The Fairy Godmother (4 page)

But the hiring was the chief thing, and tomorrow she would be ready for it. She would wear her new clothing, with the frying pan in her hand and a dust rag tucked into the band of her skirt, showing that she was an all-around servant. And she would take the first offer that came from anyone who looked kind. That was all she wanted; kindness, and a good master or mistress.

But she still had hopes, even if they were much reduced, and when the moon had left her window, she fell asleep, thinking of them.
A kind old priest, whose housekeeper has gone to live on the generous pension he granted her. A busy scholar, absentminded, who needs looking after. A large family, with a dozen children, happy and easy-natured. A great lord, whose housekeeper is looking for maids who can be trusted….

And so at last, her hopes became dreams, and her treach
erous dreams sent her down paths she had given up, or thought she had—into stories—

—and the handsome son of the great lord fell ill, and no one would tend him but the brave little scullery maid, who nursed him back to health at the risk of her life. And when he came to himself, and looked into her pale, grave face, and knew what she had done, he fell in love—

She awoke at dawn, with Fleur's roosters telling the whole world that it was more than time to be up and about. And if there were tears soaking her makeshift pillow, there was, at least, no one to see.

F
leur's roosters had the habit of crowing before the sun was actually up—but Elena was used to getting up that early anyway. Madame Klovis had been a demanding mistress, and her daughters took after her. She had managed to keep a full staff busy; when all that was left was Elena and Jacques, there had always been too much to do, and not enough time to do it in.

So this morning she woke, as she always did, immediately and alert, and although she could have gone back to sleep again, for the first time in years, to sleep late, she knew that this of all days was no time to be lazy. If she wanted a choice spot at the Mop Fair, she needed to get there soon after sunup, and she wasn't going to do that by lying in bed.

In her belongings had been the tag-end of the bar of coarse, harsh laundry soap. Somehow it had escaped being mashed into the floor, squashed into her clothing, or otherwise destroyed. Appearances were terribly important at the Mop Fair, and she was determined
not
to be “Ella Cinders,” not when she was trying to make a good impression.

So once she had finished breakfast, she brought everything she owned down into the kitchen and filled the sinks and all the pots with water from the pump. She packed up everything but her new clothing, a dust rag and the pan in a bundle, then stood naked in the middle of the kitchen and scrubbed and rinsed herself until she was pink, and her hair and skin squeaked with cleanliness. Only then did she put on the new clothing. She bound up her hair, braiding it tightly and confining it under the kerchief. Then she shouldered her burden, and marched straight out the front door. She took a deep breath on the threshold, and closed the door behind her, walking away without looking back, because she knew that if she did, she would never have the courage to go on with this.

She paused for a moment in the thin, grey light of morning, looking at the silent—well, silent except for the roosters—house next door. She had hoped that Fleur or Blanche would be about—but there was no sign of either of them as she passed their front gate. She closed her eyes, made a last, silent prayer, and strode resolutely towards the square, and (she hoped) her new future.

The town square had some movement in it, a few people walking about among the stalls and along the shops. The sun was just below the level of the buildings now. The
rooftops and ridges were gilded with sunlight, though the square was still in shadow. The men lined up on the cattle-pen side, the women, along the front of the Town Hall. The most desirable spaces were at either end, for those nearest to the ends would be seen first, and Elena took one next to the first-comers, in a place that would be in shade during most of the afternoon. She was one of the first to take her place, right behind a plump woman with a suspicious eye, a pair of young girls with dust rags who looked like sisters, and an old lady with a nursemaid's cap and a motherly look to her. The stalls and booths for the Fair had been set up last night, but only a single hot pie stand was manned this early. Her mouth watered at the smell of the fresh pies—but pies weren't for the likes of her, without even a sou to her name. She had the bread and cheese made up into sandwiches in her bundle. That, and water, would have to see her through the day.

More and more women and girls straggled up to join the line as the Fair came to life. More stalls opened, and the air began to fill with the shouts of barkers hawking their wares or entertainments, the scent of fried food, sausages, meat pies, sweet-stuffs. Eventually, by the time most folk had finished breakfast and the shops were opening, the Fair was in full voice, and the first prospective masters and mistresses were walking the line, examining what was on offer there.

The two girls went first, to a woman in a farmer's smock, who was looking for a pair of maids-of-all-work. They seemed perfectly pleased to be chosen, and Elena took that as a good omen.

