Cynthia ignored Rose while she scanned the sunlit blooms. At first she had a smile on her face, but then her eyes located the daisies. A sad melancholy settled over her and her mind spun back to the past… over forty years ago. It was the rare time in her childhood that had been happy, and she remembered another sunlit garden where she used to sit with her mother.
Cynthia Eleanor Strega was destined to be a beauty from a very young age, and had her circumstances been different, that beauty might have flourished within her. Her father was a dangerously good looking gambler with little success and no interest in looking for employment. He ignored Cynthia, though he continued to manage to charm his wealthy wife into providing him with funds for his addiction.
Cynthia’s mother was young and fragile, and she decided that it was easier to let her husband wander off and leave her alone with the daughter she adored. If he returned in a foul mood from yet another loss, Cynthia’s mother would take her out to the garden where they were surrounded by colorful blooms and fragrance.
“You are the most beautiful flower in the garden.” Her mother smiled and she ran her fingers through her daughter’s silky black hair, curling a stray lock behind her ear as her gentle fingers caressed her little girl’s cheek. Cynthia was often dressed in green to match her eyes, with pastel accessories that matched the petals of their current blossoms. “Today you are Tulip,” her mother laughed softly, and she reached to straighten the wide-brimmed coral hat on Cynthia’s head.
“And you are Daisy, mama,” Cynthia replied while she looked at her mother’s pale complexion and golden waves.
Cynthia missed the slight wince her mother made, realizing that even her little girl could see her pallor growing wan as her illness consumed her. Added to that, she recognized that her husband’s insatiable need to drain her funds on games of chance had not dwindled. She had made the cautious decision to change her will, bypassing her husband’s access to her family trust. She left the inheritance to Cynthia, in an effort to ensure her little girl’s welfare.
Although he was aware of the change in his wife’s will, at the time her husband had not worried. He was convinced that his charm would lead her to eventually change her legacy, and he was away so often at parties and functions that he had not paid attention to his wife’s failing health. His façade of initial acceptance turned bitter and cold when his wife became ill, and without changing her intentions, she had died just after Cynthia had turned six.
With no funds of his own and no inclination towards honest employment, the man had been livid when he discovered the trust would not be released to Cynthia until she was twenty-one. There was not even a monthly stipend to take care of the girl’s basic needs that could be tapped into, in his wife’s misguided attempt to convince him that he needed to give up his gambling ways.
Cynthia’s father had spent so much of her childhood involved in his nefarious games that she did not understand his increasing coldness towards her was due to his dire financial straits. The strict conditions of his former wife’s unbreakable will infuriated him, and he envisioned his daughter’s little fist clenched around his empty wallet while she mocked him. Cynthia was surrounded by a bewildering atmosphere of resentment. She would sit in the garden… a colorful, magical place… and cry, desperately missing the warmth her mother had shared with her while she looked over the flowerbeds they had planted together.
Frustrated at not being able to get to the money, Cynthia’s father quickly turned his efforts towards finding a wealthy substitute wife. His charm continued to persuade unsuspecting targets, though he was older and there was a slightly haggard edge to his handsome looks. The beautiful women that used to encourage him were now looking for younger escorts.
With his money all but gone, he finally resolved himself to marriage to an arrogant widow whose purse was much more desirable than the woman herself. He arrived home from one of his trips and introduced Cynthia to her shrewish new stepmother. Ava had two daughters a few years older than Cynthia, and they had inherited their mother’s harsh, pinched looks. The snobbish girls despised Cynthia as soon as they saw her, and her father offered her no refuge from their taunts and belittling. He had his own reason to dislike her… in the form of a binding trust keeping him from his deceased wife’s money.
