Egg & Spoon by Gregory Maguire

Author:Gregory Maguire
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780763675820
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2014-09-12T22:00:00+00:00

I hope they play a great many waltzes that I can sit out,” said Madame Sophia. “Ekaterina, ma chérie, are you nervous? You’re so quiet.”

The girl did not speak. She felt for the shape of the matryoshka, which she had put in her evening purse for courage.

“The nearer we have gotten to this festival, the more retiring you’ve become. I do realize the delay in that peasant village alarmed you, for you’ve not been yourself ever since. But, my dear, the Happyweather School for Young Ladies in London has prepared you well. As long as you let the Prince see your natural ebullience, you shall avoid disgracing the family, and perhaps do a good deal more.”

“What do you want of me?” asked Elena. The carriage, lolloping along broad avenues, splintered the frozen puddles. A dreadful sound. Elena had always been afraid of dropping through the ice on a pond and drowning.

Madame Sophia took her hand out of an ermine muff. The dry evening air made the fur stand up. The great-aunt patted about Elena’s knees until Elena supplied her own gloved hand for the old woman to clutch.

“I know something of the arithmetic of likelihoods. The chance that you, of all the young women drawn to Saint Petersburg from all over Russia, and its colonies, and its allies — that you might be the one to secure the signal interest of the young Prince Anton — well, that is a slender chance. So slender that I pay nearly no attention to it.”

Elena sighed.

“Nearly,” emphasized the great-aunt. “I didn’t say I pay no attention to the matter.”

“No one can descend from a carriage and just walk in and become engaged to an heir to the throne,” said Elena.

“You have forgotten my lessons in genealogy. Silly girl. Prince Anton is not in direct line for the throne. He would never become Tsar unless the extended royal family was struck simultaneously by an impossible series of epidemics, revolutions, intrigues, and peculiarly accurate comets. But by custom, any consort of the Prince would become a member of the court and would have a palace of some sort in which to live, sooner or later. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“A palace would require a lot of sweeping.”

“If you flaunt and flirt, you will mortify us with forwardness. But if you relax and exhibit your natural charm, who knows? At worst, we shall have had a glorious time. You won’t wonder, later in your life, if you might have appealed to the Prince had you met him. You will have met him. When I am dead, recall this night and bless my soul. Heaven knows this exercise has cost me half my annual income. Now, to draw the Tsar’s eyes upon you, I trust in this wonderful present reclaimed from the safe.” She patted the silk-wrapped box on the seat next to her. “Monsieur d’Amboise wrapped it beautifully. I only hope that the Tsar is not presented with eight or ten ornamental eggs from the same studio, or if so, at least that he sees ours first.

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