The next morning Cinderella hesitantly unfolded the piece of paper, expecting only her hand writing to grace the paper. To her astonishment she found the Prince's words. Anger filled her at the conformation of another, a gentlemen no less, or so he promised, reading her utmost personal thoughts. She wanted to hit him, how dare he read her journal. Oh, he assured her that he'd only seen the drawing, but what could she trust of a rascal who breached her privacy so? Immediately, several scathing retorts appeared in her head and begged to be written but she reigned herself in and searched for the pen so that she might compose a more formal yet still rightfully scathing answer.
A situation that I can assure you merits none of your interest, nor attention, whatsoever. Who may I ask are you? Or shall I just continue calling you the fiend from the woods?
Post script: I can assure you that the subject of my drawing deserved her portrayal. I cannot say the same for the pig however.
With that, she left the letter to begin her day. On the way home she found, to her utter dismay, that chatting with her mystery stranger was rather invigorating. It wasn't just the idea of communicating with someone who wasn't after their dinner or mending clothes. Nor was it that someone was replying when she wrote letters now, it was the hope of friendship apart from her life. Something hers that her stepmother could not control. The question, however, was whether the man in the letters was to be trusted. Had he been telling the truth about only seeing the drawing? Surely the temptation would be great. It occurred to her that he'd asked her a question of which she might have replied with the exact same question. What situation could lead a woman to hide her diary in the woods? What kind of situation would lead a gentleman into the woods? The forest could be dangerous to those who didn't know its paths and features. He must have been well acquainted with it to remember the old oak. Cinderella deduced that he must be a local, for they were the only ones who ventured into the forest, without a veritable army, to ensure they made it back out before night fall. At night the forest was a completely different place, filled with all sorts of fearsome creatures that slept during the day so that they might cause absolute havoc in the night. Cinderella wondered, as she set about making breakfast for the house, whether she might have met the fiend from the forest. Perhaps he was a gentleman from in town; there were many noble families just east of the forest that could easily venture into it. Maybe he was one of the royal family's many diplomats and advisors. She spent the rest of a day in a fanciful daze, wondering what he looked like. Was he very old or too young? Did he have a belly or was he balding? Was he even a gentleman as he'd promised? Cinderella acknowledged that even if he wasn't, she was in no position to judge what with the lies surrounding her birth and her living situation. She smiled at the idea of him, on the other side of town, maybe in a quaint little town house, wondering who she was and asking the same types of questions.
Cinderella had one thing correct, he was thinking of her but he was far from living in a small quaint town house. The castle amassed a small town of itself and currently the Prince sat in one of the many sitting rooms in the front of the palace being berated by his mother over his lack of social and romantic life.
"Mother please, let us not rehearse the same argument" he sat on the chaise lounge tapping his fingers against his thigh and fixing his mother with a look of utter boredom. Indeed it was an argument they'd long rehearsed. The lines never wavered, not did the plot ever change.
"But where are you friends, Marcus? You used to be so talkative in your youth, what happened?"
"Mother, I'm only five and twenty, hardly far out of my youth."
"Your father and I won't always be here, a king cannot rule by himself, he needs someone by his side. I cannot bare the idea of you ruling alone." Tears sprung in her eyes as she gazed down at her only son, her lonely son who had everything she could have provided him but was still unhappy. He masked it well, always keeping a strict facade of indifference. Mark stood up, noticing his mother’s state, and went to sit by her on her own sofa. He took her hand in his to comfort her and whispered so that only she could hear it. The servants turned their faces away to give them privacy.
"I will try harder, I promise." She patted his hand over her own and smiled up at him.
"I love you dearly my son."
"And I you."
"Your father is holding a ball in your honor to mark your birthday, he will invite every eligible female in the country and royalty from others. I expect you to choose a bride."
"Mother-"
"Please Marcus, for me." He sighed deeply and leaned against the back of the couch and said,
"I will consider it."
CHAPTER
THREE
There were very little things in life that surprised Cinderella, granted, the constant religion of her day left little room for surprises. Welcome or otherwise. What did surprise her, however, came in the morning. On her way to the oak tree, diary in hand, prepared to bury the book under another tree, she intercepted the mail upon its way to the mailbox. She thanked the man, handing him a shilling and returned to the house to deposit the letters on the bannister. As she ascended the steps she read through the letters until she paused at one addressed to herself. How could it be? She asked herself as she opened the envelope and slipped a small ornately decorated and expensive looking sheet of paper out. Her eyes scanned the words excitedly as she read;
You are cordially invited to attend the Kings ball in celebration of Prince Marcus' twenty-sixth birthday.
