Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories

by Elisabeth Brown

  Auguste blinked like a dozy badger and turned his muddled gaze on me. “You’re saying you’ll marry me, Alis?”

  “I will.” I smoothed his pitted brow with my fingertip and smiled again.

  He sighed. “Well then, I don’t mind the rest so terribly much.” With that he grew brighter and picked me up and spun me in a circle. “I feel as if I’ve been through a five-minute hell and found myself in heaven after all. Oh, Alis. You’re such a pigeon!”

  He kissed my lips once, twice, and I blushed, feeling that this moment was worth a number of conquered thrones. “You’d shock most girls.”

  “I know. But I don’t want most girls. I want Alis, one Alis. And she’s here in my arms right now. Oh, Pigeon, I am hopelessly happy.” Auguste pressed a kiss to my forehead.

  I did not pull away, but I felt that something ought to be said, since I had no practice in how to deportment oneself while being kissed. “Is there anything that could make you happier?”

  Auguste’s brows drew together once more. He set me down and mussed that eternally electrified hair of his. “Well, I don’t much like this business about the throne. ’Specially if it’s yours.” He hugged me. “I want to live in a little stone cottage with goldenrod and blackberries round the door and a rooster to shout at every morning. Cats too, and a smart collie dog with a crooked smile. Oh, dear. I should be rather indebted if someone would kill me.”

  “Kill you?” I asked, aghast.

  He smiled the finger-caught-in-the-pie smile I liked so well, which had a mollifying effect. “Well, not actually, darling. But I do so hate being a prince. Now I understand it all, of course, since in reality I belong at the farm, and you here. If I could be killed without having to die . . . that’d solve all my problems, wouldn’t it?”

  I pushed my palms against his chest, eyebrows raised. “You mean a staged murder?”

  Auguste grabbed my hand and chafed it between his, brown eyes full of sweetness. “Well, rather.”

  A plan bubbled in my mind, and it scared me in its audacity and in the way it meant I’d never get my throne. “Auguste, I love you.”

  “I know y’do, Pigeon.”

  “And I’m clever.”

  “Yes? Are you? I should think you are. You look clever.”

  “And I’ve always loved to play chess,” I continued. “Especially the winning part.”

  He chuckled. “Alis, darling, dearest, love, does this have any bearing on the conversation?” He kissed me again, but I pulled away and looked at him sternly.

  “I love you so much, Auguste, that I’m not afraid of what it’ll mean for us. I know we’ll lose the throne, and if I’m found out I’ll lose my life but . . . I’ll kill you if you’d like.”

  He sighed wistfully but shook his head, and his eyes were determined. “It is too risky, even for my clever girl. I couldn’t let you do that for me.”

  “Would you do it for me?”

  “Yes . . . But, Alis, see here, it’s the man’s duty.”

  “And it is my choice. Love is risk, darling. And I’d rather risk my life for you than let you drear your own life away in misery. It’s the pattern set a long time ago by a far, far wiser Mind than mine, you know.”

  “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends,” Auguste whispered the familiar canto over me, and a great peace settled on my heart.

  I tipped his chin. “Let me?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. I see you’ve already been kissing her.” Lord Humphries’s loud proclamation startled us so that Auguste’s slow kiss landed in an awkward place halfway on my cheek.

  I turned in his arms, face burning, to see Lord Humphries leaning out of his alcove. He applauded. “Alis, you’re a devil incarnate.”

  “I’m a woman,” I retorted, borrowing Ellen’s words. “And that’s pretty much the same thing.”

  “Do you think I’ll actually let you both get away with this . . . alone?” Lord Humphries asked. “You’re both ruddy fools and not very efficient murderers, either, plotting in front of company.”

  “We're doing perfectly well,” I protested.

  “Shut up, darling.” Lord Humphries waved his book and leaned over the railing. “Leave the details to your godfather. A thing like this must be handled with finesse, and I'm rather an old hand at scandal.”

