Just Ella Read online

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I’ll take those now,” he said, reaching for the shoes.

  “But you said—,” I protested.

  “A misunderstanding,” he said, his grip tightening on the shoes. “What’s a beggar like you need glass slippers for? I can sell these for good money.”

  I drew myself to my full height and glared.

  “You think I misunderstood my deal with you?” I asked. “Perhaps all these people did too, then. You said I could keep the shoes if I won the bet for you. If I don’t keep the shoes, you must not have won the bet.”

  I could remember my father attempting to teach me logic, years ago, and I didn’t think my argument would hold up as a formal proof. But it worked against Jonas, because the crowd around him began to grumble. “What? We don’t have to pay?” “You trying to cheat the girl, Jonas?” “You cheating us?”

  Jonas let go of the shoes.

  “Very well,” he said tightly.

  I turned and ran, before he changed his mind. It wasn’t very dignified. But I had my shoes now.

  The day of the ball came. Griselda and Corimunde spent the entire day preparing or, rather, demanding that I prepare them. I curled their limp, mousy locks at least six times apiece, trying to get the curls to hold. At six o’clock, I helped them into their dresses, which were so covered with ruffles and ribbons that they both looked like giant wedding cakes with heads on top. I stitched up the back of Corimunde’s dress where she ripped out a seam getting into it. I fastened and then unfastened and then refastened the hook at the back of Griselda’s neck when she complained, “It’s too tight—it’s too loose—it’s too tight. . . .” I personally placed forkfuls of food in their mouths when they got hungry and Lucille admonished them not to eat for fear of mussing their dresses.

  If I hadn’t hated them before, I truly despised them now. I thought I could never be happier than I was at half past seven, when their hired carriage drove up and Lucille crowed, “Girls! Time to see and be seen!”—and they were off.

  Lucille leaned her head back in the door and bellowed, “Remember! Scrub the entire cellar before we’re back!”

  I made a face she couldn’t see. And as soon as she let the door close, I scurried up the stairs, scrubbed my face and hands and feet, and pulled my mother’s dress over my head. I piled my hair atop my head and tied it with a thin blue ribbon Griselda would neither recognize nor miss. I laced my father’s boots onto my feet, for it was a good half-hour walk to the castle, and I hardly planned to do that in glass slippers. I tucked the slippers under my arm and took off.

  It was a pleasant evening, unseasonably warm. Birds were singing in the trees, and I remember feeling incredibly free. When was the last time I’d spent a half hour outdoors, all by myself, with no errands to run for Lucille? I thought of the cellar waiting to be scrubbed, and I grimaced. It was a long, dirty job, but surely if I left the ball by midnight, I could have it done before morning. If I was lucky, Lucille wouldn’t check before then.

  And if I wasn’t lucky—what if Lucille or Corimunde or Griselda saw me at the ball? I tossed my head and decided I didn’t care. I was leaving anyway. Somehow. This night would mark my declaration of independence from Lucille. One way or another, I would not go back to being her slave.

  When I was in sight of the castle, I took my father’s boots off my now-blistered feet and pulled on the glass slippers. They were still anything but cozy. I reconsidered the barefoot notion, until I looked down and saw how lovely the slippers were, sparkling in the last gleams of twilight. At least they didn’t rub the same places the boots had.

  I hid the boots behind a tree and stood there for a moment, watching luxurious carriages pull up to the castle gates and discharge girls like me, most of them obviously unaccustomed to finery. They were all in giggly bunches: “Coo! Get a load of me in a ball gown!” “Aye, Jane, you’re a fine sight. You gonna think you’re too good to slop the hogs now?”

  Some of them did, indeed, look ridiculous and out of place. But all of them at least had carriages. No one arrived on foot. I watched the carriages circle around the curved driveway and park, evidently planning to wait there until the ball ended and it was time to take all their passengers back home to their lives as serving girls and counter girls and scullery maids. Once they tied their horses up, the drivers began milling about alongside the driveway, talking and laughing at the spectacle of dozens of girls dressed to kill. I slipped over to the nearest driver, who was bent over one of his horse’s shoes.

