Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella

by Jeanette Matern

  “Yes,” she answered, “and do you mind telling me just why you were kissing my mother in our very own home, under almost fifty noses trained to sniff out scandal like their livelihood depended on it. Which it does.”

  “I can’t explain that to you right now, Bethany. I need to find Ella. Where is she?”

  “I imagine she went home or she needed a breath of fresh air.”

  Gabriel released her shoulders and looked back down the hallway from whence he came.

  “I imagine it is quite jarring to walk in on your aunt locking lips with the uncle that isn’t her husband,” Bethany said, completing her response to his inquiry.

  Gabriel shot a look back at Bethany and his face caused her to shiver.

  “What?” he sued, reclaiming her shoulders again, this time with far less constraint. “Ella saw your mother kiss me?”

  “We both did.”

  He released Bethany’s body so rapidly that she fell back slightly. She watched as Peter sprinted down the hall and out of her sight.

  “What do you mean, ‘if you decide you never want to marry?’” Thomas asked his daughter in bafflement. “Where did this come from all of a sudden?”

  Ella regretted her choice of words. It was a stupid question to have asked her father. He was incapable of reading between the lines. He would answer the obvious question truthfully: of course God would not be angry. God knew more than anyone the way most men, and now even boys, treated Ella. Hadn’t the eleventh commandment been to honor women? At least that was what Marguerite always claimed.

  “It is a silly question, Papa,” Ella said. “You don’t have to answer it.”

  “I’ll answer it,” he proclaimed. Before Ella could insist it was not necessary, her father did as he said.

  “Of course the good Lord would not be angry with you, Ella. That is an easy answer. But I think there may be more to your inquest than that. So I will simply say that you should not give any thought to marriage. If you end up never marrying because a worthy man never comes your way, so be it. But why would you dwell on those things that you know so little about—at least right now. Just live, Ella. Live and learn, grow, pray, repent of your sins and become a better person by them. When you are doing all of that, marriage will only present itself to you because you will have fallen in love. When you fall in love, you will know it. And it will change everything. You have to live and learn with a new set of eyes, grow even more, pray harder, repent of new sins and try yet again, and then again, to be a better person. Marriage…well, it if is right, it will fit in quite nicely with all of that. There; have I answered your question to your liking or did I completely miss the target? You know, your mother is so much better at these kinds of things.”

  Ella leapt, as she had ignored the impulse to do before, into her father’s waiting arms. “Yes, you have, Papa,” she said. “No one could have said it better!”

  As the carriage rolled into the courtyard of the Delaquix estate, Ella quickly exited the coach and made her way to the door. She knew no one would be waiting for her yet. The night was still young. The front door was locked and she cursed. She ran to the back and tried to open the door to the kitchen. Per God’s merciful hand, it was unlocked, though it should not have been.

  Ella burst through the door and saw the kitchen was empty. She made her way to the dining room and saw Frome playing a board game with Louis and a farmhand named Raoul.

  “Where is Marion?” Ella asked, almost out of breath.

  “She is in the great room with Marguerite,” Frome replied, standing. “Are you unwell, child?”

  Ella did not respond. She ran toward the great room, struggling not to trip over her skirt, and stood at the entryway, gasping for breath. Marion and Marguerite were already standing, roused from their conversation by the racket of Ella’s entrance.

  “Ella!” Marguerite exclaimed. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  “When Gabriel returns,” Ella said between breaths, “please see to it that he has all the accommodations he needs to carry out the rest of his itinerary. I am insistent on that. But I do not want to see him. Please do not, no matter what he says, summon me when he arrives. In fact, I don’t want to see anyone tonight. I want only time to myself. Please, Marion, Marguerite, as much as you want to check on me I beg you: just wait till the morning. I will be fine and all will be explained. I promise.”

  With that, Ella ascended the staircase perpendicular to the great room and rushed to her bedchamber. She locked the door behind her. Though her body and heart compelled her to fall atop her bed and weep until sleep came upon her she instead took a seat at her vanity. It took her several minutes to prepare the necessary tools, but once it was done, she began hastily drawing out her thoughts with words scribbled across the page. She wrote as quickly as her tired, shivering hands would allow her.

  Ella was finished much sooner than she thought she would be. She set down her pen and allowed the ink to dry. She stood slowly, carefully, and made her way toward her wardrobe. The only thing left to do before she fell into a deep, most welcome slumber was undress and then weep. And then weep some more.

  Ella began by unfastening two clips in her hair. They were pulling her curls tightly and she’d been desperate to remove them since before the party.

  That damn party!

  She could hardly wait to defrock and bury herself in nothing but the blankets of her thick bed covers. For she had been freezing for some time but had been so possessed with adrenaline up to that point that she hardly noticed. Ella shivered. It was almost as cold in her room as it had been outside.

  She felt first his breath against her neck and then the heavenly warmth from his body.

  “Gabriel!” Ella shrieked anyway as she pulled herself loose from his grasp. “You bastard! What are you doing in here?”

  “Oh,” he said, his tone sarcastic, “you mean I should have come in the front door and your staff would have let me up here graciously?”

  “If they cared at all about my sincerest desires, they wouldn’t have done any such thing.”

