Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella

by Jeanette Matern

  “Touché. But I don’t want it to be that way, truthfully. I would just like to get to know you. We will be family someday, will we not? You must trust now that I have only Ella’s best interests at heart. I would, and will, do anything for her. I need you to see that.”

  “I do see.”

  “Well, I should hope so. I am inclined to worry about your niece when it appears her main guardian—you—might be…how do I put this…in too deep?”

  “Well said, even for a cliché,” Gabriel retorted. “Might I inquire as to where you obtained your intelligence on my less than reputable history?”

  “Don’t fret over that, Peter,” Thurlow said, dismissing Gabriel’s request. “You may rest easy in your popularity. It is not in jeopardy.”

  “As long as I bless your betrothal to Ella with sincerest of heart, that is.”

  “Just the first part is required, sir. Don’t feel obliged to go the extra mile.”

  Gabriel felt his bones quivering against his flesh. It was almost too much to take in. It was too much. Thurlow was audaciously trying to blackmail a man whose worst offense was something as asinine as absconding with thousands of dollars from a corrupt banker and had most likely already been killed or beaten to a pulp because of it (according to Marion’s most educated assumption). So Gabriel had thus far succeeded in his espionage. Everyone, including Thurlow, believed him to be none other than Peter, the Duke of Ebersol. He could have laughed out loud if it wasn’t for the blood scalding the inside of his body.Gabriel cooled his temperature with the reminder that Thurlow would soon be gone.

  “I will speak to my niece very soon, Captain,” Peter said, pleasantly and with not a hint of ire. “You can count on that.”

  “Excellent. Now if you will excuse me, I must return to the castle for urgent business.”

  “Gwent is lucky to have a man like you to protect it.”

  Thurlow did not reply, he only nodded. He bowed to Peter Summerly, the Duke of Ebersole, and turned on his heel. In seconds, he was gone from Gabriel’s view.

  Breathe. It is not time yet.

  “Don’t feel pity for the Baroness Delancelle,” a servant named Thadeus said. “She has taken many lovers in her thirty year marriage to Ritzlare. Just because her husband has been satisfied with the same mistress for almost that entire time doesn’t mean he is any more an adulterer than she is.”

  Ella heard the staff’s bantering voices and could hardly contain her shock. Or her pleasure. She’d lost track of how long she’d been listening to them. Only a few times had any of them directly addressed her in their chitchat, but Ella didn’t care. She was more than content to eavesdrop. She was excited just to be admitted into their clique, if only temporarily.

  “Miss?” said a teenage girl to Ella.

  “Yes?” Ella answered.

  “What is it like to be so pretty?

  Ella was stunned.

  “What?” she implored, hoping she had misheard the question or the woman who looked to be the girl’s mother would interrupt the exchange and rescue Ella from the bizarre inquiry. But it never happened.

  “What does it feel like to be so pretty, Ella?” the girl repeated.

  “How can I tell what something feels like when I do not actually feel it?” Ella answered with her own question. Why not be honest or at least try to confuse the girl into choosing an alternative line of questioning?

  “You are being silly. You have one of the most breathtaking faces I have ever seen.”

  “Thank you. Truly, I am touched. But I was not lying nor was I rummaging for a compliment when I declared that I feel no such thing. I wish people would believe me when I say that.”

  “How can we believe you,” Thadeus asked brazenly, “when you are so clearly mistaken? And don’t say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I could be blind and your looks would still entrance a room.”

  Ella looked down at her lap where her gloved hands rested.

  “Maybe to the world I am a formulaic representation of prettiness,” she said, her head still bowed, “but if I am, I am not the happier for it.”

  “Why not?” the girl asked.

  Ella could not answer; she did not know what the solution was. All she could guess was that she’d have rather been given at the least a choice to be pretty or to be something else. Anything else. She lifted her head and looked deeply into the young girls green eyes.

  “’Beauty’ hasn’t served my life that well, I suppose,” she declared.

