“Did she really do that every day?”
“Like clockwork.”
“It is nice to know the Countess was telling me the truth.”
“Maybe I should not be saying this,” admitted Botley, coming to a full stop. “But I do hope you realize that the Countess has nothing to gain from telling you lies. I know she is a stern woman, but she has lived through worse than most care to endeavor in a lifetime. She has earned the right to behave with far less restraint than she does, and yet she still remains composed.”
Claire’s head dropped, ashamed for not showing more compassion towards the Countess's situation. She felt Botley’s tender hand lift her chin so she was looking into his pale grey eyes.
“And do not be so hard on yourself. You could not possibly know all that she has endured. That is why you are here.”
Claire’s rigid face broke into a smile. Not wanting to remain in the moment, she continued to push herself down the hall.
Finally, they approached the Countess's study door. Claire snickered, dreading confronting the woman who was holding her captive. She stared at the door for several seconds. Botley finally opened it.
“It really will be all right. Her bark is much worse than her bite. Besides, you are a very strong, young woman who could handle much harder situations than listening to another person’s stories.”
“You think so?”
Botley closed his eyes and when they opened again, he had a proud look about him.
“I know so,” he said.
“Thank you,” Claire said, and then looked into the sun-filled study. Soaking in the confident words, she felt rejuvenated. Nodding her head self-assuredly, she entered into the room with no more hesitation.
Chapter 11
“The Evil Fairy Godmother”
The room immediately felt warmer and more welcoming than the previous times Claire had been in there. The curtains were drawn and light poured through the window behind the Countess's desk.
The Countess was not present, leaving Claire to explore the study freely for the first time.
Weaving through the little sitting area that was comprised of two small couches and a chair, Claire made her way to the north wall bookshelf. Her excitement got the best of her and she could no longer hold back from looking over all the books, reading the titles.
“That is my husband’s collection,” said the Countess, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “Though, as you can see, they did not all belong to him.”
The Countess stood flawlessly and pointed to the bookshelf beside Claire.
At first, Claire was confused by what she was supposed to be looking for. She knelt down, following the Countess's gesture and noted the titles of the books. Myths and Legends, The Song of Night, Finding a Wish, Magical Dreams, The Other Side.
“The Other Side was my last book,” Claire said aloud.
“By far your best work,” the Countess hummed in a knowing voice. “But I have enjoyed all of them.”
Claire looked back at the books on the shelf.
Side by side were five novels that were authored by the Baron C. Dupree.
Without hesitation, Claire carefully picked up the first book and flipped through the pages. Clearly someone had read it several times because the pages were worn and the cover was tattered.
“I am glad to see you are such a follower of my work,” Claire stated without even a glance at the Countess. “I will not deny that I was surprised that anyone knew my identity outside of Victor and myself. I thought I was practically untraceable.”
“Practically. Let us just pretend that it was a fluke that I found out who you were. Having said that, the person who made me privy to the information would not tell me what the ‘C.’ stood for. Would you care to enlighten me?”
Claire cleared her throat as she closed the book in her hand and placed it back on the shelf where she found it. She turned to the Countess for the first time since she entered the room and instantly froze. A wooden staff that curled perfectly at the top into the Countess's hands stood handsomely before the refined woman.
“Are you all right?” the Countess asked, sounding a little jarred by Claire’s reaction. “You look like you have seen a ghost.”
“I do apologize, but I would be remiss if I did not say that your walking stick is almost as famous as the Queen’s tale.”
“Hmm,” murmured the Countess and moved behind her desk.
Claire’s eyes followed her carefully.
“If you wish me to tell this story accurately, I need full access to what little of the Queen’s things are still here and any other tidbits of information you wish to bestow upon me . . .”
The young woman eyed the cane once more before the Countess tucked it under her desk as she sat down in her chair.
“If you expect to hear stories of beatings, then I am afraid you are going to be cruelly disappointed.”
“I expect nothing Countess, that is why I am good at what I do and-”
“And?”
“That is why you chose me.”
The Countess's head tilted back so she was looking down her nose at Claire.
“Tell me I am wrong.” Claire stated.
She could feel the Countess's scrutinizing eye look her over. “You are not wrong. Not completely, anyway.”
“Good, I suppose. Now tell me about the Fairy Godmother.”
The Countess pulled Isabella’s book from the top drawer and placed it onto her desk. “I noticed that everywhere Isabella went, this book was in her hand. I did know that it was the last book that Charles gave her before he died. No doubt it had sentimental value.
“What concerned me more than anything else was how she seemed to think the characters in this book were real.”
“Well to a young child, that does not seem so farfetched,” said Claire, taking her seat in front of the desk.
“Maybe not, but you have to understand, those characters were the only things she would talk to. If I were to approach her, she would either tell her invisible friend what to tell me or she would ignore me completely. It was quite insufferable.”