  “Well, then now you can see why I had to revert to my old methods. Ella, you’re freezing cold. Here,” he said unbuttoning his doublet, “wear this.”

  “No thank you,” Ella snapped, shunning his offer. “I want nothing more than you to leave me alone.”

  “Ella, stop screaming at me and let me explain. I did not kiss Isolda.”

  “I don’t want to hear this, Gabriel. I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do. And it is vital to me that you know that I hadn’t the slightest idea she intended to engage me like that when she requested a private meeting with me. She kissed me and I spent the next ten seconds trying to pry her from me without breaking her arms. And I was about to succeed before Bethany interrupted.”

  “It doesn’t even matter.”

  “I’m not finished, Ella! How much time did you observe this kiss before you fled? Don’t tell me you did not see what it is I am describing to you.”

  “So what if she kissed you against your will or not? You owe me no explanations either way. You are free to act in whatever way you choose, Gabriel.”

  “Oh, am I?”

  “Yes, and I am too.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I wrote you a letter a few moments ago, when I was naïve enough to think I had privacy and that I would not have to see you again. It explains in detail what I am choosing to do. So why don’t you just read it now and then leave me alone.”

  “I’d rather hear it from you.”

  “I didn’t give you that option.”

  “You say you want to be alone? Hearing it from your own mouth is the only way that will happen. So carry on. Say what it is you have to say, Ella.”

  She had no choice. If Gabriel was one thing, he was stubborn. He’d proven his unrelenting persistence for fifteen years. He stood before Ella wearing the face of a man who had no intention of ending that streak anytime soon.
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  “Very well,” she declared. “I’m finished, Gabriel. I am not playing any more parts, not going to any ball, none of it. I’m through. You may carry on as you planned. You may stay here in my home and your may occupy the title of Duke of Ebersole, my uncle. Take down Thurlow and you will even have my eternal gratitude. But my part is done.”

  Ella’s heart threatened to break out of her skin as she observed Gabriel’s response to her declaration. He appeared so very puzzled and Ella wondered if he was even absorbing what she was saying to him. Had she succeeded in hurting him? Was it possible? Ella wondered if, when the impetus of her aggression toward Gabriel subsided, she would enjoy any comfort from having wounded his pride. Even if she could, she would still be left with a thick, torturous ache in her soul that chained her to earth with hopelessness, making her regret every word she’d said to him.

  “Very well, if that’s what you want.” Gabriel relented, surprisingly unexcitable at that moment.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I said if that is what you want,” he repeated, “then you are right that I will most likely be able to carry out the rest of the agenda by myself.”

  Ella bit her lip to keep from crying out. She had not succeeded in injuring him—only herself. And though the action that had induced her despair had already been said and done, it promised to keep hurting her again and again till the day she died. She bit harder against her lower lip.

  Gabriel turned, as though preparing himself to depart from her presence when he suddenly turned back toward Ella. “Before I go, however, I was wondering if you might possibly do me one last favor,” he asked.

  “A favor?” Ella said over the lump in her throat. “Haven’t I done enough?”

  “Yes, of course you have. But this is something I truly need and I would forever be in your debt, even more than I am now, if you would at least hear me out.”

  He stepped closer to Ella with each word he uttered. By the time he had finished, she could feel the heat of his body against her skin and the warmth only made her shiver even more.

  “What more do you want from me, Gabriel?” she implored.

  Gabriel looked deeply into Ella’s eyes and she prayed he would stop stalling. His voice was low and quiet, but distinctly audible.

  “I ask only that you take a brief vacation tomorrow morning and visit your friends in Kersley before you make any more decisions about severing all ties with me.”

  “What?” Ella uttered, stunned by the request. Had she heard him correctly?

  “Kersley,” Gabriel stated, confidently. “You know it well, of course. How long has it been since you have seen your friends the Gypsies?”

  “I—I don’t know, I…” she stuttered, still reeling from bewilderment. “How do you know anything about Kersley or the Gypsies?”

  “I know a lot more about that place than you think, Ella,” he said almost cryptically. “Perhaps even more than you do.”

  “But how?”

  “You forgot to inquire this evening in the carriage where I have been for the last two days. Well, here is the answer to your unasked question: I was in Kersley.”

  “You were? Why?”

  “Because there are people there that are my friends too, Ella. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting the Gypsies you so admire, but there are many other citizens in Kersley that are quite amiable. Some of them are even willing to take a wounded fugitive, a man they know absolutely nothing about and tend to his wounds, give him bread and sustenance, let him hide out for fifteen years in their homes…even help him fake his own death.”

  Ella found it hard to breathe.

  “I can’t believe it,” she stated gutturally.