  “Sir.” I cleared my throat. “Sir, for a farthing, would you take me to the castle gate in your carriage?”

  He looked up, bug-eyed.

  “Why, miss, I’d be honored to.”

  He helped me up into the carriage and snapped the reins smartly against his horses’ backs. They jerked, as if surprised to be working again so soon. But they perked up and pranced over to the gate. The driver helped me out.

  “Thank you so much. I’m sorry I can’t afford any more.”

  He waved away my apologies.

  “No matter. If you’re out by midnight, I can drive you back a ways too. Someone like you needs to leave in elegance.”

  “But I don’t have any more money.”

  “No matter,” he said again. “My privilege.”

  I began climbing the castle stairs behind a gaggle of ruffly skirts. The doorman directed the girls in front of me to the left. He sent me to the right, and I wondered if that was a sign that I wasn’t dressed well enough.

  Then I caught sight of a vast wall of mirror in front of me. It reflected back a radiant, statuesque woman in an ivory dress much like mine. I honestly began looking around for the woman to ask if she was wearing her mother’s wedding dress too. It took me a full minute to realize that woman was me. I hadn’t looked in a mirror in a long time, and I had, well, grown. My cheeks were flushed from the walk and the excitement, and my hair, though slightly mussed, was still sleek and silken. The curls that had escaped from my ribbon looked as though they were supposed to be that way. The dress clung in all the right places, and as slender as I’d become, I was still plenty large where I needed to be.

  I was beautiful. Truly beautiful.

  I was still reeling from the shock of that notion when a fussy little man in a velvet waistcoat approached me.

  “And how shall we announce you?” he asked.

  “A-announce?” I stammered, as stupidly as Griselda or Corimunde.

  “Your name,” he said, as though he expected women to be stupid.

  I watched an exquisitely dressed woman in front of me stand in an entryway while a deep voice called out, “Esmeralda Maria von Drappia.”

  She curtsied, and it sounded as though an entire village was applauding her. Then she glided into the ballroom.

  So, I was to be announced too. The Step-Evils would know I was here. Well, so be it. My chin shot defiantly into the air.

  “Just say Cinders-Ella is here,” I said.

  The man raised one eyebrow but nodded. He gave me a little push, and then I was standing in the entrance, blinded by the spotlights.

  “Cinderella,” the voice called out.

  Numbly I moved forward, trying to get into the shadows so I could see. But almost instantly, a man took my hand.

  “May I have this dance?”

  I nodded, too stunned to speak. Evidently no words were needed. The man took my other hand and whirled me along with the music.

  I have not danced much, so at first it took all my concentration to follow his lead. But he had all the skill I lacked. Soon I could think and dance both, just by letting him take control. I examined my partner. He had a wide chest, a cleft chin, a strong jaw, brilliant blue eyes, golden hair, a gleaming crown. I gasped.

  “You’re the prince,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said, and I liked the way he said it, very simply. He didn’t boast. He didn’t apologize the way I thought I would have if I’d been royalty: “Yes, but please
don’t let it make you think any differently of me.” My heart beat fast. I hoped Lucille saw me dancing with the prince. But when I tried to look around to see if any of the Step-Evils were watching, I began to lose the time of the waltz, and nearly stumbled. I focused on the prince again. Because of my fragile glass slippers, I had to lean into him. I hoped he didn’t think me forward.

  The song ended with a whisper of violins, and I expected the prince to move on to another girl. But he peered deep into my eyes and murmured, “Again?”

  I felt a thrill and murmured back, “Yes.” Surely Lucille would see me now.

  Somehow we ended up dancing every dance together. My feet were practically bloodied with the rubbing of the slippers, and I asked to sit down. The prince led me out onto a terrace, just him and me. From there I could see the moonlight and starshine and fields of roses. I looked back toward the castle and saw suddenly that there were two ballrooms facing the terrace. The first, where I’d been, was small and intimate. The other was large and packed. I caught sight of a fuchsia ruffle—yes, Griselda and Corimunde were in the other ballroom. So they hadn’t seen me.

