Ella Enchanted

chapter 26

LUCINDA gasped.

I gasped too. She wasn't Lucinda. Or was she? The enormous eyes were the same, but not the height. This fairy was stooped with age. And her perfect skin was wrinkled, with a mole next to her nose. I was seeing the real Lucinda, unshielded by magic.

"Mandy, who is this? You brought a human to spy on me!" She straightened for a moment, and I saw a hint of the young, beautiful Lucinda. Then she sighed.

"You look familiar. Are you one of my victims?"

This was my chance, the chance for the freedom I always should have had, the chance to escape from my stepfamily, the chance to win Char back. But I was so nervous my voice was gone. I could only nod.

"What did I do to you, child?" she whispered, as though afraid of my answer.

I found my voice. "You made me obedient Now you know how it is."

"I do, child."

She touched my cheek, and my heart rose.

"But I can't help you. I renounced big magic."

"Oh, Lady," I pleaded, "it would be a wondrous gifr. I would be so grateful."

"Ella..." Mandy warned.

"Mandy, don't you think? Just this once." Lucinda shook her head, and wispy gray curls fluttered. "No, I mustn't. But if you ever have need of small magic, call on me. You have only to say the words, 'Lucinda, come to my aid.' " She kissed my forehead. "I remember you now. I thought you only spoke Ayorthaian."

I begged her. I told her about my circumstances. I wept. She wept with me --

sobbed harder than I did -- but stood firm. I pleaded with Mandy to persuade her, but Mandy refused.

"I can't, Lady," she said. "It was big magic to cast the spell in the first place.

But it would be big magic to undo it too. Who can guess what would come of it?"

"Only good would come of it. Only good."

"I can't bear this," Lucinda wailed, wringing her hands dramatically. "I can't bear your distress. Farewell, child." She vanished.

I stormed out of Mandy's room and rushed to the library, where I could be alone, where no one was likely to make me scour anything or sew anything or say anything.

Now I couldn't go to the balls. Hattie and Olive would go with Mum Olga. They'd be free to dance with Char, and so would every other young lady in Frell. And some lass would win him over. His nature was loving, and he'd find someone to love.

As for me, I'd be lucky to glimpse him on the street. He wouldn't recognize me.

My dirty servant's garb would rule out identification at a distance, and he'd never be close enough to see my face.

I COULD neither go to the balls nor escape from them. Hattie and Mum Olga talked of nothing else. Even Olive was interested to the extent of worrying about her gown.

"Sew it with gold thread," she instructed her maid. "Shouldn't I be as fine as Hattie?"

Shouldn't I be as fine as both of them? I cooked and scrubbed and waited on them in a fury. For two weeks I wouldn't speak to Mandy. The only sounds in the kitchen came from pots and pans as I slammed them down.

Then it came to me. Why couldn't I go? Char needn't know I was there.

Everyone would be masked, at the beginning at least, although most would unmask quickly so he could admire their beauty. I never would. I'd see him, but he wouldn't see me.

Where was the harm, if he didn't recognize me? I decided to do it. I would fill my eyes with him. If I could approach him safely, I'd fill my ears. If anyone questioned me, I wouldn't be Ella; I'd invent a new name. I'd be content in his presence, nothing more.

I'd have to be careful of Hattie and Olive and Mum Olga. They probably wouldn't recognize me in a mask and an elegant gown, but I'd do well to keep away from them, especially from Hattie.

I made up with Mandy and told her my plan. She didn't comment on the risk I'd be taking, only asked, "Sweet, why go and break your heart again?"

My heart was still broken. I would see Char and it would mend. I'd leave him and it would break again. There were three balls. It would break three times.

I had grown tall enough to wear Mother's gowns. Mandy chose the best three and altered them in keeping with the current fashion, even adding a graceful train that would follow me everywhere. Small magic, she said. She also found the mask I'd worn at Father's wedding, white with tiny white beads along its edges.

In the days preceding the ball, if there were moments when Char and the balls weren't in my mind, they were when I was asleep. Awake, I'd picture myself, radiantly beautiful, mounting the palace steps. I'd be late and the whole court would be there already. An old servant would mutter, "At last, a damsel worthy of our prince." People would turn to stare, and a sigh, of envy or appreciation, would rustle through the assembly. Char would hurry to...

I wouldn't allow him to see me. The old servant might approve me, but I would slip in unnoticed by anyone else. Within, noblemen in my proximity would beg me to dance. I'd oblige them, and the steps would carry me near Char. He'd see me and wonder who I was. After the dance, he'd attempt to find me, but I'd elude him. The next time he'd see me, I'd be in the arms of another partner. I'd smile at the stranger, and Char's heart would be touched. He'd...

My thoughts were nonsense. I would see Char and be invisible to him. Perhaps I'd see him fall in love with another maiden.

At night, I searched my magic book for illustrations of Char or anything written by him. But the book fell open to pages written in Ayorthaian -- written by Areida in her diary. I read eagerly:

She wrote,

The inn has never had such important guests before. Prince Charmont and his knights stayed here last night! Mother was so nervous, she backed into the trestle table while curtsying. It went over, and Aunt Eneppe's vase smashed into a hundred pieces. Mother, Father, I, Ollo, Uflimu, Isti, and even Ettime went down on our knees, picking up shards so the prince wouldn't step on something sharp. It was so crowded on the floor, I bumped into someone's shoulder. When I turned to apologize, I was face-to-face with the prince, who was crawling about with the rest of us!

