Cinders: The Untold Story of Cinderella

by Finley Aaron

  Now, you may be thinking that Ella shouldn’t have had to take that kind of treatment from them, and indeed, you’re right. The girl who defeated armed knights could have easily warded off a beating from Madame De Bouchard, but there was a great deal more going on than their battle of wills.

  The De Bouchard name was one of some prominence, and Madame loved nothing more than to gossip. She could ruin the Caprese reputation if she chose to.

  Ella couldn’t risk that, not when their fortunes were already low.

  Whatever grief-stricken madness had compelled her father to marry that mumpsimus morass, Ella had to believe he was trying to do the very best thing. If they needed Madame’s name or her money to keep Caprese, then Ella wouldn’t question her orders.

  She’d make dinner, though there was no food.

  Thankfully, Ella’s mother had always kept a large garden. Ella went in search of food among the overgrown weeds. Though some of the vegetables were rotting away on their vines (neither Madame nor her daughters could apparently be bothered even to pick the food), Ella was able to find a cucumber and tomatoes and basil, which she carried to the house, sliced, and arranged on a plate.

  There was no fresh cheese to layer between the slices, nor olive oil to pour over it, but Ella enjoyed the slices she nibbled (the ugly ones, of course—she couldn’t serve them for fear of a lecture), and at any rate, there was nothing else.

  Agatha and Bertha turned up their noses at the food, but Madame ate with mincing bites and told her daughters to do the same.

  Not that Ella stayed to watch. She dismissed herself and returned to the garden, where she ate a few more vegetables, pulled weeds, and in general wondered how she was ever going to survive until her father and brother returned.

  She hoped they would not be gone long.

  But even in that, she was disappointed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ella became every bit the same handmaid she’d been at Madame De Bouchard’s, which is to say she was essentially a servant. In some ways it wasn’t so bad, because it was her own beloved Caprese she was taking care of, and her dear horses and woods and fields besides.

  But in some ways it was so much worse, because every day she had to endure watching that woman lounge about in her mother’s gowns (yes, she did), and Agatha and Bertha flounce around in her dresses, leaving buttered crumbs on her upholstery, and water rings on her furniture, and scuffing and scratching and in all other ways defacing and ruining the home she so loved.

  Worst of all was the fact that she had to live each day in constant reminder of her mother, knowing the woman was gone and would never be coming back.

  Her only hope was that her father and brother would have a successful trade journey and return much enriched. Perhaps, if they could afford it, she could convince her father to set aside Madame De Bouchard, and the woman would leave with her daughters never to return.

  Her other hope, which was more of a secret hope, and one she cautioned her heart not to expect, was that Henry would arrive as he’d promised.

  That hope was tempered by the very real likelihood that once he thought about it, he’d realize she’d purposely lied to him about who she was, and he’d resent her for it. Even if he never reached that conclusion (he had a generous heart, after all, which tended to see the best in people, which was probably why he kept Jerome on all that time in spite of his drunken singing and otherwise uselessness), there was every likelihood Henry would never make it to Caprese, and not because he didn’t want to come.

  He was a prince, after all, and as such, his time was not his own. He was busy. He had other responsibilities besides proving his military prowess at the tournaments. No matter how good his intentions, he simply might never be able to set aside the time to sneak away and visit her without being followed.

  So Ella made the best she could of what she had. She opened the curtains every morning and kept them open all day, no matter how often Madame De Bouchard complained about the light. Madame and her daughters were much too lazy to rise and shut the curtains every time Ella opened them, and when they told her to close them, she simply walked away.

  Madame hated that, but the woman learned to pick her battles. She knew Ella was strong (just how strong, she had no idea), but Madame was smart enough not to fight her on something as trivial as curtains.

  Between buying chickens with the money she had left over from the coins Henry had given her, to weeding the garden and setting by what stores she could for winter, to putting up hay (not enough to get them through the winter, but it was all they had, and if they could get by until her father returned, perhaps they could afford to buy more), Ella returned her home to some semblance of its former sufficiency. She got the cows and goats back up in their milk production, and made cheese and butter, which Madame and her daughters gobbled up.

  There were few other foods for her to buy in town, or even in Charmont. Madame and her daughters had gone in search of silks for new dresses. They’d allowed Ella to accompany them to town only because their stores of spices had been exhausted, the shops in the local village were out, and since neither Madame nor her daughters knew the difference between cinnamon and nutmeg, or even what price those goods ought to cost, they wanted Ella to shop for spices.

  But the prices had risen tenfold on every imported spice. Local herbs were not expensive—but Ella didn’t need to buy those, because she grew them in the garden.

  One of the shopkeepers recognized her and asked about her father. “When will he be back with spices? We’ve had nothing new from anyone in over a year. I’ve contacted my colleagues in other cities, asking if they have anything to spare, but everyone else is out, too. I have people asking every day, and no answer to give them. What’s going on?”

  Ella could only tell him what little she knew from her brother’s note. “Saracen pirates are blocking every route, by land or sea, and robbing everyone. No goods have made it through. It’s not for lack of trying. My father and brother are long overdue home, and I fear for their safety.”

