Charm

by Sarah Pinborough

  ‘You don’t know anything.’ Why did he make her feel so uncomfortable and awkward? Why couldn’t he just shut up and leave?

  ‘I know you’re no court lady.’ He smiled, his teeth white and even against his rugged face. ‘And it would be a shame to see you turn into one.’

  ‘The prince loves me,’ she said, defiantly.

  ‘So you say. But do you love him?’

  Finally, behind her back, she found the latch to the gate and pushed it open. ‘That’s none of your business.’ He was so arrogant. Who was he anyway? Just some lackey. She stomped down the stairs to the kitchen door. ‘But yes,’ she said. ‘I think I do!’ She closed the door behind her without looking back.

  5

  ‘Help me . . .’

  Over the course of the two days after the prince’s last Bride Ball a black storm raged over the city. A fierce wind blew down from the mountain so hard that they said it was the ghostly fire of the dead dragons’ breath, so long cold in their graves. It blew the snow canopy from the forest into the city streets. Thunder and lightning waged a war in clouds so low that those brave enough to venture out claimed that if they stretched an arm up they could touch them. The sky was a roiling ocean and all the people could do was to huddle round their small fires and wait for it to pass.

  The anger of the storm outside, however, was nothing compared to the dark atmosphere that gripped Cinderella’s house. Ivy, like everyone else in the city who had heard of the strange turn of events at the second ball, braved the weather and visited her sister and mother. She didn’t stay long. Cinderella hid while her step-mother railed at Ivy for not helping them more, and then launched into a bitter attack on the pathetic physicality of her noble husband. Ivy slapped her and left. The house stood in silence for a long time after that, the girls staying in their rooms to avoid being caught by a wandering lash of Esme’s tongue.

  Rose got everything worst. Her pale skin was constantly blotched from crying and, at every meal time, Cinderella and her father would listen to the digs and jibes and feel the stings with her. Esme was drinking too. It was as if something inside her had cracked. Finally, as she berated Rose once more for being useless and destroying all her dreams of her old life which she’d come so close to achieving, Cinderella’s father finally slammed his hand down on the table and stood up.

  ‘If this life is so bloody terrible, Esme, why did you choose it? It was love that mattered then? Don’t you love me now?’

  Cinderella and Rose both shrank down in their chairs. Their parents didn’t argue. They didn’t appear to have much in common, but they never fought.

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Wine spilled from her glass as Esme looked up. ‘This isn’t about love, this is about life! Ever since Ivy married that idiot Viscount—’

  ‘He’s not an idiot. If you took time to talk to him—’

  ‘He’s an idiot. He doesn’t even go to court. But having been back to the castle and remembered what my life used to be like—’

  ‘You hated it. You said it was shallow. You ran away from it, Esme, don’t you remember? You were married to a man you loathed because of that life? You slept with that randy old bastard for five long years, every night of which you hated. That’s what that life gave you!’

  The two young women were forgotten in the heat of the fight, but Cinderella wished she could just slide down to the floor and crawl away. Worse still was the thought that this was all her fault. She still clung to her bubble of joy over her time at the castle but she’d been so focused on chasing what she’d wanted she hadn’t considered the fallout.

  ‘Yes, but if Rose had married the prince then I could have had the best of that life and you. I’m tired of all those people sniggering at us – at me. I’m tired of being poor. I’m tired of being cold. Don’t you understand it?’

  ‘I understand that. And I’m trying hard. But you can’t have everything in life, it doesn’t work that way. You have to decide what the important parts are.’ The fight went out of Cinderella’s father. ‘The thing I don’t understand anymore is you.’ He turned his back on them and left the room. No one spoke after that.

  In the morning, Rose and Cinderella cleared away the breakfast things and were doing the washing up, the two working slowly together in the relative safety of the basement room.

  ‘Don’t you have to take care of your hands?’ Cinderella asked, as Rose scrubbed at a roasting tin. The other girl let out a short bitter bark of laughter.

  ‘I don’t think the softness of my skin matters anymore. Not to mother, anyway.’

