Cinder-Ugly

by Laura Strickland

  No one else came near me, not even Nurse. The waiting proved hard, but I had hope that with the passage of time Mother’s rage might abate.

  It did not.

  She came armed with a leather strap and ordered me off the bed to my feet. She berated me at top volume, accompanying every insult with a blow. I turned my back in an effort to protect my face, and was on my knees before Father—followed by Robin—broke into the room.

  “For God’s sake, Erikka! Have you lost your mind?” He seized hold of her and wrested away the strap, which he passed to Robin. “Do you want to kill her?”

  Mother began to weep. “I will kill her if she’s spoiled her sisters’ chances with the Prince. One of my daughters is to be a princess, do you hear?”

  Father shook her. “Listen to me! No one knows she’s their sister. And it was all my fault. I sent her in to serve.”

  Swift as a striking terror, she slapped him. “Fool! You knew I had ambitions.”

  Robin hissed. He came and helped me up from the floor and inspected my stripes. “She will need a physician,” he said.

  “No!” Mother wailed. “No one can see…”

  Robin’s and Father’s eyes met.

  “Come, Erikka,” Father said then. “You need a powder to calm you. Robin, fetch Nurse to tend your sister’s injuries.”

  I lay face down on my bed and wept till Nurse came. Robin did not stay to see what came next; Nurse and I were alone. She—neither kind nor harsh—clucked her tongue all the while she tended my hurts, pronouncing it as her opinion that I would have scars, and left me alone with my misery.

  That my mental ache superseded the physical, I could not deny. I had failed. It seemed I did so perpetually. Father had trusted me with a simple task, and I had disappointed him, enraged Mother, and showered both the Queen and the Prince with pastry.

  The Prince.

  I could scarcely bear to think of him. Those green eyes. The way he had come to my aid. His kindness. I wept throughout the morning for a multitude of reasons.

  And then in the afternoon there came a ruckus from downstairs, only faintly heard at the top of the house. My mother’s voice sounded again. Father’s as well. Once more, they argued.

  Soon Father returned to my room. My stripes had stiffened by then, and it hurt to breathe, let alone swivel around on the bed to face him. But astonishment took away some of the sting.

  He wore a tentative look and bore a small nosegay in his hand.

  “Cindra, these have arrived. For you.”

  “What?” I could not comprehend. Flowers arrived in profusion for both my sisters, never for me.

  “From Prince Rupert.” Father looked nearly as surprised as I felt. But he passed the bouquet into my hands.

  Violets there were, and tiny pink rosebuds, and the most delicate calendulas, and…well, something fragrant, like thyme. The scent surrounded me.

  “There’s a note. He sent a note,” Father stammered. “I’ve read it. He hopes you are no worse for your mishap last night—” Here Father faltered; I was very much worse.

  “Cindra, I’m sorry. It was my fault. I should have realized you’re not trained to serve. I merely wished for you to share in some of the excitement.”

  I barely heard Father’s words. The Prince had sent me flowers, this delicate and most perfect little bouquet. Even though he thought me a servant.

  I unfolded the note, which had been tied to the bouquet with purple ribbon. Purple, my favorite color.

  I hope you are fully recovered from our shared mishap last evening and will not give it another thought. Best regards, Rupert Octavius.

  Rupert Octavius. He had signed his name in a clear, black hand. Or perhaps whoever had made up the bouquet—I certainly didn’t possess sufficient naiveté to think he’d done it himself—had written it. Yet he’d thought of me. Gone out of his way to send these. A kind gesture.

  “You know,” Father said, “none of us could be sure what to expect from Prince Rupert. He has been away so long, a mere boy when he went off to begin his education. And with his father so ill, and facing this threat of war, he will prove pivotal to our future. But I’m impressed. He’s…”

  Father paused, apparently at a loss for words.

  “Kind,” I supplied.

  “Yes. And there’s strength in him. Not flashy strength, but it’s there, like a backbone of steel.”

