Walk of Shame: A Cinderella Story (Part II)

Walk of Shame: A Cinderella Story

Part II

“There is more refreshment and stimulation in a nap, even of the briefest, than in all the alcohol ever distilled.”

--Ovid

Somehow, traveling to the palace wearing one broken glass slipper, my fancy undergarments from the night before, and a ratty, old shawl tied around my shoulders, was less impressive than my elegant journey approximately twelve hours before. The only similarity I could find was that I was breathless both times, although the night before it had been with anticipation, and this time it was uninhibited misery. My fairy godmother’s card was stabbing me in the stomach where it had slipped down inside my corset, and was now wedged in my naval region—not exactly a useful, let alone comfortable, placement.

I had no idea how much farther it was to the palace. The only time I had ever been there was last night, and pumpkin carriages aren’t exactly known for their ornately-carved windows and vine curtains. They smell nice, though—sort of like warmth and happiness—until they change back into just a regular pumpkin, when they smell like a rotting pumpkin.

I certainly hoped the palace was close; Edward wasn’t holding me very tightly, so I had to cling to his neck to keep from falling off his lap, and even though the ride became smoother the farther we traveled from the village, it did nothing to calm the churning in my stomach or the pounding in my head.

“I can’t believe I found you,” he was saying.

I opened my mouth to answer, then changed my mind and shrugged instead.

“Darling, you look miserable,” he asked, frowning. “Are you ill?”

“First time with the champagne,” I managed to mumble.

“How much did you have?” he asked.

I thought of the thin, sparkling glasses of liquid, and how I’d drained one after another, then, after returning home, emptied my stomach of its contents—again, and again, and again.

“Pull over,” I said.

“What?”

“Pull over—“ I covered my mouth and squirmed out of his grasp, narrowly avoiding vomiting in Edward’s lap.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Stop the carriage!”

We came to an abrupt halt on the side of the road. I tore the door open before Thomas the footman could do his job and I rolled out onto the grass. I laid there retching, trying to empty my empty stomach.

“Darling!”

Edward flung himself out of the carriage and on top of me and I gasped, choked, then began coughing violently.

“What—are you—doing? Get—off.”

He rolled over and sat up, gathering me clumsily in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Are you hurt?” He ran his hands over my face and down my arm, then back up to my face, cupping my cheek.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, scrunching up his nose. I suspected the smell of vomit had something to do with that. “…darling.”

“I have a name,” I said, scowling at him. “…Edward.”

His face split into a brilliant grin. “I’m sorry. Of course you do…Cinderella.”

I nearly retched again. “That is not my name,” I said.

Edward frowned. “But you said—“

“I said that was what my stepfamily had nicknamed me. Not that it was actually my name. Could we go please?”

Edward surveyed the damage—namely, me, face streaked with soot and cosmetics, sick and useless on the side of the road—then turned his head to watch the approach of a group of curious children.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course. We’ll leave right away.”

He scooped me up and carried me back to the carriage with several jaunty strides. I covered my mouth to prevent a third performance like the one I’d given in the carriage and then on the side of the road as he placed me back inside the carriage.

He waved hello to the village children as the carriage jerked into motion, then reached under the seat, and, retrieving a small bag, tossed money out the window. I heard the children’s shrieks of delight, and Edward seemed pleased with himself as he settled in beside me.

We rattled along in silence for several minutes. I sat with one hand over my mouth; Edward held the other in an awkward, three-fingered grip.

“Are we almost there?” I asked from beneath my hand.

Edward nodded. “Yes.” He looked out the carriage window, as if to confirm his assertion.

“Yes, we are almost there.”

“Wonderful,” I said, sounding muffled.

“You will love the palace,” Edward said, squeezing my hand with his fingers.

“I’ve already seen it.”

“What?”

“I’ve already seen it.”

Edward pulled my hand away from my mouth. I scowled. “What?” he said again.

“I’ve already seen it,” I repeated.

He looked at me blankly.

“Last night. I was there. For the ball.”

He frowned and cocked his head to one side.

“I have already seen the palace,” I said. “It is very nice.”