“You still have not told me how the Fairy Godmother came to be-”
“I am getting there,” the Countess snapped. Then she continued. “One night, Isabella had fallen asleep by the fireplace, as she commonly did. I carefully removed the book from her care and took a closer look at these characters she held so dear.”
“What did you find?”
“The Fairy Queen only shows herself to children in times of great need; children who need to escape their current situations.”
The Countess leaned closer to Claire. “Children that need to escape evil witches,” she said, pointing to herself.
Claire could feel the tension in the room rising as the stern woman allowed her fingers to spread across the page. The Countess's eyes redirected to the book. Claire could tell she was examining every inch of the enchanted Fairy.
“I could feel my blood boil where I stood. However, instead of getting upset, I thought it might be easier to connect with Isabella by playing a role in her very twisted game of make believe.
“That night, I rummaged through all my old dresses until I came across one that looked very similar to the one in this book. I also found the shoes from my wedding. I thought them unique enough that Isabella might think they were magical.”
“I bet you were a sight to behold.”
“Perhaps, but the outfit alone was not enough. I also covered my hair up with one of Charles’s blond wigs. It was rather amusing. I also put some color on my face.
“Once my disguise was complete, I glided up the spiral staircase until I found myself at her door. I was afraid she would figure out who I was and that I would lose more ground with her.
“I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. As you well know, she locked her door every night. When she approached, I could see her eye peer through the keyhole.”
“She did not even wait a
moment before throwing open the door and embracing me.”
“How was that for you?” asked Claire.
“It was a surprise and enjoyable for the moment. Without giving her a chance to speak I said, ‘Hello young one. I hear that you are quite distressed by your current situation.’
“She said to me, ‘Oh Fairy Godmother, I was afraid you had not heard my cries for your help. Now I know you are here to help rid me of my evil stepmother.’
“Without thinking about it, my hands clenched her arms tightly until she yelped. I released her, remembering that I had to play this part and not let her callous insults get in my way. ‘How can I help you?’ I asked her simply. ‘Take my stepmother far, far away from me,’ she replied.
“I tried to force a smile onto my face but I think even she could tell my disapproval.”
“So, how did you handle it?”
“I said, ‘Young one, you needn’t wish for your stepmother’s removal. That would be very unkind. Instead, why not try warming up to her?’
“‘She will never understand me, Fairy Godmother. She is a cruel witch that cannot see me. She can only see the image she wants me to be.’
“‘Perhaps you should wash away some of this dirt so that she can see the beautiful girl under there. I am sure she is not so evil as you have made her out to be.’
“She looked at me strangely. Confusion consumed her while her eyes studied me carefully. I thought for sure she had figured out what was going on.”
“Did she?”
“Surprisingly, no. She said, ‘Fairy Godmother, I believe that you are wrong. My evil stepmother will never see me as anything but a servant under her boot. She killed my father and I am next.’”
Engrossed by the Countess's story, Claire found herself biting the tip of her quill. The scene continued to play out in her mind.
“I know you are wondering the same thing I was back then,” the Countess said, catching Claire’s far off look. “Isabella was a troubled child, as I have already said.”
“I am just unsure of how she could be so off the mark about you. What did you do next?”
“I wanted to stop arguing with Isabella for good. So I said, ‘Little one, you needn’t bother with that evil stepmother of yours. I will give you something that will protect you. Do you remember your mother’s ball gown?
“She eagerly nodded her head. ‘I placed an enchantment on it so that anytime you wear it your stepmother will not recognize you.’
“‘You mean I will be invisible?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘More like you will transform into such a beautiful princess that even Prince Fabian’s breath will be swept away.
“I handed over the gown to her. Though it was beautiful, I noticed her attention was not on the dress anymore, but instead on my feet.
“‘Where did you get those lovely glass slippers?’
“‘From a land far, far away,’ I said to her. The memory of Charles giving them to me right before our wedding came flooding back into my mind. I could instantly feel my eyes burning. I did everything in my power not to cry, but unfortunately, Isabella picked up on my sadness.
“‘Why are you sad, Fairy Godmother?’ She embraced me again, tightly.
“‘I wiped the single tear from my cheek and rested my head down on hers, and said, ‘I am sad because I almost forgot that these slippers are yours as well. I would hate to think I was going to leave without bestowing them to you.
“She looked up at me in such wonderment and awe. A smile covered her entire face. I thought to myself, how beautiful this moment is. I slid my shoes from my feet and handed them over to her.
“As she gawked at them, I smiled and said, ‘I must go now.’ “‘No,’ she pleaded, but I knew I could not stay any longer.
“‘I must go. However, should the day come when you really need me again, I will return.’ Isabella did not fight me any further on the matter. I tucked her into her bed, blew out the candle and whispered, ‘Now sleep, little one.’
“I slid out the door before another word could be spoken.”