By seven, Cynthia was cleaning her stepsisters’ rooms and doing chores for her stepmother. She quietly seethed as she completed the never-ending bidding of the woman and her daughters. Over years of unfair treatment in the cold household, Cynthia’s kind nature changed as her psyche began to twist. Her reluctance or refusal to work long hours after school while her sisters played with their friends, had been met with a cuff across the ear or a swipe of a cane across her legs because of her ungrateful attitude. Cynthia was constantly bombarded with the accusations that she was an expensive burden on Ava, and that she should consider herself lucky she was not cast out of the home to live on the streets.
During spring cleaning while Cynthia was sweeping the winter ashes from the fireplace, careful to avoid getting them on the carpet, stepmother walked in with her beastly daughters by her side. Their arms were filled with bags from their shopping spree, and they looked across the room at their pretty little stepsister covered in soot. Ava narrowed her beady brown eyes. “Cynthia Eleanor, look at the mess you have made of yourself.”
The little girl’s eyes widened in fear and she saw one of her stepsisters smile and mouth, ‘Cinderella’. The stepsisters had called her that almost from the day they had met her, and Cynthia hated it so much that she had ripped out the story from the fairytale book her mother used to read to her.
The stepmother sneered, “To think, I wasted money to buy you a dress for your sister’s birthday party.” Oh, she had wasted money, all right. Her daughters had several new dresses and matching shoes, while Ava had made a quick stop at a secondhand shop to pick up a dress for the brat. Cynthia would be serving the drinks and gathering dishes, so Ava certainly was not going to spend money on a garment that the ten year old would stain.
It was at the party, while Cynthia was running more punch to her stepsisters’ friends who were dressed in their ruffled creations with black shiny shoes, that one of the girl’s pointed to her. “Who is that?” she asked, in curious disdain. The girl had never seen such a young servant.
“My stepsister,” the daughter replied. She smiled maliciously and added, “Cynthia Eleanor‘s mother thought that she was so ugly she died, so now my mother has to try to raise her. She’s not one of us, though,” she assured her friend.
“Cynthia Eleanor?” the twelve year old laughed. “You have your very own Cinderella?”
Cynthia’s lip trembled and she fought to keep from crying at the cruelness of the girls, and several of the other twelve year olds began laughing and chanting ‘Cinderella’ at her. Cynthia looked up at her father, hoping that he would stick up for her. He was leaning against the patio bar and nodding at something her stepmother had said, completely ignoring his daughter’s humiliation.
Cynthia ran to the garden, a move that she would surely be punished for later. She did not care, because it was only the sanctuary of her magical flowers in the garden that could make her feel better. If the stepmother’s friends had not fawned over the riotous beds of colorful blooms, Ava probably would have had the gardens ripped out. Now, they were another chore for Cynthia to toil over… and the only thing that she truly enjoyed. She sat in her bland secondhand dress and ripped out the few errant weeds… picturing her stepmother and stepsisters’ faces as she twisted the stems and tore them to pieces.
Years passed, and Cynthia Eleanor continued to become more beautiful, though her expressionless face held little emotion unless she was out in the garden talking to her flowers… and smiling wistfully as she choked and shredded the weeds. She was eighteen, and while her twenty-two year old stepsister languished by the pool with no interest in school or work, the household was busy planning for the other sister’s twentieth birthday.
/> Cynthia remembered all of the sisters’ birthday galas since they turned eighteen, as each year became a more desperate attempt from her stepmother to get them betrothed. Ava’s friends were invited along with their eligible sons, and she was careful to preclude any girls of competitive age. It was an obvious, futile attempt to get the homely girls settled with wealthy aristocratic men. It had failed every year, and Cynthia suspected that Ava would have as little success this time.
The years of undermining Cynthia’s esteem had not produced the effect that Ava had desired. She had noticed the girl would try to stay out of trouble, completing the most mundane of tasks without complaining. Cynthia did this with such a quiet grace and sophisticated air that ordering the girl around as a servant had lost its attraction. Ava had hoped that the tall girl would turn gangly and unbecoming. Instead, Cynthia continued an increasing flawless beauty that was especially apparent when set beside her two stepsisters.