Edward beamed. “Of course! Of course it is. And of course you have. I meant in daytime. You will love it in daytime. That’s what I said.”

“Of course,” I said. The driver jerked the carriage to one side to avoid a rut, and I covered my mouth again. “Edward?”

He squeezed my fingers and leaned closer. “Yes, darling?”

“Are we almost there?”

“Yes,” he said, and sat back. “Just around the corner. We have lots to do. Mother will likely have begun planning already.” He paused. “There should be roses left over from the ball. You like roses, don’t you, darling?” he asked, squeezing my hand again.

I pulled my tired fingers from his grasp. “Oh, yes,” I replied, rife with sarcasm. I had no idea what he was talking about, and my stomach was undulating with queasiness.

“Splendid,” Edward confirmed. “Roses will be perfect.”

“Perfect,” I agreed under my breath, closing my eyes. The action did nothing to subdue my dizziness or the warning pangs my stomach was issuing.

“Don’t go to sleep, darling!” Edward shook my shoulder. “We’ve arrived!”

“Perfect,” I said, and opening my eyes, made a break for the door. It opened as if by magic, just in time for me to grasp the doorway of the carriage, lean out, and vomit for the second time that morning.

**

The door had not been opened by magic. It had been opened by Stuart.

And Stuart was less than pleased by my greeting.

Edward placed his hand on the small of my back and nudged me forward. I clutched my ragged shawl around my shoulders and planted my feet. “I’m really sorry,” I told the unfortunate recipient of my sickness again.

He only shook his head, glancing down at his doublet. Formerly a rich shade of scarlet, it was now bedecked with day-old half-digested champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

Pale, meek, and contrite, I stammered for an apology and explanation. “I—I had no idea anyone was outside,” I said.

“Your aim is excellent,” he said.

“Bad luck, my friend,” Edward said, shaking his head and tucking my limp hand into the crook of his arm. “Take some time to change before you join us, yes?”

“Of course,” he said, taking a step back. “Your Highness.” He added a shallow bow, which Edward didn’t acknowledge.

“We’ll be in the blue breakfast room, I expect,” Edward said over his shoulder. “So you may join us there.”

I twisted my torso awkwardly to look behind me. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed, but had to turn around again to catch my corset as it slipped a little lower. My bosom swelled dangerously at the top of the undergarment. I tugged it upward with ineffective urgency.

I thought I saw him smile, but Edward was walking too quickly for me to do much more than keep up with him. He seemed familiar, but I didn’t remember meeting him the night before, and couldn’t think where else I would have met him.

“Who was that?” I asked Edward, still tugging my loosened corset upward.

“Sir Stuart Armstrong. He often coordinates events for me. And he’s one of my tutors.” Edward grinned. “He says I’m a terrible student.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that for an instant,” I said.

“It’s true,” Edward said, and shrugged. “But I have better things to do besides physics and diplomacy and history and Latin and all that other rot.”

Failing to recognize sarcasm was evidently high on Edward’s list of gifts as well.

“Stuart is one of my most trusted friends and advisors. He’s a riot when we go out hunting. Excellent horseman. It’s the time he spent as a knight, even if that was only a year or two.”

“I am…mortified about what just happened,” I said, for once sans sarcasm. “Especially now that I know his relationship with you. I’m terribly sorry.”

Edward laughed. “Oh, darling, don’t trouble yourself about it for an instant. Stuart has always bounced back quickly. I’m sure he thinks it’s hysterical.”

Or disgusting.

I shivered and walked a little closer to Edward. We were crossing a cobblestone courtyard—the same one I had fled across the night before.

I wondered where I had lost the slipper—by the fountain? Beside the flower beds, wilted in the winter? I hadn’t noticed it was gone until I was outside the palace gates. Everything looked different in the stark morning light. Devoid of laughing ladies and preening lords, the courtyard felt almost eerie, and not a single bird sang to fill the silence.

