Chapter 1

Chapter One

     Soft fingers of sunlight pull me from my deep slumber as they dance across the room. For a moment I allow myself to become lost in the fantasy of the golden light. But soon my mind comprehends the smell of smoke and with I start, I move to sitting position, knocking the book I had been reading last night to the ground. I burry my face in my hands as my muscles constrict with stiffness. One chapter, I just wanted to read one chapter and somehow I still fell asleep on the stone hearth. Standing, I roll my shoulders and neck. A blonde strand of hair falls across my face, so I lift a hand to brush it aside. As I do, I notice soot smudges across my skin and I sigh. Oh well, I am not going to get any cleaner doing my work today.

      Taking one more deep breath I begin. First I light the fires in the kitchen and dining room and then I escape outside to feed the animals. When I step through the back door, Bruno greets me with a wagging tail and wet lick on the hand. I scratch one of his soft velvet ears, smiling at his eagerness to see me. He follows at me heels, as I lead the way to the almost empty barn. At the sound of my soft footfalls approaching, Major, my father’s old steed, nickers while he pokes his head out of his stall. I scratch his forehead and say a few soft words to him. When my Father died we sold nearly all of our horse, including Marigold my little, white riding pony. The day the auctioneer’s came to sell our animals, I took Major into the forest and hid him. The servants that remained, were loyal enough not to breathe a word and Lady Tremaine didn’t know our horses well enough to notice one was missing. When the auctioneer left I brought Major back to the barn to join the two leftover carriage horses.

       My Father had trained Major himself and although Major is now growing old, he still carries a regal air in the way proudly lifts his head. As I go about my work, cleaning the stalls, collecting the eggs, and feeding the animals, Major follows me around like a lost puppy while Bruno watches on as if he is our master. When I finish I turn Major out into the pasture. It wouldn’t do if he turned Lady Tremaine’s flower gardens into a feast.

     I plant a kiss on Major’s soft muzzle as a goodbye, before calling to Bruno and heading towards the house. Chateau de Marceau it is actually called, but due to the financial state Lady Tremaine has led us in, my once lovely home has been diminished to a shadow of its former glory. I try to keep the hedges in front of the stone siding tame, but then there also the weeds that need pulling and the grass that needs trimming. Every so often I hire a man from town to help with heavy work or mending the buildings. The only problem is, I do it without Lady Tremaine’s knowledge and if she found out, she would most certainly put an end to it.

     When I enter the kitchen I immediately begin with preparing breakfast. They will be awake soon and once they are, there will be no rest till they go to bed again. Just as I set the kettle over the fire the bell to Lady Tremaine’s room tinkles and I rush to reach her. It is not a good idea to keep Lady Tremaine waiting.

     I come her door and with soft knock enter her room, but she doesn’t even glance in my direction. She just instructs me as to which clothes she wishes to wear today. Quickly I help her dress and just as silently as I entered the room I leave again. It is always like this, no formal courtesies just plain, flat instructions and I have to obey her. What choice do I have? Lady Tremaine’s wrath is not something anyone wants to experience.

     In the kitchen again, I pour the now boiling water into one of the flowered, china teapots my father brought home for my mother. The heady scent of the herbs drifts to my nose. If there is any leftover I think I will have a cup after their breakfast.

     I finish filling the breakfast tray and begin to make the journey to the dining room, up the worn, stone servant stairs, through the narrow corridor, and into the dining room. Anastasia already sits at the table waiting eagerly for her breakfast. The pink satin of her skirts pools around her chair and rustles faintly every time she moves.

     When she hears me enter, her catlike green eyes snap up and her loud, almost manly, voice echoes through the room, “There you are. I’ve been waiting or ages. Did you make my pastry extra big today?”

     “Slightly bigger,” I answer. It is a touchy business, that of Anastasia and food. Lady Tremaine is constantly pestering Anastasia to eat one less tart or one less scone. It’s not that Anastasia is fat, it’s just that compared to her stick thin sister who eats like a fly, she’s slightly chubbier.

     Anastasia reaches for a pastry and stuffs it into her mouth, making her resemble a chipmunk. She could be pretty, she has beautiful copper hair, full lips, and straight teeth. Yes, she could be quite pretty if she didn’t style her hair in those awful, tight ringlets and stopped putting powder on her face and maybe if she smiled a little more.

     The door suddenly cracks open and Anastasia swallows the pastry in one huge gulp. Lady Tremaine and Drizilla sweep in, their noses high and the expressions haughty. At Lady Tremaine’s heels follows Lucifer, her devilish, fluffy, black cat. When he sees me he bars his teeth and I hear a faint hiss. Ignoring him, I begin with serving the food, starting with Lady Tremaine. When I finish I go to stand against the wall. It is strange that it has come to this. First it was just setting the table, then it was preparing the food, and now it is serving too.

