Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella (7 page)

Ella nodded, perilously close to feeling patronized.

“Queen Arabella prides herself on her decorum and the preservation of the finest customs of the upper classes,” explained Gabriel. “She herself was the daughter of a duke when William took her as his wife. Her attention to societal trends is devout, almost religious in nature. So obsessed with gossip and social politics, she even maintains an entourage of upper-class women who keep her privy to all varieties of salacious information. These woman, more than a dozen of them, act as though they are agents of the Queen. They are every bit as driven by social standing as she is.”

Ella recalled her meeting the previous morning with the Baroness Nicolla Delancelle. Of course! If the baroness was not already a member of the queen’s secret society, then she was surely pining for a place of her own in the organization.

Gabriel continued, fluidly. “This ball the queen intends to throw for Leopold will be for all eligible maidens. But eligibility in Arabella’s eyes has not to do with age but rests solely on a maiden’s station and her ability to personify those traits the Queen prizes above all else, even if it means Leopold will marry a woman he does not love or who fails to love him. Even with your looks and charming exuberance, Ella, you will not receive an invitation to the ball unless Arabella’s allies deem you a worthy attendee. And even if they were willing to overlook….your…um—” He stopped.

An ominous undertone seeped into Gabriel’s dialogue. Couldn’t he foresee the dangerous territory into which he was embarking? Until that minute, Ella hadn’t even known such an alliance of royalty and citizenry under the queen’s tutelage even existed. Her ignorance surely did not bode well for a plan that seemed to rely almost completely on her role in her upper-class community.

“Gabriel,” Ella contested, “I must tell you that if my invitation to a royal ball is the bread and butter of your grand design for revenge, you may have to make some modifications. I have not been officially expelled from said aristocracy, but I fear the unspoken banishment has been well underway for sometime.”

Gabriel tucked his chin toward his collar and lifted his eyes. Did she think he would have studied her every move for at least two years and not witnessed her more-than-willing public exile?

“I am more than aware of your contemptuousness for the rigors of social hierarchy,” Gabriel said, “and, though it may come as a shock, I was encouraged by such. It offered evidence of your potential willingness to be my accomplice in this—this—”

“Scheme?” Ella said.

Gabriel’s face was blank. But he nodded, faintly. “Yes,” he said, “it was indeed necessary. But now such bold and brazen indiscretion will only be a hindrance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your re-initiation into the graces of Arabella and her social minions is crucial, indeed vital, to my stratagem. You
must
be invited to Prince Leopold’s ball and be in good standing when you are. I see no other way for you to make your way into his good graces.”

“Re-initiation?” Ella said, puzzled. “I can only guess you want me to undo everything I’ve ever done that isolated me from my social peers. How is that possible? I have one month, according to your timetable, to rectify a lifetime of….’tenacity’, as you so endearingly put it. I do not find such an operation achievable. The aristocracy of Gwent is not known for its forgiving nature.”

“That is why I will provide for you a means and a motive.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You didn’t think I would make you shoulder this entire burden by yourself, did you, Ella?” Gabriel posed with half a smile. “That would be less than chivalrous of me. The way I see it, your best chance to re-enter social circles is to personally introduce a fellow aristocrat, unknown to all, that has found his way to Gwent and, more specifically, the Delaquix family.”

Ella was lost for words, even those that composed legitimate questions. Gabriel went on.

“It is really not so complicated when you think about it. Follow closely. If there were a person—a family member—who, for some reason, had to reside here at the Delaquix manner, you would have the ideal pretext to ingratiate yourself back into the echelons of the upper class. It would be perfectly acceptable, even expected, that you host a social gathering of sorts to introduce said family member. Furthermore, the powers that be would not be able to resist the opportunity to meet a new aristocrat. Not when there is more potential for gossip and even scandal than they have enjoyed for a while. Superiority can, after all, be so very dull.”

