After Midnight
Cinderella Then and Now
Rhys Bowen
The palace clock was chiming midnight as she ran down the steps. Behind her she heard the prince calling, “Wait! Lovely maiden, please wait. Don’t go. I don’t even know your name.” But she did not turn back, she kept on running. One of the glass slippers fell off on the steps, making her almost trip and fall, but she wrenched off the other one and kept going, barefoot. Ahead of her she could see the sparkle of the glass coach, the white horses chomping and ready to gallop away with her. She was vaguely aware of guards standing at the bottom of the steps, hearing the prince’s voice, unsure whether to apprehend her or not. She brushed past them and climbed into the coach.
“Home, quickly,” she commanded.
The coachman cracked his whip, the horses neighed, and she was flung back in her seat as they took off. Countryside flashed past in a blur until suddenly there was a flash, a crackle, and she found herself sitting on the road. She was no longer wearing the shimmering dress, but her old rags. A large pumpkin lay beside her. Mice scurried around, looking for places to hide, and the goose who had been her coachman honked forlornly.
“Oh no,” she sighed. She was a long way from home. If her step-mother and sisters arrived home before her, she would be in awful trouble. “What do I do now, fairy godmother?” she called into the night.
There was no answer. Clearly the fairy godmother had done her one good deed and retreated into another realm. Cinderella was on her own, back in the harsh reality of a long walk through a dark forest. The mice scurried to her as she stood up. She scooped them up and tucked them into her pocket. She was not about to abandon them to be prey to forest beasts. Neither would she like to be prey herself, she thought.
“Fly home,” she said to the goose. “I can’t carry you and you’d be a tasty treat for a fox.”
The goose took a few ungainly steps, wings flapping until it became airborne and flew off into the night. “If only I could fly away home,” she thought, but then she realized that she had no place she could call home any longer. With a sigh she picked up the pumpkin and set off, wincing as her bare feet contacted the rocks in the unmade road.
She had not gone far when she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. She stepped off the track, blending into the darkness of the trees. Only brigands and robbers would be out at this time of night, she thought, unless it was a coach returning from the prince’s ball. And the occupants of a grand coach were hardly likely to give a ride to someone who looked like a beggar girl. The thought crossed her mind that it might be her step-mother’s coach. Could she think up a plausible reason to stop it and ask for a ride home? She tried to think of one, but lying did not come easily to her. If Step-mother arrived home first she would think that Cinderella had shirked her duties and gone to bed, and she would lock the big front door.
“I could say that I wanted to catch a glimpse of the ball gowns,” she thought out loud. “She’d scold me and call me stupid, but surely she’d give me a ride home, or I might be too tired to make her breakfast in the morning.”
The galloping hooves drew nearer. The shapes of horsemen loomed up. Not a coach in sight. She stood very still among the bushes as they passed. Suddenly one of them gave a shout. They wheeled around and were facing her.
“You, girl!” one of them shouted. “Have you seen a coach pass this way? A glass coach?”
“No, sir,” Cinderella said. “No coach has passed this way since I’ve been on the road.”
The lead horseman came closer. One of his fellows held a flaming torch above Cinderella’s head.
“And what are you doing out in the forest alone, at this time of night? I’d like to know.”
“I had to go to my relatives’ house to fetch this pumpkin,” she replied. “I had to pass the castle and I heard the music coming from the ball. I’m afraid I lingered too long, hoping to catch a glimpse of the beautiful dresses. Now I’ll be in trouble if I’m not home soon.”
“Where do you live?”
“At the tall white house on the far edge of the forest.”
“You’re a servant there?”
She hesitated and swallowed hard before saying, “Yes, I’m a servant.”
“So you say no coach has come this way?”
“On my honor, sir, no coach has passed me.”
One of the men laughed. “A servant’s honor. That’s funny.”
“What about a horseman? People on foot?”
“Nobody, sir. I have passed no one.”
“Perhaps she’s one of them,” the man with the torch said. “Disguised as a beggar.”
The lead horseman dismounted and came toward her. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Ella, sir. What is this about?” she asked. “Can’t I please get on my way? I don’t want to get into more trouble.”
“It is about a jewel robbery,” the man said, looming over her now and staring hard into her face. “A valuable ruby necklace was taken during the ball. The countess did not miss it until later and there was a frightful hue and cry. Then the guards mentioned that a young girl had run down the steps, not stopping when they told her to, jumped into a coach and galloped away. Nobody at the ball could identify her so it was assumed that she was the jewel thief. The prince was most upset.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir,” she said. “As you can see, anyone dressed like me would not have been allowed near the palace.”
“Perhaps she changed her clothes,” one of them suggested.
“Pardon me, sir, but if I had been the girl who galloped away in the coach, why would I have discarded it, here in the darkest part of the forest, and changed into rags? If this girl was the robber she could have been far away by now.”
Some of the men nodded, having no argument with this. But the one with the torch held it closer. “Maybe she’s an accomplice. The robber slipped the rubies to this girl as she went past, knowing she might be pursued.”
“Search her!” one of the men urged.
“Oh no, please. I assure you...” Cinderella began, but the headman had already taken the pumpkin from her and was running his hands over her. He plunged his hand into one of her pockets and withdrew it, cursing. “What the devil?” he growled.
“Only my pet mice, sir. I take them with me because I don’t trust my employer’s cat.”
“Pet mice! What next?”
He put his hand more cautiously into the other pocket and drew it out triumphantly. “And what have we here?”
He held the glass slipper up toward the light. “A pretty little item for a servant girl!”
“I can explain, sir,” Cinderella said, her cheeks burning. Lying did not come easily to her. “I found it resting at the bottom of the palace steps. I looked around to see who had dropped it but there was nobody in sight. Since one shoe would be of no use to any of the ladies I thought I might keep it as a souvenir of the evening. I’m hardly ever allowed out, you know. And the shoe is so beautiful, is it not?”
The headman stared hard at her. “There’s something about you that makes me uneasy. You speak like an educated woman and yet you are dressed in rags. Are the rags perhaps a disguise and you are the clever jewel thief who has hidden the necklace in a convenient hollow tree to be retrieved later?”
“I grew up as the daughter of gentlefolk. My parents both died and I am not treated well by the people I now live with. But I have nowhere else to go.”
“So a priceless ruby necklace might come in handy,” the man with the torch said.
“Where do you think I could sell this necklace?” Cinderella asked him. “If I went into a pawn shop, dressed as I am, the constabulary would be summoned immediately. And I give you my word that I am no thief. If I had found this necklace I would have returned it to its rightful owner. That was how I was raised by my parents.”