Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella (2 page)

Kersley was certainly not a land of unquestionable charity and acceptance either. To say the many inhabitants of the condensed land squabbled was putting it mildly, but they managed to keep their distance from one another quite well. Gonla’s neighbors were certainly not the
bastards
of whom Gonla spoke.

“When would you depart?” Ella asked blankly.

“Most likely in the spring, after the winter has passed,” Gonla replied, standing slowly, wrapping her hands around her lower back and grimacing in soreness. Ella knew Gonla had been suffering intense back pain since the birth of her last child: baby Ellie.

“What do you need?” Ella asked, referring to Gonla’s discomfort initially, but knew it meant more subconsciously to both women. The concern was far-reaching and open ended. As usual, Gonla was privy to Ella’s premonition.

“Your kindness is all we have ever truly needed. All else has just been the gratuity of having such a generous, and well endowed, friend.”

As she walked side by side with her escort, a tall, exceptionally strong but awkward teenager named Luca, Ella’s mind churned with questions and worries. Accompanying them was the guilt that inevitably fell over her each time she went to Kersley. The people had so very little. And yet it was
she
who envied them. When they were less than a mile from Gwent, though it was getting quite dark, Ella insisted that Luca head back home. He stopped and watched Ella smile at him warmly. He’d had a romantic infatuation with Ella for as long as he’d known her. Had she even once conveyed to Luca that she had any interest at all in marriage, let alone marrying
him
, he’d have confessed his love to her emphatically. And repeatedly. But she did not, not even to humor him or anyone else for that matter. Luca may have been slow in many regards but he knew enough about Ella to appreciate her modesty when it came to flattery. In truth, it was more than modesty; she simply did not like it in the slightest.

Luca saw in Ella what every other able-bodied man, young and old, saw. The other men in his village would tease each other that Ella made each of them beastly in their “improper places.” Even Luca’s father, in the darkness that was the night sky and a drunken intelligence, had shared with his teenage son his own infatuation with the white-petaled rose that was Ella Delaquix. With thick, tightly curled hair the lightest shade of yellow and blue eyes touched with violet, it was enough to remind Luca that he shouldn’t judge his father too harshly. For God’s sake, even Luca’s own mother did not banish her husband to the woods for drooling over Ella’s silky skin and lips that never ceased to be, even when she could help it, the softest shade of pink. Luca knew Ella observed his desire, but she trusted him. And for that, he kindly kissed her hand and minded her request to make the rest of her journey in solitude.

It was plenty dark when Ella arrived home; just before dinnertime. Marion was waiting at the top of the steps. She immediately began badgering Ella for her wanton disregard for her own safety, and for Marion’s ease of heart. Ella did not want to argue, like she often did for amusement’s sake, and simply apologized to her old friend for making her worry.

“Well, dinner is ready for you,” Marion said, assisting Ella as she removed her outdoor wear. “Frome is a genius at timing your haphazard social calendar and made sure it was not done too soon. It is hot and ready for you, love.” Ella was touched, as usual.

“Ah, my dear Frome,” she said, making her way toward the dining hall, “what would I do without you?”

“Eat well!” Marion said loudly.

Frome’s nasal voice hollered back to her, the shrill, overly tall woman who was very much his boss (whether he liked to admit it or not).

“Oh you hush, witch,” Frome retorted. “I am no more than an grumpy old farm hand who can barely break two eggs together simply because there is no other cook in this bloody kingdom who can stand you!”

Marion snorted and pulled out the chair for Ella, who was chuckling into her fist.

“I heard that,” Marion stated frankly, and Ella responded by releasing her laughter to echo unfettered through the dining hall.

“I don’t know why I try to hide it, dear Marion. You hear everything.”

Ella had not realized how hungry she was until she devoured every morsel that Frome had prepared for her. Frome did not think himself a fine chef, but Ella felt rested and calmer, emotionally, than she had been for hours. It was the perfect prelude for her departure into the meltingly warm bath that she knew awaited her every time she’d trekked for such a distance. She could feel the water already, intensely swallowing her up in the heat of a sensuous dream. But it was not to be in that moment.

“Your ladyship,” the young servant boy announced to Ella seconds after an explosive pounding on the front door, “the lady Armitage is calling for you.”

“At this hour?!” Marion barked.

“That lady sure has a big arm,” Frome said as he cleared Ella’s plate. “I could have sworn a bear was battering the door.”

It was whimsical, but Ella did little more than smile. There were few people that would ever call for her at such a late hour, and she could think of none of them that she relished meeting. Especially
her.

“Why, you are awfully dirty, aren’t you?” Baroness Isolda Armitage squawked at Ella, who was descending the staircase in her bathrobe. It was inappropriate to meet a guest in such a way, even if it was family. Still, Ella was too exhausted to mind.

