Gossip

by Cay Templeton

  “‘Who might I ask is this?’ the Magistrate asked me. ‘Cinderella!’ I gasped, confusing her name with the cinders she was covered in.”

  “Did you trip the squire on his way to Isabella?” Claire asked.

  “Excuse me?” the Countess exclaimed, a little taken aback. “What kind of preposterous question is that?”

  “It is just, as I have heard the story told to me, it sounded like the slipper was broken when you supposedly took your walking stick and tripped the squire.”

  The Countess puffed her pipe once again. Smoke danced from her lips as she exhaled, “No doubt you have met my daughter, Josephine.”

  Both Claire and Victor quickly nodded at the question.

  “She has this ability to lose control of her body, mostly in the act of twirling. Well, when the squire was walking towards Isabella, Josephine collided with him, knocking him over. She meant nothing by it but the shoe was smashed on the floor.

  “Isabella loves that moment because she knew she would be queen as soon as she presented the other slipper to the Magistrate. I knew then that my life would never be the same.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell in the room.

  “The Queen said you hit her that night before the ball. That is why she never made it to the carriage.”

  “She can think what she wants and if she wants to believe I hit her, then I guess I did.”

  “I saw the scar on her head,” admitted Victor.

  The Countess looked away. “It is of no consequence to me now. You will be heading back to Stuttgart in the morning and I will be going to prison.”

  “You do not know that for certain,” strained Claire. “We can be out of here before night fall.”

  The Countess held up her hand to stop Claire from saying another word.

  “It does not matter if you leave tonight or in the morning. Isabella has her mind made up. Besides, you are not done here. Now that you have heard my story in its entirety, you will be given access to everything.”

  “Everything?” Claire asked excitedly.

  “Everything. Now, if you have no further questions, I think you should go.”

  The Countess rose, almost shooing them out of the room.

  But before Claire made her way fully out of the door, she turned back and said, “How long have you known King Fabian was my brother?”

  The Countess still did not look at Claire. “As long as I have known your identity.”

  And with that the Countess shut the study door in Claire’s face and locked it.

  Chapter 19

  “The Secret Artist”

  The stairwell was damp and moldy. Rats could be heard scurrying along the rocks in dark crevasses along the wall. Cold air blew down the circular stair.

  Claire couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed all these things before. She thought long and hard about the last time she walked up these stairs but intrigue occupied her mind more than the conditions.

  This time, Botley was not waiting for Claire on the other side of the door as she had originally anticipated.

  When Victor and Claire finally took the last step, the door was already slightly ajar. The light coming from within the room highlighted the pumpkin etched into the wood.

  “Ha!” Victor screamed and grabbed Claire’s side.

  “Ah!” Claire screamed back, jolted. “Victor! Why do you do that?”

  Victor chuckled, pleased with himself. “Twenty years of bad habits, I guess.”

  Claire rolled her eyes and then took a step into the room.

  Unlike the last time Claire had been in the tower, the room was in disarray around the quiet Josephine, who sat on the edge of the bed.

  The wardrobe had been overturned and a large pile of clothes spilled out onto the floor in front of it. The writing desk sat wide open and pieces of parchment with drawings trickled throughout the room.

  Claire walked carefully over to the bed, trying not to disturb Josephine, and sat down next to her.

  As Claire looked closer, she seemed to be drawing.

  “What do you think happened here?” Victor asked.

  Claire picked up one of the many pictures that were piling up on the ground near Josephine’s feet. The picture she looked at first was of Isabella washing her dress in the river while Josephine knelt next to her, holding out a bar of soap.

  “It is hard to say when Josephine is around. It looked nothing like this the last time I was up here.”

  Victor walked over to the wardrobe and lifted it from the floor. Claire quickly moved over to help him, leaving Josephine to draw quietly on the bed.

  As Claire sifted through the pile of shabby clothes, a single article emerged in her hand: a pale blue, beaded ball gown that looked like it had been worn several times.

  Claire held it out to take a better look. “I think this is the dress Queen Isabella wore that night.”

  Victor snickered at the dress. “Why would she not have it with her at the castle?”

  “She was taken immediately to the castle upon her discovery,” Claire said, trying to think the events through.

  “She could have come back for her things.”

  “Maybe she wanted to forget this part of her life,” Claire suggested.

  She delved deeper into the pile of clothes to see what other treasures she would find when she felt a sharp pinch. Looking down, some unknown object pierced the tip of her finger and a little stream of blood trickled out.

  “Here,” Victor said, ripping a strip of fabric from his shirt and tightly wrapping it around her hand.

  When her eyes wandered up to meet his, a great affection rested in them.

  “Thank you,” she said awkwardly.

  She returned to searching through the pile to discover the sharp object that caused her injury. She pulled out a small shard of glass and held it up victoriously. Her face was almost beaming.

  “Do you know what this is?”

  Victor looked at the shard quizzically and shrugged his shoulders at it, not understanding.

  Claire’s hand went back into the pile. “If I remember the Countess's story correctly, the shoe was still intact.”