Observing my surroundings precluded my notice of an uneven stone, and I stumbled as Edward and I stepped up to a set of massive, wooden double doors that swung open to reveal a wide corridor lined with tapestries. Directly to the right lay a richly-carpeted hallway; the room at the end sat with its door ajar.

“Come on, darling, don’t dally,” Edward said, patting my shoulder with a bit too much enthusiasm.

I stumbled again and yanked my corset upward, grabbing for my shawl as it slipped off one shoulder. Edward was standing in front of me and didn’t notice as he flung open the door for my glorious entrance into the breakfast room.

“Mother, Father!” he exclaimed with a grand, sweeping gesture toward his prize. “I’ve found her!”

It was in this state—falling corset, rag of a shawl around my shoulders, and the scent of vomit on my breath—that I met the king and queen for the second time.

**

A fork clattered onto a plate.

I stared at them.

Seated around their immaculate table, eating immaculately prepared food, looking clean, rested, and entirely royal, the king, queen, and three princesses stared back.

One of the princesses let out a squeak, then clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles. The queen’s mouth flattened into a thin, pale line.

Edward, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to notice. “You,” he said to the servant standing in the back of the room. “You there—bring another chair and place setting. Quickly.” He took my arm and led me further into the room, not noticing that his grasp threw the precarious balance I had achieved with my corset and shawl into jeopardy.

Finally the queen rose and crossed the room. Her expression had altered entirely, and I caught only the slightest hint of disapproval—a sharp contrast to the almost angry countenance she had worn upon my arrival.

“Wonderful to see you again,” she said.

“Hear hear,” said the king from his seat.

“I see the remnants of that exquisite gown from last night,” said the queen, glancing down.

“Not much,” remarked the king, and chuckled.

“Have you come far?” asked the queen.

“Not too far from the village to here,” said the king.

“You look absolutely exhausted, love,” said the queen.

“Worn out,” agreed the king.

I was—mostly from listening to the two of them.

“Sit,” Edward said, practically forcing me into the chair that the servant had just brought. I was now seated beside the youngest princess. She turned large, guileless eyes upon me and blinked twice.

“Hello,” she said.

“Finish your breakfast, Pansy,” her mother directed without looking at her.

Edward, as the firstborn son, was named Edward VI by his father, Edward V, without argument. His three younger sisters, on the other hand, were not named in nearly as perfunctory a manner.

King Edward V, magnanimous ruler that he was, decided after his wife provided him with an heir, she could name any additional children whatever she pleased. Unfortunately for Edward’s younger sisters, Queen Charlene drew her inspiration from objects in the room when she went into labor—namely, flowers.

“Mother,” said the princess seated next to the king, “Will my canvas arrive today? Now that the ball is over?”

“Perhaps,” said the queen.

“Oh, it simply must arrive today!” the girl exclaimed, hands in her lap, ignoring her breakfast. “I’ve the most splendid idea for a new landscape, and…” She turned a thoughtful gaze toward me. “I suppose I ought to begin work on a marriage portrait as a gift to my big brother.”

This was Amaryllis, the oldest. Edward had told me at the ball the night before that she was fifteen, and fancied herself a painter. She was always talking about composition and acrylics and adjacent colors and all sorts of other things he didn’t understand.

“Marriage portrait!” said Edward. He was seated next to me, beginning to fill his plate. “Smashing idea!”

“Really, Amaryllis,” Queen Charlene said.

“It will be lovely,” Amaryllis assured me.

“She’ll need something to wear, then!” said the princess who had giggled at my arrival. “I’ll start today.”

She ducked her head beneath the table and reemerged clutching a small notebook, which she flipped open immediately and began scratching furiously with a piece of charcoal.

“Not at the table, Begonia!” said the queen, looking scandalized.

The girl snatched another glanced at me, dared two more strokes in her book, then returned it obediently beneath her seat.

“I don’t even want you to bring it to meals anymore,” said the queen, lifting her teacup and her eyebrows simultaneously.

“Yes Mother.” She sighed and plucked at one of the bright pink bows that ran the length of her bodice. It fell off into her lap. Seemingly unperturbed, she brushed it away and reached for her tea.