Ava’s funds had dwindled considerably since marrying the girl’s worthless father, and the thought that Cynthia Eleanor would soon inherit her mother’s fortune while Ava had not been able to achieve a suitable arrangement for one of her daughters, made her livid. Ava had figured that she would have Cynthia under her control enough to delve into her finances when the coffers were finally opened. Sometimes, Ava caught what appeared to be a resolved determination in Cynthia’s eyes that had her nervously considering this might not be the case.
For this birthday, stepmother had invited an even more obscure group of friends. They were all of good name and fortune, of course, but several were older and had lifestyles that held both a ‘public’ and ‘private’ face. Some had reported mob associations, a few were corrupt politicians, and some had ‘old’ family money with centuries old estates and enterprises that were kept hidden. Ava was panicking as her resources ran low, fearing that she would lose her handsome husband, and that her precious daughters might find themselves without a worthy situation of their own to help support her.
Cynthia dressed in her plain long gown, and while hairdressers worked on her stepsisters’ creations, she plaited her hair in a long braid that fell forward over her shoulder. She put on the lightest touch of make-up, not realizing that even with none she was stunning. Tonight she would serve cocktails and eat dinner in the kitchen with the servants. After dessert, she would serve brandy to the men, while stepmother encouraged them towards her daughters. If there were no dates requested… no future promises to call on the hideous young women… Cynthia’s life would be a constant barrage of the angry women’s orders for the next few days. She had purposely let the garden’s weeds grow for the occasion.
After dessert, Cynthia was shuttling brandy to the men while stepmother maneuvered her daughters in front of them. Even the older men could see through the artfully applied makeup and form-enhancing undergarments to the… at best… plain young women. Throats were cleared and birthday acknowledgements made, but Cynthia could tell by Ava’s scowl and almost panicked brown rat eyes that no one was interested in her daughters.
The doorbell rang and Cynthia turned to deliver a brandy to the late guest. The man stopped abruptly when he entered the lounge and his eyes immediately flew to hers. Cynthia felt herself held… compelled to look into the man’s stare. He was older than she was, though how much she neither knew nor cared. They continued to stare in silence at each other, while Cynthia handed him a snifter.
Ava pushed in between them and smiled. “Alexander, I was afraid you would not make it. Let me introduce you to my daughters.”
Cynthia backed up and was handing a drink to a young man who was trying to hide behind his father and avoid the oldest daughter’s attentions. She kept glancing at the new guest and she felt something building inside her that she did not understand. There was an immediate bond and steady strength in his dark stare, and Cynthia felt that this man understood everything about her. She sensed that he was angry at her situation, and she allowed him a slight smile.
“Who is that?” the man asked, with his eyes never leaving the exotic young servant.
Ava naturally assumed that he was speaking about her oldest daughter and with a relieved smile, she called her over. The man put his hand on the girl’s shoulder to move her aside, and still gazing at Cynthia he said, “Not her… that one. Who is she?”
Ava’s mouth dropped open at his rudeness, and the complete disregard for her daughter. “Cinderella,” she snapped.
“Cinderella?” Alexander was intrigued by Ava’s reply and the obvious anger building in the green eyes of the young woman.
“She’s the bastard child of my husband,” Ava lied, trying to discredit the brat further. “She’s no one you need to concern yourself with, Alexander. If she’s bothering you, I’ll send her to the kitchen.”
Cynthia fully understood what these parties were for. They were arrangements to settle her stepsisters in suitable financial engagements. Although she had nothing… as she had no knowledge of her mother’s bequest… Cynthia laid the half-empty tray down on a table, straightened, and walked calmly up to the man. She held out her hand and he caressed her palm with his thumb and lifted it to his lips.
“I am Cynthia Eleanor and I am eighteen years old.” She stared into his eyes. “Get me the hell out of here,” she demanded.