  The shopkeeper shook his head. “Pirate activity has been growing worse in recent years. I’d heard the governments of our neighboring kingdoms to the east were trying to resolve the issue.”

  “They may be working with them,” Ella acknowledged, “but they obviously haven’t resolved anything.”

  Ella left the shop. She didn’t have anywhere else she needed to be, there was no hope of finding the spices she needed, and she was in no hurry to rejoin Madame and her daughters. Most especially, she didn’t want to go into any shops where she’d be at risk of bumping into them again.

  She turned instinctively and walked uphill toward the castle. She could see from the pennants flying on the turrets that Henry was not currently in residence, so she harbored no hope of bumping into him. Still, the castle was his childhood home, and she felt drawn to it just as strongly as if he were standing before her.

  There was the small issue that she had no business at the castle, and of course the guards at the front gates interviewed any visitor before letting them proceed, and many were turned away.

  Ella did not even bother to approach them. Instead she turned her attention to the legal shops and charterhouses that lined the road nearest the castle. She was not personally in need of any legal documents, but nonetheless she slowed her pace and peered in through the open shutters.

  In the third shop, she was surprised to spot a face she recognized.

  Jerome.

  He wore a tunic with the shop’s emblem, and stood behind the high main desk, dipping his pen and writing with care.

  Ella’s heart skipped frantically. Granted, by this time it had been some months since she’d left the tournament circuit, and Jerome had never been of much use beyond his basic skills as a herald, so she could understand Henry might have grown tired of him. He was, of course, highly literate, and would be employable in any profession that had need of such skills.

  Was that it, then? Had Henry dismissed hi
m, or had he transferred him to a position in the charter shop? How long had he been away from Henry? Would he have news of her friend?

  Ella reached for the door handle, then paused. Should she enter? Would he recognize her? He and Sigi had fled away before Raedwald had unmasked her. She’d often wondered how far word of her true identity would spread. Henry, of course, wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d have no reason to.

  Would Raedwald or his men? They’d chased her off, which was what they’d wanted. They’d only embarrass themselves if they made claim that the man who’d bested them so many times at tournament was really a girl.

  So it stood to reason Jerome would not know her as a girl.

  She smoothed her dress and entered the shop.

  Jerome looked up at the sound of the jingling bell. A glimmer of recognition flitted across his features, followed immediately by puzzlement.

  He could not place her.

  His voice faltered slightly (a rarity for him). “M-my lady? May I help you?”

  “Jerome.” Ella kept her voice high and light, as unlike the deep gruff voice of Allard as she could make it. “You were a herald for Hugo of Adalaard, were you not?”

  “Yes.” Jerome smiled at being recognized (a good sign then that he had not left on painful terms), but his puzzled expression grew. He could not place her. “Up until three weeks ago, when I finally transferred to a bed that doesn’t move every week.”

  Ella tittered and batted her eyes, playing up her every feminine quality so Jerome would be less likely to recognize her.

  Jerome blushed.

  Great, now he thought she fancied him.

  Well, why not? If he thought her a fan of him personally, he might tell her things he’d never disclose to a random inquisitor.

  “I always thought you did a fine job as herald,” she told him, pouting her lips in sympathy.

  Jerome’s blush grew, and he straightened, puffing his chest. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “It’s a wonder your master could find anyone to replace a man of your skills. Or has he left the tournament circuit?”

  “Oh, no, he still competes. He thought it would be good to take on a new man—there’s been a great deal of upheaval in the tournament world of late. Raedwald of Nordheim left for the eastern circuit.”

  “Did he?” Ella fluttered her eyelashes over eyes wide with surprise. “Whatever for? I thought he dominated here.”

  “He did well, of course, but there was a new rule he didn’t like. They’re allowing those unhorsed in the mounted melee to continue in play if they can remount within a minute.”

  “Remount!” Ella tittered, a strange tinkling laugh that sounded foreign even to her own ears. “My, that is a change. But your master has stayed on in spite of it?” She wanted to learn everything she could of Henry. Her heart burned for information about him, but she knew she’d have to keep up her façade. The longer they talked, the greater the chance Jerome would recognize her.

  “Oh, he was in favor of it. He was one of the men who pushed for the change, actually.”

  “And he’s doing well? He hasn’t been injured?”

  “Oh, no injuries. Nothing serious, anyway. The occasional bruise, of course. But no, he’s done quite well. Took second at sword a month ago. I’ve not heard much news since I left, though.”

  Ella wanted to ask if Allard had been replaced, but she didn’t dare mention the name. She’d been over-daring already. In fact, there wasn’t anything she could think to ask.

  Jerome blinked at her, still clearly trying to sort out why she looked familiar. “Are you in need of any paperwork? Charters, legal papers…”

  “Not today, thank you. I merely recognized you from the window and had to determine whether it was really you. I’ve always been a fan.” She fluttered her eyes and turned toward the door.

  “Thank you! Stop in again, any time!” Jerome called after her.

  Ella stepped from the shop and caught her breath.

