Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

M any of the rooms in the Stanton home had been closed off to save on the cost of heating. Bit by bit, inch by inch, Eva had watched her home shrink along with her prospects; it was a fitting metaphor. She had wondered more than once why her mother stubbornly hung onto the townhouse in the fashionable part of London. It was a massive cost, even with the reduced servants and rooms firmly shut up. It could have been sold, the outstanding debts cleared, and still have enough left to buy a comfortable home outside of London. Lady Stanton refused to let it go, though, as if that were the last acknowledgement of giving up.

At least there aren't any creditors sleeping three-deep on our stoop , Eva thought with grudging admiration. She had cornered Tom, who had reluctantly helped her go over the sums. The only income they had was the interest from a settlement that had been made on Lady Stanton during better times, which she had put into government bonds and stubbornly refused to move onto credit. It turned out to be their saving grace, as all over London, banks had failed and credit had dried up.

"Mark me, I've heard about it all before," Lady Stanton had said, shaking her head and her finger. "My own mother saw her father lose it all in the South Sea Bubble of 1720!" It was the one time that Eva could remember her mother refusing to follow thewhims and fads of the ton.

But now, because she wished for her daughter to remain at the forefront of fashion, Lady Stanton had unlocked the doors of their modest ballroom and had a fire lit. A handful of good tapers were brought in as well, in deference to the January gloom. Eva felt twin stabs of guilt and pleasure, for she knew that it was an expense that they should not take on, but she could not deny that she wanted to practise.

Lady Stanton had parked herself in a chair near the fire, and was seemingly occupied with looking at fashion plates, and not paying much mind to Eva. Meanwhile, Eva began slowly moving about in small, precise steps. To her great surprise, her body remembered the pattern of its own volition, which pleased her greatly. She lifted her arms, turning about an invisible partner.

"Mind your face, Eva," her mother tutted, surprising her. "The finest steps in the world shan't save you if you keep swanning about with that vacant look. Don't daydream!"

Eva did not even bother to contradict her. The fact was, she was not daydreaming at all; she had entered a state of such calm and peace that it felt as if her body were light enough to simply float away. All of the worries about the present and future had melted away like snow in the sun. Alone, without music, Eva allowed herself to be carried away again, the only sounds the whisper of her feet across the floor and the rustle of her dress.

She did not know how much time had passed, for she was quite content to be lost in dancing. It was a bit startling, then, when a footman (their only footman) appeared in the doorway. He hesitated, hovering at the threshold, unsure if he were permitted to come inside.

"Yes? What is it?" Lady Stanton barked, rankled. Eva and the footman shared a look: The more troubled Lady Stanton was, the more likely she was to snap at everyone's heels.

"A parcel has just arrived, my Lady," he said, stepping forward. He did indeed have a flattish parcel in his hands, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"Well don't dawdle, man, bring it here!"

"Begging your pardon my Lady," the footman said, all regret and apologies, "but it is for the young lady." He looked as if he were about to pull his forelock, but stopped himself just in time. Eva couldn't help but feel a little bad for him; they could not afford to hire the best and most experienced footmen, so had settled on a boy fresh from the country. It was a learning experience for all involved.

"For me?" Eva breathed, her heart leaping a little. She had not received a gift in sometime, not since…well, not since her standing had taken a bit of a tumble. She used to receive gifts from would-be suitors regularly, but now…

Tripping lightly across the floor, she took the parcel eagerly in her hands. It was not heavy, but fairly solid. Eagerly, she pulled the card tucked beneath the string free, and turned it over. The words had been a little smudged by the rain, but they were written in a chaotic, flowing script.

"Lady Eva,

A dancer is nothing without inspiration—I found mine in these when I was just beginning, and I hope that you shall as well. Do not be afraid to shine.

Yours, etc.

Josiah Galpin."

Eva's eyes ran over the words twice, lingering on his signature. Her heart was beating a little faster, and she did not realise that she had been holding her breath. She couldn't begin to fathom what he meant by that last phrase, but she took it as encouragement.

"Well?" Lady Stanton demanded. "What is it?"

"It's from Mr. Galpin," Eva said softly, pulling the string off and loosing the paper. "Oh," she breathed when she saw the contents, as if it were a necklace of fine diamonds.

Packed within was a stack of sheets, meticulous illustrations rendered with loving care to detail and artistic merit. They were a little worn around the corners, some a little torn, others a little discoloured, but it did not diminish their beauty. Thoughtlessly, Eva discarded the damp brown paper, and began thumbing through the sheaf of paper.

All across the pages, figures leapt and bounded, turning, holding positions and poses that Eva had never seen before. They wore all manner of costumes, from the theatrical to court dress of the last century. One figure was featured more prominently than the others, an illustration of an elegant man dressed as the sun made human. On his breast, he wore a sun emblem. His costume had been illustrated with gold, which shone out brightly. Though the illustrations were beginning to fade, this figure stood out, its beauty undimmed.

"What could Mr. Galpin have cause to send you?" Lady Stanton demanded.

Eva tilted the sheets so that Lady Stanton might see them. "They're dancing illustrations, from France it seems like."

Lady Stanton craned her neck, and to Eva's surprise, her face seemed to soften a little. "These are from the French court," she said quietly. "My grandmother used to tell me stories about the Sun King, Louis. It was due to him that dance was elevated to an art on par with painting or poetry."

"The Sun King," Eva repeated to herself, running a thumb over the gold leafing. A sly look crossed her face. "So, even a king believed that dance was good enough for him to express himself."

Lady Stanton looked up sharply at that. " You are not a king, Eva. You are a girl of good family and limited fortune. You haven't the time for gadding about the ballroom anymore; you need every advantage to secure a husband this Season, and not a moment later." The footman, who had been doing his best to appear invisible, was rounded upon. "You are dismissed!" Lady Stanton snapped. The footman bowed and hastily scrambled away.

Eva sighed, and turned away from her mother. Regardless of the veracity of her mother's words, Eva could not take her eyes from the illustrations. She set the stack down reverently on a sheet-covered table, and attempted to set her feet into the position shown, one heel firmly against the middle of the other foot. Eva was a little unbalanced, until she found that holding her arms a bit by her sides compensated.

She glanced over her shoulder, contemplating how much she could dare. Lady Stanton was staring into the fire, her forehead creased and paying Eva no mind. It was clear that she was lost in her own thoughts again. Eva turned back around and began quickly rifling through the pages. Finding one showing dancers' leaping, she set it atop the others at a bit of an angle. Tilting her head, she contemplated them for several moments.

Not taking her eyes from the pages, she backed up several steps. Experimentally, she lifted her skirt a little, hopping lightly from one foot to the other, attempting to land on the ball of her foot. A kind of joy began to bubble up within her, a carefree amusement she had not felt since she was a child. Impulsively, she turned and stared down the length of the ballroom, and shifting her weight to her left foot, leapt forward.

It was somehow both exhilarating and familiar to Eva. Her heart leapt right along with her, thrilling at the sensation. She could not recall having moved in such a manner since she was a child. It was a similar sort of joy, a pure expression of glee, but something else too: It was a manifestation of her own strength. Ladies were supposed to be soft and genteel, with bodies not too muscular or thin, but Eva had always been an active girl.

"It can be the purest expression of self, when words do not suffice," Josiah's voice echoed in her ear. Eva almost turned around, thinking that he was in the room with her, whispering.

The world seemed to fall away, along with her cares as she meditated on these words. There was nothing but her, her own body, and the growing realisation of everything she could make it do.