“Rolling around with the cattle again, are we cousin?” Aislinn, a cousin of similar age to Ella, spoke. She was standing proud aside her mother, her tall body statuesque and the jade green bodice of her superbly crafted gown hugged her breasts so tightly that Ella wondered if the red in Aislinn’s cheeks was due to the heat from the fire place or the blood pooling in her face with no access to drain. Aislinn was the queen of impeccably timed and particularly thorny jabs. She could even recall when, years before, Ella had rescued a young calf stuck in a foot of thick, merciless mud with her bare hands.

“No, cousin,” Ella said, hinting a smile, “I have not had such an opportunity since we were young enough to be permitted to play in the mud. Unless I missed something. Where is Bethany tonight, by the way?”

Aislinn smirked, ignoring the polite reference to her identical twin sister. Of course Bethany wasn’t there, Ella reminded herself. Bethany had undoubtedly heard every vile thing there was to say about Ella and didn’t see the need to venture into the cold night sky just to provide an audience for her mother.

The glare on Isolda’s face was cast in anger.

“Isolda,” Ella said, reciprocating at least the soberness of her aunt’s mood if not the wrath of it, “I apologize if my appearance offends you. I was just about to bathe and then retire for the night.”

“You’ll need to do more than bathe, child, if you think you can get the stench of refuse off of you.” Isolda’s declaration was quick and cutting. Even the silence seemed to cower beneath her stare, as if it was tethered to the woman’s facial cues.

“Well, dear Auntie,” Ella said, unmoved, “I shall do my best.”

“Just what do you think you were doing today?” Aislinn demanded, a caricature of her mother. Isolda raised her hand to her daughter without taking her gaze off of Ella. Aislinn went quiet, though her face was about to fulminate with unspoken antagonism. Isolda spoke when she knew her impulsive daughter had momentarily swallowed her hostility.

“You know very well that your actions today, and earlier this week, have severe consequences for all of us,” Isolda sued.

Ella was completely still. She didn’t need to ask how news of her sojourn into Kersley reached Isolda’s ears. Ella had known for some time that her scheming aunt had eyes everywhere.

“Your father,
my brother
, would roll over in his grave if he knew how you persist in dragging our good name through all that is base and feral in this world,” Isolda went on. “He may have tolerated your insubordinance when you were a child mostly to curb your incessant tantrums and humor his equally careless wife, but you and I both know we are not so lucky. How could you be so restless? How could you do this to him?”

Ella knew that her heart had long ago thickened its walls to the disapproval of her aunt, and so she felt it only logical to correct Isolda’s contention.

“I find it baffling you would say these things, Aunt Isolda,” Ella implored, “for the last memory I have of my father was seeing him clutch his chest and cry out to my mother, begging her to hold him in his moments of anguish. He always said that when he died, he wanted to seamlessly enter the gates of eternity from the arms of one angel to another. And my mother did stay with him, for so long after his spirit left his body that she had to be physically removed from his side. All the while she professed her love for him; he was the man who’d taught her to be silly, to ride a horse, use a sword, play with a puppy, and all those noble things! He was the man who’d reminded her ceaselessly that she was indeed perfect, in spite of all her self-doubt. That was my father. That was
your
brother!”

Ella felt the tear flow down her nose and tasted the saltiness as it found its way to her lips. So her heart hadn’t been so thick. Where once the silence cowered in fear, it now rested in mild vindication. For Isolda’s tirade had been dammed. But not tempered. Damming the surging water only succeeded in intensifying its rage. Isolda would never approve of her niece. But it was becoming more than just disapproval. Ella knew it.

Exits were made with no conversation; no customary well-wishes. Ella preferred it that way. She knew better than to assume this would quiet Isolda for long. It never did. But she hoped it would be at least long enough for her to take a bath.

He watched as the black carriage bucked into motion and disappeared into the night’s landscape. For a chateau built with the sturdiest of stone, he’d been able to hear quite a bit of the unfriendly exchange taking place within its walls only a few short minutes ago. He’d been watching Ella Delaquix for some time. He’d even followed her on one occasion as she visited her friends in Kersley. It was almost time. It had been fifteen years and his patience was becoming unbearable. He wondered, as he had many times before, if he was wise to be so elusive in his approach to her. For he’d seen that there was potential for her to truly understand him, assist him willingly, perhaps even happily. But her happiness was the least of his priorities at that moment. Even his happiness mattered not. The course that lay ahead for him was one of sheer duty.

And revenge.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Ella slept in much later than was typical for her. When she woke, however, she felt little rejuvenation. She’d been psychically exhausted from the previous day’s activities but, even more so, mentally drained. It was common for Isolda to tear away at her niece’s daily equilibrium and Ella was not yet any thing close to a master of her emotions. The previous night had proven that.

“Shake it off, child,” Marion said as she helped Ella dress. “’Tis all rooted in jealousy, the way she treats you.” Ella was listening well, but did not look at Marion, who went on. “I’d snap back at her like a badger if I didn’t feel sorry for her.”