“The glass slippers . . . they were yours?” said Claire, mesmerized.
“Yes.”
“And if Prince Fabian tried it on your foot-” Claire started.
“They would have fit me perfectly,” the Countess finished.
“Amazing.” Claire’s eyes popped with bewilderment.
“The only amazing part is the unique size of our feet. That is all.”
“Maybe so, but there is one concern I have.”
“What?” the Countess asked without looking at her.
“Years later, the Queen still despises you.”
“All I have ever done is try to help that girl.”
“It seems now being Queen, she succeeded admirably on her own.”
The Countess slammed her hands down on her desk. “I brought you here to tell my side of this tale.”
“Tricked me to stay here is more like it.”
“I know this whole ordeal has you puzzled. I promise that all will become clear soon enough. And regarding your father . . .”
Claire rose quickly and walked the length of the study. She found herself once more in front of the Baron Dupree’s novels and slid one off the shelf.
“I am really not the one to tell you,” the Countess said sincerely.
Flipping through the pages, Claire came across a picture of a little girl with open arms running to her father, who was already prepared to receive the embrace.
“I spent a great deal of my life wondering who he was, my father,” Claire said, looking at the picture lovingly. “My mother was so intent on making up this man, this very lovely man, that she could call my father. All the time, I could tell by the waiver in her voice that he was not real.”
“Did you ever tell your mother that you did not believe her?” asked the Countess.
“No.” Claire slammed the book closed and slid it back on the shelf. “Not until after she died did I even take up the notion of finding him.”
Claire walked back over to the desk and sat down. “You asked me why I am here, Countess. You already know the answer. I want to find out who my father is. I want to know if he ever thought of me or wondered how I am doing all these years.”
The Countess smiled honestly. “I am sorry you suffered, my dear.”
“Me too.” Claire brushed an oncoming tear away from her eye before it could form and said, “We have gotten a little off track. Is there anything else to know about the Fairy Godmother?”
The Countess thought hard, then, clearing her throat, she said, “There was only one good thing of which I could think.”
“Which was?”
“Several years later, on the ever-so-famous night at the masked ball, I was the only person that was able to recognize Isabella. And it all came from one glimpse of her shoes.”
Chapter 12
“Best of Friends”
Victor was resting comfortably in a chair, reading a book when Claire exited the Countess's study in the early afternoon.
“Well? How did it go?” he asked her, cheerfully.
Claire moved across the hallway and looked out the window next to him, without saying a word.
“That good, huh?”
“She troubles me,” Claire said simply.
Victor chuckled lightly and turned his attention back to his book. “Honestly, Claire, everyone you cannot figure out immediately troubles you. In fact, I would say you have spent most of your life being troubled.”
Claire looked away from him, slightly annoyed with his honesty.
“Hmmmhmhmhmmm. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm,” was heard from outside, before Claire caught a glimpse of Josephine.
She was in her nightgown, twirling around in circles down in the garden below. Her long, untidy hair flew through the air as the girl continuously spun around and around.
“Dummm dumpty dumm. Mmmmm mmm,” she hummed again.
“What is that bizarre noise?” Victor asked, and pretended t
o read his book.
Claire couldn’t help but laugh at the odd girl’s behavior. “It is only Josephine.” Claire’s eyes widened with intrigue. “Josephine, of course,” she muttered again under her breath, and then took off down the hall.
“Wait!” Victor called after her. “Who on earth is Josephine?”
***
Pushing through the courtyard doors, Claire stepped out into the private garden. Victor tagged along, a couple steps behind her.
Walking briskly down the pathway, she only half cared if Victor could keep up with her. Nonetheless, he continued to follow her.
“Is Josephine that odd creature still in her nightgown at this hour?” Victor jeered.
Claire placed a hand over his mouth though her attention was focused to the little patch of grass where Josephine was putting flowers in her hand.
Moving closer, Claire could see Josephine take the stem of each flower she picked and intertwine them together to make a small wreath for her head. As she strung the flowers together she sang a lively tune.
“When the sun shines, all the girls will look pretty. When the sun shines, all the girls will dance. When the sun shines, all the girls will be giddy. When the sun shines, she will take a chance.”
Claire plucked a flower and held it out to her. Josephine took it and incorporated it into her wreath seamlessly, like she had picked it herself.
“Josephine?”
Josephine continued to sing and pick flowers, not paying Claire any attention.
“When all the girls laugh, the world laughs too. When all the girls sing, the world listens in. When all the girls cry, the world is blue. When all the girls die, her world comes to an end.”
“I am going to venture a guess and say she does not hear you,” Victor chimed in.
Claire elbowed him in the side before she moved next to Josephine and knelt beside her.
“I wish to speak with you about Isabella,” Claire said, not sure if Josephine would comprehend.
Josephine’s eyes flickered up momentarily but then looked back down at the almost-completed wreath in her hand.
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