  ‘There’ll be other balls.’ Cinderella felt a surprising wave of affection for her step-sister. Rose had always been the practical one. The clever one. Rose did not cry or get over-emotional. Not even when they’d been children.

  ‘You don’t get it, Cinderella.’ Rose sighed, tired. ‘You never do. If the prince had just danced with me once, like the other girls, or not even danced with me at all, then that would have been okay. But I’m now the girl who wasn’t good enough. I’m the discarded one.’ She put the dish down and leaned on the side of the sink as if she didn’t have the energy to stand. ‘Even after that other girl ran off the prince didn’t want anything to do with me. Mother made me try and talk to him and he brushed me off. In front of everyone, as if I suddenly disgusted him.’

  Tears, always so close, welled up in her eyes. ‘Now none of the other noblemen will come near me. I’ve made everything worse. All that effort mother put in to get me ready for the ball and it’s come to nothing.’ She sniffed hard. ‘She’s going through the change and I think this on top of that has driven her a bit mad. I think she’s driving me mad.’

  Cinderella’s eyes fell away from her step-sister’s. She had been so happy that night. She and the prince were meant to be, she was sure of it. Whenever she closed the door of her room and looked at his picture, she was transported back to the wonders of the ball, and his arms around her and his kiss . . . and she fantasised about him finding her and all being as her fairy godmother promised and life being wonderful. But every time she looked at Rose or her step-mother she felt bad. She wondered if maybe she should tell Rose what happened? How the other girl was her? Maybe Rose would actually be relieved, because then they could send for the prince and her step-mother would have the life she wanted and it would all be well again.

  ‘Look, Rose—’ she started, and then the back door opened and a burst of fresh cold and rain delivered Buttons into the kitchen.

  ‘Evening, princess,’ he said. ‘Sorry I didn’t knock. It’s a bastard out there.’ He pushed the door closed and then hurried over to the stove – handing Rose the small sack he carried before pressing his palms against the warm metal and shivering. ‘You must be Rose,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve heard about you.’

  Rose looked in the bag and then pulled out a large round of cheese, a ham and two loaves of bread. ‘And you must be the boy who’s been refilling our coal scuttle when it empties,’ she said wryly.

  ‘That could be me, I confess.’

  Cinderella couldn’t look at Rose. She’d thought no one had noticed the gifts Buttons had been bringing her, but clearly that wasn’t the case. ‘Thanks, Buttons.’

  ‘No problem, princess.’

  Rose visibly flinched at the use of the word, but she pulled a chair up for him and poured him a hot coffee from the pot. ‘You shouldn’t be out on the streets in this if you don’t have to be,’ she said. ‘Aside from the trouble you could get into. I’m presuming you didn’t buy this stuff.’

  ‘Can’t keep me from the ladies,’ He winked at her and then smiled at Cinderella. ‘And it won’t be missed. They have plenty.’ He sat down. ‘Anyway, I thought you’d want all the latest gossip from the castle, princess. You never get tired of that.’

  ‘If it’s about the Bride Balls, don’t bother,’ Rose said, bristling slightly. ‘We know all about it.’

  ‘But do you know about the shoe?’ Buttons asked. Cinderella’s heart leapt
and Rose frowned.

  ‘What shoe?’

  ‘The one the girl left behind. They found it on the stairs when the party was being cleaned up. It’s beautiful apparently. Made of diamonds or something. A dainty, narrow slipper that the prince is convinced belongs to his mystery beauty. He’s totally all over the place. Quite funny to see. He was moping about like a teenager until they found it.’

  ‘Really?’ Cinderella fought back her smile although inside she was dancing all over again. He loved her! He felt the same way she did.

  ‘Anyway,’ Buttons continued. ‘He’s sending his footman on a tour of the city to try the slipper on the foot of every girl of the right age. When the slipper finds its owner, he’ll marry her.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! It’s a shoe. It’ll fit a lot of girls,’ Rose said. ‘Surely you just look for the girl who has the other shoe.’