  “Try not having it,” the girl’s mother stated, curtly.

  Ella’s heart thumped, once again stunned.

  Thadeus opened his mouth to speak, his eyes displaying little fulfillment in the direction of the conversation. He did not utter a sound however, and instead peered over Ella’s head. He stood quickly. Each of the servants copied. Ella turned around in her seat and looked up to see what had put everyone on alert.

  “Gabriel!” Ella exclaimed, stunned to see him standing behind her. He looked down at her, pursing his lips together and staring into Ella’s eyes like he was trying to communicate in a silent language. It took only an instant for Ella to ascertain the justification for his concern. Gabriel!

  “Er, I mean…” Ella stuttered as she stood and turned back to the puzzled faces of Baroness Delancelle’s laundry staff, “Peter! This is my uncle, Peter the Duke of Ebersol.” She giggled girlishly like it was a common, understandable mistake but no one else responded in kind.

  “Sometimes,” she said, still smiling as she fumbled about with her hands as well as her diction, “I call my uncle by the name Gabriel! I’ve done it since I was a young girl, I guess because he reminds me of the Angel Gabriel.”

  Well done, you stupid girl! Ella reviled herself in thought.

  Gabriel was equally dumbfounded by her “quick thinking.”

  “Come along, Ella” he said, reaching and taking hold of Ella’s wrist, “it is time for us to retire for the night.”

  Ella resisted only a little to say a proper farewell to the company that had made her evening bearable. Gabriel pulled her quite forcefully and Ella was only able to speak the words as she was almost half way down the darkened hallway.

  Even when she caught up to Gabriel’s gait, he maintained his grip on her wrist and brusquely escorted her through the maze to an exit, any exit that would provide passage into the freedom of the cold night. Ella looked over to him as they walked and immediately sensed that he was struggling to keep calm, and was losing the struggle. Ella regretted her actions that evening. She had not told him where she was going. She had not bothered to think that he might have needed her there with him.

  The only other man that Ella had ever feared in her life was Thurlow. And such fear had been rooted in disgust and revulsion. She was afraid of Gabriel in that moment as well. But where there had been aversion with Thurlow, with Gabriel there was only the enigma of disappointment—in herself. She was certain Gabriel would not bring physical harm upon her. But his power over her mind and heart paved the way for a more devastating kind of abuse. He did not need to say a word. He had already established his expectations and even his faith in her potential. And she’d let him down.

  Ella had stated only minutes earlier that her soul wanted more from life than just the whims of attractiveness. How could she have forgotten that Gabriel had been the one to offer such a thing? Had she just sabotaged her chance to truly obtain something she’d always coveted…with him?

  Chapter Twelve

  Though the night air was bitterly cold, Marion still waited anxiously on the outside terrace to hear the clopping of horse hooves. Ella’s carriage could emerge from the blackened landscape at any time, as Marion did not know what time of night it even was or when Ella and Gabriel were supposed to be returning. Still, she waited.

  Marion revealed to no one how much Ella reminded her of her late son. Daniel had died when he was seven years old from scarlet fever. Before that, the only true despair Marion had ever known was when her hu
sband died, two years prior. As much as she had loved the man, it paled in comparison to losing a child. For months, Marion withdrew from every element of society to grieve in the literal and figurative darkness that was anguish. Because of her depression, Marion was dismissed from her employment for a duke and duchess in Goldeleer, a region in the northeastern part of Gwent. She had worked for the duke for almost ten years when she was discharged from their service and swore she would never again take employment within the home of an aristocrat. It was hatred unlike Marion had ever felt for such “noble” people that declared they could not tolerate a grieving mother’s unproductive melancholy when they had already endured so much two years earlier, when Marion became a widow. She considered herself a God-fearing woman but came perilously close to offering her soul to the devil for a way to avenge her pride. For without a husband or her son, pride was all Marion had left.

