Dearest Cinderella

by Sandra M. Said

  "I always dreamed that we would meet again, though I wish it could have been under different circumstances." She ushered Cinderella to a red velvet stool and hurried around the room in the perusal of something. "I left it here somewhere. One moment" with a sound of satisfaction she revealed a small flask from underneath a mountain of fabric. "Here take this my dear, I think you will need it." Cinderella looked dubiously down at the flask in her hands.

  "I'm really ok, I don't think it has affected me quite so..." Her hands involuntarily started shaking as she watched them in confusion. Nurse Fairgem placed her hands on Cinderella's trembling ones and said in a soft voice,

  "It's quite alright dear, drink a few sips, it will make you feel better." So Cinderella drank and although the taste was horrid and it made her shudder, it did indeed make her feel substantially better.

  "Thank you, Nurse Fairgem."

  "Oh hush, I am not your Nurse anymore, call me Fairgem. I would hate for politeness to come between us after all this time. You know I never had my own children, nobody except you. You truly were my daughter."

  "I still am, as far as I will be concerned you are my mother." Fairgem's eyes began watering again as a result of Cinderella's words and she grabbed a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

  "Dear me." Her face became very serious as she asked. "How did you come to be accosted by those thugs? They're a bad lot them, laughing and carrying on, scaring me half to death when I saw them carrying you across the street. Hurried straight over to a shop I saw the officer walk into, I did. Took the gods own will to pretend I hadn't seen you." Cinderella sighed in relief at her safety, smiling at the idea of her nurse hurrying across the street with armfuls of fabric ready to rush to her aid, and she thought that she'd been protecting Fairgem when it had really been the other way around. Cinderella told her Fairgem about being in the forest, carried out by the thugs. This led to questions of why she was in the forest alone, which hesitantly led to a conversation about Jon.

  "He's just a man I exchange letters with." That mischievous sparkle in her eye warned Cinderella that she wasn't going to enjoy the following conversation.

  "Oh, ho! A man is it? It's always a man I tell you. And he sends you letters? What sort of letters and what does this have to do with you being in the forest alone, young lady?" Cinderella shyly told her about how Jon had found her diary, the friendship that had been created.

  "I was on my way to read and respond to his message when I found my original diary in the hands of one of the thugs, they were all laughing, I assumed that one of them was Jon."

  "He sounds terribly romantic. Your Jon I mean, not the thugs of course." Cinderella laughed at the faraway look on the woman's face.

  "Far from it, he's terribly awkward, slow to catch onto jokes, arrogant..."

  "Oh but you care for him." Cinderella blushed. Fairgem had always been incredibly perceptive. She could look at a person and just know.

  "I do." She sighed.

  "Well don't look so forlorn about it. He must like you too." She smiled in amusement at Fairgem and her assumption.

  "I don't know anything about him. He could be an old married man with grandchildren for all I know." Fairgem regarded her thoughtfully, pulling the flask smoothly out of Cinderella's hands, taking a swig, and smiling softly at her daughter.

  "Or, he could be a titled young lord who has just come into his inheritance and is ready to find himself a bride."

  "It matters not anymore, I doubt I could ever reenter the forest again after today. I suppose I will never know." Fairgem regarded her thoughtfully. Her mind ticking over Cinderella's options. Determined of her to meet her mysterious writer.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  It had been exactly six days since Cinderella had written. Prince Mark knew this because each day, without fail, he would open that book he'd put in the hole, in the hopes that she'd replied, and find an empty passage where her thought provoking words should have been held. He'd asked her to draw a picture of herself in his last message and instead received silence. He wanted to talk to the girl who held his attention day and night. Often he thought about her, wondering whom she was, worrying about her and her family. But she'd told him not to interfere, now with her silence looming over him he wondered whether he'd done the right thing by respecting her decision. He threw the book down in frustration. Where the devil was she? For although he was mostly certain that something was keeping her from talking to him, in the back of his head there was an ever-present possibility that maybe he'd bored her, maybe she'd decided she had better things to do with her day. Maybe he should have told her that he was the Prince...No. He couldn't bear the idea of his best friend only talking to him because he was royalty. He paced and paced by the tree, overwhelmed with worry for her, what had happened. Probability pointed to her family for the reason she hadn't been heard from in almost a week but he couldn't contact them, didn't even know where they lived as a start. He knew nothing about Cinderella other than what she'd told him and she'd told him very little. She'd told him that she adored strawberries but not where she lived, that she hated cats but not birds. Indeed it seemed to the Prince that maybe he knew her not at all. He sat down next the tree and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself for he'd started to panic. Images of her being hurt or kept inside because of their correspondence flashing through his head. Oh what he'd give to go back in time and demand to know more about-

  Footsteps rang in the distance. His heart raced, he jumped up from the forest floor and brushed a nervous hand through his hair before rolling his eyes and yanking his hand down to a more casual position. Cinderella.