  ‘I’ve seen it,’ Buttons said. ‘There’s something funny about that slipper. And our handsome highness wants the girl who can wear it perfectly.’

  ‘When does the search start?’ Cinderella tried to keep the excitement out of her voice, but she wanted to sing with happiness. The slipper wouldn’t fit anyone else, no matter how logical Rose’s point was. It would be too big or too small for every lady but her. It would make itself that way. Her stomach fizzed. The fairy godmother’s promise was going to come true.

  ‘Tomorrow. But even if they work all day and night it’s still going to take weeks to go through the whole city.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Rose said. ‘Maybe they’ll find her quickly.’ There was a longing in her voice and then she sighed. She looked up at Cinderella, her face full of despair. ‘If we could keep this from mother, that would be good.’

  Cinderella nodded. The mood dampened after that, and Buttons, now warm and dry got up to leave. Rose gave him an extra scarf to wrap tight around his face against the outside onslaught and both girls waved him off.

  A small brown mouse ran in between their legs and sat shivering on the floor, half under the stove. Rose reached for the broom to shoo it out, but Cinderella stopped her. ‘The little thing will die out in that weather. Leave it be. I think it’s rather sweet.’ She then broke a small chunk of the cheese off and dropped it on the floor. ‘Now come on, let’s go upstairs. We can’t hide in here forever.’

  Cinderella’s step-mother had heard about the slipper by lunchtime. Everybody had. In a city that was besieged by bad weather it seemed gossip could still travel faster than the icy wind. A fevered light came on in her eyes as she gathered all the information she could about the shoe, paying money they didn’t have to the servants of those whose houses had already been visited for every tiny detail. She clapped her hands together and smiled and laughed. There was still a chance for Rose – there was still a chance for her.

  ‘But it’s not my shoe,’ Rose said. ‘And he doesn’t want me.’ It was a plaintive, quiet protest of one who knows they’re already defeated.

  ‘He wants whoever that shoe fits,’ Esme countered. ‘If it fits you, he’ll marry you.’

  She spent a lot of time examining Rose’s feet. They were too wide for the slipper, she decided, and so she bound them so tightly in bandages that the poor girl could barely walk without crying. Cinderella’s father tried to stop it, but Rose said it was fine and that it didn’t hurt that much and she just wanted to make her mother happy. Every morning and every night the bandages would come off and Esme would force her poor daughter to try to squeeze her bruised foot into a shoe which was purportedly the exact size of the sparkling one that was stopping at each house in the city. It should be – Cinderella’s step-mother had paid enough for it.

  Rose’s foot never fit. It wasn’t the length that was the problem, it was the width. Rose might have lost weight but her feet were still wide. After five days of binding, Cinderella’s step-mother decided more drastic action was needed. She plunged her daughter’s bare feet into buckets of ice for hours at a time and then bandaged them up again.

  Cinderella wasn’t sure what was the most disturbing – her actions or the soothing way she spoke to Rose as she did them. She loved her, she said. She just wanted the best for her, she said. And all the time Rose cried and the storm outside continued to rage. Cinderella just wished the prince’s procession would hurry up and get to them. This madness needed to stop.

  The night before it happened, the storm finally broke. The skies cleared and the wind dropped, leaving the city in an icy calm.

  Rose finally broke too.

  Upstairs on the top floor two middle-aged people, once brought together by true love, now shouted and sobbed at each other. Cinderella heard the words, ‘menopause’ and ‘hormones’ and then her step-mother completely lost it, attacking her husband with a barrage of insults whose targets ranged from his manhood to his wages. Cinderella had been keeping mainly to her room. No one was paying her any attention anyway, and once she’d done her chores for the day she’d go and lock herself away with her lover’s picture, close her eyes and turn time back to the night of the ball. This time even that daydream couldn’t block out the fighting. It was gone ten at night when she crept into the kitchen and found Rose.

  At first she couldn’t quite take it in. The bandages were undone and spread all over the floor. Rose, her hair free around her shoulders, was sitting on a wooden chair, one knee tucked under her chin. She was sobbing and muttering incoherently, focused intently on whatever she was trying to do. Cinderella’s eyes widened. What was she trying to do?

