Sample Story

You probably heard what happened at the ball. Most people did - at least, they heard some version or other. But not the whole story. Only I saw it all, and knew enough to understand what I saw. I knew enough about her - Sister Ella, though she was already making up tales of her `poor, miserable' background by then, and calling herself Cinders and other ridiculous nicknames. Ella was her real name - our sister, Ella.

That was how we were introduced to her - "Here is your new sister, Sister Ella," said my mother, endeavouring to smooth her care-creased face into a smile of welcome. "She will be living with us now." Her eyes were full of anxiety, as how would they not be, taking on another girl with no skills that we knew of, and times so hard; but then, Sister Ella was kin, if not a sister, and she had lost her parents.

We stood a moment and looked at her - hair long, blonde and glossy, falling in an effortless golden cloud, eyes wide and blue, rose pink mouth all curves, skin fair as the new cream that Wurtha, my sister whom I loved, would skim with a patience I never could emulate. Ella stood with easy grace, haughtiness in her stance and disgust in her eyes. Her beautiful clothes and dream of a figure seemed to flinch away from us - as well they might. Mother saw the difficulty and was plunged into further unhappiness; I was defensive and troubled; only Wurtha smiled with that slow, gentle smile that the superficial might see as bovine or stupid. She stepped forward heavily.

"Hello, Sister Ella," she said placidly, "I hope that you will be happy here."

Ella didn't seem to know what to say, but gave a curt nod; Wurtha drew back, and I could see her wondering how she could do better in showing her love for our new kinswoman.

"My things - " said Ella in some confusion -

"Let me," said Wurtha gratefully, and began to take the heavy bags and packs up to the attic. We had gone to great effort to give Sister Ella this space to herself, and had cleaned it thoroughly, and moved all our old bits and pieces into mine and Wurtha's room - in fact we would be sleeping on our boxes from now on, the farmhouse being as small as it was. Ella was, of course, horrified at her poky room. We could see it, and sympathised, but we had no more to offer. I felt sorry for Ella until I saw the looks of resentment and sulkiness with which she continually blasted my mother, who simply sank into her usual struggling shame.

A few days passed and we waited on our new sister, and did our best to be friendly. She increased her airs of anger and disgust, and eventually even quiet, forgiving Wurtha withdrew and left her to herself. Ella's presence did not help any of us to live in harmony. Around her, I was more conscious of my ugliness; it's wonderful the way a wart or two will dispense with nobility of soul in the eyes of a suitor. Wurtha just hated anyone to be unhappy, especially if she could not help them. My mother was feeling the strain on her purse; Ella ate well, and took the best of everything, probably in ignorance that she was depriving us, but doing so nevertheless. She gave nothing back.

So it was a huge relief when, after a while of sighs and bored trances from Sister Ella, she said to my mother one evening, "I mustn't be a burden upon you. I must work here, and do my share. From tomorrow I shall help with the chores," and she smiled as prettily as a spring morning. The cares fell away from my mother for a moment as she smiled, her face lit up by Ella's, and Wurtha glowed with delight at discovering something to love in our sister. I, nasty piece of work that I am, was suspicious and not particularly hopeful; and sadly, my grumpy thoughts were quite right. For Ella couldn't possibly do any of the heavy work, being a sylph as she was. Five heartbeats in the dairy had cured her of romantic visions of pretty cows with ribbons on their horns, and dishes of sweet cream and butter just appearing from nowhere; the smell drove her out quickly enough. Wurtha didn't really need her help anyway; she loved the cows deeply and with great understanding. Like them, big, gentle, patient, brown and beautiful, she milked them, dosed them, patted them, sang to them, led them to pasture and back again, cleaned out their stalls, and all with love and a heavy step in which few saw the solid beauty, save me and mother.

Ella didn't even try cleaning the rugs or taking out the slops, washing clothes, cooking or any of the other household tasks that I am so suited for, sturdy, dumpy thing that I am. In the end her work consisted of precisely three things: mending her own clothes, polishing the brass ornaments over the fire, and sweeping the parlour with grace if not utility, using a pretty little ornamental broom from goodness knows where. She gravitated towards the fireplace, sitting with her mending or polishing with the flames playing joyfully over her face and hair, as if they couldn't get close enough to such beauty. My mother didn't say anything to her, but the lines came back to her face. "She's trying her best," was all she whispered to us of the matter.

