‘Well, whatever you’re up to, missy, it stops here! It’s not you who has the power to decide Ella’s future. It’s me! And I’m saying no.’
Edmund’s face paled. But before he could lose what remained of his courage, I gave my aunt a smile and fired back.
‘Actually, that’s not entirely true, is it? If there is someone who could decide, it is Uncle Bufford. After all,’ I said and internally begged forgiveness from all the feminists who had gone before me, ‘he is the man of the house, isn’t he?’
Gertrude nodded. Lisbeth nodded. Quickly, Ella inclined her head. Even Anne and Maria managed a grudging nod.
My aunt opened her mouth—then closed it again. Her eyes flashed with venom. Ha! I had hoisted her on her own petard. Opening the door, I performed a bow.
‘Gentlemen first.’
A slightly dazed Edmund walked through, followed by a fuming aunt, a pale Ella, and a gaggle of curious sisters. We marched down the corridor, coming to a halt in front of Uncle Bufford’s room. Raising my hand, I knocked.
The Price of Love
‘Go away!’ came his jovial greeting from inside.
‘But Uncle,’ Ella dared to protest. ‘We need to speak with you.’
‘Then especially go away. I don’t have the time to bother with women’s problems.’
‘There, you see?’ Aunt Brank raised her chin triumphantly. ‘He doesn’t want to be bothered. It seems I shall have to be the one to decide the matter after all.’
‘Let me try,’ I suggested with a brilliant smile. Stepping forward, I knocked against the door. ‘Uncle? It’s about money.’
There was a momentary pause from within, then…
‘Come in.’
Sometimes, I truly loved my uncle.
We stepped inside. The room was as dingy as I remembered. Although it was a bright spring day outside, only slim slivers of light fell into Uncle Bufford’s study, due to the heavy curtains that covered most of the windows. Coins, receipts and bank notes in bundles still covered every available surface. The piles seemed to have grown about two inches since my last visit. Uncle Bufford sat, as he always did, behind his massive wooden desk, most of his face, apart from his sharp little eyes, concealed behind a ginormous beard. The instant we entered, those eyes focused with unerring speed on Edmund.
‘You. I know you. You’re the Conways’ boy.’
Edmund swallowed. ‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Are you the one who wants money from me?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘Um, well…’
‘What are you waiting for? Speak up, young man!’
‘I, um, came to ask for your niece’s hand.’
‘Which one? There are so many running around here I can hardly keep track.’
‘Ella, Sir.’
‘Ella? Hm, hm. Ella.’
‘And I, of course, said no!’ Aunt Brank cut in. ‘Ella is a charming young girl, who, with a bit of luck, could marry into any of the highest families of the land! To give her to a half-baked, piano playing nobody—’
‘Tuning,’ Edmund corrected.