“Who?” Ella tried not to shout. “You make it sound like I have a guest in my storage basement that I have been hiding away for just an opportunity like this.”

“Not quite.”

“Well, by all means, let’s keep me guessing!” Ella retorted, tossing her hand in the air.

Gabriel chuckled, finding the espionage more entertaining than he thought it could be. “Why else would I have changed my appearance this morning?” he posed. “What difference would it make what my hair, or eyebrows for that matter, looked like?”

Ella was at a loss for more than words at that point. She could hardly breathe.

“You?!”

Gabriel grinned and Ella, in her exasperation, hardly noticed how remarkably sparkling a smile it was.

“But—but—you must be teasing me! You intend to pose as a long-lost member of my family? Who exactly?”

“Well,” Gabriel said, his smile dropping and his eyes focused in thought, “that is where we must get creative. You would know better than I what scenario is most plausible. Perhaps a cousin, an estranged brother from before your father and mother were married or-—“

“An uncle.”

When Ella said it, Gabriel stopped cold.

“Excuse me?” he uttered.

That’s right Ella
, her inner voice chided,
just dig the hole deeper
.

“An uncle,” Ella repeated, unsure how she was able to recall anything with how frantically her mind was racing at that moment. “My mother has a younger brother named Peter. I only met him once, when I was very small. I know little about him. I always assumed that Peter was a gambler and often needed help from my father to pay off a loan to some seedy people. Maybe I am wrong about his gambling vice, but my mother and father fought about Peter and it always seemed to me that he was not welcome in our home. Marion would be able to tell you more.”

Gabriel looked away, possessed by vigorous energy. Ella could not help but fear the worst.

“Perfect,” he said breathily, his hand in a fist shelved beneath his chin.

“Perfect? You are insane,” Ella objected, shaking her head in disbelief. But they were mostly just words to stall her own descent into lunacy. Of course it would work. It
was
perfect.

“You may be right,” Gabriel said, a spring in his step as he strode past Ella toward the chamber door, “but your Uncle Peter has amended his foolish ways and is back in Gwent to spend time with his favorite niece!”

“His only niece,” Ella whispered beneath her breath, though she had no idea why. How could it have made a difference at that point? Gabriel extended his hand toward the chamber handle and before he turned the knob, he turned back to Ella and grinned.

“I should have thrown him out last night,” Ella murmured to herself.

Gabriel opened the door and it lurched at him rapidly, propelled by the weight of two grown women, hunched over, one on top of the other, their ears pressed against the wood. Ella dropped her head into her hands as Marion and Marguerite toppled clumsily at Gabriel’s feet with a lumbering thud.

Thurlow stared ahead at a blank stone wall, unresponsive to the two army sergeants who were carrying on about every military-minded topic one could imagine. Normally, Thurlow was insistent on details. He demanded his men be resolute in their compliance to his orders and wanted the proof of such by way of specifics regarding the army’s day-to day-activities. Miles Gamely, the army’s head sergeant, was more than suspicious of Thurlow’s distraction that afternoon. In fact, it had been a distraction that had been going on for months. Of course Thurlow was Miles’ superior, the high constable of Gwent’s army, and the king’s bodyguard. His busyness allowed for some leeway on a routine meeting with little to report. But Miles had noticed, especially in the last year, his commander’s preoccupation with strange, inexplicable things. For one, Thurlow spent very little time with the commanders of Gwent’s army, choosing instead to associate with a group of men he’d recruited from the army to form his own garrison:
The Hussars.
There were approximately one hundred men in the group and they acted independently of the army but also under Thurlow’s command. Miles did not approve of forming a second defensive force in Gwent, this one far more elusive. For one, the army was responsible for protecting the king and his people. They were more than capable of doing so, but it became more difficult when Thurlow insisted on poaching many of the strongest and most promising soldiers to be in his own miniature battalion. Secondly, Miles knew well several of the men that Thurlow had enlisted. He had been shocked by Thurlow’s recruitment of many of them; the men were young and gifted but defiant, headstrong, irritable, and dangerously susceptible to any words designed to enflame the mind and excite the senses. It was an impetuousness that Miles and his counterparts had been trying to curb, with time. Most young men in Gwent were thrown into military life with next to no experience and little choice for a different career path. To be accepted by their comrades became tantamount to survival for the young men, sometimes even causing them to suppress or ignore principles they were taught from birth. Most of the young soldiers, with the guidance of older, more experienced mentors, could find their way through such a quaking identity crisis. Thurlow had taken for his garrison many young men who’d never had a chance for such regulation. It worried Miles greatly.