Every time someone paused in front of her, Elena looked them straight in the eyes, recited her abilities, and prayed.
Someone kind. Someone kind.
But most merely looked at her and moved on. For some, the reason was obvious; women with husbands with hungry eyes, or sons old enough to begin thinking about girls. No one wanted to hire a girl who could, all too readily, become the plaything of someone in the family. It was hard enough to keep a girl away from the trouble that came from fellow servants and farmworkers; at least there she could presumably be relied on to have enough common sense not to fall into a haymow and into pregnancy unless there was a wedding in the offing. But a pretty girl had no defenses against a predatory master. As a sheltered girl of a wealthy family, Elena had known nothing of such things; as one of the lowly servants, she had learned a great deal. Madame's servants gossiped constantly, and it hadn't been long before they were ignoring her as so unimportant that it was safe to gossip in front of her.

For the rest of those possible employers, though, she could not even begin to guess why they passed her by. It wasn't that she was expecting too much; in fact, she could have asked far more than the wages of a maid-of-all-work. The lowest wages, all that she asked for, were set by law; she was a plain cook and general housemaid, and she should get a shilling a week, two suits of clothing (or household uniform), bed and board and twice a year, a three-day holiday. So why were so many people looking at her, taking a second look, then passing on to choose someone else? It became harder to understand as the noontime came, and the
strongest, brightest-looking, and most competent of the other girls were chosen, leaving her clearly the best of the lot available.

At noon, a boy with a bucket came along the line with water. Elena took out her sandwiches and the least chipped of the mugs, and got a drink. The bread was dry on the outside, but she had used all of the butter on the inside, and it was no worse a meal than many she'd had under Madame.

By now, the sun was very warm, and she loosened the neck of her blouse a little, fanning herself with her dust rag; she would be glad when the shadows of the shop-buildings to the west would fall on her and the others still waiting.

Now those who were examining the women and girls moved down the line more slowly, examining the candidates with great care, for the choices were fewer. And now, something peculiar was happening.

These people looked her in the eyes, and looked away. One or two stopped, and asked her name after she had recited her qualifications. “Elena Klovis,” she said, and after a moment of blankness, they would say, as if to themselves, “Ah—Ella Cinders.” Then they would shake their heads and move on.

Finally, the explanation came, after a harried-looking woman seized on the sight of the old nursemaid with relief and a cry of “Oh, Nanny Parkin! I did not know
you
would be here!” The old woman quickly made an advantageous bargain for herself, but then turned to Elena just before leaving the line.

“I didn't want to blight your hopes, dearie,” Nanny
Parkin said, in the kindliest of tones, “but no one will hire you.”

“But—” Elena stammered.

“They know who you are, you see,” the old woman continued. “Everyone knows Ella Cinders now. Those that didn't know your tale surely do now, after what happened yesterday. No one wants to face Madame Klovis when she returns. They know she'll return, and there won't be anything left here of value when the creditors are finished but you. You see? She'll want you, she'll have some rights to you, and if someone else has you, there will be the devil to pay.”

And she picked up her own bundle, and followed her new employer. Elena stared after her in shock and dismay. And when she glanced over at some of the others in the line, she saw nods—or else, averted gazes.

She almost gave up. But—

No,
she decided.
No, I will not give up. There are still farmers here, and merchants, and maybe they need someone. They won't be able to make a choice until their goods are sold and their purchases made. I will stay.
People from outside of town wouldn't be afraid of Madame. They would know that Madame would never stir out into the countryside to find the fly-away stepdaughter. There was still a chance, a good chance….

But as the shadows stretched across the square, as time passed and stalls and booths closed, as the line of women thinned, and finally the two lines of those who wished to be hired were combined into one, men to the right, women to the left, her hopes thinned also.

Still, she stayed. Stayed as the last of the food-stalls closed
and there was no one left but a dubious-looking sausage-seller hawking equally dubious sausages, as even the disagreeable-looking cook was trundled away by a cross old man. She stayed, until the sun was setting and there was no one left except her, the dispirited sausage-seller, and one other. This was a gangly boy with no tokens of experience, all elbows and knees, wearing clothing that was three sizes too big for him apparently made of tent-canvas. There
was
another person as well, but he was not hoping for hire—this was the father that was keeping the boy company.