  I nodded. The door of my room opened, and Robin slipped in. He asked Father, “Have you told her?”

  “I thought I’d leave it to you, son.”

  I stared at them in bewilderment as Robin came forward and sat on the edge of my bed. Father moved to close the door.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Robin gazed at me a moment before he replied; I thought I saw sorrow in his dark eyes. “Cindra, you know I’m to wed in a month.”

  “Yes.”

  “Once Donella and I are married, we will have our own household. I would like you to come and live with us there.”

  “As a servant, you mean?”

  Unaccountably, Robin’s eyes filled with tears. “No, as my sister and a member of our family.”

  I gaped, not knowing what to say.

  “I will need to discuss it with Donella, of course,” Robin went on, “but I cannot imagine her objecting. One of the things I value most in her is her compassionate heart.”

  I glanced at Father. “But—but I live here. I work in the kitchen. You—you need me.”

  Father looked away.

  “Donella and I will need you, too,” Robin told me. “I hope—pray—children will come along soon. And if the future goes badly and I am forced to enlist, I would be happier knowing I do not leave Donella alone.”

  Completely at a loss, I laid the bouquet on my knee and raised my hands. “I do not know how…”

  “You’ll learn,” Robin assured me.

  Father moved closer. “Look, Cindra, you can stay here no longer. Your mother’s treatment of you has demonstrated that. You will have a better, more appropriate life with Robin.”

  Appropriate? What was appropriate for me? I had no way to measure, no way to imagine.

  I opened my mouth; no words came, so I shut it again.

  Robin stood up from the edge of the bed. “Allow me to speak with Donella. Meanwhile, you concentrate on healing.”

  “Mother—”

  Father said, “You will not be seeing your mother again. I have forbidden her from coming here. Or to the kitchen.”

  He had forbidden. But no one forbade Mother anything. Neither her nor my sisters.

  “But,” I said, “even if I live with Robin”—an unimaginable prospect; a different household. A different bedroom. I’d never known anything but the nursery and this. “It’s a month away. Surely I will see Mother before then.”

  “Leave that to me,” Father said. “As Robin suggests, you concentrate on healing.”

  “My flowers,” I whispered. “They will need water.”

  “Surely you have water here?”

  I shook my head.

  Father frowned. “I will send one of the maids directly with a vase.”

  “And I,” said Robin with fake cheer, “am off to see my fiancée.”

  I cannot begin to describe my feelings once they’d gone. Amazed, uncertain—a bit grateful, but wholly fearful. Mother’s strap seemed to have rent not only my skin but my world.

  It was dark before Robin returned. By then I’d been brought a vase full of water by a scowling Prudence and even a tray containing a bowl of sops in milk, one of the few times my supper had ever been served to me.

  I was reading, with my bouquet on the table beside me, when Robin knocked and came in. All afternoon I’d been busy assuring myself Donella would refuse to have me in her household. Why should she want a freak like me under her roof, someone used to spending her time in the cinders of the kitchen fire?

  Cinder-Ugly. I heard the taunt in my sisters’ voices again. Surely I would be left here at the
ir mercy, all I’d ever been able to imagine for myself.

  Robin sat down and looked at me gravely. I felt doubly sure then that his fiancée had refused. But he said with sorrow, “I am ashamed to say Donella did not realize I have a third sister.”

  “Oh.”

  “We spent these past hours discussing the situation here and how you have lived your life. The long and short of it is she will be pleased to welcome you into our home.”

  Heat and cold rushed over me in turns. It seemed there should be something I must say—“thank you,” perhaps. But I didn’t feel grateful.

  “But, but,” I stammered, “I don’t know how to be.”

  “I understand that, as does Donella. I want the two of you to meet. She will help you order a wardrobe.”

  “A what?”

  “Some proper clothes. Visitors who come into our home will meet you as a member of our family. Not a maid.”

  I twisted my fingers together. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can, Cindra. One step at a time.”

