Cinderella Necromancer

by F. M. Boughan

  “Look, please come to the palace tomorrow. Follow the path around the stables, to a large oak door. I promise you will have work, and you’ll be paid an honest wage.”

  “How will they know who I am?”

  He bowed his head, glanced to and fro, and caught my heart in a wink. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “With the servants?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

  He shrugged. “What is a leader if not in touch with the needs of the people he leads?”

  “So you suggest you’re better than me.” Why did my lips keep talking?

  He blinked, straightened, and coughed. “I didn’t—”

  “Good day, Sire.” I curtsied deeply and stressed the address with something near touching a mock. Whatever possessed me, I know not, though I suspect my heart knew that William’s and my time together had run its course. I had already nurtured too deep an affection at our prior meeting, and it would not do.

  My heart would be broken soon enough, for in only a few days’ time, William would choose for himself a wife.

  And for a position such as that, he wouldn’t look twice at my dirt-smudged face.

  19

  The Gown

  I spent that afternoon standing atop a stool, serving as a pincushion for Charlotte and Victoria, whose dressmaker had arrived to take fittings and measurements based on the latest fashions the ladies had seen in town. The sketches alone were enough to make me feel queasy, with crepe ruffles, satin bows, lace trim, and enough layers to wrap a horse.

  Naturally, once either of the girls got tired of standing—I blamed one too many crème puffs—the garments were draped on me while the dressmaker tacked and pinned and poked me in delicate places. Charlotte giggled every time I flinched.

  “Just look at the proud princess,” Victoria purred, on one occasion where the dressmaker wound a bolt of satin around the skirt hoop. “How fine you look, sister. A pity you don’t have a thing of your own to wear.”

  I wouldn’t have wanted to wear one of those monstrosities, even if offered ten pieces of gold and a forty-acre field.

  “I have plenty of my own gowns,” I replied, for ignoring her would simply lead to greater taunting and provocation. “I’ll wear one of those.”

  Victoria raised a single eyebrow, and I shuddered at the likeness of her mother. Charlotte, however, nearly sprung from her chair.

  “What on earth do you mean? You’re not attending, surely.”

  “The invitation was for all eligible ladies,” Victoria said.

  I nearly stumbled off my perch.

  “If she has a suitable gown, I don’t see why she shouldn’t go.” Victoria leaned forward in her seat, elbows to knees, propping her chin in one hand. “I don’t suppose you have a particular gown in mind?”

  As a matter of fact, I did. “I have a lovely, canary yellow gown with gold and forest green trim. And matching slippers. My mother had it made for me before … ”

  I caught myself. Victoria and Charlotte were rapt. Or so it seemed.

  Doubt seized my chest. “Or, of course, I have a blue—”

  “Oh no,” said Victoria, “the yellow sounds perfect. I don’t suppose you’ll model it for us later, hmm?”

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “Oh, please,” squeaked Charlotte, matching her sister’s glances with equal enthusiasm. “We can help advise on it. Perhaps I can loan you some jewelry, or a hat.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Perhaps.”

  Victoria clapped her hands. “It’s settled, then. When this is finished, we’ll see your gown. You’d make a fine catch for the Prince, wouldn’t she, sister?”

  Charlotte’s expression grew dark before she saw the mirth behind Victoria’s eyes.

  I saw it, too.

  She was not being kind. Something else stood behind her intent, and I’d waltzed directly into its path.

  Edward did not rise that day. He stayed in bed, and though he remained in good spirits, it seemed the illness had returned. Once released from the fittings, I raced to his room with sweets and a story, and spent the evening at his side. Celia didn’t try to remove me, nor did the sisters make good on their insistence to see my gown.

  Indeed, Celia’s absence continued throughout the remainder of the day, and when daylight turned to night, I still had not seen her. Not that I minded. Still, to preserve myself in case she continued with her nightly forays, I stayed out of the passages after dark, and for the few nights that followed. Days became a whirl of dress fittings and hair dressings, with Celia appearing infrequently to pile tasks upon my head and praise her daughters for how lovely they looked.

