Ella had spent a rather uncomfortable night sharing a servant's room with Rosalie and Jane, and she was honestly thankful the process of members of the same sex sharing beds had gone out of fashion long before she was born. Beauty, in her mind, had informed her that she always shared a bed with her sisters, and Ella had ignored her completely.
She and Rosalie weren't close, thanks to lines drawn in the sand over Daniel's treatment half a year ago. The same went for Vlad, though Ella had found it easier to smudge the lines with him than she had with Rosalie (probably due to Helena's influence). And Jane, there would never be any love lost between Jane and herself; she knew that now.
As soon as the sun rose outside her window, she'd gotten dressed in the sensible clothing from the day before, found a thick coat and scarf in the servant's closet, and she'd set out for the village. People in the palace talked to her along the way, but she hadn't understood a thing they'd said, and she'd chastised Beauty for not being a Russian tale, which would have at least proved helpful.
The village was busy, but Ella stayed on the outskirts. She fit in, looked like she belonged in this place and this time, and no one suspected she didn't, so she took advantage of that fact and wandered. She hadn't seen Daniel or Helena yet, and she very much wanted to learn that they were well and safe.
We haven't discussed dinner tomorrow. She knew there was a formal dinner the next evening that she would be expected to attend, thanks to Rosalie's translations, and even she agreed Beauty would do a better job of dining with dignitaries than she could. I speak French, Beauty reminded her, as if that would result in her desired outcome.
She was so caught up in the subsequent argument about what Beauty could and couldn't do while in possible control of her body that she didn't see Joanie until she'd almost walked right into her back.