Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella (5 page)

She had no answer for him. Gabriel Solange was a person that Ella could never have prepared for. Shrouded in every variant of mystery she could imagine, he’d only been in her life a matter of minutes. But no one that she’d known her entire life had ever captivated her like he had done from the second he’d held her in his arms. She felt within herself the spirit of her mother, compelling her to close her eyes and risk falling into oblivion if there was a chance she’d get caught up in a gust of wind and elevated to the world only a few inches above the one she knew, but miles in front.

Take this chance. It is a fool who believes chances do not expire.

But then she felt her father’s strong, warm hand on her shoulder. Her father, who had loved his only daughter enough to share with her that while chance was a gift from life, sensibility was a gift from God.

You may compromise your sensibility for a chance to live in this stranger’s world. But you are not the only one who would be forced to forfeit their peace and security.

Did Gabriel see the wrestling that was taking place within her mind and heart? Ella would have guessed it was quite apparent. But he did not say anything. He merely watched and waited.

“Gabriel,” she said, wishing there was someway
not
to see him, “I don’t know how to…” She stalled.

Gabriel spoke with fervor. “Before you answer, let me tell you this: You will not be so indecisive when you learn why I chose you.”

Ella took a deep breath and listened intently.

“This task is not anything to be taken lightly,” he went on. “I have been watching you for some time, Ella Delaquix. I have watched as you inherited the role of mistress to this rather large estate and became the steward of more than most women, especially of your age, could handle. But you did, quite impressively from what I have seen.”

Ella felt the spider of hostility creep into her veins. She wasn’t sure what enraged her more: his unrepentant admission to spying on her or his ignorance that not only was the Delaquix estate overseen by women as long as Ella had been alive but Gabriel’s assumption that any man, even her father, could have done a better job of it.

“I know I am supposed to be flattered by that,” Ella said, remembering that her father’s dagger was still in her hand, “but I ask you kindly to carry on in detail only and spare me any personal opinion of my skill, gender incompetence, or anything pertaining thereto. It is quite late, if you haven’t noticed.”

Though it was almost indiscernible, Gabriel smiled.

“Very well,” he said, still with no emotion but perhaps a dash of humility, “I will cut to the core of it. At risk of it making you even more irate, I will tell you that I have seen many of your encounters with the commander of King William’s royal army, one Captain Wilhelm Thurlow DeGent.”

Ella felt her heart jolt and the spider of mere hostility transform into a beast that overcame her, filling her with rage and panic.

“You bastard! Who do you think you are?” Ella snapped, allowing the volume of her voice to rise. Gabriel stepped toward her, but not to insist she lower her voice. He wanted to assure her.

“I know Thurlow DeGent is harassing you at the most intolerable level,” he asserted, coolly but arduously. “I give you my word it was never my intention to let him harm you if I ever suspected he might do so. And it was also not my intention to tell you this merely to upset you. But you must ask yourself why it is I would mention him at all.”

Ella waited, refusing to fall apart in that moment of torturous vulnerability.

“Ella,” Gabriel said, inching closer to her still, “Captain Thurlow is the man that betrayed and murdered my brother.”

When Ella had run out her last tear, Isabella took her daughter’s head and laid it against her heart.

“Do you hate my
face?” she asked the small child.

“Of course not, Mama,” Ella said in a tiny voice. “You are the loveliest person of all.”

“But I gave my face to you, sweetheart.”

“How? You still have it, Mama.”

Her mother laughed.

“Well,” she said to Ella, “I suppose then that I asked God to make another one, just like mine, and put it on you. And you know, daughter, it wasn’t until I saw your face that I started liking mine as well. But yours is extra special.”

“Why?”

“Because it reflects only how you see yourself. People will tell you that it is they who determine what you are and what you are not. But they are wrong.”

“They are?”

“Yes. Your face is what you want it to be. If you do not want to be beautiful (which I am afraid you always will be), then let yourself be plain. Or crazy. Or funny looking!” Ella laughed as her mother ruffled her blond hair. Her mother continued speaking while she chuckled.