  An etiquette tutor came to the house in the mornings to school Charlotte and Victoria in the finer points of interactions with royalty, and my mornings were spent with Edward, who steadily grew stronger once again. I feared, however, that he had fallen prey to Mother’s penchant for illness, and though I begged God to remove his sickness and take me instead, my requests went unanswered.

  I thought of calling Curson again—indeed, I longed for the feel of The Book of Conjuring in my hands—but for what purpose? I feared what he did to me, how he made me feel, but craved it all the same. It was nothing like being around William.

  Ugh. I had to stop thinking about him.

  Of course, I could not.

  Instead, my thoughts were stronger as the festival grew closer, and I wondered whether he’d forgotten about me. I didn’t go to the palace, so I did not know if he’d made good on his promise to meet me in the kitchens. But how could I, with Edward so ill? Perhaps I would once he recovered a little more. Or sooner.

  I recalled Edward’s delight the day prior, when I’d told him of our stepsisters’ new, garish dresses.

  “They sound truly awful,” he’d said, “which means you will be the most beautiful of all.”

  I’d offered him a smile born of sadness. “Alas, no. I won’t be going. Not this time.”

  His eyes had grown round with surprise. “Why not? You could marry the Prince! We could live in a castle, Ellison. A castle.”

  I’d had to laugh, then, for small boys truly understand little of marriage, royalty, and the ways of the world. “I’d rather live here with you and Father, all told,” I’d said, “and I’m sure the castle isn’t as wonderful as it seems. All those rooms? Just imagine, I bet you’d get lost just finding the kitchen. Or you’d want to go to the library and end up in the cellar! And don’t forget, there’s no playing with toys on the stairs. What if the King tripped and fell?”

  He’d wrinkled his nose and shaken his head. “I still think it would be fantastic. You should go. You don’t ever get to have fun anymore.”

  Oh, to be as perceptive as a child!

  I’d stroked his hair and released a sigh, and for the first time, allowed myself to actually imagine what it might be like to put on my canary gown and stand in the palace’s grand ballroom.

  And to see William, finely dressed. Would he recognize me? Would he feel embarrassed for his previous offer? Would I?

  The thought was both delicious and painful, and I banished the notion with a wave of my hand.

  “Of course I do,” I’d said. “I’m spending time with you.”

  And then the day came.

  The sun rose. The clouds parted in the sky, and from the town came the sound of trumpets to announce the beginning of the festival.

  In the house, clouds descended instead. Celia made her appearance first thing in the morning, armed with more tasks than I could ever be expected to complete, and rather than endure as I had since the day of Father’s leaving, for the first time, a bitterness crept across my tongue and infected my thoughts.

  We—all of us, across the kingdom—were due three days of celebration and rest. And in a moment of fury, I told her so.

  “Oh?” Celia cocked her head as if an inquisitive pup. “My dear child, if everyone is expected to rest for three days, who will provi
de the food we eat? Where do you suppose our water will come from? Would you have the horses starve?”

  “I wouldn’t,” I told her, “but everyone in this house can go without every item of clothing laundered for at least three days. And there is no need to polish silverware when doubtless you’ll dine on rich tarts and trifles at the palace. As for the fireplace—”

  “Wait.” Celia held up a hand. “You’re right, of course. The palace awaits.” Her eyes glimmered with some unspoken delight, and I wondered how much it hurt for her to say that, even if in jest. “But whatever do you mean, we will dine there? Are you not attending?”

  Surprise shot through me like a spiny arrow. “I hadn’t thought … ”

  “Victoria mentioned that you have a lovely yellow and green gown with matching slippers that may be perfect for the occasion.”

  She had?

  “And haven’t my daughters generously offered to lend you their jewels?”