It was after we had settled into this bearable but unsatisfactory routine that we had a visitor. Ella's Godmother, to whom she was very close, came for a weekend, and a hard time we had of it. We sat in the parlour with tea, stiff with the unaccustomed inactivity and company, trying to smile and be welcoming.

Ella's Godmother was an older version of Ella, only dark rather than fair; beautiful still, in fashionable clothes and wearing a thick scent of some unimaginable flower; it made Wurtha sneeze, which embarassed her no end.

We had stopped work to pay attention to our visitor, but Sister Ella continued with her sewing.

"Whatever are you doing, Ella?" asked the Godmother. "You'll ruin your eyes and hands, darling."

"Oh - that is - well, I must work, you know, Godmother," said Ella with that artless tone. "And then - I - I must mend my things - for who knows when I shall get some more - " and she broke off and devoted herself furiously to her sewing, an adorable flush on her round little cheeks.

I should at this point explain a scene that had occurred a week or so earler. My mother had received an invitation from the old king, who remembered that we were an old, good family, according to his lights, even if we had fallen low, by those same lights. The invitation was phrased rather charmingly, not to say personally: "Though certain of our subjects do not enjoy prosperity in these troubled times, we do not forget those who have been loyal friends. Your husband was a good man and his loyalty and worth are not forgotten. It will be an honour to receive you and your two daughters at the coming ball, at which my son the Prince will make his first public appearance as a grown man and my heir." At which mother's eyes shined proudly, and Wurtha and I beamed at each other. That is, until we realised what the second part meant: the king didn't know that Ella was here now; Sister Ella hadn't been invited; she wasn't going to the ball.

There was nothing we could do about it; she would have none of sympathy. My mother hoped to soften the blow, for she had a wonderful surprise for us: new dresses. Cheap, ugly stuff was all that could be bought with the little she had, but she had done it, and there was one for Ella too. We held the dresses to us with as much joy as a princess with her first silk; ugly as we are, we dreamed too. But Ella looked at hers with distaste - and yes, it wasn't a pretty or tasteful frock - and said, "I'm very grateful, but no thank you. I have sufficient clothes." My mother's face collapsed again, and I could have throttled my dear Sister for her refusal. It wasn't as if she'd have had to wear it to the ball.

We had decided to wear our balldresses - I can't really call them gowns, that sounds too elegant - for the Godmother's visit, in her honour, for they were our best things. So as Ella sat there in shabby elegance pleading poverty, her Godmother cast a horrified look at us, and there we all were in stiff ugly newness. Her scorn and horror were evident though not voiced.

"What are you wearing to the ball?" she asked her goddaughter earnestly.

"Oh," fluttered Ella, "I'm not going. It's not important, " she added sweetly, "I shall be quite happy here. The others will have fun enough for all of us," and she gave a little woebegone laugh.

Despite the best supper we could manage or had had for some time, the Godmother spent the rest of the visit in bottled fury, politeness not concealing her disgust at our monstrous treatment of Ella, as she saw it. My mother and Wurtha sat awkwardly, not quite understanding what had happened exactly; Sister Ella was the sweet uncomplaining martyr, and I just held on to the thought that she wasn't coming to the ball, and that on that evening the three of us might actually have a good time and enjoy ourselves.

For we had many, many hopes and dreams about that night; as many as if we had been fifteen and beautiful and rich and talented and clever and artless. We dreamed of looking beautiful, of dancing beautifully, of some handsome man who would see past our outsides to the beauty within, and would say beautiful things to us. Wurtha already had one in mind, a local grain merchant called Nomer who was a pleasant enough man. He seemed to care for Wurtha and respect her, and that was almost good enough for me and mother. I wanted someone dashing and brave and loving, a prince no less; but then being fat and warty never stopped an ugly young woman from dreaming of these things. Really, I couldn't help it. I wanted everything that Ella had, and didn't I deserve to be beautiful, and loved? Even as I wished it I could see how jealous and shrewish I was becoming, and only wept the more, secret tears at night, for my prince to come and save me. If I cried enough then he might come. Wurtha lay awake, her big eyes open to the ceiling, and I wondered what she saw there. A contented, useful life, making Mr. Nomer happy, I expect. Did he know the gold in his grasp, I wondered?