  Even if she could not admit as much to him, or anyone, Marion knew in part what Gabriel was feeling. She’d felt the pain of loss and the sting of cruelty. She was more than keen to the lure of retribution and how even imagining it coming to fruition was like placing the sweetest, lightest morsel of warm bread on your tongue and letting it melt in your mouth like butter. She got it. She understood Gabriel. But that said nothing of her trusting him with Ella.

  As she inhaled the soothing nocturnal air, anxious to gossip with Ella about any and all details of the Baroness Delancelle’s party, Marion reflected on the mysterious workings of the God she had been so willing to dismiss fifteen years earlier. For a God who demanded forgiveness, meekness, and a contrite heart, he had an uncanny way of delivering the fruits of redemption without the devastating verdict that came with revenge. Marion had been able to glean such mercy when she met a mischievous little girl named Ella Delaquix and her generous, fun-loving parents. The reintroduction of love and kindness into her life rekindled the joy Marion thought was dead and eventually renewed her hope. She was soon able to relinquish the bitterness of having lost her husband, her son, and even her dignity to her former employers. Though she did not know it at the time, it was Ella that had taught Marion that hope and revenge could never coexist.

  Ella was like Marion’s second child. She loved her that much. Ella could never replace her son; she could only compliment the sweetness of his lingering spirit.

  “It is cold out here,” the man’s voice came from behind Marion, “are you sure you don’t want to wait inside?”

  Marion was startled by Frome’s gentle voice. She turned to see the old man standing in the doorway to the terrace and wondered what mean little crack he was going to make to his favorite sparring partner. But Frome’s face displayed nothing but sincere concern.

  “That is very sweet of you, Frome,” Marion replied, “but I am too anxious for Ella to get home.”

  “You can hear the carriage on the road just as easily from inside here, you know,” Frome said, meandering toward her. “Then you won’t catch your death.”

  Marion smiled and gave a tiny laugh. She said nothing and continued to watch the courtyard.

  “You do good work,” Frome said without warning. Marion was stunned.

  “What?”

  “With Ella. You’ve done well with her. She is a choice young woman.”

  Marion was unsure how to respond. She knew she should be touched by his compliment, but her shock still stultified her ability to speak. She attempted to thank him, but just stuttered.

  “Just say thank you,” said Frome. “I know you don’t want credit for raising her cause you’re not her mum and all. I know. Still, just say thank you.”

  Marion pulled the wool shawl tighter around her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she muttered. Sheepishly.

  When was he going to say something?

  Ella was sick to her stomach. Gabriel was sitting across from her in the carriage, facing forward but never meeting her eyes. It was like he wanted to look right through her. If she had done something to upset him, Ella wondered what it was that could have been so terrible to merit his complete withdrawal. She had not known Gabriel for long, but still had observed enough to know that he could not keep his angst and disapproval a secret.

  But now he was a statue; his eyes deep and forlorn and his body unyieldingly staunch. Ella had opened her mouth to address him several times, but each time abandoned the effort. At times, she was too disappointed in herself, positive that nothing she said could make amends. Other times, she was too nervous that she might spark anger in Gabriel like awaking a sleeping beast. Mostly, she was downright perturbed that he was acting in such a childish way. All she’d done was duck out of a torturously boring party to have a few moments of freedom with some hilarious and intelligent individuals. What crime had she committed?

  As the carriage approached the final drive toward home, Ella elected to remain silent and simply retire for the night with the hope that Gabriel would be willing to speak with her like an adult. Without warning, Gabriel leaned out of the open window and hollered out to the driver.

  “Stop here for a moment, please!”

  “Why are we stopping?” Ella asked, fretful. She wondered at what point she could make a safe getaway from a moving carriage. The driver shouted for the horses to slow and within several seconds the coach was at a complete stop.

  “Gabriel,” Ella exclaimed, “why are we stopping? You haven’t spoken since we left the party. Stop playing games with me!”

  “This is no game, Ella,” Gabriel said, rougher than she had anticipated. “I told you that from the beginning.”

