Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella

by Jeanette Matern

  “Actually it is more than that,” Isolda said, remarkably unprovoked by Ella’s insinuation. “There is another reason I am here.”

  “Oh, is there?” Ella retorted, realizing how rude she must have sounded and feeling, though she hated to admit it, somewhat regretful.

  “Yes. I come tonight, right now, because I have found away that I might atone for my mistakes.”

  Ella listened attentively.

  “I learned, from chatting with the Duchess of Timmelin,” Isolda went on, “that Arabella is adamant that Leopold choose his wife tonight at midnight when he will be made the new king of Gwent. The duchess spoke to the queen at length even after her husband had died. They are dear friends, you know. The duchess then went on to say that there was one lady in particular that caught the prince’s eye, but he was interrupted by the news of his father and could not tell her himself. Afterward, the prince decreed that this maiden with whom he’d been smitten be tracked down and brought to him. At midnight.”

  “That could have been any number of maidens, Isolda.” Ella said nonchalantly, though her heart was beating furiously.

  “Not according the Duchess of Timmelin,” Isolda replied, “for she heard that the woman was wearing a light pink dress and had curly blond hair.”

  “I was not the only one wearing pink tonight.”

  “And who also happened to answer to the name Ella.”

  Ella did topple over at that point and was forced to catch herself on the railing. Was it true? Had she won over Leopold’s heart after all?

  “Are you all right?” Isolda asked when she observed her niece all but welding herself with the brass railing to keep from collapsing.

  “Yes, yes I am,” Ella replied, trying to gain equilibrium. “And you want me to believe that you are willingly giving me this information when having Aislinn become the queen has been your mission since we were children?”

  Isolda frowned. She slowly ascended the steps until she reached Ella, warmly taking her niece’s hand and looking into her eyes. A soft tear fell down her cheek. “This is my chance for redemption,” Isolda pled. “Don’t take it away from me. Please, my child. Go to the prince and let me atone for my sins.”

  Marguerite and Marion had joined Frome in the kitchen. They were each deathly silent, trying desperately hard to hear what was being spoken between Ella and her aunt. Only when they heard the large front door open and close did they scuttle quickly and noisily toward the great room, where Ella was standing in complete stillness.

  “What did she want?” Marguerite implored desperately.

  “She said she was sorry,” Ella replied apathetically, “and that Prince Leopold wants to see me at midnight.”

  “What?” Frome said, staggered.

  “Prince Leopold wants me to meet him at the castle at midnight because, according to Isolda who heard it from the Duchess of Timmelin who heard it from the Queen who heard it from her son, he is taken with me.”

  “Good grief,” Marion exclaimed, “and she expects you to believe that lineup of gossip?”

  “What does that mean?” Marguerite asked, ignoring Marion. “Does that mean the prince wants to marry you, Ella?”

  “Isolda is a black-hearted woman,” Frome said, “and I don’t believe for a second what she says.”

  “She wants to ‘atone for her sins’,” Ella explained, strangely obtuse to anything her friends were saying to her.

  “Did you say you would go?” Marguerite asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  Marion exchanged a stunned, horrified glance with Frome.

  “Ella,” she pled, “listen to me. I know whatever happened with Gabriel has you all broken up inside. But I know Isolda. I’ve known her as long as you have. You can’t trust that woman. She is lying to you, I just know it.”

  Ella severed her trance-like stare into nothingness and returned Marion’s gaze. A slight grin spread across her face. “Of course she is lying to me,” Ella said gaily. “I am not that much of an idiot, Marion.”

  Marion was white with shock.

  “What do you mean you know?” Frome entreated. “You don’t believe that Leopold wants to see you at midnight?”

  Ella inhaled deeply. She was still smiling, scarcely able to believe God was giving her this chance. It was all she could do to keep from racing toward the door, leaving for the castle and forgoing any explanation to anyone, even people she loved so very much.