  Rose had gripped her little toe with one hand, separating it from the rest, and was cutting at it with a small knife. She paused, and with a bloody hand reached for the bottle of brandy on the kitchen table and took a long swallow from it. Only when she put it back down did she see Cinderella. She stared for a moment.

  ‘Help me,’ she said eventually, her words thick through the snot and sweat that covered her face. ‘I can’t quite cut it off.’ Tears came in a sudden rush, and the awful sobs broke Cinderella’s shock. She ran to her, and grabbed the knife. Blood gushed, thick and red from the wound and her stomach lurched as she saw the protruding bone. She moved quickly, grabbing a bowl and running outside. She flew up to the street, fell to her hands and knees and filled it with icy snow. Her hands burned with the cold, but she didn’t feel it. How could Rose do this? How could she have done this?

  Back in the kitchen, she thrust her step-sister’s foot into the bowl and held her as she shrieked with the pain. Then, while Rose drank more from the brandy bottle, Cinderella gently stitched her skin back up, coated it in medicinal salves and bandaged her two smallest toes together. She felt sick. Her family was crumbling into madness. And they were her family, she knew that in her heart, however much she sometimes felt separate from them.

  ‘There you go,’ she said, softly. ‘That should heal.’ Rose’s foot would never be pretty to look at, but hopefully she’d keep her toe. She was tired. Rose was exhausted. What a mess it had all become. ‘We should tell father,’ she said. ‘You probably need to see a doctor.’ The floor was still slick with crimson and Cinderella reached for the mop.

  Rose studied her, eyes glazed. ‘Your mother didn’t die, you know.’ She sniffed and ran the back of her hand across her nose. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’ Cinderella turned and the blood was forgotten as she leaned on the mop to keep herself standing. The world tilted slightly beneath her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She didn’t die,’ Rose said, simply. ‘She ran away with a travelling man. They were going to the Far Mountain to find the dragons. That’s what she said.’ She sighed. ‘But she was a drunk. She said a lot of things, when she wasn’t shouting at you or your father.’

  ‘You’re lying.’ Unwanted images rose unbidden behind her eyes. Hiding behind bannisters. A woman laughing unpleasantly. Shouting.

  ‘She used to come to my father’s house and scream crazy things. She was wild, your mother. Wild and mean.’

  ‘That’s not true
.’

  ‘We didn’t tell you because you were so little. We felt sorry for you.’ Fresh tears filled her eyes. ‘We loved you. You were like mine and Ivy’s pretty little doll. My mother used to scoop you up and read you stories and stroke your hair until you slept. Why do you think you want to marry a prince so much? Who do you think told you those pretty stories of castle life?’

  ‘No. No!’ The walls of Cinderella’s world crumbled, as Rose’s words jarred with precious memories. ‘That wasn’t her! That was my mother. My dead mother.’

  ‘We should have told you,’ Rose was staring into space. ‘We really should. Then maybe you wouldn’t have grown up to be such a little bitch to us all the time.’

  Cinderella turned and ran. She didn’t look back.

  6

  ‘It finally fits!’

  The sky was blue overhead and, although it remained freezing cold, the sun shone down on the street as the fanfare played and the procession of prince’s men pulled up in their street. Cinderella’s father refused to come downstairs. Even Esme was subdued as she and Rose waited in the sitting room, with Cinderella loitering in the background pretending to stoke up the fire. Rose, in her best dress, was sitting in an armchair. Her face was pale, no doubt she was in agony with her injured foot. Cinderella caught her eye and the two girls shared a wan smile. Esme didn’t look at either of them. Cinderella wasn’t sure she could bring herself to. The shouting had stopped when she’d seen what Rose had done, and there were dark circles around her eyes that no longer held fevered madness.

  As the footmen swept in, the familiar diamond slipper glittering on a red cushion, for a brief moment Cinderella wished it would fit Rose so they could be done with it. Or better still, for it to fit neither of them and to pass them by.