Begonia, at thirteen, considered herself a promising designer. Edward told me that she only wore her own designs, but that she was also an abysmal seamstress, so her whimsical conceptions were always made reality by someone else’s hand. Her gown at the ball had been nothing short of outlandish, but her dress this morning seemed a bit more reasonable, in spite of the small explosion of lace around her neckline, and the bizarre configuration of pink bows along the bodice of the dress.

“May I see your shoe?” asked the princess sitting next to me. Her big eyes grew wider. “Is it magic?”

“I heard you had the only pair of enchanted shoes at the ball last night,” said Begonia. “I’ve so longed for a pair of enchanted shoes, but Mother says not till I’m older.”

“Enchanted shoes are just magnets for trouble!” proclaimed the king, who looked as though he was feeling a bit left out.

I couldn’t have agreed more.

“Indeed,” said the queen.

Again, I felt her demeanor cool as she looked at me, but I looked away as the little girl next to me tugged on my shawl.

“Well?” she said. “Are they?”

“Are they what?”

“Enchanted, of course!” she said. “I once found an enchanted squirrel, but the spell had worn off everything except its tail. The tail was dancing, and the squirrel was very confused. I kept it in my room until Mother found it and had the servants take it away.”

The youngest, strangest, and least exotic of the three princesses was Pansy. She was ten, and her greatest ambition in life was to own a zoo. She was her mother’s little horror, Edward said, forever bringing animals into the castle without cages or leashes or restraints of any kind, then setting them free to roam about the castle and on the grounds.

She was eating a croissant with unnecessary gusto, and the flakes fell onto her dress each time she chewed.

“I really think that’s enough talk of enchanted shoes and singing tails for one morning,” said the queen.

“Dancing tails,” Pansy said softly.

The queen gestured to the servant in the corner, and he moved behind me to pull out my chair. “You’ll want to clean up,” she said to me, and it was not a question.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

“Take her to Emmaline,” the queen directed, and the servant bowed at the waist.

“Goodbye!” Pansy said brightly. She snatched a ginger snap while she thought no one was looking, and was building a rather impressive stack of the cookies in her lap. I didn’t think her mother could see the stash from her vantage point.

“Goodbye,” I said uncertainly.

“Darling, you will feel so refreshed after a nice bath,” Edward said. He had already cleared one plate and begun his second.

A messenger swept into the room carrying a silver tray with a single letter. “For the Princess Begonia,” he said.

The king waved his hand. “Yes, yes, go on,” he said, and the messenger brought it to the princess, kneeling as she plucked it off the tray.

“What’s it say?” Amaryllis asked.

“The damask I ordered is here!” she said. “Oh, and just in time.” She looked up at me. “You will look lovely in this color!”

Amaryllis heaved another miserable sigh. “Oh, why haven’t my canvases arrived?”

The messenger had begun to back out of the room, but stopped short as the queen spoke.

“Why are there still lights on the topiaries in the eastern side of the garden?” asked Queen Charlene. She didn’t even look up from her plate. “Right by my roses.”

The messenger adjusted his doublet awkwardly. “The fairy cleanup crew didn’t show up this morning, Your Majesty. I’ve been trying to get in touch with their chief of operations since before sunrise, but you know how they are if they don’t want to be found.” He held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Continue to have the lights taken down by hand, and I’ll make sure we’re reimbursed later.” She rested her fork on her plate momentarily and looked up at him, one brow raised. “Make note of that. And tell Odelia she owes me a favor.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, looking relieved as he excused himself from the room as quickly as possible.

She looked at me now, as if she’d forgotten I existed. “Why are you still here?” she asked.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” the servant said. “Please, miss, right this way.”

I glanced at her over my shoulder as we left the breakfast room. Perhaps she had been talking to him after all.

“See you this afternoon, darling!” called Edward.

“So you’re the one,” the servant said, glancing at me as we walked.

“I suppose,” I replied.

“Did you get anything to eat?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He almost smiled. “Typical. Well, just ask Emmaline. She’ll find something for you.”

“Er… who’s Emmaline?”

