Джеффри Дивер - Nothing Good Happens After Midnight - A Suspense Magazine Anthology

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.”

“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.”