“Perhaps she’s hidden the jewels in the pumpkin!” one of the men suggested. “Perhaps it’s a fake pumpkin.” The headman drew his sword and sliced the pumpkin in half with one stroke. The rich vegetable smell rose up. “Only an ordinary pumpkin after all,” he said in disappointment.
“And now I shall be scolded for damaging a good pumpkin that we were supposed to be using for a pie,” Cinderella said, enjoying a brief moment of his embarrassment.
“Tall white house on the edge of the forest, eh?” The headman frowned, staring at her. “We may be paying a call on you tomorrow — after we’ve searched these woods for hiding places. But there’s not much we can do in the dark. Go on, then. On your way.”
They wheeled their horses around and galloped back the way they had come, leaving a cloud of dust behind them. Cinderella’s heart was still beating fast. She retrieved the two halves of the pumpkin, put the slipper back in her pocket, and set off on her weary way.
She was relieved to arrive home before her step-mother and sisters and curled up in her narrow bed.
“I danced with a prince,” she whispered to herself. “It wasn’t a dream. It was real.” If only the magic had lasted a little longer. And now she still might find herself accused of a robbery. How could she explain to her step-mother if the men came knocking at their door?
Her step-mother and step-sisters did not get home until after two. Cinderella heard them stomping up the stairs, arguing as usual.
“I am exhausted. I danced so much my feet are killing me.”
“I don’t know why. You hardly danced at all. You were sitting there nursing a glass of wine every time I saw you.”
“Well, you only danced with that count who must have been close to a hundred years old. Certainly not with the prince.”
“Well, neither did you.”
Their conversation drifted out of hearing range. Cinderella fell asleep, awoke with the sun and went down to the kitchen, finding comfort in her usual tasks. Because the sisters had come home so late she let them sleep through most of the morning and only took up their morning tea when a bell rang furiously.
“And how was the ball?” she asked politely as she put down the tray between them.
“Delightful. So glamorous,” Esmerelda said with a smirk.
“And the prince?”
“Not really handsome at all, was he, sissy?” Esmerelda said. “Rather pale and boring, if you want to know. And he only danced with an equally unattractive girl in an ostentatious blue dress.”
“So you didn’t have a good time?”
Cinderella glanced across at Ermintrude, her other step-sister.
“Oh yes, I had a good time,” she said. “Now take my shoes and polish them. I stepped in a puddle last night.”
“And take our wigs to be brushed and styled,” Esmerelda snapped.
As Cinderella left the room something was troubling her, apart from the sisters’ usual rudeness. Ermintrude’s face. Something about the way she had looked when her sister mentioned wigs. Cinderella had seen that expression before. When Ermintrude had taken her sister’s hair ribbon. When she had sneaked the last cake from the cake stand and tried to blame it on her sister. Guilt mixed with triumph. And a strange idea began to form in Cinderella’s head. Esmerelda had said that her sister had sat nursing a glass of wine all evening. Cinderella could picture it now. Her sister sitting alone at a side table while the dancers twirled around her, with a glass of red wine in her hand. But she didn’t drink red wine. It made her skin go blotchy and red. Why would she have risked that at a ball? And then she was still carrying that glass, undrunk, when she went to the powder room. Cinderella had not seen her return — she had been too busy dancing with the prince. But at a later glimpse there was something not quite right with her sister’s wig. It sat a little too high on her forehead. It made her look rather comical, Cinderella had noted.
Cinderella polished the shoes and brushed the wigs. Sure enough there was a trace of red stain inside Ermintrude’s. She waited until Ermintrude was alone, sitting at her dressing table. “Here are your shoes, sister.”
“Put them in my closet.” The step-sister waved her away.
“And I have your clean undergarments. Shall I put them in your drawer?”
“No. Leave them. Just go,” Ermintrude snapped, reaching out a hand to prevent the drawer from being opened.
Still, Cinderella lingered.
“Just go. What are you waiting for?” Ermintrude said.
“I thought it only fair to warn you that a valuable necklace was stolen at the ball last night. We may have a visit today from palace guards who will search the house,” she said.
“Why should that concern me?”
“Because they will certainly come into this room,” Cinderella said. “Open all the drawers, rummage through your clothing.”
“Why would they do that, pray? I am a gentlewoman. They would not dare.” The step-sister’s face had turned very red.
“Ah, but they would dare. And what would they find, dear sister?” Cinderella paused. “I know you stole the necklace.”
“How dare you! What can you know about anything?”
“I know how you did it,” Cinderella said. “I suspect the necklace slipped off a lady’s neck while she was dancing. You saw it on the floor, picked it up and dropped it into a convenient glass of red wine, where rubies would be invisible. You held onto that red wine all evening until you realized you could not take the glass with you. So you went to the powder room and managed to tuck the necklace under your wig. It didn’t quite sit properly after that.”
Ermintrude was staring at her. “How could you possibly know any of this? It’s all lies. You are insane.”
“I just hope the men don’t search the house too thoroughly, because if they find the necklace, it will be a lifetime in prison at the very best. Or even the noose.”
The color had now drained from Ermintrude’s face. “Why should they want to search this house? We are respectable people.”
“I heard they will be searching everybody who was at the ball.”
“And how could you possibly know any of this? A servant girl, sitting all alone by the fire?”
“Suffice it to say that I do know. Maybe I followed you to the ball last night. Maybe I watched you... And I will tell the truth if the men come. And they will search until they find the rubies. Even in among your undergarments.”
Ermintrude’s hand went to the drawer before she realized she was giving herself away.
“I’ll bury them in the garden,” she said, defiantly. “They will never find them.”
“Oh, but I understand they will bring dogs with them. Dogs specially trained to sniff out jewels.”
“Then what should I do?” The defiance had gone from her voice.
“I have a suggestion that will save you and the honor of this house,” Cinderella said. “You will take the jewels and go straight to the palace. Tell them you found them lying in a puddle last night. You looked around but there was nobody to hand them to and your mother was anxious to go home, nervous about being out alone in the dark. So you had to wait until this morning to return them. You will receive their undying thanks, and there may even be a reward.”
“Do you think so?” she asked in a small voice.
“Either way you will be seen in a favorable light by the palace. That is important, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is.” She opened the drawer, tipped the rubies from a stocking and stood staring at them. They were indeed very beautiful. “I saw them on the floor. I grabbed them on impulse. I’ll never own anything so lovely.”
“I know how you feel. I felt the same way when you all left for the ball.”