  11

  The night of the Prince’s birthday had arrived. The night on which I had long planned to steal his crown. In a way, I’d still be stealing the crown, as after tonight there would be no Prince Auguste. I would kidnap and “murder” my love, and we’d flee the country forever, taking up residence in some foreign chateau where Auguste could have the trappings of his idealistic life and I a prince if not a throne.

  I laid out the gown I had ordered from the tailor and his wife and called for Lord Humphries’s maid, Jane, to help me fasten the multitude of stiff petticoats and rustling tulle that comprised the under-layers of the concoction. After wrestling the under-things in place, I wriggled into the gown; Jane laced the stays and the ribbons that held the back of it together while I sucked in my waist.

  I rustled to the dressing table and tried to sit in the little red chair before the mirror. After a futile attempt, I knew there would be no sitting for me in this costume and wondered if it would impair my escape. Jane gave me a long look and, before I could stop her, had taken the pins from my bun and let loose my mane.

  “Jane, what are you doing?” I grabbed my hair in both hands, unused to seeing the waves of it crowding my face, though my reflection looked unusually pretty, I thought.

  “You’re not going to th’ball with a topknot, Lady Alis.” And, with a few deft movements, Jane coiled my hair into an elegant, twisting mass on the back of my head. She tucked something into the coils and handed me a mirror. “There y’are. Clean up nicely, don’t you?”

  “Bless you, Jane.” I kissed her cheek and squeezed her arm in my abundant gratitude.

  “One would suspect she had never touched a dishpan in her life,” Lord Humphries said in a voice thrilling with amusement.

  My heart galloped and I turned to greet him. His arrival had kicked off the faint sense of girlish satisfaction attending preparation for my first party. “I’ve kept you waiting.”

  “You have.” He held out his arm, which I took. “By Jove, woman. You’re a raving beauty.” But even this light-handed flattery could not still the roiling of my nerves.

  “Is all well?”

  “All is ready,” he said with a grunt. “You know the prospects of success.”

  The ride to the palace was quiet and uneasy, punctuated only by gruff remarks and instructions from my uncle as to exactly what I was to do and how we were to get Auguste away from the party. We were to make our move at midnight, just before the proclamation of his Accession. If all went as planned, the gathered well-wishers would discover the pool of blood on the balcony at a quarter past twelve.

  Our driver pulled up to the front staircase of the palace. Lord Humphries handed me out, and I adjusted the train of my gown before sweeping, pale and desperate, up the staircase like a tall, gilded statue mechanically moving between rows of armored soldiers. Had there been a chronicler of fairytales about, he would have pegged me at once for an enchanted princess looking for true love’s kiss and worrying she’d melt when the clock struck twelve. I had no fear of melting—freezing in my tracks was the more relevant and very real terror.

  Lord Humphries was close at my heels, and I paused at the top of the white stairs to look over the town of Weircannon, glowing amethyst and gold like the edge of dusk. Down in the valley beyond Town, the River Lin wound in shining, silver coils like a tranquil dragon, its edges feathered with night. Before us, carriages wound up the white-chalk road and deposited their expensive cargoes in pools of laughter and lamplight at our feet.

  “It looks like fairyland,” I whispered.

  “An
d you’re the fairy princess, I suppose.” My uncle’s words were rough and sarcastic, but in his eyes I caught a glimmer.

  I slid my hand up his cheek and rubbed the weather-worn skin with my thumb. “And that makes you the fairy godfather. Thank you.” I mouthed the last two words, and my fairy godfather—for surely he was if anyone could be—adjusted his gloves and took me in on his arm.

  The Crier announced our names, and the hum of voices suspended for one heartbeat, silent and curious, then resumed like a bird hovering on the wing and darting off again. As we moved down the staircase and into the shreds of space between the silk-clad gentry, my breath started to come shorter and shallower. I tightened my grip on Lord Humphries’s arm.