My mother seemed to awaken as if from a dream of dirt and drudgery. She began to hold her head higher, and move less urgently, no longer rushing from one frantic chore to the next. She seemed to remember the old days when our father was alive and how loved she had been. "It's as if he's here with me, going to a ball like in the old days," she murmured serenely one evening, and we smiled at one another in a new happiness.

And so the day came, and we tried not to rub Ella's nose in it. She turned her nose up at us quite openly by now, anyway, and actually laughed at us when we stood in the parlour, scrubbed and frizzed in our new dresses. Her disdain made little difference; the ball was to be ours, not hers, and only Wurtha still felt pained that we were not better friends with her.

We looked tolerable. Wurtha was twenty five, I was twenty three, and we were not deformed as such. We had on new dresses, we were clean, and we had arranged our hair. So we looked better than we might. And the light and hope in our eyes might even have made us a little bit pretty, to anyone who really had a soul and knew when he met another. We smiled tentatively at our mother, who had altered Ella's rejected dress to fit herself, and who looked lovely in it to us, and we set off, ready for our separate adventures. And so the night began.

It was that perfect time of dusk, when the light seems to give all objects an extraordinary, other-worldly quality; the air was fresh and filled with unnumbered plant scents, and we walked out of the house half in the land of Faery. We were being taken to the ball by our neighbour Mr. Thrumbull, a farmer, and very fond of mother. When he arrived we gasped as one - he had decorated his cart, entwined it with dozens and dozens of white roses. No portion of the wormy shaft, no indication of the creaking harness were visible. All was flowers, even the forehead of the goodnatured old pony, Fellplum, and the wheels had been newly whitewashed.

Wreathed in grateful smiles we climbed in. After a grin and a wink from his fine old face, Mr. Thrumbull set off, and we jogged along to paradise in the heady perfume of numberless roses. It was a good start.

At length we arrived; I had not wanted to. The journey, the anticipation, the roses, these were perfection in themselves, and I lingered, uncharacteristically reluctant to make my way. But Wurtha and mother were alighting as if it were the most easy and natural thing in the world, whispering thanks, and climbing marble steps before I could say "Let's wait a moment." We presented our invitation to the page at the door, who looked at us in a carefully expressionless way that spoke volumes, and were announced.

And - oh! How to survive the flutter of one's heart - one's being? For the ballroom is thronging with beautiful people in beautiful clothes, the Prince is there - yes! I caught a glimpse! - surrounded by courtiers, the tables are beautiful, the chairs are beautiful, everything is beautiful; an attendant hands us our dance cards, dove-coloured with silver edging and with a tiny silver pencil attached by a pink ribbon, and I could cry with it all. I become the nymph of my dreams, happy, hopeful, believing in happiness and hope.

A number of elderly court ladies come to greet mother. They remember her kindness, perhaps, or her intelligence, or her helpfulness. At any rate they seem genuinely pleased to see her.

Mr Nomer comes and claims Wurtha, both smiling as those do who have an unspoken understanding, and he almost looks handsome in the magic air of the ballroom. He all but fills Wurtha's card, and puts me down for one dance after supper, but his news is the best attention of all -

"I shan't have as many dances as I would like," he smiles gently at Wurtha, "For the Prince has promised to dance with each unmarried lady at least once tonight."

I still my fluttering heart and merely look amused and interested; Wurtha is innocently excited. Having left my loved ones in safety, I feel free to pursue my own adventure and happiness, and set off to explore. An elderly man dances with me, and I enjoy it for what it is - a dance with a not unpleasant partner at a ball. He is a military man, and we have little to talk about beside concern at the present national situation, and the usual smalltalk. Later in the powder room I discover that my slippers have caught a smear or two of the wax from the dance floor. It is piney and resinous and precious to me. I inhale it for a moment before continuing with the dream.