  “Listen to me well, my friends,” Ella pronounced, “for I do not have much time. I believe Isolda is telling me the truth though she does not know she is. Somehow she got the word, and I am not sure from whom, that Leopold does want to see me tonight. But it is not because he wants to marry me. He could barely tolerate my presence at the ball tonight. That is, until I began telling him about Thurlow. Gabriel wanted me to wait until I was in the prince’s inner sanctum before I told him about Thurlow but I couldn’t take that chance. Until I brought up the fact that I had a person who knew how sinister Thurlow truly is, I was losing Leopold with each second I was with him. But now, Leopold is dying to speak with Gabriel, even though he does not know who Gabriel is yet. We were interrupted before I could tell him Gabriel’s name.”

  “I’m lost,” Frome said, his eyes still wide. Marion smacked him across the shoulder.

  Ella went on. “Leopold only wants to see me tonight because he wants to finish the conversation I started. That has to be it. Because I can tell you assuredly that the prince does not love me. I almost bored him to death.”

  “Why did Isolda come, then?” Marguerite inquired. “Unless she was truly sorry for her actions, which we have all established she is not, then what did she stand to gain by coming here? She didn’t know you talked to Leopold about Gabriel, did she?”

  “No.” Ella said, nervousness setting in.

  “Then why?”

  “I am not sure,” Ella replied, “But I still have to go.” She turned hastily and made her way toward the back exit by way of the kitchen. She was followed closely.

  “Ella, stop for a moment,” Marion begged. “Just tell me what happened tonight with Gabriel. You are not making a great deal of sense and I know it is because of that man. What happened?”

  Ella stopped abruptly and looked down for a moment. “I told him the truth, Marion,” she said. “I told him I loved him and that I wanted him to go to Leopold like we’d planned and end this vendetta once and for all. So that we could be together.”

  Marguerite waited, spellbound.

  “He didn’t want me,” Ella said, looking up, her eyes watering. “At least not enough to keep from doing the most reckless, dangerous thing he could do. He is going to kill Thurlow. He will expose him and then kill him. That was his plan all along.”

  “That shocks you, Ella? You didn’t suspect he would want Thurlow dead?”

  “Wanting someone dead and actually killing them are two different things, Marion. And yes, I was shocked. Kind of. I told him not to do it. Don’t you see? If he kills Thurlow, Gabriel will become just as he was before: a renegade, a fugitive, forever exiled from the rest of the world. I want him to love me enough to let that go.”

  “You said that to him?”

  “Not in so many words. Look, I have to go now, Marion. If I can make it to Leopold in time and tell him the truth, I can prevent Gabriel from killing Thurlow. I can see to it that Leopold knows the truth and has Thurlow imprisoned. Gabriel can’t kill Thurlow if he can’t get to him, right?”

  Marion did not respond, for Ella hadn’t really posed a question. Her mind was made up. Marion could not help but be taken back to the morning weeks before when Gabriel had first come into their home. She could still hear Ella’s voice, insisting on itself in spite of all logic.

  I have not lived as many years as you and I do not pretend that I have much experience in the proclivities of men, be they con artists or gentleman. But I must follow the instincts of my mind and heart.

  As much as she might have tried to persuade
Ella to rethink the rashness of her choices, Marion knew the unyielding efforts would only bring about bruises to her own skin. She would have to be satisfied with those moments where she and Ella, in the quietness of solitude and the vulnerability of sorrow, could speak as equals; where Marion would get tiny, almost indistinguishable moments to cloak her advice in empathy and pray it was not forgotten.

  Why was wisdom wasted on the old?

  “You are not going anywhere without this,” Marion said to Ella, handing her the warm shawl she’d had draped over her own shoulders. “Swear to me you will be careful.”

  Ella waited until Marion was finished clasping the corners of the shawl with a large pin and kissed her dearest friend on the cheek.

  “I swear.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Quarter Past Eleven o’clock.