  They had. Not that I needed any, as I had plenty of my own—despite their location in my former bedroom with Victoria. “Yes, but—”

  “So,” Celia said, clasping her hands together, “if you finish the most important tasks and ready yourself in time for tonight’s first ball, you may come.”

  But I hadn’t planned on going. Truly, I hadn’t believed Celia would allow it.

  If I went, perhaps I could warn William to stay away from the sisters. I could warn him to avoid Celia, to fear her touch, and perchance he would listen and believe the words came from a true place and not from the jealous or vengeful motives of a dirty, ragged cinder-wench he’d met in the graveyard.

  Yes, I would go.

  “Thank you,” I said, purpose blossoming in my chest. And with that, I ran to give Edward the good news.

  20

  The Rending

  I raced through my chores.

  My heart pounded with every hour that passed, and though the bitterness of not being able to enjoy the festival remained, I could not recall a day when I had felt so much anticipation and joy.

  Yes, joy. A foreign concept at that time, to be sure, but the thought of seeing William again while I wore a clean dress with a washed and primped face was enough to keep a smile on my lips and my heart light, even through the most menial of tasks. Chamber pots included.

  And as the shadows grew longer and the sun began its journey toward the horizon, both sisters and Celia began their preparations for the first evening of celebration. As did I.

  Tasks complete, I scrubbed away weeks of dirt, stains, and blemishes on my person and my spirit. As each fingernail came clean, so did hope rise. Even if I didn’t see William this night, I would have two more chances. What would he say? Surely he hadn’t expected to see me there, or he would have mentioned it. How strange that he hadn’t asked if I planned to attend. What would he think?

  Would he apologize for our last meeting?

  Would I?

  Still, it would be three nights of merrymaking. Three nights where I could forget about Celia, my missing father, the drudgery of servitude, and the threat on my brother’s life—both from them and from his illness.

  In a gesture of generosity I could never begin to repay, Gretel offered to stay the night these three evenings to watch over Edward, instead of enjoying the town’s celebrations herself. I suspect she simply hoped I might outdo the sisters in their garish attire.

  When I opened the wardrobe in my former room—my room—I loosed a breath of relief that the gown still hung there, untouched, even after the day when Victoria had tried to claim my garments for her own. Its shorter sleeves and higher waist were remnants of an older fashion, but it still shone as brightly as ever and I felt an eagerness to wear it again.

  I slipped it on and Cook, in kindness, laced up the back. The corseting hugged my hips and bosom, and I felt faint with surprise at my appearance in the mirrors around the room. I had forgotten what I looked like under the layers of dirt and the grimy house-dress.

  We found my slippers, beaded and delicate to match the beading and trim on the gown. From my jewelry box—one of Father’s treasures from a trip some years ago—I drew a necklace of enamel-cut pearls and emeralds, with a tiny dragonfly in the center to rest delicately beneath my throat. This had long been my most beautiful necklace, with pearl and emerald earrings to match. Tears sprang to the corners of my unlined eyes as Gretel clasped the necklace into place. It had been a gift from my mother, who had received it from her mother, and her mother before that. Or so the story went.

  How I wished she could see me now.

  “My, you look a sight,” Gretel mumbled, taking me into her arms. She held me at a distance then, and checked me up and down. “If your father were home today, surely he’d lock you away.” She grinned and pinched my cheek. “Your ma would be proud of your lady-ness. Any man’d be lucky to have you.”

  “Thank you, Gretel,” I said, returning the embrace. “I do think this is just what I need to lift my spirits.”

  At the mention of spirits, I thought of Curson—felt heat rush to my cheeks—and fanned my face with a lace-gloved hand.

  “Shall we?” Gretel offered her arm, and I took it so that she might escort me down the stairs to the waiting carriage and an evening of blissful freedom.

  Celia, Charlotte, and Victoria waited in the front hall, adjusting hats and gloves and jewels, twittering like sparrows that strove to put their nests just so.