  She walked through the trees and stood facing him in the clearing. She looked nothing like what he thought she would. Her hair loose around her shoulders, long silvery white hair that reached bellow her bosom. Her face aged with time, crinkles marring at the corner of her eyes hinting at a life spent laughing. She walked slowly, as her eyes met his she froze.

  "Your Majesty." Her eyes wide, she bowed deeply. The Prince watched her, confused. How could this frail small woman be his lively Cinderella?

  "Cinderella?" Her eyes widened even further then she smiled, her body humming with restrained laughter. She came closer.

  "No, your Highness. I've come with a letter." She placed a small folded piece of paper in his hand then took a step back. He watched her in complete confusion. Had he missed something? Who was this lady?

  "Who are you, madam?" She smiled softly.

  "I am a very good friend of Cinderella's, we were separated for some time but we've been recently reunited."

  "Nurse Fairgem?"

  "Yes, your Majesty. I see she's told you about me." Cinderella had mentioned her nurse, but that she'd lost her. With vague terms the Prince had assumed that by lost she'd meant dead. He looked down at the page, wondering what it meant that she'd sent someone to deliver her message.

  "Is she hurt? Injured? Ill?" He stepped towards her nurse. She shook her head silently.

  "Read the letter, your Highness." He felt a faint touch of annoyance. She refused to look him in the eye. From what Cinderella had written, he'd taken to believing that her nurse was outspoken, mischievous and loud. Nothing like this docile creature standing before him. Pushing the thought from his head he opened the letter and read:

  Dear Jon, I apologise for not writing sooner. You see a few days ago when I came into the forest to reply to your message I was instead met by thugs. I am safe now, there is no need to worry...

  "What happened?" Her words chilled him. Nurse Fairgem looked at him hesitantly. "Please, you can trust me, I mean her no harm." Her eyes flashed.

  "Trust, your Highness. I came into the forest today in the hopes that I might meet a Jon." There was the sharp tongue that Cinderella had warned him of.

  "You are angry with me. Please speak freely, I wish only to listen. Think of me as a friend." She took a step closer.

  "Cinderella is under the impression of you being a
simple gentleman." He ran his hand through his hair again, trying to think of what to say. The woman's piercing eyes offering him no escape.

  "I thought it might be easier than telling her."

  "Do you care for her?" He looked away, avoiding her gaze.

  "That is something between her and I, not something I care to discuss with the rest of the world before discussing with her first." To this the lady grinned and laughed.

  "Just as I'd hoped." He regarded her warily. She still hadn't told him what had happened.

  "Please tell me, what happened to Cinderella?" The lady's face sobered.

  "Thugs carried her into town to sell her to a local brothel, but I intervened at the right time, called the attention of a police man, stopped the whole thing. She's at home safe now, but she won't be coming into the forest again, you can understand why." The woman spoke fast, hardly pausing to take breath. "She didn't even want me coming in, told her I'd give the letter to the bakers boy down the road to deliver it but I couldn't miss the opportunity to become acquainted with her Jon. If you don't mind me saying, your Highness, you should read the rest of the letter."

  ... A week from today I shall be attending the King's ball. I know you would hate such an event but I would dearly love to see you there. Perhaps we can meet face-to-face, share a dance or two. I will be the one wearing the pink dress with lace sleeves. You may find me if you wish.

  Post script: I promise to do my best to not fall in love with the Prince.

  The Prince groaned. Looked away from the letter to the woman's grinning face then groaned again.

  "Have you read this?"

  "I might have." He folded the page then deposited it into his pocket. He ran a hand over his jaw and mouth, smoothing his roughened cheeks.