  The prince began gently tracing the outline of my face with his finger, turning my face toward him.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he whispered in a reverent tone.

  I wanted to say, “You are too,” but I knew that was wrong, because he was handsome, not beautiful. And then I couldn’t say anything, because his hands had moved to the back of my head and were pulling me closer, and then suddenly he was kissing me, and I couldn’t think of any words, only of him. Somehow he lifted me up, and we were dancing again, out on the terrace, under the stars. I could hear the music from the ballroom, light and beautiful. And then I heard something else, a rumbling Dong, dong, dong . . .

  I pulled back and stared up at the palace clock.

  “Oh, no. Is it midnight?” I asked.

  The prince looked at me in a puzzled way.

  “It is!” I said. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. I have to leave. I have to leave by midnight. It’s a silly thing, but still—I’ve had such fun with you. It’s just as well—you probably need to dance with all the others. Good-bye—thank you—”

  “You cannot leave,” the prince said, attempting to pull me close again. I jerked away.

  “Yes, I must. I’m sorry. So sorry—”

  I flew through the door, back through the ballroom, and out the front door. I raced down the steps, forgetting to come down easy on the glass heels. I felt one shoe give, ever so slightly, and I shook it off so it wouldn’t break. I didn’t have time to pick it up, so I just left it there, on the castle steps. I saw the kind driver who’d helped me before, waiting at the gate.

  “Do you have time?” I asked him. “Before your real customers come?”

  He nodded and helped me in, and his horses practically galloped away.

  He dropped me off at the tree where I’d left my boots. And I walked home and scrubbed the cellar as fast as I could. I heard the Step-Evils arrive home at three, grumbling that they’d barely seen the prince, and wasn’t the food perfectly awful?

  12

  When I finished my story, I was surprised to look up and see Jed, instead of the dark, dirty walls of the cellar back home. I’d gotten so involved in the telling, I’d practically forgotten my story was all over, it had ended happily, I was in the castle for good now. I blinked several times, as blinded as someone walking into a dim hovel from bright sunshine. That’s probably why I couldn’t read the strange expression on Jed’s face. Or maybe I was just confused. When I finally stopped blinking, he looked the same as ever—thoughtful, curious, and kind.

  “And then?” he asked.

  “You know the rest,” I said. “You were there, I guess. The next afternoon, the prince came with my shoe and carried me off.”

  Jed leaned forward intently.

  “But before that—did you tell Lucille you were leaving? Did you find someplace else to go?”

  “I barely had a day,” I said. “Not even that, because Lucille and the girls slept in, far past noon, and it was barely midafternoon when the prince showed up.”

  But his question made me defensive. I didn’t want to admit to Jed that I’d spent that morning mooning over the prince, reliving every dance, every glance. I’d carried in wood dreaming of the kiss on the terrace; I’d carried out ashes remembering the feel of his hand on my back, guiding me across the dance floor. There was part of me that held back, pragmatically chiding myself, “What do you think you’re doing? You’ll never see the prince again, unless it’s from a distance, when he’s up on the castle balcony making a royal proclamation, and you’re down in the crowd with all the other commoners. Someday you can tell your grandchildren about dancing with the prince. But for now, you’ve got other things to think about.” And then I’d scraped my knuckles on the washboard, because I was distracted remembering the timbre of the prince’s voice when he said, “May I have this dance?”

  Jed cleared his throat, but his voice still came out half cracked.

  “So that’s how you got here,” he said. He grinned, a gleam of mischief returning to his eye. “I can’t say your story’s that much less incredible than the ones about fairy godmothers and magic pumpkins.”

  “But it’s the truth,” I said. Impulsively, I reached for Jed’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t you believe me? I know the truth has to be secret, but can’t you get someone to stop all those rumors?”