  Two guards waited at the postern gate. One was a veteran named Samuel. The other was his trainee, a lanky young man named Timothy who had the distinction of being the only man in the castle guard with one brown eye and the other almost yellow. Both men were quite bored in their station. It was a dark time of night and there were few people going to and from the castle, since the guests had all been cleared. Gwent’s citizens were expected to be in their homes, weeping and prostrating themselves now that their revered king was dead. Samuel and Timothy guessed few of the people were in reality very downtrodden, for the two men weren’t either. And it was their duty to adhere to each and every aspect, trivial or significant, that pertained to King William. Even upon his grave. But instead they were preoccupied by the two women that had graced their pathway that evening, within ten minutes of one another. The first had rich brown hair with striking hazel eyes. Her narrow face featured thin eyebrows that arched toward her temples, teasing that she was somehow keen to some great secret. She appeared that evening on foot, leading Samuel and Timothy to theorize out loud, as they watched her near, where she might have come from. She was not out of breath nor was she perspiring. She referred to herself as the Lady Armitage and that she’d been summoned by Prince Leopold himself.

  On any other occasion, the guards would have dismissed the dazzling woman without hesitation. The king was dead and none of his mourners, least of all his only child, would be privy to entertaining guests (especially since in only minutes, said child would be inheriting his late father’s throne). But that night, Samuel had received a bizarre message from his comrade, a man named Mario who worked closely to the prince, that Leopold was indeed expecting a female guest that evening; that she would be handsome, young, and, oddly enough, wearing pink.

  The Lady Armitage fulfilled each requirement and was permitted to enter the castle grounds. From there, another guard, obviously abreast of the situation, took her hand and escorted her up the staircase toward Leopold’s private dormitory in the northern wing of the castle.

  While that would have been sufficient amusement to keep Samuel and Timothy from succumbing to tedium, it seemed fate had only just begun showcasing its bustle of nightly surprises. For no more than ten minutes after the Lady Armitage, the prince’s special caller, had graced the cobblestone pathway that led through the postern gate into the courtyard, another woman found her way to the guards’ company, requesting admittance. Only this one came by horse. She was far from skilled as a rider, as Timothy had to assist her in dismounting her own horse. Disheveled and out of breath, the maiden was still ravishingly beautiful. She professed to have been summoned by none other than Prince Leopold. She was young, she was handsome (even with her tangled hair and the dirt that speckled the hem of her gown) and even more oddly to both night guards, she was also wearing pink, with a mismatching wool shawl across her shoulders.

  For fear that the were either being overtaken with insanity, faulty vision, or that they might infuriate the prince (the king in but an hour) by sending the true object of his desire away, having prematurely allowed a decoy of sorts into the castle yard, they did not scrutinize the other maiden meticulously.

  “You say Prince Leopold sent for you tonight?” Samuel probed.

  “Yes,” the woman asserted, “it is vitally important that I speak to him. You must let me pass.”

  “But how can His Highness want to see you when—” Timothy did not get to complete his own befuddled examination before the woman interrupted him.

  “I know, I know,” she countered desperately, unaware until that point how she must have appeared to the guards. “I must look a fright! I am not an avid rider to say the least, gentlemen, but I feared I would be too late if I took the carriage. So I temporarily overcame my indifference and rode Fitzpatrick here as steadily as I could. It was not pretty, as you can plainly see. But I swear to you, I am here at the prince’s bidding. Please, let me in.”

  The second woman in pink’s request was granted.

  “Maybe the prince sent for both of them,” Samuel said to his still-dumbfounded trainee as the second woman in pink disappeared, unescorted, up the castle steps.

  “The more the merrier, I say,” Timothy responded with alacrity. “I guess his royal highness is partial to women in pink.”

  “Either that or he is partial to pink.”

  Both men suppressed their jollity.

  Half-Past Eleven o’clock

  Samuel and Timothy were still giggling like overgrown teenagers. Only a few more hours and they would be free to squander the rest of the morning at the tavern; to reminisce, delineate, and mock unencumbered. They heard the carriage approaching from the distance before they ever spotted it. It was moving quickly and being that it was black it seemed to materialize ominously from the dark sky.