  “You will not faint,” he said through teeth clenched in a polite smile.

  I waved at Laureldina and the girls as we passed, and the looks of hatred spitting from their faces would have been enough to scald me were I not numb to everything but the necessity of finishing this night in possession of my life. “You would kill me, wouldn’t you, dearest uncle?”

  “You’d die of shame and deprive me of that pleasure,” said he.

  Having reached the other end of the glittering splendor, Uncle Humphries backed me against the wall and spiked my nerves with a drop of spirits from a silver flask. He pressed another flask into my hands. This I stored in my bosom. Against the comparative flatness of my chest, no one would notice the slim bottle. This flask was to be our savior, for it contained blood from the butcher's with which to spatter the balcony and make Auguste’s disappearance all the more convincing.

  I wondered where Auguste had hidden himself then noticed the dais beneath a balcony at the left-hand side of the room. There each person came to pay respects to the king and queen and their heir. Auguste sat in his chair, a compact, dark blot on the white marble of his palace. The lad and his throne—what an ill-suited pair! No wonder he hated his life.

  My uncle led me to the back of the queue, and we waited our turn to pay homage to our royals. I tapped one foot on the floor, and the tink of my crystal shoes filled the small pocket of emptiness around me with fairy bells.

  Lord Humphries jerked my elbow. “Stop that. You’re upsetting my psyche.”

  I forced myself to stand still and found it miserable. Finally, like a pair of elegant snails, we came to the throne. Lord Humphries bowed, and I sank into a deep curtsy on the lowest step of the dais. To think that I was now, for the first time, in the presence of my mother and father. A thought large enough to overwhelm me.

  I felt a strong grasp and was raised by Auguste himself, cradled in his arm. The warm touch of his hand called forth a flicker of courage. I smiled at the king and queen—my parents—and could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t be treasonous. I didn’t think it good form to inquire here and now why they’d dumped me off the throne as a week-old baby. Even if my gender had upset them, it was a silly thing to do.

  “Mother and Father,” Auguste said, and his voice was a towline for my clipper ship of a brain, “This is my chosen one: Lady Alisandra Carlisle. You will please announce, along with your other statements, that we are to be married.”

  He and I stared at them, and I could tell by the start and flush on the queen’s face that she knew me. King Henri turned the exact shade of red I knew I was turning myself. He took a futile half-step forward.

  “Good evening, Mother and Father,” I said, and though I was sorry for it afterward, I threw a handful of knife-points into my tone.

  “Good evening, Lady Carlisle.”

  None of us breathed for the ten seconds of pulsing humiliation that followed. Then Lord Humphries tugged me away from the thrones and onto the dance floor.

  I led a dull life for the next several hours. When cooped up at Cock-on-Stylingham I had been accustomed to daydreaming of gorgeous parties like this. Now that I attended one, I had to admit it was nothing like it ought to have been.

  Where was my handsome prince? Perched miserably on a chilly throne. Where was the dashing dance partner? Likewise absent. Lord Humphries steered me through the dances like a tug pushing a lumber barge down the River Lin.

  William cut in on Lord Humphries at half-past eleven. “Alis, you’re gorgeous.”

  “You waste no time. Neither do I. I found a bride for you.”

  He blinked. “Did you?”

  “Her name is Jane.”

  “Jane what?”

  “Just Jane.”

  He spun me away from him and back in again with a chuckle. “I take it she’s a drudge like you?”

  “But of course.”

  “I seem to be fond of drudges.”

  I saw then how hard it was going to be for me to leave everything familiar. Even William, whom I had never expected to miss at all. I wondered if Auguste had considered how the news of his murder would affect his so-called parents. “You will find your bride in your uncle’s employ,” I said.

  “Oh, that Jane.”

  “Indeed.”’ As we danced I managed to view the gold-figured clock built into the ceiling above. A quarter till twelve. Fifteen minutes more and I would spread the blood on the white stones of the outer balcony; a half hour, and the murder would be announced. I needed to be on and off the balcony by twelve, and still the orchestra rattled out the music so that I must keep dancing.