I see Wurtha sitting on a sofa with Mr. Nomer, and by the light in their eyes and the crystal champagne in their hands I believe that he will finally propose tonight. I see my mother, sitting with several ladies who, though they might be merely acting out of politeness, give the impression of valuing her and of being old friends. As for myself, I am content to live in this moment, as long as nothing shatters the exquisite fragility of this perfect evening.

Half dreaming, I sense a presence next to me, and look up to see a vaguely familiar young man.

"Have you a dance free?" he asks, with no particular enthusiasm. I wonder why he asks.

"I've this one free, if you don't mind it being half over," I reply cheerfully, and he smiles with relief. It is only after we take the floor that I realise that I am dancing with the Prince. I do not know what to say to him. He knows who I am, and mentions my father gracefully; but the talk is small. He is not especially handsome (but how desirable I should find him if he decided to love me) or interesting (but how I should be fascinated if he would love me). It occurs to me that nothing devastating has ever happened to him; that there is no way for me, or someone like me, to get through to him; that he is surrounded by, and responds to, people round him who are either exactly like him or trying their hardest to be.

So we danced, and didn't fall in love, but I didn't mind. As we went in to supper I laughed at myself a little, and revelled in the raspberry ices, marrons glaces, sugared almonds, and canapes by the thousand that might have been made specially for me. I ate well, and decided that if food could be that good then love could wait.

Presently it was that odd time of a ball, after supper but well before the ball is over; the time that decides its success or failure. For at first there is dancing and laughter, and then there is food and wine; after that there might be a general decline, or a surge of high spirits, or almost anything. I waited for the next moment breathing in happiness and anticipation in a great breath of contentment.

And caught my breath painfully in my lungs, making an ugly choking sound which nobody noticed.

For the doors had been thrown open, and Ella had been announced.

I later found out that it was the Godmother, of course. She had pulled a few strings to wangle an invitation, and forked out for a dress and slippers, far better than ours, naturally. And Ella hadn't said a word. Of course.

The whole room was caught. She wore white, a cloudy illusion of a gown, with tiny slippers of some gauzy transparent stuff that showed off her dainty feet. Her high little bosom pressed petulantly over the snowy bodice, her hair was looped simply - or at least it looked simple, but it must have taken hours - through flowers; her arms and throat were bare of ornament. There was an air of nakedness about the outfit. Every man in the room began to look slightly foolish. She was the prettiest woman - girl - there by a thousand miles. She was a bride, and we were all wallflower guests. The Prince, of course, was a lost man.

After a minute of silence, talk resumed and the ball carried on. But every eye lingered on Ella who stood with perfect assurance until the Prince came up to her and began, in his vague offhand manner, to talk to her, though I doubt that she was fooled. She teased him, and he was caught even further, and began to show it. (Why hadn't I thought to tease him?)

I glanced quickly round to check my family. Wurtha was looking puzzled, but not concerned; my mother was looking apprehensive, but no more. All might yet be well, if Ella had no mischief planned. And all might yet have been well, but for an unlucky incident.

The Prince and Ella were teasing each other constantly. He could not have been more fascinated by her, and she was as happy as I had ever seen her, holding him in the palm of her hand. But he tried to tease her back, and wasn't as skillful as she.

"You know I did promise to dance with every unmarried lady here, and there's one I haven't danced with yet," he remarked, eyes twinkling, "So I shall abandon you in a moment."

"Aren't I the only lady here?" she blew softly, eyes working like stars. But he laughed and wagged his finger, and went and asked Wurtha to dance.

No, no! Refuse! I thought, frightened of something I couldn't anticipate, but knowing that disaster loomed. But Wurtha in her innocent goodness simply beamed and accepted, nodded to Mr. Nomer with a bright smile, and went with the Prince. I looked at Ella. She was standing nearby, and for a moment I saw her gaze at Wurtha with pure hatred. Quickly the mask came down and she became expressionless, and appeared to be thinking. She turned to look at Mr. Nomer, who was polishing his spectacles with his handkerchief, and distaste came over her features; but menace prevailed. A saucy smile appeared, and she went over to him.

I was rooted to the spot. I didn't know what to do.

"My partner has been stolen," sighed Ella, looking mock-sorrowfully at Mr. Nomer. "As has yours, I believe."