     “What do you have on your face?” Lady Tremaine asks sharply, jolting me out of my thoughts.

     I lift a hand to my cheek, trying in vain to discover what she could be talking about.

     “Oh. And it is on your hand too,” her green eyes flash with annoyance.  

     “Mother, she’s a servant. You know, there is a reason we call her Cinderella,” Drizilla says, hardly turning her muddy, brown eyes towards me. Her shiny black hair is also styled in tight ringlets and is held together by a blue bow that clashes with the caterpillar green color of her dress. Her nose is made up of a hump with hook on the end and her top lip hangs slightly over her bottom.

     “I will not have a filthy servant attending my guests. It is an embarrassment to me and an insult to my company. I will not tolerate it. You must stay clean or I will be forced to replace you. Do you understand, Cinderella?” Lady Tremaine accents the Cinder part of the name, but I keep my expression neutral. I will not let her have the satisfaction of knowing her words have any effect on me.

     “Yes, I understand and I will try to fulfill your wishes,” I promise solemnly.

     Lady Tremaine lets out a humph, Drizilla mumble, “You’d better,” and Anastasia just glances up before stuffing her mouth with pastry.

     I swallow, trying to remain calm and wait patiently till they are finished eating. As soon as the last piece of colorful fabric has disappeared through the door, I rush to the table, clear the dishes, and hurry back down to the kitchen. Placing the tray on the worn, oak table I lift the teapot and give it a shake. My shoulders droop when there is no slosh, slosh from within. I filled it completely full this morning. How did they manage to guzzle down the whole thing?

     “Cinderelly.”

     At the high pitched voice I spin around, the empty teapot forgotten. “Jaq!” I exclaim, kneeling before the small, brown mouse. “Where have you been? You missed breakfast.”

     Jaq gives me a bashful look, “Is there any left?”

     I smile at his near shyness, “I think I’ll be able to sweep up a few crumbs.” Jaq claps his hands together and begins to scramble up a chair leg. As I stand, I carefully lift him by his soft, orange jacket and place him gently on the table. Although he is not angry at me, he still sends a glare my way in pretense rage, while he smooths the wrinkles from his coat. He is very proud of his coat and his hat and his shoes. All of the mice in this house wear clothes that I made for the. They are the result of a Fairy Godmother’s spell gone wrong, so they think, speak, and, refuse to be seen without clothes, like humans.

     “Here, Jaq,” I brush some crumbs onto a plate and push it towards him. He gives a little giggle as he hops over to the plate. Smiling I retrieve the hot water from over the fire and pour it into a basin so that I can start with dishes.

     “Cinderelly,” Jaq calls, trying to get my attention.

     I turn to see what the matter is. 

     “Gus-Gus,” Jaq stands at the edge of the table and points down. Following the direction of his finger, I see Gus standing on the ground looking longingly at the table edge where Jaq’s whiskers are just visible.

     “Oh Gus,” I laugh. “Would you like some breakfast too?”

     He nods and sputters something that has the word please in it. Carefully I lift him by his yellow shirt and set him on the table. He gives me a shy grin before scurrying to plate with the pastry crumbs.

      I turn back to the dirty dishes and begin to lay dishes in the soap water when I hear the bell for the parlor ring. What now? I just got down here. Wiping my hands on my apron, I ascend the kitchen stairs for the second time today. As I pass through the hall I catch my reflection in the tall gilded mirror. Backing up a few steps I move to stand before the looking glass and see dark smudges against the light tan of my cheek. With the corner of my apron I rub fiercely at the dirt on my cheek. It will anger Lady Tremaine if she sees that I am not clean yet. Stepping back I inspect myself. A few blonde strands of hair have escaped the tie that I fastened the front section of my hair with and now float around my oval face. Narrowing my blue eyes at them I attempt, with my hands to smooth the rebellious hairs back to where they belong. When they are tamed as much as possible I lower my eyes to the old blue dress and once white apron that I wear. Turning in front of the mirror I inspect my clothing taking in the thread bear cloth and badly scuffed brown peeking from underneath my skirt. I sigh at my appearance there is not a thing I can do about it now, so I turn and continue my journey to the parlor. Lady Tremaine will just have to except me the way I am. As I reach the door I hear the strangled sound of Drizilla trying to sing. It is a wonder Lady Tremaine still encourages it. When I enter the room, Lady Tremaine looks up from the book she is reading, but Drizilla continues screeching and Anastasia stares daggers into her embroidery.

     “Anastasia, broke her last embroidery needle. You need to go to town today and buy her new ones. There is money in the box in my room. I know exactly how much is in there so do not think you can take for yourself extra without me knowing,” Lady Tremaine says, with an even and hard tone. She voices no other words, just looks back down at her book, her face remaining an unreadable mask.

     “Yes, Madame,” I curtsey lightly and leave the room. Anastasia goes through needles regularly, but I am still not sure how Lady Tremaine pays for them all.