Alexander smiled and replied, “Pack what you need. You will not be coming back here.”
Ava paled. She watched Cynthia ignore her and their guests while she walked calmly to the staircase. There was very little Cynthia wanted… only the few mementos from her mother that she had managed to keep hidden… and she was back in the foyer to witness a strange scene. Alexander was leaning over a table, opening his checkbook and uncapping his pen. He looked up at her and raised his eyebrow. “Do you mind if I buy you from them?”
“No, sir,” Cynthia assured him, in a regal tone that set stepmother back. “Though, I’m eighteen so it should not be necessary. Besides, I’ve had nothing but second hand clothes for years, so the price should not be too steep.”
Her father argued, “But, she comes into a trust when she’s twenty-one,” …as if it was his fortune.
Cynthia kept the surprise out of her voice. “Which you will never see a penny of, so I suggest that you accept whatever Alexander offers for me.” She turned to her stepmother and said, “As long as I’m here, your attempts to throw your shrewish daughters at these men are going to fail. Look at your guests, stepmother. They strip me with their eyes, and envision your face on your daughters as they get older. I know that your money is gone, because instead of shopping you’ve had me mending your clothes.”
A few of the men were grabbing their sons and sidling towards the door. If the witch was broke and had no dowry for the sour young women, it was not worth their consideration. Cynthia continued, “You stand no chance of marrying your bitch issue when the men only show up to see if I am the one finally being presented.”
Ava had no idea that the contemptuous girl had considered the idea that had caused her so many sleepless nights. She turned red with angry embarrassment and leapt at the girl. Cynthia slapped Ava so hard across the face that several of the men gasped. “No more. I am never going to clean up after you or your spoiled, hideous daughters… and father, I will never speak to you again,” Cynthia vowed.
Her father was actually afraid that Alexander would withdraw his offer after seeing his daughter’s callous display. They needed the money more desperately than even his wife was aware of, due to a bad call at a gaming table.
Cynthia was whisked out the door to a waiting limousine. Within a week she and Alexander were married, and he gave her the keys to his two thousand year old estate, as well as his heart. He showed her a world of sadistic pleasure that she craved, and her twisted psyche found a place to flourish and heal. It was after the birth of her first son, and she had returned to their arousing pastime, that Cynthia Eleanor asked Alexander why she desired tormenting young women. He smiled, kissed her forehead, and repli
ed, “It’s your ‘Cinderella Syndrome’, my love.”
Chapter I
Cynthia Eleanor Strega Venetia was a tall woman, close to six feet, with a surprisingly strong figure and the light olive complexion of her father’s ancestry. At nearly fifty years old few wrinkles marred her face, though she was quite often seen stretching her features in tight cruel disdain or narrowing her green eyes in sadistic anticipation and arousal. Her hair was long, reaching almost to her waist, with no gray daring to mix with the glossy black tresses. It was pulled back and secured in an ornate bun woven with strands of pearls, when guests were invited to the estate… which was rare. Usually, it hung about her like a shroud; either as a silky black curtain, or wild and windblown when she exerted herself correcting or training her servants.
Alexander’s estate flourished when he brought his Cinderella back to the stone mansion to rule with him. The apathy he had affected over the years of living alone was reflected in the slaves he had trained. There had been no passion and only routine perfection, while he went through the motions to produce the merchandise that funded the estate. That was before Cynthia, and he gave her free rein to create a new empire with her unusual methods and design.
After their sons were old enough to be brought into the family enterprise, Alexander and Cynthia saved the culmination of their sexual appetites for each other, using the training of their slaves as sadistically arousing foreplay. Alexander had discovered Cynthia’s passion was gardening, and she had beautiful flowerbeds surrounding the front of the castle. It was the ‘other’ garden he had helped her plant… the dungeon garden in the stone cellars below… that had produced exotic varieties, ensuring their family as renowned exporters in their unique society.
Six Masters Island - The Cinderella Syndrome Page 2