  Another five minutes ticked by and I saw that I would have to slip the knot. I slumped in William’s arms.

  “You all right, Alis?”

  “Feeling faint.”

  “I’ll take you for a—”

  “No, thank you! Fresh air is adequate. No need.” I pushed away his hands and ran from the center of the dance floor, my crystal heels clicking like pattens.

  No one paid heed to the lanky, reckless creature flitting through the crowd and out the door. I found Auguste’s carefully described steps hidden in a cove of ivy. These steps were little more than narrow stone ledges wedged between a false wall and the side of the castle. As I climbed, the church bells of Weircannon chimed midnight.

  “Alis, what are you doing?”

  William’s voice jolted me with a symphony of shivers. I whipped around and saw him at the foot of the stairs. A witness. We couldn’t afford a witness.

  “Please don’t interfere.” My tone was too calm and clear.

  “Are you . . . killing yourself?”

  “And if I am?”

  “I won't let you.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Are you?” William put one foot on the first stair as if about to remove me from the wall by force.

  I took from my hair the knife Jane had concealed in the thick coils. “Of course I am not killing myself—for once in my life I am happy. Go away, William, and there shan’t be trouble.”

  He looked at me with an intensity that spoke volumes. I knew he guessed this was my happily-ever-after.

  A nightingale sounded from afar, and William grinned a rather wolfish grin. “God grant you a decent burial.”

  He was gone in a moment. I leaned against the prickling ivy until I was confident enough of my balance to continue. Breathing was a shaky business. I gained the balcony and swung myself over the rail, blessing God for the muscles, gained in menial labor, that allowed me to throw my weight while arrayed in sumptuous chains of satin.

  I paused one infinitesimal moment to force a normal breath then slipped my hand into my bodice and removed the flask. The lid came off, and I poured the cloying, dark blood onto the white stones in a pool, careful to keep my hem from the crimson stain of it. I took also the knife Jane had concealed in my hair and tossed it into the pool like a penny in a wishing well.

  A few drops of blood pilled on my skirt and ran in sticky rivulets down the folds. I bit my lip, but there was naught left to do but drop Auguste's signet ring alongside. This I did just as a step came on the stair, and my heart fell dead until I recognized the first few bars of the tune we had determined Auguste should whistle when ready. He passed through the gauzy curta
in dividing the interior from the balcony and showed himself for one moment with a two-fingered salute. Then he disappeared again, as planned, down one of the passages hidden like rat’s tunnels in the walls of the palace.

  I counted to ninety and heard below me the fanfare of trumpets heralding the time for announcements. We would not be there when sought.

  I gathered my skirt into my arms and slipped back over the railing, praying I would encounter no one else. William might or might not come looking for me. If he did, my life was forfeit.

  I ran down the hidden staircase and meant to continue across the courtyard to the stables on the other side, where Stockton had readied Auguste's horse. A sentry passed the opening of the hidden staircase at that moment. I pulled short in panic, wrenching my ankle. I bit my tongue and tasted blood then spat it and crept out of my hiding spot, darting over the white stones as if Hell's hounds pursued me. It would be a miracle if I lived to see dawn.

  12

  Auguste held the reins on either side of Alis’s slim form and fed them to his mount, willing him to despise the ground and fly farther with each stride. Faster, faster, farther, farther!

  All he hated was behind; all his future, ahead; all his love, in this moment.

  Then Alis stiffened. “Oh no!”

  “Alis?”

  “Oh God, be merciful.”

  Auguste pulled off in a copse of trees at the side of the road and forced Alis to face him. Feather-Fellow labored to breathe beneath their combined weight. “What is it?”

  Alis pulled back her skirt, revealing one foot bare, one shod in the singular crystal slipper she had thought such a pleasant joke.

  A spasm of annoyance and fear passed between them.