“She’ll be your attendant for the time being. Right this way, miss.” He opened a door nested between two garish tapestries. On the left, a circle of ladies held hands and danced around a pile of flowers. On the right, a lion was mauling a man. I almost thought I heard it roar as the servant half-pushed me into the room. I was still looking backwards, craning my neck, when I met Emmaline.

“So you’re the one,” she said, looking as dubious as the queen.

The one what? The one Edward had looked for all night? The one with the shoe? Yes, that was me. What was everyone so concerned about? Edward had asked me to come back to the palace with him and I’d agreed. What was I supposed to say? No thank you, Your Highness. Your offer is extremely kind, but I’d really prefer to stay here with my enraged stepfamily. Have a good morning!

I think not.

So now I was stuck in the palace, half-naked, head throbbing, with sullen servants, a clueless prince, and no idea what all the fuss was about.

And dammit, I was hungry.

“Do you think I could have something to eat?” I asked Emmaline.

She was small, maybe in her mid-thirties, and carried all her weight around her middle.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, miss, then we’ll see what we can find. Come with me.” She turned and began walking away. Her narrow hips guided her legs along quickly, and she looked as though her heavy chest and round stomach might send her toppling.

As soon as she led me through the next doorway, however, I forgot all about her unfortunate physique.

The floor was a cream-colored marble, and golden gauze was draped around the room, creating a dreamy, cloud-like surrounding for the centerpiece: a deep, steaming bathtub, with bubbles sneaking over the rim of the tub.

“Let’s get you clean, miss,” Emmaline said, closing the door behind us and rolling up her sleeves.

I looked at her blankly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here to bathe you,” she said, as if it were the most obvious, natural thing in the world. She began to guide me toward the tub.

“I can bathe myself,” I said, pushing her hands away.

“Of course you can, miss,” she said indulgently. “Here is your robe.”

She held out a robe the color of milk, and I obediently, self-consciously, let my hopelessly loosened corset fall to the floor. My shawl fluttered down to join it, and I shed the remainder of my clothes quickly under Emmaline’s critical eye, slipping quickly into the robe. It seemed to protest at my grimy skin invading its clean dominion.

I held it tightly around my midsection.

“I’d really just like to soak for a little while, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s hardly proper, miss,” Emmaline informed me.

“Well, just this once,” I said, half-pushing her out of the room. I had been serving people for years; I knew what I could and couldn’t get away with, and dismissing a servant woman to allow me to take a longer bath with some privacy was certainly within the realm of possibility. I caught a final glimpse of her affronted countenance as I closed the door. I didn’t bother to lock it as I turned away from the door back toward the tub of steaming water. As I untied the ruined silk robe, it slipped off my shoulders and onto the floor. Let someone else pick it up.

I dipped my toes into the tub, smiling as my foot tingled with the heat. Deciding not to waste any more time, I submerged myself, imagining the soot dissolving from my skin.

When I emerged, I leaned my head back on the rounded rim of the tub and heaved a sigh that pushed the bubbles away from my face. I closed my eyes and drew my knees in so my toes didn’t push against the foot of the tub.

I was sinking and floating all at once.

My stomach was sore from vomiting, but I could feel early hunger pangs rolling around inside me too. The hot, soapy water stung the cuts on my feet, and the pain in my head still thudded dutifully. Yet as I fell asleep, all I felt was relief.

**

When I woke up, one arm was hanging out of the tub, and the water was lukewarm, verging on cold. I lay very still, feeling like if I moved, I’d break the spell, and reappear on the cot beside the fireplace in Rachel’s house back in the village.

I moved my knee.

Tired bubbles rippled across the surface of the tub. Then my stomach rolled with hunger and I relaxed. Yes, this was real.

I looked around for a towel and remembered my discarded robe across the room. Well, no one was around. I stepped out of the tub, naked as the day I was born, and crossed the room, trailing water on the immaculate floor. Just as I retrieved the silky slip of garment and lifted it to my chest, the door opened without a knock or warning.

I froze.

It was not Emmaline.

“Hello again,” he said, and grinned.

It was Stuart.