“Or mysterious, or dramatic, or—“

“Or like a fish!” Ella squealed, sucking her cheeks into her mouth and pursing her lips. Her mother laughed and mimicked her daughter, planting a wet “fish” kiss on her forehead.

“It is your face, little Ella,” Isabella promised, squeezing her daughter tighter. “Only yours.”

Chapter Four

Marion didn’t bother disguising her astonishment or her emphatic disapproval. Ella had never been one to cower beneath the blanket of social decorum. She cared little for its rules or the consequences if one were to shirk such etiquette, indirectly or blatantly. Marion knew this about Ella and admired her for it. She even went so far as to encourage Ella and boast her own hand in Ella’s proprietary freedom. But now she had pushed boundaries even Marion felt were in place to protect and benefit societal structure and even Ella herself.

“He was here all night?” Marion beseeched, fluttering behind Ella as she made her way down the corridor hall toward the kitchen.

“Well, yes, dear Marion,” Ella answered, refusing to be distracted from her errand. “I wasn’t very well going to make him sleep in the barn. We spoke until the wee hours of the morning and then I escorted him to Barrow’s old quarters.”

It was a lie; she and Gabriel hardly spoke at all before she invited him to reside in her home.

“Barrow?” Marion all but shouted, shocked that Frome’s deceased son’s bedroom was being used to house a transient. “Ella, how could you?” Marion had known Barrow since he was a strapping teenage boy who came with his widowed father to work for the Delaquix family. Some years later, he was killed in a tavern brawl that, to Frome’s severe disconsolation, the impetuous teenager had instigated.

“Marion, please,” Ella said, halting her actions and turning toward her trusted friend and mentor. “It has been vacant for so many years. I would never allow anyone to disrespect Barrow. I cared deeply for him as well, you know.”

Marion felt her temper calm a bit, assured that Barrow’s memory was alive, well, and respected. “I know that, love,” Marion said as Ella went back to retrieving random items from the kitchen, “but it is not because of Barrow that I worry so. You know nothing about this man. All you know is that he breaks into people’s homes and very well might have –“

“Might have what?” Ella asked, meeting Marion’s eyes with a smile.

Marion didn’t have an answer, but her argument was far from flimsy.

“What are his intentions?” she petitioned. “You say he needs your assistance to get justice for his dead brother. But what if he is lying to you? What if he wants to hurt you or steal your property or something far worse?”

Marion’s volume swelled as she came to the end of her list of discrepancies, clearly having saved the most horrendous innuendos for last. Ella concluded her errand in the kitchen and made her way back toward the hallway with Marion in tow. When they were at last back at the threshold to Barrow’s old bedroom, Ella stopped and placed her empty palm on Marion’s shoulder.

“Marion,” Ella said, all illusions of loving banter gone, “there are many questions that still need answering, for me as well as you. I intend to leave no stone unturned. And as for me trusting this man, I will say I do nothing of the sort. I will give him no money, no access to anything of value in my home or on my person, nor will I let him stay if I feel for one moment that he is here under false pretenses.” Ella went on, but caught Marion’s eyes in such a way as to communicate more than words, but feelings and memories. It was a connection the two women had shared most of their lives.

Ella continued. “I know how foolish I must sound to you. But you were not there last night when I spoke to him. I have not lived as many years as you and I do not pretend that I have much experience in the proclivities of men, be they con artists or gentleman. But I must follow the instincts of my mind and heart. And when I give heed to both, I am impressed that he is telling me the truth.”

Marion was blank faced for only a moment and then shook her head, displaying a shallow grin that admitted defeat but reserved the tenure of maturity and the right to, at least confrontationally, bear arms again. Ella released Marion’s shoulder and knocked heavily on the large oak door. There was no vocal permission from inside to enter, but Ella took Marguerite’s frilly, one-sided conversational dialogue from behind the partition as admission. With Marion close behind, almost like taking shelter, Ella entered the chamber.