  Jed jerked back his hand, and I instantly felt ashamed, as though I’d done something improper.

  “Princess,” he said, with unusual emphasis. He never called me “Princess.” “Nobody can stop those rumors. People would rather believe in fairy godmothers and . . . and . . . well, divine intervention, if you will—than to think that you took charge of your own destiny.”

  Later, after Jed had left, I lay down on my bed, stared up at the arc of canopy over my head, and thought about what he’d said. Had I taken charge of my own destiny? Sure, I’d found a way to go to the ball against Lucille’s wishes. But the rest—the prince dancing with me, the prince bringing my shoe and seeking my hand in marriage—that had been far beyond my control. I’d had no thought of trying to get him to marry me.

  I picked at my comforter, though of course, being a royal thing, it had no loose threads or raveled weave to pick at. Why, I wondered, had telling Jed my story left me feeling so let down? Shouldn’t I still feel triumphant, victorious?

  Hadn’t I gotten what I wanted?

  13

  At dinner that night, the king announced a tournament to be held on the castle grounds. A flurry of excitement followed his words. Cyronna, who was seated on my right, clutched my arm and exclaimed, “Did you hear? Saturday afternoon? Oh, won’t it be glorious?”

  For once, I didn’t find her enthusiasm cloying. Yes, it would be glorious. A tournament would have to be held outside. And obviously the entire royal court would be invited, or else the king wouldn’t have announced it to one and all. So . . . fresh air! Sunshine! I cared naught about which horse won which race, which man won which wrestling bout. But the promise of getting out from under the castle roof for a few hours—that could keep my spirits up for days.

  I all but sleepwalked through the rest of the week. Even my sessions with Jed, once the highlight of my days (but only because my time with the prince had to be chaperoned, making us awkward, I always reminded myself)—even that time seemed flat and dull compared with the prospect of going outdoors. Or maybe it was because Jed seemed different now, unusually distant and distracted.

  “Is something wrong?” I finally asked him on Friday.

  “No, no,” he mumbled. “Just thinking about . . . uh . . . the war refugees.”

  He looked so hangdog, I tried to cheer him up by teasing, “Come on! It’s springtime! Can you not take a vacation from worrying about the refugees? Or, how’s this: Why not enter the tournament, and if you win something, maybe the king will be so impressed he’ll give yo
u whatever you want?”

  Jed looked away, obviously not amused.

  “I’m not good at that type of thing,” he muttered.

  My time with Jed was so unsatisfying, I tried to find the servant girl Mary later that day, hoping at least she would be willing to joke around with me. She always was. But when she scurried into my room upon my summons, she too looked distracted.

  “I’m sorry, Princess,” she burst out after a few seconds. “Can’t we talk some other time? Mum has me polishing every trophy in the castle, so they can be displayed at the tournament, and do you know how many thousands of trophies they have just lying around this place?”

  I was so lonely I almost said, “Can’t you just bring them in here, and we can talk while you work?” But I could picture the horror on Madame Bisset’s face if she came in the room while that was going on. She would be perfectly capable of dismissing Mary on the spot, and I knew from things Mary had said without meaning to, that her family couldn’t survive without her income, small as it was.

  Anyhow, I would feel strange, sitting idle while my friend worked beside me.

  I resigned myself to feeling miserable the rest of the day. I wouldn’t even get to see the prince, since he was entertaining a foreign delegation that had come to see the tournament.

  But at least I had the tournament to look forward to.

  Saturday dawned bright and fair. I could tell, even through the castle’s tiny windows, that it was the kind of June day you spend winters dreaming about—warm and balmy, with gentle breezes carrying the first scent of summer flowers.

  At eight o’clock, my maid showed up to dress me. Someone had decreed that I should wear some new-fangled fashion—or torture device, as I saw it—and the maid laced me tightly into what felt like a box on my torso. I’d worn corsets before, of course, but never like this steel-and-wood contraption. When she finished, I could barely breathe.

  “Couldn’t you . . . loosen . . . it . . . a little?” I managed to gasp.