"Indeed, " replied Mr. Nomer, and put his spectacles back on. He smiled broadly when he saw who it was. A minute later they were dancing together, and Ella was prattling and tossing her hair, capturing him with the skies of her eyes, laughing freely at his feeble jokes, and generally turning him into a fool. He was practically dribbling.

The dance finished, and Wurtha, after thanking the Prince (thanking him!), returned to the sofa where Mr. Nomer had been. As she looked round for him, she saw him release Ella reluctantly; Ella, with a final flirtatious glance from under her lashes, left him. Wurtha, still quite happy and suspecting nothing, waited for him to come to her. He remained staring at Ella, who was back with the Prince by this time, laughing and joking again. And there he remained until the next dance had begun and a couple bumped into him. Stupidly he stumbled off the dance floor, but still he did not return to Wurtha. Every so often Ella would send him a wink or a smile, or a coy glance, and he lived for the next scrap of notice.

Wurtha looked puzzled, then sank into agony. Her head dropped, and I regained the use of my body and flew to her. I didn't speak, but just held her hand.

"He has never looked at me that way," she said eventually, "And he never will."

I squeezed the hand and felt her tears as if they were my own.

"He's not worthy of you," I spat through clenched teeth.

"He's a good man," she replied calmly, "And Ella's beautiful. I'm not." She shrugged. "I can't blame him."

"I can! I can!" I cried, and sobbed as if it had been my heart crushed, and not hers. Over her shoulder I saw that Ella had looked at us and was smiling in triumph. I tried to stop weeping and failed. Wurtha had already stayed her tears, with what angelic effort I couldn't imagine.

An age later, when Ella had seen that her victory was complete and had stopped bothering to pay any attention to Mr. Nomer, he came back to us. Wurtha, composed, smiled as best she could at him and behaved with perfect dignity. He seemed unaware of what he had done, and what had been done to him, and chatted cheerfully enough to her. She would never reproach him. I couldn't bear it and stamped off in a huff.

Not one of the other guests had noticed anything amiss. After all, what had happened? Two couples had swapped partners for a dance. That was all. But to me, who knew the people involved, I knew that Ella had made Wurtha second-best for the rest of her life with Mr. Nomer. And that Wurtha was clever enough to know it, and sensitive enough to feel it, like a boulder smashing through her ribs.

Mother had seen, and was frozen in her chair, alone now.

"She'll marry him anyway, you know," she said tonelessly. "Wurtha will marry him. And he'll never forget dancing with the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the world. He'll mean Ella. And he won't propose tonight."

For us the ball had shattered into shards of treachery, a myriad of misery. Apart from that though, it was a great success.

Ella didn't come home. She was already a guest at the palace. Apparently she had kicked off her slippers - in order to turn a little pirouette on the grass, I heard later, in front of her prince - before even reaching the palace buildings. It wouldn't be long before she got what she wanted.

I spent a great deal of time thinking about that evening and what it meant. Later we heard that the old king was ailing, and I thought about that too. That was when I manoeuvred Mr. Nomer into a proposal, and took my mother by the shoulders and advised her to marry Mr. Thrumbull, and why. As for me, I know a merchant who is a good friend and might be persuaded into marriage. It would be solid, I know, for he is a reliable man, and kind. Precious qualities.

We are also saving as much money as possible, and stockpiling supplies of all kinds.

For the Prince did marry Sister Ella, and they will soon rule. Or rather, she will rule him, for he is simply a man, and she is that unstoppable monster, a beautiful woman with no conscience. And I fear for that time. I fear for the old, the young, the ugly, the disabled, the sick, the poor. I fear for anyone who doesn't or can't give Sister Ella exactly what she wants. I fear for toads, and frogs, and bats. I fear for the dark-skinned family who speak strangely, in the next town. I fear for anyone who has offended her. I have seen her be cruel, and soon she will have the power to indulge any whim. So we must prepare, and unite, and make ouselves protected and strong, and find hope from somewhere.

You know, it's a funny thing - four weddings came out of that ball, but not one of them is a fairytale. I don't cry for my prince any more, but sometimes I cry because I can't believe in him any more.