King William, however, was not worried. The old, sickly monarch was confident that Thurlow was acting in the best interest of the royal family and all of Gwent. The king trusted Thurlow like he would his own flesh and blood. It made sense to Miles, mostly. He was a teenager when an assassination attempt was made on King William and he remembered the story well. It was the stuff of legends. A high-ranking but disgruntled soldier had orchestrated a coup to take the king’s army for himself and overthrow the crown. Thurlow had been the one to stop the assassination, saving the king’s life. All, especially King William, considered Thurlow to be a hero.

Miles Gamely had grown up believing in Thurlow the “hero”. In many ways he still believed. But he could not ignore the nagging sensation that there was more to Thurlow than the legend told.

“Sir,” Miles said, getting a distracted Thurlow to focus on the conversation at hand, “what do you say to such a proposal? It would seem a beneficial discussion, don’t you think?”

Thurlow could not confess out loud that he knew of what Miles Gamely was referring. He’d been preoccupied with more pressing matters and could hardly feign interest in the sergeant’s ideas for diplomacy with the Earls of Hedensburg, Gwent’s neighbor. Two princes, Hubert and David, sons of the late King John II, ruled Hedensburg. Friendship with Hedensburg was not a priority to Thurlow. But it was to King William and Thurlow knew he must play along with the charade of diplomacy.

“That is all well and good,” Thurlow answered Miles.”Thank you for report, Sergeant.”

Miles’ comrade standing next to him, a man named Oli Roget, was perplexed and opened his mouth to beg Thurlow’s clarity and re-attentiveness. Miles stopped him. It would be no use. Thurlow did not often change his mind and he was not easy to persuade. Miles and Oli engaged in their customary salutes and made their way toward the exit of Thurlow’s chamber, deep within the castle keep. As the two men were almost to the double doors, a short man with a boyish face, blond hair and skin wet with sweat passed Miles with just a glance. Neither man said anything as the other passed. Miles was more than perturbed. He knew the soldier, James Halsty, as one of the newly enlisted soldiers in the army who was poached into the Hussars before his training was completed. Miles thought it a degradation that the young man, who’d once saluted Miles as his superior, was now breezing past him with little more than a cocky smile.

“What information do you bring, Halsty?” Thurlow enquired eagerly.

“Thus far, things are going smoothly,” Halsty responded, pleased to bring his superior good news.

“Excellent. See to it that you’ve cleared up any elements that would prove disastrous to our endeavors. I trust you can complete this task discreetly and effectively, Halsty.”

“Of course, sir.”

Halsty turned on his heel and strode confidently away from Thurlow, who was now reengaged in his previous thought process: his true duty.

Ella had been tattooed on Thurlow’s heart and mind since he’d first laid eyes on her, two years earlier. In the beginning, Ella was too young for Thurlow to engage without raising eyebrows. But then she grew in age, and Thurlow’s fascination by the pureness of the blossoming rose turned darker and more agitating. Ella was never supposed to refuse him. She’d turned others down, but he was different. They were made to be together. The other men only wanted the trophy of pure beauty to carry around on their arm. Thurlow prized more than her face, more than her body. He fed off of her willpower. He could not resist her feistiness. He wanted her soul. And he would allow no other man to have her.