  “Is this about my skipping out of the ballroom? Why was that so unforgivable of me? And if it is because I accidentally called you by your real name, let me assure you that —“

  “Thurlow was there tonight, Ella.”

  Her words screeched to a halt, tagging her pulse, which began racing. “He was?” she asked, her voice saturated in fear. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I am telling you now.”

  “Did he speak to you?”

  “Yes. He believed me to be your Uncle Peter.”

  “He did not recognize you?”

  Gabriel didn’t respond. He wanted to be confident when he answered Ella but how was such certainty possible? For all Gabriel knew, Thurlow, Isolda and every other person there that night knew the truth and were all engaged in as maniacal and covert a scheme as he was.

  “I don’t think so, Ella,” Gabriel replied, tepidly. “He spoke to me as your uncle and tried to threaten me as Peter.”

  “What do you mean he tried to threaten you?”

  “He wanted my consent for your hand in marriage. When I did not give it to him right then and there, he threatened to expose my—Peter’s—past indiscretions.”

  Ella’s breathing became heavier. She did not know what to make of Gabriel’s declaration. How would things have been different if she had not left the ballroom that evening? Would she and Gabriel have had to speak with Thurlow together, as uncle and niece? Ella questioned to herself how three such opposing forces could dwell in the same place at the same time and not bring about the calamity of the natural earth.

  “Ella?” Gabriel interrupted her stream of mad thought. “Did you hear what I said to you?”

  “Yes, of course I heard you! What does that mean? What did you tell him?”

  “He believes I have every intention of complying with his ‘suggestions.’”

  “What are his suggestions?”

  “Nothing more than giving my irrelevant blessing for your betrothal.”

  “Irrelevant?”

  “Let’s be honest. He doesn’t need my or anyone’s blessing.”

  Ella looked down into her lap. “Even mine,” she said morosely. “So what does that mean for us now, Gabriel?”

  Gabriel looked out the carriage window and watched as a chilly breeze ruffled several leaves from a branch high above them. It astounded Gabriel how even the simplest of forces could displace those things that w
ere much stronger by birth but had grown brittle from time and submission to the elements of life. Was that same phenomenon happening to him? Were the elements that surrounded him causing him to lose focus on what he’d set out for in the beginning? His commitment to avenging Benjamin had become the very roots of his existence. Why did it feel like he was about to collapse by nothing more than a fragile gust of wind?

  Ella said his name a second time and he tried to formulate in his mind the perfect answer to pacify her fear. But he could not do it fast enough and Ella spoke what was just another surge to the formidable storm within his core.

  “You want me to go to him, don’t you?” said Ella.

  “What?!”

  “Thurlow. You want me to pretend that I favor him. You want me to lead him on.”

  Gabriel felt the feeble walls of the carriage car closing in on him. If she truly believed—if he had ever made her think for a second that he would sell her out, even in falsehood, to the likes of Wilhelm Thurlow DeGent, he had already begun collapsing and didn’t even know it.

  “Ella,” Gabriel replied gutturally, remaining unmoved but capturing her eyes with his own and sending a chill through her bones, “listen to me very carefully. I will never let that man think for even a moment that he has won you; that I will allow him to take you as his wife or his mistress or in any form his sick, demented mind can conjure. He will never harm you, he will never touch you. Do you understand me?”

  Ella was trembling too violently to speak.

  “Do you trust me?!” Gabriel nearly shouted, his voice frighteningly powerful.

  She believed him and felt more fearful than ever. She had no choice but to answer him.

  “Yes.”

  Gabriel did not go inside the house with Ella. Instead he walked the estate grounds alone. Ella pled with him to accompany her inside to eat and rest. But he could not, even as much as he longed to ease her distress. She was worried about him; he could see it in her eyes. It gave him fleeting comfort but the only thing that relieved Gabriel’s intense anger was the crisp air and the glowing moonlight. Even still, his nerves were restless and he cursed himself over and over for not obeying his instinct and just dispatching Thurlow when he’d had the chance, in front of all the bystanders who worshipped the ground he walked on.