Gabriel Solange was seated, his back to the doorway. He didn’t need to turn, however, for Ella to see the miraculous transformation that had taken place. Where once were dark, curly locks of wild, tangled hair was now the svelte, contained, perfectly trimmed black hair of a teenage boy trying to please his hyper-conservative patriarch. Its blackness was still striking but the rigid hold of Gabriel’s newly cropped mane made it appear almost ominous. Perhaps the auspiciousness was better attributed to his unwavering posture. Ella could not speak for disbelief but Marion was simply confused. The man that Ella had described depicted as much a vagrant as Marion had ever encountered on the muddy streets of Gwent. Whomever Gabriel Solange was, he was not as Marion had imagined he would be. She could see no more than the back of his head, but it was enough for Marion to understand what Ella was talking about. This was not a common criminal. Gabriel was still and composed, not slouched or fidgety. The man was tall with broad, inflexible shoulders and a composure that resembled the marble statues Marion had seen in the halls of Rome as a child. When he stood, however, and turned toward the women, locating Ella first and then shifting his gaze toward Marion, she found herself completely dumbfounded. Gabriel’s chest was smooth, pale-colored and unashamedly solid. His waist was narrow and it met his hips in perfect alignment. Marion did not know what to make of his face. It was not a typical handsomeness. Gabriel’s face was long, his cheekbones high and well pronounced. His eyes were a pale blue and the top of his nose wrinkled with every twitch of his facial muscles. Perhaps, Marion contemplated, “handsome” was not the best word to describe the man. All she could assess in its place was the word “stunning” in every possible variant, both engaging and austere. But his stunning looks, however, left Marion even more unsettled. This mysterious drifter was not a common criminal, all commonality having vanished entirely when he stood. But that did not mean he was not a worse sort: a true believer, the kind of villain that carried the creed of righteousness in his weaponry. Marion had known such offenders in her lifetime. She knew there was nothing more alluring than true conviction.

“My goodness,” Ella said, clearing her voice in a sincere effort to keep from stuttering, “you certainly clean up well.” Marguerite stepped out from behind him, her apron speckled with curly little traces of Gabriel’s once-long hair. She was beaming with pride at her work. Gabriel was as stoic as he’d ever been. He twitched his chin and thanked Ella almost inaudibly, as though it was a strange sensation to him to receive a compliment. His timidity didn’t bother Marguerite, though. She proceeded to brush off Gabriel’s shoulders and slide her fingers through his hair, in the back. Now that he was standing, she could no longer reach the top of his head. Marguerite’s motions intrigued Gabriel as she swept her hands over his back and shoulders. His eyes followed her movements as she went from side to side. Marguerite extended her hand to Ella, obviously ready for whatever item she’d sent her to retrieve from the kitchen. Ella did not see Marguerite’s gesture. She could only return Gabriel’s stare. He had shifted his attention from Marguerite to Ella and the awareness carried with it a strange, uncanny heaviness. While Ella found herself, for the first time in her life, relishing in a man’s concentration, she could take no pleasure from Gabriel in that juncture. He stared at her not as a man bewitched by beauty or even entertained by charm. He scanned her almost predatorily.

“Ella!” Marguerite hollered, startling both Ella and Gabriel. “Do you have it?” Ella looked down at the item in her left hand.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, flustered, walking a white cloth and a tiny blade to Marguerite, “I am sorry.”

“Oh, it’s all right, love,” Marguerite said, physically pulling at Gabriel to get him to sit back down in the iron chair facing the window. “Who wouldn’t get a little lightheaded with such a burly, jaw-dropping man in her bed?”

“What?!” Marion shrieked, shooting her glare toward Ella, who was hiding her cherry-red face in her hands. Even Gabriel, now seated again, looked up at Marguerite in utter shock.

“Oh calm yourself, missy,” Marguerite riposted, laughing, “I was just being literal. All beds in this home belong to the lady of the house, none other than our sweet Ella here. And her handsome stranger took refuge in one of ‘em last night, did he not?”

Marion exhaled in both relief and impatience with Marguerite.

“Curse you, demon woman,” Marion said, charging at Marguerite with full design to punish her, if not physically, then verbally and right to her face.

“Marguerite,” Ella pled, her face still hot, “control yourself, please.” Having Gabriel in the room had made Ella abashed by her friends in a way she’d never been and it bothered her to be so.