  “Oh, brother!” Samuel exclaimed, wishing he already had his ale. “Looks like Prince Leopold wants to inaugurate his royal promotion with as many as concubines as he can. Lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Who do you think this is?” Timothy inquired as he watched the coach come to a stop several feet from his post. Samuel did not answer.

  The woman who emerged from the carriage was neither young nor donned in pink apparel. Samuel was strangely disappointed.

  “State your business, madam,” he said, as perfunctorily as he could.

  “I am here to see to it my daughter arrives safely. She should be here soon.”

  “Which one was your daughter madam; the lady that arrived ten minutes ago or the one that came twenty minutes ago?” Timothy asked.

  Isolda was slightly baffled.

  “What?” she entreated. “You mean she is here already? Both of them?”

  “They’re both your daughters?” Timothy begged, completely lost and unable to conceal it.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Samuel interrupted tersely. “As you were not summoned by a member of the royal family, your ladyship, you may not enter.”

  “You cannot prohibit me from seeing my own child!” Isolda declared.

  “It is my duty to protect the royal family. If that means dismissing you without prejudice, then so be it.”

  “My daughter was summoned and it is my duty to look after her. If it is permission you require, speak to Captain Thurlow. He will most certainly vouch for me.”

  “Madam,” Samuel spat, “I will not say it again, I—“

  “Let her pass!” Thurlow hollered from atop his stallion, directly beside Isolda’s empty coach.

  “Sir,” Timothy mewled, “we did not see you there!”

  Thurlow gave no reply and descended his horse’s saddle. Isolda was equally alarmed. Thurlow had not ushered her carriage to the castle, or if he did she was unaware. She concluded that the man must have traveled from another direction and was not far behind her. It was of little consequence, but it still puzzled her.

  Thurlow was gritty and steel-faced as he marched up, past Isolda, to his subordinates. One was cowering and the other tried to maintain his titular identity in spite of severe trepidation. Even Isolda was apprehensive to be in Thurlow’s presence. He seemed…unpredictable.

  “Captain Thurlow,” Samuel app
ealed, “with all due respect, we were ordered to keep these walls secure and—“

  “What do you think, Corporal: that this petite woman here is a threat to the royal family?” Thurlow castigated the guard. “I don’t see a sword hidden on her anywhere, do you? Now get out of my way or I will have you flogged!”

  Thurlow did not delay to greet Isolda when he pushed his way through the entrance, almost knocking Samuel over. He walked briskly through the courtyard, around the steps and toward the outer exterior of the keep. Isolda glowered at the guards briefly and scuttled as quickly as she could behind Thurlow. She truly did not have a legitimate reason to linger at the castle while Aislinn was engaged with the prince but she could hardly be expected to sit around at home when, in just minutes, her own daughter could very well become queen!

  Would become queen. There was no way in hell Isolda would miss the show.

  “What are you doing here?” Thurlow said as he noted Isolda in his wake. He did not slow his step.

  “What do you imagine I am doing here?” Isolda objected, trying with all her might to keep pace with the man. “I am here to see to it you have stood up to your side of the bargain. Aislinn should be meeting with Prince Leopold in a few short minutes, I presume.”

  “Yes, Baroness,” Thurlow said, impatiently. “I’ve done as I said I would. Now leave me.”

  Isolda halted her steps, grateful for the respite. Her temper was unprovoked by Thurlow’s rude dismissal. She did not care. Thurlow was a means to an end and would see to it Ella was taken care of. Isolda turned and made her way back to the winding staircase, searching out a guard or staff member of some sort that would chaperone her to the dormitory of the northern wing and Aislinn and Leopold’s private tryst.

  Thurlow almost collided at full speed with Halsty, who had been pacing back and forth in front of the exterior entrance to the dungeon, where the Gypsy was being prepared for his debut performance in the Hussars’ exhibition.