My head is jerked backward as Cinderella's drops my brush from her hands. The clutz. I turn around and slap her for her foolishness. "Be careful, you fool. I already have a headache from being up so long at those worthless balls. I don't need you making it even worse." I touch my hand to my temple, wishing I could rub away the throbbing behind my eyes. The girl whispers her apology from the floor. She is so pathetic. No one would guess from her dirty rags and her smudged face that her father had once been one of the greatest men in the kingdom. She is a disgrace to my name and his.
"Oh get up and finish," I say with a little kick at her knees. I turn back to my mirror and remember the doorman'so message. "Do you know what he wants?" I ask.
"He requests a meeting with all the women of the house. Something about trying a slipper on. It has to do with some scientific study of body shapes that the Viscount of Bellamy is conducting." He looks past me and I follow his gaze. The color has drained from Cinderella's face and she looks like she might faint.
"What is the matter with you, girl?" I ask sharply.
She speaks so quietly I can barely hear her. "I'm sorry, Madame. I'm not feeling very well this morning. I think I just need some water."
I flick my hand at her in dismissal. "Be quick about it. Then fetch my daughters and bring them to the library. We will meet the Viscount's man there. Bronson, show him in." The doorman bows and retreats and I make my way to my late husband's library.
I hate this room. It smells of decay and dust and old animal, but even after all these years, I dare not change it. This is where Sir Eccles entertained visitors. This is where he discussed political matters with dukes, earls, lords, and princes. This room is what everyone thinks of when Sir Eccles is mentioned. As much as I hate it, this room gives us the status I need to win good marriages for my daughters.
My daughters enter the room yawning. They have clearly just woken up. Denise is still in her nightdress and has merely thrown a cloak over it for a pretense of modesty. No matter. The Viscount won't see how she looks. But he'll know we participated in another of his studies.
The man is a complete bore, constantly droning on about his newest great passion in life. I would much rather be eating toast than listening to him prattle away, but he does tend to favor those who participate in his schemes, and the Viscount's favors are not to be turned away.
Muriel gracelessly slumps down into the chair next to me. Normally I would reprimand her and demand better etiquette from a lady, but I feel much the way she looks this morning. I really should not have had quite so much to drink last night.
We sit in silence for only a few moments until the door opens again and Cinderella leads in a short, balding man carrying a small black chest beneath his arm. I rise to welcome him, but the girls don't even move.
The man bows and begins a bored speech which sounds as if he has given it a hundred times already this morning. "Good morning, Madame Eccles, ladies. My Lord the Viscount of Bellamy thanks you for your participation in his scientific study this morning." As if anyone would refuse. "He asks only that you try on this slipper which I carry with me." As he finishes, he sets the chest on a little table and lifts the lid. Inside, nestled in silks of the finest make is a small, beautiful glass shoe.
I roll my eyes at the Viscount's fanciful dreams. No one could fit their foot into that shoe. Before I can tell the man to be off, Muriel jumps from her seat. She is as if she'd never felt ill at all.
"What happens if the shoe fits," she asks. I hear the sweet innocence in her voice and know at once that she has seen some significance that I have missed.
I let the man answer, uninterrupted. "The Viscount asks that I escort any women who fit the shoe to his home, where he can do further research for his study."
Muriel nods politely. "Would you excuse us, sir, while I discuss with my mother whether I should participate in this study?"
The man agrees and closes the lid on his small treasure. Cinderella opens the door for him to leave. That girl has been standing in the corner this whole time, lazy as usual. I call to her, "Cinderella, show him to the parlor and then get back to your duties. The fireplaces need sweeping out. We have no use for you here anymore."
"Actually, Madame," the man interrupts, putting a hand out to stop Cinderella from retreating, "I have been ordered to ask every woman in the kingdom to try the slipper on."
I laugh at his absurdity. "Surely the Viscount has no use for a scullery maid."
"She is a woman, is she not?" He asks. The question does not need an answer so he continues. "Then she must try the slipper, if she will."
Muriel glances at me furtively and shakes her head as discreetly as she can, but I cannot refuse the Viscount without offending him. "Fine, she may try the slipper if she wishes. But I can't see that it will do the Viscount any good. She is only a servant girl." He bows again and they shut the door to the library as they go out.
Muriel immediately pounces on me. "That shoe must fit my foot, Mother! You have to make it fit my foot." I reel backward at her ferocity and stumble into the seat behind me.
"Calm yourself, Muriel," I demand. "It is only another one of the Viscount's silly studies. Why should you care so much?"
"Because I have seen that slipper, before, Mother. Last night. That is her slipper. The girl who was dancing with Edmond."
"Prince Edmond," I remind her. "You mustn't be so forward about him. He is royalty."
"I don't care, Mother. Don't you see? He is looking for her. He doesn't know who she is and he is using the Viscount to find her!" Breath, child. "If my foot fits into the slipper, I have another chance at him. This is it, Mother. This is my last chance to be queen." If crowns were given out based on the amount of passion a person could display, my daughter would be queen.
I ask her if she is sure it is the same slipper and she assures me it is. I jump a little as Denise speaks. I had quite forgotten she was here. "There's no way you can fit into that slipper, Muriel," she says. "You're much too big. That was the most tiny slipper I've ever seen. The most beautiful, but the most tiny."
She is right. "No. She won't fit. But if it means a chance at being queen, we will make it fit." I grab them both by the arm and drag them away from the stinking smell of the library. "To the kitchen, both of you."
"What are we going to do?" Denise asks childishly.
I pull them along behind me. One of my daughters will marry the prince. "We're going to make the shoe fit."
No comments:
Post a Comment