It was to be held at the palace and looked to be a very grand affair indeed. The prospect of dancing in a beautiful dress among all the lords of the land filled Cinderella with such excitement and joy that she almost forgot for a second the complication her family would create. After she'd left the rest of the correspondence inside, Cinderella departed, diary and invitation in hand, in a very good mood. She reached the tree and opened the envelope hesitantly, still expecting to find only her own words. She was mistaken again. Cursive filled the rest of the page,
I'm sure they justly deserved the illustration. I can only hope that I never do anything bad enough to warrant my own drawing. You may call me Jon, might I enquire after your own name though I know it would not be entirely proper, but what part of our correspondence is? My mother has recently made it clear to me that I do not interact with people the way I ought. I apologise again for looking through your journal, might we turn another leaf, as they say?
Cinderella read over it cautiously, he almost sounded as if he wanted to start a friendship with her. It simultaneously confused and excited Cinderella. For she couldn't understand why he would wish to befriend a complete stranger, but the prospect of having a friend was one she hadn't hoped for since childhood. As she thought on her reply she walked to a nearby tree, dug a small trench and deposited her diary in the hope that nobody would ever accidentally stumble upon it again. She walked back over to the tree and sat by the hole, turning the page over, and began.
Hello Jon, you may call me Cinderella. I have given your proposal some thought and I accept. How, may I ask, do you fail to interact with others properly? I assume you do not begin every friendship by reading the other person's diary. Shall I begin our rapport with some type of innate chatter that I'm sure must be traditional somehow? Let me begin with saying, I am in the best of moods today. I am sure you will have received one too, an invitation to the King's ball. Now, I will encourage your reply by asking, do you mean to attend? I hope to go, if my family allows it. Now, I suppose I shall have to wait until you see fit to respond.
Tomorrow came and there was another missive...
I may be attending the ball. Though I am not quite certain, as of yet. Do you attend in the hope of meeting the Prince and falling in love? If so I confess myself disappointed. I had the impression of you being a rational young lady. Many people will be attending, making fools of themselves to impress the royal family. I would rather be miles away from that debacle.
Every aftern
oon the Prince would write and every morning, hours later, Cinderella replied.
I would rather be right in the centre of it. I have far too little excitement in my life to miss attending such a debacle. I am not opposed to meeting the Prince and falling in love, though I know the probability of that happening is slimmer than that of me actually meeting him. I suppose I could settle for falling in love with a simple gentleman, one who could take me away from my family. Why do you look at the ball with such a critical eye? Do you dislike the royal family or just merriment in general?
Cinderella's quick wit in script drew the Prince to her, nobody had ever had the nerve to speak to him in such a manor.
Aha! You mock me now but you've never had the displeasure of attending such an event. Write to me after and I can assure you that you will be singing another tune. Tell me, why do you hide your diary in the forest? I assume it's still here. You didn't answer earlier.
Their easy friendship led to trust, which led to Cinderella finally confiding to him about her family.
I hide it in the forest so that my family do not read it and use it against me. I thought nobody would find it here, it seems quite ironic now. The thing I was most anxious to hide led to this. I would never hope to have changed it.
Slowly, a steady friendship grew between them, bonding them together. For, although neither of them would openly admit it, their friendship meant too much to both of them to be considered platonic.
Neither would I, finding your dairy was a blessing I could not regret, it has led to this. I am thankful for you when I read your jests and laugh. It allows me some peace among all the noise and orders and responsibilities that inhabit my world.
Neither of them knew how to tell the other, and so they continued writing under the guise of friendship. When the paper had run out of space the Prince replaced it with a book of his own.
I gathered this might be needed, it was getting dastardly hard to write on that dirty sheet. Would you trust me with the location of your diary now that you know where mine is, in your hands.
This proved to be a mistake as the paper was at such a fine quality that it immediately made Cinderella apprehensive
Where did you find such a beautifully crafted book? I've never seen one so ornate before.
Which led to more lies.
It was a gift from the king, I completed a project for him and the book, along with a few other trinkets, were a gift for my service. Does your avoiding my question mean that no, you will not tell me where it is hidden? It is a shame for I had wished to see another portrait of your family. I haven't laughed quite so hard in years. Might you favour me with an original, Cinderella?
The letters were filled with questions, each curious of the other, wanting to learn more. Where the Prince lied about being a titled lord, Cinderella lied about being a common young miss.
Of course my lord, but what shall I draw for you? As you already know, my talents are vast.
