Anger. Injustice. Pity. Loathing. Concern. Indignation. This is what I feel for Madame Eccles. I have not lived this story, and I feel betrayed by her. And yet I look at Ella and she shows no sign of this. She tells her story's matter-of-factly, without a trace of frustration. Her only sadness comes as she tells of her father's disappearance. This affects her but the rest? The rest she takes in stride. She finishes her story with a cheerful smirk and a shirt of her shoulders as if she has just shared a pitiful joke.
The soldiering side in me wants nothing more than to ride to Eccles Estate and drag the woman before my father's court for her abuse of her husband's daughter. But I know that a good ruler does not act on emotions. Especially rage. Rage is dangerous. Rage destroys unjustly. Rage has no place in a king's heart. And I know I must act as a king. It will be my burden soon.
I wait until my anger has subsided and I can trust myself to speak calmly. It is far longer than is polite, but Ella is patient. I know my emotions are plain on my face. I can see her look that she understands. We walk into a courtyard. Shops encircle a small fountain. We sit on the small ledge, and still I cannot speak. She squeezes my hand gently and then releases it.
I watch her disappear into a bakery. She was the child I remembered seeing at Eccles Estate the day we began our search. That was her last day as mistress of her own home.
I think back on all I have heard of Sir Eccles daughter since that time. It was said that she went mad after her father died. Mad with grief. She would see no one and no one tried to force her. I should have. I should have demanded that Madame Eccles let me in to see her. But why? I had no reason to doubt her word. Madame Eccles is a well-bred lady. I do not know her well, but I know her face. She attends court. Her two daughters have been presented. Why should I have doubted her word? To my knowledge, the mad child which was rarely spoken of was her own. But what purpose could she have for humiliating Ella in this way? And why now did she allow Ella to attend the balls? What is Madame Eccles playing at? And why has she so cruelly used Ella?
She returns and sits at my side, handing me a large crossed bun. She bites cheerfully into her own. "Eat," she demands playfully. I can only stare at her in amazement. "It has been a long morning," she says. "You must be starving. If your day is anything like mine, you haven't had anything to eat for hours."
I simply shake my head in disbelief at her obtaining smile. "My day is nothing like yours. And yet, it should be. You were born into a life far above your current station. You deserve better."
She shrugs her shoulders again and swallows another mouthful of her bun. The icing begins to drop down my fingers and I take a bite of my own. She is right. In the excitement of finding her, discovering Lady Denise's injury, and learning Ella's history, I haven't realized how hungry I am. My mother would scold me if she could see how quickly and ungraciously I devour the roll.
"I deserve nothing," she says after finishing her bread. She licks the tips of her fingers, clearly relishing the last tastes of the icing. "My mother was a lady, but that does not mean that I deserve any more than the daughter of this baker." She gestures to a girl in the window who is arranging a display of cakes. "She is a person of value. She has a loving heart. She finds humor in her life. She knows her father's trade. Why should I deserve an easier life or prettier gowns than her? Just because I was born to wealthy parents?"
I blink. I swallow. "Your father was a brilliant man whose mind brought him his wealth. He provided invaluable services to the king. Has this baker?"
"He provided cakes and truffles, rolls and breads to your balls this week. His daughter was unable to attend because she was needed here to help him. Is that not an invaluable service? Is that not a sacrifice for her king?"
She is comparing her father, one of the most intelligent and well-read minds of our kingdom to a baker? "You cannot say that this baker is the equal of your father."
"Why not?" She looks me straight in the eyes. There is no irony or playfulness in her voice now, and I realize she is serious. She truly sees them as equal.
"Because," I begin slowly, trying to frame my words carefully, "though they both serve their king, they provide different levels of service. This baker is a tradesman. He provided goods. Your father provided guidance, knowledge. That kind of service is more valuable."
She screws up her nose a little before responding. "But this baker provides exactly what he can. He uses all of his knowledge to help the king. My father used all of his knowledge to help the king. In that, they are equal. It is only a matter of opportunity that separates them. This baker and his daughter are as loyal to the king as my father and I ever have been. How then are we any more deserving than they?" She takes the same tone I have heard before in our previous conversations. She is defensive and a little cross at me.
"How do you do it?" I ask. Her expression clears and turns to confusion. "How do you see so much and care so much for everybody? Madame Eccles and her daughters have treated you so pooy and yet you still love them as if they were your family. You have lost so much and yet you care more for the misfortunes of others than you do your own. How do you do it?"
She smiles at me and shrugs her beautiful shoulders again. "I am fed, I am clothed, and I am sheltered. The rest will come when it can."
I cannot let her go. She is perfection for me.
"Please, Ella. Let me be the rest."
