Just Ella by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page A

would never dream of contradicting someone of your”—she looked him up and down, almost lecherously—“your stature, but surely you don’t mean that the king and queen would want their ball cluttered with mere beggars and servants and ragamuffins. My heavens—such squalor. Surely they mean only young ladies of high social standing and good breeding. Like my lovely daughters.” She waved her hand gracefully toward Griselda and Corimunde who, to their credit, at least attempted to stand up straight. Corimunde even stopped picking her nose momentarily.
    The royal herald looked from Lucille to my stepsisters to me.
    â€œThe king has invited every young maiden,” he said. “You wish perhaps to contradict the king?”
    â€œWell, no, but—” Lucille laughed gently, trying to make him look foolish. “Perhaps you misunderstood.”
    â€œI did not,” the herald said adamantly. “Now, if you will excuse me. Good day.”
    He swept low again and departed. Corimunde and Griselda fell immediately to squabbling. “Now, why did you say that about the twenty-third? You could have lookedit up on a calendar when he was gone—”
    â€œOh, but I wanted to be sure—”
    â€œSilence!” Lucille barked.
    Corimunde and Griselda both shut up and peered up at her, still standing imperially on the stairs. Lucille’s command had certainly sounded strong enough, but now she began swaying weakly.
    â€œOh, help me sit down, girls,” she demanded. Her daughters sprang to her side as quickly as they could, given their bulk. “Oh, there is so much to do, it’s a shame I’m so indisposed. . . . Let me think. . . .”
    She held the back of her hand dramatically against her brow. Then she seemed to receive an invisible surge of strength and screeched, “Ella! Ella! Oh, where is that wretched creature?”
    Since I was by then standing at the bottom of the stairs, in plain sight, her performance was hardly necessary.
    â€œYe-es?” I said, stretching the word out to sound as insolent as possible.
    â€œSay ‘Yes, Madame’ when addressing your betters,” she snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
    â€œYou are older than me. You have more power than me. But you are not my better,” I snapped back. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
    She narrowed her eyes, obviously contemplating punishments. Being sent to bed without supper, her usual choice, had already been doled out for the day, because I had not folded the sheets with the military precision she expected. She should have known better than to use up thebiggest gun in her arsenal before nine o’clock in the morning.
    â€œNo lunch for you today,” she said. I did not care. Lunch was soup and bread, which I would prepare and serve. How would she know if I ate some in the kitchen?
    But Lucille seemed pleased with herself. Her voice softened.
    â€œBe a dear and bring me a cool cloth for my forehead,” she said. Then, with a sweet smile, she added, “And don’t even think about going to that ball.”
    â€œOh, so you think you can control my thoughts now too?” I retorted.
    â€œFine. Think all you want,” she said with a shrug. “But I can assure you, you won’t go.”
    â€œI will!”
    â€œWearing what? That?” She laughed, tilting her head back with such abandon, I was sure her sick headache was faked. After a long pause, proving just how slow they were on the uptake, Corimunde and Griselda joined in.
    â€œCan you see her at a royal ball?” Corimunde twittered.
    â€œIn those rags?” Griselda replied unoriginally.
    They sounded like a pair of dimwitted birds. But they had a point. I was wearing my only dress. It had once been nice, back when my father was alive. But after I’d spent two years in it carrying wood in, carrying ashes out, scouring pots,