  “Well, believe it, Ella,” Gabriel exhorted, “and pay your friends a visit tomorrow. I will even accompany you, though I think you might prefer to take this vacation alone.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sergeant James Halsty was waiting at the summit of the cracked, cement steps that led into the dungeon—the lair. For someone so young (only twenty-two years of age), Halsty was exceptionally strong, and ambitious to a fault. It was not like he had been raised by his pious parents to be so aggressive in his tactics and behavior, the fuel of his ambition; he simply knew it came with being one of the elite. It was Captain Thurlow that came up with the nickname of Hussar. The term was eponymous with some kind of nighttime, stealthy cavalry that Thurlow had become familiar with in his youth. Halsty was not entirely sure the details of its inception. His captain had many secrets and a moniker that boasted slyness was only fitting. Halsty had been skeptical when Thurlow approached him privately one spring night over a year before and asked questions that the young soldier had never before been asked: What are your feelings regarding our king and father? In what do you put your faith, young man? Initially, Halsty was certain it was a ruse to test his loyalty and patriotism. He’d replied exactly as he’d been trained: allegiance to his king was paramount to even his own life. Thurlow seemed disappointed and Halsty wondered just what kind of trick was being played on him. Did his captain already know the truth: that to Halsty, adherence to despots of authority, be they kings or parents, was indeed treasonous to his own countenance?

  Ever since Halsty had been a young boy, he’d despised his religious and rigidly strict parents. His father in particular was terribly severe. When Halsty had been an infant, barely old enough to walk, he once cried out during a mass. His father took him into the churchyard and beat him. Many people saw it; no one stopped him. No one ever prohibited the man from exacting such abuse on a young child, for the man was of noble blood. He was so respected by his social peers, the gawkers convinced themselves that little James Halsty deserved whatever punishment his deeply spiritual father saw fit to bestow upon him.

  James Halsty hated his parents. But even more than that, he loathed their presumptuousness. What had the Baron and Baroness Halsty done to deserve such allowance and liberty to force their pietistic beliefs on another person, even their son? They were worthless people. They were nothing and until Captain Thurlow had given Halsty a purpose, a code of honor that he’d never known existed; he was forever crushed beneath the heel of the man and woman who had sired him but never truly loved him. Maybe his parents had indeed raised him to be the violent, uncompromising mercenary he was today. Halsty didn’t think much on it. His parents might as well have been dead to him. Now, the blond-haired man with wide shoulders, a large chest, and ironically short body stood proudly at the threshold of a new life for himself. It was a life which depended upon those who resided behind the iron door to the lowest, most concealed prison in the land: the “candidates” that Thurlow had been so thrilled, and palliated, to have at last in his custody.

  It took only minutes for Captain Thurlow to meet his most devout soldier at the lair steps and, after a brief salute, both men descended the steps into the depths of Hell on Earth.

  The stench was almost unbearable and Thurlow shielded his nostrils with his gloved hand. Halsty did not seem as bothered by the smell; he’d already spent some time in the dungeon already. There were only a dozen cells, as this particular dungeon was not the main prison for those convicted of various crimes in Gwent. The lair was uniquely brutal and one-of-a-kind. Thurlow wondered if even the king himself knew it existed.

  But then Thurlow recalled one incident, many years before, of which the king was fully aware. Who could blame the monarch, though; he was dealing with the derelict that had conspired to murder him and possibly even his wife and young son? No mercy, nor even a clean, organized, well-monitored, civilly governed penitentiary could be expended for such a travesty.

  Halsty didn’t know what irritated him more: the stench of feces and death or the wailing moans that echoed from behind the iron doors of each individual cell. As he and Thurlow neared one enclosure that was oddly silent, Halsty gestured to his superior that they had reached their destination.

  Halsty motioned for the cell guard to open the door and the heavy, middle
-aged man quickly complied. Once ajar, the door creaked until it slammed against the cement walls with a horrific bang. The dirty, emaciated man that sat stationary in the corner of the small chamber was no one that Thurlow expected.

  The bald man glared at his jailers with possessed, accusatory eyes. Though he was battered and starved, he maintained a pride that Thurlow could not help but be impressed by.

  “It’s strange,” Thurlow whispered to Halsty under his breath. “For being of a people so untamed and godless, he has a dignity about him.”

  “Yes sir,” Halsty replied.

  “Where are my wife and children?!” the man suddenly screamed out, his eyes wild, succumbing to madness. “What have you done with them?”

  “I think you may have just found the perfect candidate, corporal,” Thurlow said, patting Halsty’s shoulder, completely obtuse to the prisoner’s plea. “He certainly is feisty and ‘primed for revolution’ wouldn’t you say? Good work.”

  Halsty accepted the accolade graciously and both he and Thurlow stepped out, away from the cell’s entryway.

  Just as the prisoner leapt from the corner, the horrific bang of the iron door hitting and locking into the metal frame pierced his ears again. He fell against the partition anyway and began slamming his fist into it. He did not stop until his fingers were practically broken and he could lift his arm no longer. The weeping prisoner slumped down to the floor, covered in rat droppings, and closed his eyes. He called to his wife out loud and prayed that the force of his love would somehow carry the message to her, the woman he’d worshipped his whole life, and that instead of it being a broken, desperate cry from a shackled, doomed soul, it would find her in a serenade across the lusciously vibrant trees of Kersley.

  Oh my sweet wife, please forgive me for not taking you in my arms that night and proclaiming my undying love… Oh my sweet wife, please forgive me for not taking you in my arms that night and proclaiming my undying love.

  Oh my sweet wife, please forgive me…