  Gretel and I descended the first three steps when the twittering ceased. Both Celia and sisters ceased their fidgeting and stared. At me.

  For that brief moment—oh, but it was brief—I felt nothing but enraptured delight. I was Ellison, daughter of my noble father, educated and intelligent and beautiful, no matter what anyone else might say. No matter what task might come my way, no matter the storms of life.

  Ah, but reality could not keep its grip loosed for long.

  At the bottom step, Charlotte’s stare became a grimace. Victoria’s gasp twisted into a cruel scowl. Celia’s lips drew into a thin line, her beauty shadowed by an anger I couldn’t explain.

  “Are those my pearls?” Victoria pointed at the cord around my neck. “And my earrings?”

  Confusion must have flooded my features. “No, this was my mother’s, and grandmother’s before that.”

  Victoria shook her head, voice lowering to a hiss. “You disgusting little liar. You took those from my room, did you not?”

  I felt as though I’d been caught in a crosswind. “Yes, but only because it was my room, and—”

  “Thief!” Charlotte shrieked, pointing a ruffled, purple-gloved finger at my face. “You used my rouge, too!”

  I had not used any rouge.

  “She did no such thing,” snapped Gretel.

  “And those slippers,” Victoria said, bending at the waist to lift the hem of my dress. “Did you find those in my wardrobe?”

  Her wardrobe. Hers? She stayed in my room and truly believed all things were hers? “It’s my wardrobe, in my room, where you are sleeping.”

  With that, Charlotte lunged forward and grabbed a handful of my hair, where Cook had helped weave tiny white flowers into plaits which we’d then piled atop my head. In one yank, Charlotte pulled out a handful of flowers and released chunks of hair from their places, sending sharp nails of pain down the sides of my head.

  “And these are my flowers, from my garden, you thieving whore.”

  As if she had ever stepped foot in a garden!

  Victoria did the same, pulling out flowers and braids as I cried out in distress, and moments later, I felt the clasp of my necklace release from around my neck. I screamed for them to stop, as did Gretel, but between protests and cries, Celia did naught but stand there as her daughters tore apart my most treasured gown and heirlooms, piece by piece, until every inch lay in tatters on the floor at my feet.

  I could not stop the flood of tears this time.

  “That’s better,” quip
ped Victoria brightly, as I stood before them in my shift. With a laugh, Charlotte ran down the hallway and returned moments later with a sheet from the wash and pair of ancient wooden shoes which Father kept in the library for a lark.

  She draped the sheet around my shoulders, moving limp arms as needed, lifting my feet to replace my torn slippers with wooden shoes.

  I didn’t resist.

  I couldn’t. What would be gained from it? I’d already lost.

  “We told you we’d help,” said Victoria, looking to her mother for approval.

  Celia said nothing, her face a blank canvas that revealed even less—which I considered a condoning for what they’d done.

  “Now you can dance,” sang Charlotte, turning in a circle so that her own bluebird gown spun outward and sparkled in the lamplight. “Give us a twirl, sweet sister.”

  I remained silent.

  “Oh, come now,” Victoria pouted. “We offered to help. There was no need to steal from us. Is that any way to show gratitude? All you had to do was ask.”

  I couldn’t have responded if I’d wanted to. The tears choked my breath and blurred my vision, but worse than that, I’d been betrayed. What woman needed to ask permission of her own clothes?

  And though neither their loyalty nor mine had been mutual or firm, they’d promised me this one night. The kingdom had promised me this.

  “Clean yourself up,” said Celia, without a hint of emotion. “If you manage to get hold of yourself, you may still make some measure of appearance, but we won’t wait for you.”

  She gripped my chin and pulled until our eyes met, the black nothingness in her own all the more apparent now. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t bother. No man will have you. You’re not worth it.”

  With that, she released me, placed one hand upon the vase of flowers on the nearby table, and pushed.

  The vase fell to the floor with a crash, sending sharp, porcelain shards cascading across the floor I’d polished only hours before.