“Y'ant t' go naow?” the man said to the boy, who shook his head stubbornly, though his face bore an expression that was as desperate as Elena felt.

The moment the last of the sun went below the horizon, she would
have
to go. The Fair would be over, and there would be no chance of finding a place until next year. Oh, officially it wasn't over until midnight, but no one would be
here
, looking for someone to hire, after the sun set.

Laundry,
she thought, despondently.
I can take in laundry. At least, as long as I can keep the creditors from taking the house. I can keep those hens that Blanche offered me. The kitchen garden will feed them and me both. At least, as long as I can keep the creditors from taking the house—

Then, just as the sun sank behind the buildings to touch the horizon, came an unexpected noise—

It came from the street leading into the square, the sound of hooves and wheels rattling on the cobbles. Which was odd—the stall-holders would not come to take down their booths and stalls until tomorrow, and anyone coming to
stay at the inn was already there. Could it be—was there the slightest chance—?

She looked up, peering down towards the street.

The vehicle rattled into the square; an odd little dog-cart, driven by a little old lady dressed in a quite eccentric outfit of clothing. It could have been gypsy clothing, if gypsies were neat as a pin, impeccably groomed, and wore beautifully sewn and ornamented garments that looked far newer than Elena's. It was certainly bright enough to be gypsy clothing; scarlet boots with black stitching, blue skirt embroidered with red and yellow flowers and green leaves, black bodice, yellow blouse, scarlet vest, and wildly embroidered black shawl. The old woman wore her hair in a fat knot at the back of her head, from which little curling wisps were escaping.

The cart was as odd as the driver, also scarlet, painted all over in multicolored flowers. And the horse—or perhaps, pony—was the oddest of all. It was grey with huge eyes, had floppy ears, a hunched back, and was no bigger than a mastiff, but it was wildly strong, for it pulled that cart with no perceptible effort at all, and looked altogether jaunty and proud of itself. And it wore a straw hat, both floppy ears pulled through holes and falling over the brim.

“Ah!” the old lady said, pulling up in front of Elena. “Good. You haven't gone home; that speaks well for your spirit! I'm very glad to see it. Would you like a position?”

“Ah—” Elena said, looking startled, into a pair of the bluest, kindest eyes she had ever seen.
Someone kind—
She did not even have to think. It didn't matter what was wanted. “Ah—yes! Yes, please!”

“In with you then, my dear!” the old lady said, and Elena wasted not a second; she tossed her bundle into the back of the cart and scrambled up beside the old woman. She didn't even stop to ask what the position was—

As they drove out of the square, she heard the man ask his son again, “Y'ant t' go naow?” and heard the boy say, stubbornly, “No. Tain't tomorrow, yet. I'm stayin' till midnight.” She looked back at them, until the cart turned a corner and they were lost behind buildings, wondering what would happen to the poor lad.

The little horse picked up speed, trotting with all his might and main, still showing no signs that the cart was too heavy for him, acting as if, in fact, it was lighter than thistledown. As they passed under the wall that encircled the town, and through the town gates, dusk descended.

The little horse picked up his pace, until he was galloping, his tiny hooves flying—

There was a
bump
, and Elena clutched the side of the cart. The old woman was making no attempt to rein her horse in, and he was going awfully fast. In fact, they were right out of sight of the town walls now, the cart bumping and rattling along at a rate that put her heart right in her throat!

The cart gave a lurch, a bump, a wiggle, and a huge jolt that sent it flying into the air—

—and—it—didn't—come—down—

She gasped, and clutched at both the side of the cart and the old lady's arm, as they rose right up into the twilight sky, heading for the stars.

She tried to cry out in fear—instead, she squeaked. The
old lady laughed, and tied off the reins. Elena looked down at the ground, and immediately regretted it.

“Don't look again, my dear,” the old woman said, cheerfully. “At least, not until you get used to it.”

Elena tried to say something, but nothing would come out of her throat. Panic was the mildest description of what she felt right now—

A Witch! She must be a Witch!
That was the only
possible
explanation for this. A powerful Witch—a
very
powerful Witch, one that made Fleur look like—like—Elena!
No wonder she wasn't afraid of Madame, the way everyone else was. If she can make a cart and horse fly, she could turn Madame into a toad with a snap of her fingers!