Despite this, the most important parts of their correspondence remained truthful. The moments when they confided in each other about their worries for the future. Whether The Prince would ever live up to his father's expectations, whether Cinderella would ever step out from the shadow that was her family. As their letters to each other grew in length, Cinderella's diary entries shortened. Often she thought of funny things to tell him and vice versa. On one particular afternoon, Cinderella entered the forest and saw movement behind the trees in the clearing at the oak tree. Her breathing stilled in her throat as she stared. Her heartbeat quickened, her body humming with adrenaline. The idea of accosting him as he wrote ran through her mind. Although she was incredibly excited, she was also scared. What if he turned out to be not what he said? What if he realised she was not what she said? Questions flew through her mind at a dizzying rate. Her attachment to him had grown such that his letters were often her favourite part of the day. She took a step, then halted. Took another step, heard a masculine laugh through the clearing, stopped dead. I am not scared, she told herself. I am simply cautious. She took three quick deep breaths, stiffened her spine and marched into the clearing, heart in her throat, to meet her Jon.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Instead of seeing one man by the tree, she saw three. Judging by their clothing they certainly weren't gentlemen. Without thinking, Cinderella marched straight into their sight and said,
"Would one of you gentlemen happen to be Jon?" They looked at each other then burst into raucous laughter. She waited for their laughter to stop before sighting what one of them held in their hands. Her diary. "Please would you give that back? It's private." This was responded to with more equally loud laughter.
Foolishly, Cinderella, seeing the man dangling her diary loosely in his hand, lost all sense and lunged for the diary. In the last moment the man drew the diary to his chest and Cinderella fell in a heap behind them. Collectively they turned to her, their faces losing all laughable qualities and turning menacing. A stroke of fear sliced her heart as they came closer, drawing a shadow on her person. She looked up fearfully as they continued to smile down on her.
"She'll fetch a pretty price with a face like that, eh?" His friends seemed to agree with him as they picked her thrashing body up off of the ground and took her arms. Looping them through their own arms and sweeping her off of the ground so that her swinging feet no longer touched the forest floor.
"Let me free!" She tried to pull her arms out of theirs, her shoulders were beginning to ache as a result of her body's burden. As they came out from the edges of the forest Cinderella felt the distinct sharpness of a blade spiking into her right hip.
"Quiet now, missy, we're going to take you into town, hand you over to the nice man and we won't hear a peep out of you. Ya hear me?" The thug needn't have warned her to keep her mouth shut for fear had a hold of her words and was reluctant to return them. As they reached town the thugs dropped her so that she was forced to walk next to one of them, the knife wielder, so that they didn't attract any suspicion. Hopelessly, Cinderella tried to catch the eyes of anyone walking by, trying to convey to them that she was in trouble, that she needed help. She cursed her diary, cursed Jon, and cursed everything that had led her to this fear stricken moment. They made a few sharp turns until Cinderella saw someone that made her almost trip before the thug caught her by the arm. It was Nurse Fairgem. Her Nurse Fairgem. The woman who had raised her. She couldn't believe her eyes. Nurse Fairgem coming out of a Modiste, carrying rolls of linen in her arms and hurrying across the road away from her. The instinctive need to call out to her nurse clawed through Cinderella but she remained quiet. The idea of accidentally putting her nurse in the path of danger was unfathomable and absolutely would not be borne. Helplessly she watched her enter a shop as the thugs carried her past. She strained her neck trying to see through the stained glass window, wanting to catch another glimpse of the woman who had been like a mother to Cinderella through all of her youth. But she could no longer see her. They continued walking, the man's dagger digging deeper into her side, she was almost certain that it must have pierced her skin by now. They were a few paces further down the street when the unmistakable crack of a gunshot ricocheted through the air. The men froze, forgetting her entirely and turning to face the wielder of the gun. Giving Cinderella enough time to dart out of their grasp before one of the men grabbed her by the collar and dragged her back towards them. She turned to see a man, dressed in military livery, holding a pistol. Beside him directly stood her fierce and angry Nurse Fairgem. Her arms crossed like a disapproving mother, she wore a hard exterior but Cinderella could read the terror in her eyes. She'd never liked guns or violence of any sort.
"We don't want no trouble, it was just some harmless fun you see." The man released Cinderella, but as she went to move away from him he caught her by the hand and held her with his bone-crushing fist.
"I can see that," the man said sardonically, "you shall release her now." The three men took one more look at the gun, then a
t Cinderella and seemed to realise that she wasn't worth the trouble. With hands raised, they stepped back, further and further until they were far in the distance. Then they turned their backs and ran, more raucous laughter emanating from their moving backs. As soon as the officer saw that there was no more threat to be seen to, he turned his back and moved off without any reference to Cinderella, her gratitude or wellbeing. It was all within another days work and perfectly standard. As he turned his back and began to walk away Cinderella and Nurse Fairgem embraced, tears in their eyes and hearts too impossibly full to being to express with words. They remained hugging, marvelling in their near death experience and the joy of being reunited. When they broke away from each other it was only for Nurse Fairgem to reach out again and pull her daughter closer to her heart for another soul warming hug. After they'd finished with their hugging and kissing and crying and laughing Cinderella followed Nurse Fairgem into the shop she'd exited, behind the counter and into a back room filled with more fabrics than imaginable. Colours that Cinderella had never even dreamed of wearing. The room was vibrant and alive with colour and beauty. It was everything that was Nurse Fairgem.
Dearest Cinderella Page 2