  ****

  I met Donella two days later, in the tiny sitting room at the back of my father’s house. Difficult to imagine I’d only seen her from a distance before, once at the reception when I’d dropped the tray. Now she entered the room on a wave of lavender scent, a stunning vision.

  Donella had jet black hair and deep blue eyes, cheeks like roses, and a dimpled smile. She wore an ivory-colored gown and a pelisse of blue that matched her eyes. But the loveliest thing about her, so I thought, was the kind manner in which she looked at me.

  Robin escorted her in, and she sat in a chair facing me. I wondered what she thought—if, facing me in the flesh, she would change her mind about giving me house room.

  But after shooting a look at Robin, she smiled. “Hello, Cindra. I’m so pleased to meet you. I understand you’ve had a very bad time.”

  I wondered to what she referred. The recent beating? The humiliation of tossing a tray of tarts all over the Prince and the Queen? My life in general?

  “I hope,” Donella went on when I did not reply, “you’ll be comfortable living with us. And I hope you and I will be friends.”

  Friends?

  Somehow I found my voice. “Are you sure?”

  “What, dear?”

  “Are you sure you want to take me in?”

  Robin answered. “Cindra, I am ashamed of what has taken place in this house. Please allow me and Donella to make it up to you. Sister, your life is about to get better.”

  He was wrong—all our lives were about to fall apart.

  Chapter Seven

  The time until my brother’s wedding passed in a blur of activity. Much still needed to be done, and I became part of it.

  Donella came to Father’s home often and always met with me in the back parlor. There she helped me decide what clothing I needed to order for my new life and helped me through the humiliation of being seen by the seamstress—something I’d never before endured. I barely spoke during these meetings. To communicate with the seamstress, who brought drawings and samples, I would whisper words to Donella, who then passed my choices along.

  A conversation might go something like this…

  Donella: Which of these fabric swatches do you like, Cindra?

  Me: The purple.

  Donella: Yes? And the lavender lace?

  Me: It’s beautiful. But not for me.

  Donella to the seamstress: We’ll have one made up in both these colors. Oh, and the teal. I think that will look very well.

  I became used to Donella with her steady, cheerful kindness, but facing anyone else still felt impossible.

  On the day she came and asked me to be a bridesmaid, I lost what little composure I’d attained.

  “I would love for you to be part of our wedding,” she told me by way of persuasion. “And I think there’s still time for your gown to be prepared, if we decide at once.”

  I broke down in tears even though I rarely wept in front of anyone, having learned long ago it did me no good. “I can’t!” I wailed.

  “Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Robin and I merely wanted you to feel part of things. But I can quite see it would be difficult.”

  I raised a face made still uglier by tears. “You must want your wedding to be beautiful.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I want it to be beautiful. My sisters will be standing up for you, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I cannot, simply cannot, stand up beside them. They are beautiful. I am ugly.”

  “Cindra—”

  “And Mother will be there! If she sees I am part of the wedding, she will become enraged, scream, and make a scene.”

  Iron entered Donella’s sweet voice. “You suppose I am unwilling to face up to her on your behalf?”

  “I could not bear it.” And that was the truth. The very prospect made me want to crawl away and hide.

  “Very well. I understand. Dry your tears. You don’t need to do anything that frightens you so. But say you will be there! In the back of the church, perhaps?”

  “If she sees me there—”

  Donella bit her lip. “Yes, all right. Forgive me, Cindra. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I wailed, “No, forgive me! You’ve been so kind. I do not wish to disappoint you.”

  “There’s no disappointment on my part. I am marrying the man of my dreams, and everything else is frosting on the cake. I do not suppose you can face the reception either?”

  I shook my head violently.

  Donella touched the back of my hand, which had been caught by Mother’s strap. “As you wish, dear. We’ll ease into things, shall we?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded, not sure I could face the future after all.

