,” said Gerta from the depths of her chair. “Then you could get me some tea. I feel quite faint.”
“And we’ll need you to go to Little Owlthorpe this afternoon and get a box from Merton Manor,” added Lucy coldly. “It has our riding habits and things. I spoke to the butcher when we were out, and he can take you. It’s right on his way.”
“Butcher! You expect me to travel in a butcher’s cart?”
“It’s that or walk.”
“Let the butcher get the box, Lucy! Why would I need to go?”
“Mama, I think you need to talk to this girl!”
“Oh Ella, please, no arguing!” Stepmama was holding her handkerchief over her eyes. “I can feel a headache coming on! Just a little trip, dear! The butcher wouldn’t know which box was the right one! Then next year, perhaps—”
“Perhaps—it’s always next year—perhaps!” I choked