  "Will she hate me?" Nurse Fairgem seemed to notice the faint sound of hopelessness in his voice and came over to lay a hand upon his shoulder as if he were her son and not the future ruler of the kingdom.

  "Cinderella isn't like others. Her heart is pure. She doesn't hate. She forgives. When I offered for her to stay with me instead of returning to that wretched house she calls home, she refused. Said she couldn't just leave her poor sisters with their mother. That she had to help them to be better. That is the type of girl Cinderella is, so banish any thoughts of her treating you differently or being after the crown. She's remained truthful to you, now you must return the courtesy."

  "Thank you." He was truly touched by the woman's acceptance "Please, allow me to be the one who tells her," she bowed her head in affirmation. "Come, I shall escort you home."

  "Oh there's no need, your Highness." He grabbed ahold of the reins of his horse.

  "It is the least I can do." They began walking toward the direction of Nurse Fairgems modiste with the old lady's hand looped through the Princes arm as though she were royalty. She smiled giddily, not feeling any of the fear that had trailed behind her on the way into the forest.

  "I would like to ask you for a favour."

  "Anything, your Highness"

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  It was the middle of the night, not a sound could be heard in the entire house but for the faint whisper of fabric over fingertips and Cinderella humming under her breath. Not a soul was awake, nobody knew that in her room, with only the smallest candle for light, Cinderella was busy sewing a gown. It was one of her stepmother's old dresses, but she was sure that with more than a few adjustments she would not recognise it. Cinderella had found the dress thrown in the dumpster after her stepmother had spilled wine on the hem of the full skirt. It had taken her two days to fully clean it and then another three to completely remove the stain. The dress was of such a fine quality, made almost entirely from Italian silk, that it would have been a shame to waste such a beautiful garment. Cinderella set about adjusting the height of the bodice, restitching elements that had fallen off or frayed throughout the cleaning process. She adjusted the height of the sleeves and length of the skirt, hemming it at the bottom to shorten it. All the while she dreamt of the ball. Imagining twirling, dancing and laughing. She wondered what Jon had thought of her letter. Whether he would deign to meet her.

  Every night, once her chores were finished, everyone had taken supper and the last light had flickered out, Cinderella would continue working on the dress. Now with the ball in the evening, Cinderella was even more determined to attend. She entered town, helping her two sisters to shop for last minute fixtures to their dresses, waiting as they took their fittings and measurements, carrying their bags. They walked into ribbon shop after ribbon shop, looking for ribbons and trinkets that might attract an unwitting Prince or any young rich gentleman. It had been some time since her stepmother had allowed Cinderella to spend time with her sisters. She'd sent word down with a servant that she'd taken to a migraine and that Cinderella would go along with the girls instead. She watched them as they strolled down the street, ahead of her, as if she were a common servant. It saddened Cinderella for she hoped that if only she could be honest with them, they could treat her like a sister. Share with her their secret jokes, carry some of the bags, stop ordering her about. All they knew of her was what their mother had told them, that Cinderella was a distant and disgraced cousin. So far removed from what was proper and correct that she'd been reduced to the work of a servant. Cinderella was dim-witted, lazy and hated their entire family. The only time they ever willingly talked to her was when they were asking for breakfast, luncheon and dinner. Sometimes, when one of them was upset she'd watch them retreat to their room to deal with it alone, for that had been what their mother had taught them, to pull their feelings deep within, so far that nobody could see the pain. Especially those who cared. Cinderella contemplated this as they made their way home, travelling in the coach. As they descended the steps of the carriage Cinderella could feel that something was wrong. Like a tug in her chest, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She entered the house cautiously behind her sisters, placing the bags down by their rooms. As she passed her stepmother's room she heard a clear, "Oh, Cinderella."

  Her voice was sugary sweet, it left an awful taste in Cinderella's mouth as she turned to face her stepmother. She opened the door fully and stepped into the room, finding her stepmother lounging on the end of her bed with, to Cinderella's horror, a pink dress with lace sleeves.

  "S-stepmother." Abruptly she stood from the bed and threw the dress Cinderella had laboured over down.

  "How many times have I warned you not to address me as such?" Her eyes flashing, taut with barely restrained fury.

  "I'm sorry." Cinderella noticed the way her stepmother slowly approached, drawing in on her and forcing her to take steps backwards until she found her back flush against the wall. Her stepmother eyed her disdainfully before turning back to the bed and picking up the dress once more. Cinderella watched, her breathing hitched, nerves on end.