  ****

  By all accounts, the wedding proved a grand spectacle and a great success. I watched from the top of the stairs as everyone left—my sisters both clad in soft green and Mother in deep rose—and saw them return again following the reception. In between, the house seemed unusually quiet, with everyone, including the kitchen staff, gone off to attend. Only the aged butler and I remained.

  I had never before been alone in the house. No one to hear me—for old Karl was mostly deaf—and no one to see me, either. I wandered from room to room, peering out windows and fantasizing this was my own home.

  Up in my room, my few belongings had been packed up, for I would move to Robin’s house the day after tomorrow and await the return of the newlyweds from their honeymoon. Most of my new wardrobe would be delivered to Robin’s house also, though I did wear one gown, finished in tiny sprigs of green with purple flowers. It reminded me of my bouquet, now long dead and pressed between the pages of my favorite book. That would also travel with me.

  I spent a while standing in front of the mirror in the drawing room, where the light fell mercilessly, gazing at myself in my new gown. To me, I looked like a scrawny chicken clad in a dress of borrowed feathers. Still just a chicken in disguise. Still ugly.

  Donella had tried to show me how to arrange my hair, but to little effect. My hair, too limp and lifeless to do anything but lie on my neck, refused to hold a curl.

  I wondered if I did the right thing, venturing out into the world. I wondered what my mother thought of the development. She had not been near me since the day of the beating; Father must have kept her away.

  But surely she understood that at Robin’s house I would pass beyond her control. She wouldn’t be able to keep people outside the family from seeing me. Robin and Donella might well have visitors. They’d given no indication they meant to do anything other than introduce me as Robin’s sister.

  Word would get out that Erikka Bulgar had an ugly daughter. That possibility must terrify Mother as much as it did me.

  How had Father brought her to accept it?

  I received an answer to that question later, when everyone returned from the wedding reception.

  The house had been so qu
iet all those hours it seemed like a sudden storm breaking when they came in. I heard my sisters’ voices first, chattering like birds, and Father’s rumble. But it was Mother’s voice, hollering my name wildly, that sent a chill down my spine.

  She called for me. She never called for me. I stood at the top of the stairs, peering down, saw them gathered like a bright bouquet in the foyer, and wondered whether to run. But she looked up and saw me, and waved an imperious hand.

  “There she is. Get down here.”

  “Erikka,” Father began, and seized her elbow.

  She shrugged him off. “Leave me alone. I will have my say before she leaves this house.”

  I started down slowly. I will admit I didn’t realize at once that Mother had taken too much to drink. Perhaps I should have; a wedding, after all, is a celebration, and the drink probably flowed freely. I had often seen Mother with a goblet in her hands while entertaining, but never drunk so it showed.

  Now she watched me descend the stairs, her head thrown back. By the time I reached her, a sneer contorted her face.

  “Look at you,” she seethed. “All dressed up. Doesn’t help much, does it? You’re still ugly.”

  “Erikka,” Father said again.

  I did not speak, did not attempt to answer her. I knew I still looked hideous; I’d spent the afternoon assuring myself of it. And, on some level, I sensed she’d decided to destroy me here and now, before I passed beyond her reach. Perhaps she thought if she reduced me far enough I would never again raise my head, never show myself at Robin’s house and embarrass her.

  Nelissa and Bethessa giggled. One glance into their faces told me they intended to enjoy this scene.

  “Cinder-Ugly,” one of them whispered—Bethessa, I thought. “Fit only to live among the cinders.”

  “Yes, but”—Mother took it up swiftly—“she has grand ideas about herself. Your brother has encouraged that, curse him.”

  “Mother…” I began desperately.

  Her face twisted into a mask of cruelty. As always when she directed her bile at me, she became ugly too—this most lovely of women. I wondered suddenly if that was why she hated me so much, because my ugliness made hers evident.

  “Do not call me that! Do not ever call me that. You are no daughter of mine, do you understand? I have two daughters, and they are both lovely. Here you see them! You were an error, an ab-ab-aberration. I should have strangled you at birth.”