  Claire pulled out the glass slipper. It was made of fine silk with small beads and a cracked glass heel. “I cannot believe this is the infamous glass slipper.”

  “Dumpy dumm dumm. Dumpty dumm dumm. Hmmm hmm hmm hmmmmm,” hummed Josephine out of nowhere.

  Claire and Victor looked at each other, nervously.

  Slipping the broken shoe and the shard of glass into her satchel, Claire sat down next to Josephine on the bed.

  “Josephine?”

  Josephine looked at Claire but her hands didn’t stop drawing. Stroke after stroke, the image of Isabella sitting in a windowsill formed on the paper. Then, Josephine added herself to the portrait, combing Isabella’s hair.

  “This is amazing,” Claire muttered. “How can you do this?”

  “Long is love from the sky above. As you know a friend from beginning to end.”

  “Did you know her from beginning to end? Isabella?”

  Josephine dropped the finished picture onto the floor and started scrawling on another piece of parchment. This time, she looked around the room as she drew. Her eyes seemed to be surveying all of the furniture. The image of Isabella falling down danced from the quill as Josephine’s hand flicked quickly across the paper as the girl continued to look at the room.

  Claire delved into her satchel and produced the emerald ring. “Josephine, you said something to me when you handed me this ring.”

  Josephine still aimlessly looked around the room.

  “Green is the hated color by she who did not love the owner of thee.”

  Claire’s brow furrowed as she tried to recall back to that night in the dining room.

  “Is that not what you said in the carriage?” Victor asked.

  “Yes, she said it to me on my first night here and then gave this to me.”

  “Green is the hated color by she
who did not love the owner of thee,” Josephine repeated louder and pushed Claire’s hand with the ring in it away from her.

  All of a sudden the quill dropped from Josephine’s hand and a pile of blank parchment fell off of her lap to the floor. Her breathing grew heavy and she lunged towards the pile of clothes where Victor stood.

  “What is wrong, Josephine?” Claire asked caringly.

  Josephine slowly turned to look at her, as if possessed. Then she turned back to the pile of clothing.

  “AHHHH!” Josephine squealed.

  Claire covered her ears, as did Victor.

  “Victor, go get Botley! Quickly!”

  Josephine fell onto the pile, kicking and screaming.

  “What is it, Josephine?”

  Josephine picked up a piece of Isabella’s clothing and threw it across the room. Claire moved beside her and wrapped her up in her arms and held her tightly so she could not move. The young woman tried to jerk free a couple times, but Claire would not release her.

  “Shhh. It is all right. I am here. Tell me what is wrong.”

  “She said she was a friend of mine. But she left me all the same. I missed the sign. She is the one to blame. Ahhh!”

  Josephine broke free and grabbed a hold of the wardrobe knocking the whole thing over with one mighty pull. Claire heaved her whole body sideways before the wardrobe landed right on top of her.

  “Stop it, Josephine! Josephine!” Claire screamed.

  Josephine clenched her eyes shut tightly, clutched her ears, and started singing loudly.

  Claire stood back, baffled, and watched the crazed girl. She swayed back and forth, singing at the top of her lungs. Before she knew what was going on, Botley was next to Josephine holding a small tonic bottle.

  He poured it into Josephine’s mouth and covered her lips with his hand. She squealed and hit Botley hard in the chest repeatedly.

  “Swallow,” he ordered her.

  “MMMM,” Josephine struggled.

  “Swallow!”

  Josephine choked down the tonic. It took only a moment longer of struggling before her whole body went limp.

  Botley looked up at Claire’s horror-filled eyes with his sad ones.

  “Have you seen enough?”

  “What did you do to her?” Claire asked, concerned.

  Botley pulled Josephine into his arms and glared at Claire.

  “Calmed her. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  The old butler picked up Josephine’s limp body and made his way down the stairwell.

  Victor came up behind Claire and patted her on the shoulder. “I think we should go.”

  Claire’s eyes fixed on the bed where Josephine had been sitting.

  “Claire,” Victor urged.

  Claire shook her head, waking from her trance. She collected all the pictures that Josephine had drawn. Tucking them under her arm, she headed out to the stairwell.

  “The story is here. I must remain here,” she yelled at took off down the stairs.

  Chapter 20

  “Puzzle Pieces”

  The early morn was breaking when a loud BANG caused Claire’s eyes to pop open. She was still fully clothed and lying on the floor. Next to her was a chaise that had all of Josephine’s pictures strewn across it. For a moment she thought she was still dreaming, but then she heard another BANG followed by the sound of low voices.

  Claire instantly hopped to her feet and ran to the window that overlooked the front grounds of the estate.

  Using her cane to help her, the Countess was being led by two armed guards into the back of a carriage.

  Before she knew it, Claire ran out of her bedroom. Botley was waiting in the entrance hall for her, as calm as ever.

  “They took her?” Claire gasped.

  “I guess the Queen really did want you to leave immediately.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Claire huffed.

  A smile crept up under Botley’s mustache. “The Countess thought you might say that.”