  Henry was fine. He was doing well. He hadn’t been injured, and Jerome seemed utterly oblivious to the possibility that Ella and Allard were the same person—which meant it was unlikely her unmasking had been the subject of discussion or even rumor, or he surely would have heard.

  Ella walked back down the street in the direction of the dress shops. She’d had little, if any, good news of late. The fact that Henry was getting along well, and Raedwald not currently a threat to him, was the only encouragement she’d had in a string of stinging disappointments. She tucked that knowledge away in her heart to cheer her as the winter stretched on.

  Madame and her daughters caught up to Ella shortly thereafter. They were sulking, unhappy to have found there was little selection in the shops, and nothing new.

  “They’ve had nothing new from the east,” Agatha pouted.

  “Nothing new at all but wool from England,” Bertha added, making a face to show what she thought of England’s stuffy wool.

  “None of the traders have been able to get through in the east,” Ella explained to them. “The stores were all out of spices, as well.”

  This announcement sent Madame and her daughters into fits of complaint, not that any of their grumbling could change the reality of the situation.

  They were upset because they wanted exotic flavors in their food. Ella noted that none of them expressed any distress over the issue that bothered her the most.

  The exports weren’t making it to Charmont because the traders weren’t getting through.

  Her brother and her father (who was technically Madame’s husband, so she ought to have been concerned) were on trading journeys in the east. They should have returned before winter, but all the leaves were off the trees, and every morning dawned frostier than the last.

  Something was keeping them, and all the merchants, from coming home.

  Ella shuddered to think what that might be.

  Spices aside, food was in slim supply at home as well. Ella gleaned what was left of the wheat that had lain unharvested in the fields in her absence. It had been rained on and pecked at by the birds, leaving little behind for her, but she gathered every grain she could and took it to the mill to be ground into flour, which she baked into lovely loaves. The De Bouchards ate them with cheese.

  To augment their normal diet, Ella searched the woods for mushrooms, and put her archery skills to use hunting, though Agatha and Bertha complained especially about the wild taste of the meat, and grumbled that her goose was tough.

  It was too late in the season to grow many vegetables, but Ella had some success with spinach and lettuces as long as she covered them when the nights were frosty, as well as root crops that wouldn’t be ruined by a light freeze.

  But her projects weren’t the only ones she worked on. Madame assigned her tasks as well, often with little warning. One day over breakfast, she fixed her steely eyes on Ella, stirred her tea, and announced, “My quarters are in need of a thorough cleaning. The garbage needs carried out and burned.” Madame smiled when she said this, and showed her teeth.

  It was never a good sign when Madame showed her teeth, or when she smiled. The only time she ever seemed to smile was when she was causing Ella pain.

  That day was no exception. Madame had taken most of Nora’s clothes and belongings for herself or her daughters, but there were some items that were long out of date, or too small to be made to fit any of the De Bouchards.

  Madame heaped these in Ella’s arms—corsets, dresses that dated to the years before Ella and Bertie were born (which Nora had told Ella she was saving for her to wear someday), and atop the heap, the glass slippers.

  “Take them out and burn them!” Madame demanded.

  Ella carried the stack from the room, but instead of going outside to the burn heap, she headed up the stairs. She’d have liked to hurry, but the pile she carried was unsteady, and she didn’t want to risk it toppling.

  So she hadn’t made it far when Madame noticed her.

  “Insolent Child!” Madame s
napped. “What are you doing? I told you to burn them.”

  “I’m keeping them.”

  “They’re useless! Too small for anyone. They’ll only attract rats.”

  “They’re not too small.” Ella told her as she continued up the stairs. Given all the work Ella did, from dawn to dusk, she’d become slimmer than she’d been before. Even the smallest dresses would fit her.

  Madame growled with anger and lunged up the stairs after her. She snatched the glass slippers from atop the pile. “These aren’t even real shoes. They’re a useless decoration. They wouldn’t fit anyone. Burn them—I’m sick of seeing them!”

  “They’re not useless!” Ella insisted.

  “Aren’t they?” Madame sneered, her face red with hot anger, her eyes glittering with challenge. “Put them on then. Put them on—if they fit, you can keep them. You can keep it all, if they fit.”

  Ella sat on the stairs and took hold of the slippers. She glanced up at Madame, who sneered down at her, haughty in victory.

  The slippers weren’t nearly the size of a grown woman’s foot, but Ella had seen her mother wear them. Ella had never been able to fit her own foot inside, not even as a child, but she had no choice but to try, given Madame’s challenge.

  Ella tipped the glass against her toes and slid her foot inside.

  The shoe fit perfectly.

  She slid the other onto her other foot.

  Madame narrowed her eyes. “You little witch. Fine. Keep them! Get them out of my sight!”

  Ella grabbed up the rest of the clothes and ran for the attic. She could hardly keep her tears under control until she reached it.

  The glass slippers fit her. They were magic shoes, and had only ever fit her mother before.

  I swelled to the size of a mouse and perched upon Ella’s knee as she cried. “They’re magic slippers,” I told her softly. “They only fit their owner. You’re their owner now.”