  "So..."

  "Madame, I can explain." She rushed to assure her, taking careful notice of the way her stepmother's hands seemed to be testing the stitching, pulling the dress to the point of which it almost ripped then releasing, only to begin again in another area.

  "Please." Cinderella hadn't been expecting to be allowed to explain herself, so when given the opportunity it all fell out without elegance or alacrity.

  "I wanted to go to the ball tonight, everyone has been invited, even I have. I thought you didn't want the dress because I found it in the dumpster and I didn't want to ask you to buy me a new dress so I thought it would be easier. I've been mending it after I finish all my chores, I haven't neglected anything I promise." A slow smile crept along her face as Cinderella watched her stepmother rip the skirt at the hem strait along so that the dress hung in the air, from her hand, in tatters.

  "Oh but you haven't done all your chores Cinderella, you haven't cleaned my room." They both stood there staring at each other, surrounded by a nearly spotless room. Cinderella was bereft of an answer. "Oh and you've done such a beautiful job on my dress, it's a sh
ame I had to go and ruin it," her stepmother's bottom lip jutted out, she almost looked genuinely sad, it was a shame that her laughing eyes ruined such a beautiful charade. "Would you fix it for me by the time I get back from the ball? I would so love to come back to such a lovely present."

  "You will not allow me to come to the ball with you."

  She threw the dress on the floor then carefully walked over it and towards the door, turning briefly to sneer, "I will not allow you to embarrass me."

  She shut the door behind herself with a soft click and went to confirm with the butler that their carriage would arrive within the hour to take her and her two daughters to the King's ball.

  Alone, in her stepmother's room, Cinderella held herself stiff, refusing to move, refusing to let any of the tears fall. Slowly, they leaked down her cheeks. She didn't acknowledge them, she set about tidying her stepmother's room. Longing for her diary, wishing it was with her. Thoughts about her diary led to thoughts about Jon which in turn blurred her eyes to such a degree that she was forced to stop moving and deal with the pain in her chest. The feeling of shattered hope and ill treatment. Gingerly, she picked up the battered dress. Noticing that not only was the hem torn off, but as was a sleeve and there was mud on the collar from where her stepmother had trodden on it. As she looked down at that dress she'd spent such time and care on, a sob slipped out of her mouth before she could silence it. The gates opened and sob after sob rocked her body. Not only did she cry over her torn dress and dreams. She also cried over her sisters, the connection she so wanted with them. She cried over her mother and father, the love they'd shared, that they'd left her to the anger of her stepmother. Predominantly, she cried over Jon. She loved him though she knew the feelings were futile. If life had taught her anything, it was that some people were destined for excitement and wonder. And then there was she, a supporting character. A person who tried again and again to crawl out of the darkness, to be alight, to fix things for others and herself. It was no use, she realised with a sigh. She could try forever or she could accept her fate. Cinderella took five slow deep breaths, wiped her eyes, stiffened her upper lip and stood up, dress in hand. Downstairs she could hear her stepmother and sisters leaving, entering the carriage and the front door being loudly shut. Without thinking about the consequences or any regard for her own safety, Cinderella set out for the forest. The only thing in her mind was her determination to write in her diary. She didn't think to get a lantern from the kitchen, she didn't spare a second thought to the thugs she'd meet last time. Her singular goal was to write. To record. To maybe even write another letter to Jon. See if he'd replied to hers, if he would be going to the ball tonight in the hopes of meeting her and be met with nobody. Would he be awfully disappointed? Did he care for her the same way that she cared for him? She asked herself as she walked through the forest, with only the dim light of the moon to guide her. Belatedly, she noticed that in her hands she held the dress. It seemed that she was unwilling to part from it so soon. Eventually, Cinderella found the tree and had retrieved her diary. She walked over to the oak tree where Jon's diary was held and dug until she found the other diary. She opened it, expecting to find his letter, the one she'd given Fairgem to deliver. It wasn't there. She looked down in the hole again, cursing herself for not bringing a light. She couldn't find it. Frustration coursed through her. What had happened? Where was her letter? Had he taken it with him? But why? Had he even received it? So many questions spun through her head that she failed to notice someone come up behind her.