  The old butler held out a letter addressed to Mademoiselle Du Bois.

  Claire snatched it from his hands and looked at it closely. “I hope you will excuse me, Botley.”

  Botley bowed his head to her with a smile firmly planted on his face.

  Claire started her ascent up the stairs when Botley called up, “Mademoiselle Du Bois.”

  She turned to him.

  “I hope you do not mind that I told the Countess of last night’s events.”

  “Was she upset?” asked Claire.

  “I find that the Countess seldom ever gets upset.”

  Claire’s eyes narrowed in thought and then she continued up to her bedchamber.

  Upon closing the door to her room, she quickly tore open the envelope and read.

  Dear Mademoiselle Du Bois,

  Do accept my apology that our time together was so short. I have no doubt that you have already put so much of these puzzle pieces together to tell the disconcerting story that is my life. There are only two pieces left that you need. One is in your possession, the other, only my old butler can tell you. I do appreciate your time in my household, however brief it was. All I can hope now is that you will be able to tell a more accurate tale that has a little less magic and a little more truth.

  All My Best,

  Countess Desiree De Leon

  A knock rapped on her door and Victor entered.

  “The Countess was taken into custody by the royal guard,” Claire said, still looking down at the letter.

  “Well, good morning to you too?”

  Her eyes finally lifted to him. “There are only two pieces left that you need. One is in your possession . . .” Claire closed her eyes and repeated, “One is in your possession.”

  Victor looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “What is going on?”

  Claire’s lower lip curved into its ever-comfortable place under her teeth, then released it.

  “One is in my possession . . . Botley said that he told the Countess about everything that happened last night.”

  “And?”

  “She gave me this letter. It says that I pretty much have all the pieces of the puzzle. The last two remaining pieces reside with myself and with Botley.”

  “What pieces?” Victor yawned, still not awake yet. Claire reached into her bag, pulled out the broken slipper, and stared at it.

  “That is what I am trying to figure out.”

  She rotated the shoe around in her hand, careful to look at it from every angle. Finally, she dropped it and turned to Victor with dismay.

  “What do we have? The broken glass slipper, the dress, the emerald ring and . . . Josephine’s pictures.”

  Claire went back to the drawings. “I was looking at them all night. It really does seem like the two girls were good friends, but something happened.”

  “Is there any sign of what that was?” Victor pondered out loud.

  The two looked across the row of pictures laid out. The first drawing was Isabella in her ball gown with Prince Fabian. Then one of the fireplace where Isabella was reading a book and Josephine was playing with figurines on the mantle. The third was the picture of Isabella falling down. The fourth was a cane in someone’s hand, and finally was the picture that Claire saw Josephine draw the night before of Isabella sitting on a windowsill with Josephine brushing her hair.

  Claire and Victor probed the pictures over and over again.

  “We can assume that the pictures of Josephine with Isabella all go together. Then, Prince Fabian. But the picture of the cane is still unsettling.”

  “Well, that is the only one in which no one is drawn into the picture with it,” Victor noted.

  Claire’s eyes flickered over the pictures multiple times. Frustration built into the pit of her stomach and grew with every passing moment.

  “Ah!” she screamed and swiped her hands across the chair, sending the pictures in every direction. She sat back on her feet. The picture of the cane that Victor just spoke of landed a
gainst her leg. She picked it up.

  Claire peered closely at the cane, and then slowly scratched the picture with her fingernail.

  She paused.

  “What is it?” Victor asked.

  “Something I do not understand, Josephine draws with such precision, but she seems to have left an ink blot on this picture.”

  “Maybe it was just a mistake,” Victor offered.

  “I doubt it.” Claire placed the pictures back on the loveseat. Her eyes looked at each picture over and over again until they moved like a play in front of her. Slowly, she started shifting the pictures around.

  “What if . . .” Claire muttered to herself and shuffled the pictures around some more. “And then . . .”

  The pictures moved again. At last, the pictures lay side by side as she started telling the story to herself.

  Every picture was laid out before her in the order she was devising except one. The cane.

  Claire’s eyes ran across Josephine’s tale of her time with Isabella. Her eyes jumped picture to picture until they landed on Isabella falling.

  “Maybe the Countess hit her with the cane, and tried to knock her unconscious,” Victor said haphazardly.

  Claire’s eyes shifted down to the cane, and then back up to the picture of Isabella falling.

  “Victor!” Claire gasped. “You are a genius!”

  She quickly kissed Victor on the cheek and ran out of the room.

  “Wait!” screamed Victor. “Nothing like a woman telling you that you are a genius then running away from you.”

  Claire came barreling down the hall to the Countess's study. She tried to open the door, but it was locked.

  “Blast it all,” Claire huffed.

  “I was wondering when you would make the connection.” Claire turned to see Genevieve standing elegantly to one side of the hall. She pulled out a key ring and took the key needed to open her mother’s study.

  “You never got to see that painting, did you?”

  “That is why I am here.”

  Before Genevieve opened the door, she turned back to Claire. “Now that you know, you must help her.”