He insisted on paying for the vase. He said it never would have happened if not for him. Then he apologized for knocking into me! I couldn't answer him. No words would come. I could only nod and smile and hope I didn't seem too much of a bumpkin.

At dinner, when I brought his ale, I did manage to speak, perhaps because I truly had a question, not simply a wish to impress. I told him I'd been at finishing school when Ella ran away, and I asked if he knew whether she was safe.

When I said her name, one of the knights called out, "The ogre tamer. What ever happened to her?"

The prince was quiet for so long after my question that I worried I'd offended him. But when he spoke, he didn't seem angry.

"You were her friend?" he asked. "You liked her?"

I told him Ella was the best friend I ever had. He paused again, and I feared he would say she had died. But he finally answered that he believed her to be well and married to a rich gentleman. He added "She is happy, I think. She is rich, so she is happy."

Without thinking, I blurted, "Ella doesn't care about riches." Then I realized I'd contradicted a prince!

"How do you know?" he said.

I answered, "At school everyone hated me because I wasn't wealthy and because I spoke with an accent. She was the only one who was kind."

"Perhaps she's changed," he said.

"I don't think so, your Highness." I contradicted him twice.

That was the end of our conversation, and I shall remember it forever. I watched him all evening, before and after we talked. Before, he had talked and joked with his men. After, he spoke no more.

Married! How could it be? I wish I could see her again.

I wished I could see Areida. I wished I could have seen Char's face when she defended me, but no illustrations accompanied her journal.

DECEMBER 12, the day of the first ball, dawned clear and mild, but by noon clouds had gathered and the wind had become sharp and cold.

My gowns hung in Mandy's wardrobe. The glass slippers Char and I had found were safely buried at the bottom of my carpetbag. Since they'd be hidden under my petticoats, there was little likelihood that Char would see and identify them.

Hattie's preparations began after breakfast and continued endlessly.

"It's not tight enough, Ella. Pull harder."

"Will that do?" My fingers were striped red and white from tugging at her laces.

If she could still breathe, I wasn't to blame.

"Let me see." She curtsied at herself in the mirror and rose, panting and smiling. "I shall be desolate if you don't remember me, Prince," she cooed at her reflection. Then she spoke over her shoulder. "Am I not magnificent, Ella?

Don't you wish you could look as I do and go to the ball?"

"Magnificent, ravishing. Yes, I wish I could." Anything to make her go.

"Pearls would set my hair off to advantage. Fetch them, there's a good girl."

Two hours later, after Mum Olga called her three times and threatened to leave without her, she declared herself perfect and departed.

At last I was free to bathe and dress. Instead of the kitchen soap I usually used, I helped myself to Hattie's store of bath oils and fragrant soaps. Mandy produced a fleecy towel and a fine scrub brush.

"Tonight I'll be your lady-in-waiting," she said, pouring steaming water into the tub.

When your servant is your fairy godmother, you're never scalded, and your water never gets cold. You become sparkling clean, but the water never gets dirty.

I soaked away a year of cinders and grime and Mum Olga's orders and Hattie's edicts and Olive's demands. When I rose from the bath and stepped into the robe Mandy held for me, I was no longer a scullery maid but the equal of anyone at Char's ball.

My gown was a spring green embroidered with leaves of darker green and plump yellow buds. Mandy had done her work well. In accordance with the latest fashion, my waist tapered to a narrow point, and my train trailed two feet behind me. In the glass, I saw Mandy curtsy.

"You're lovely, Lady." She seemed close to tears. I hugged her. She squeezed me tight, and I inhaled the sweet smell of freshly baked bread.

I turned back to the glass and raised my mask, which covered most of my forehead and half of my cheeks, with small holes for my eyes. With half my head hidden, my mouth appeared strange and unknown even to me. The transformation was thorough. With the mask, I was not Ella.

Nor was I perfectly dressed. I had no jewels. My throat was unfashionably bare.

But it would have to do. I didn't have to be the most elegant creature at the ball; I only had to see Char.

When I ran down to our front door, I discovered that icy rain was falling in sheets. If I walked the quarter mile to the castle, I would be soaked. I could go to the ball without jewels, but not wet through and shivering.

"Mandy! What can I do?"

"Oh, sweet. You can stay home."

I knew there would be two more balls, and that it probably wouldn't sleet tomorrow. But it might, and I had set my heart on going tonight.

"Isn't there some small magic -- a fairy umbrella, something -- that would keep me dry?"

"No, love. Not small magic."

The weather was such a stupid thing to separate me from Char. Mandy hadn't made the rain, but she could have ended it.

"I wish you were a real fairy, one who wasn't afraid to do anything." I had a mad idea and acted on it without considering its wisdom. I said the words Lucinda had taught me, "Lucinda, come to my aid." If anyone would think keeping me dry wasn't big magic, that one would be Lucinda.

"Ella!" Mandy protested. "Don't--"

The order came too late. Lucinda appeared between us.

She still looked old, but she stood straighter than the last time I'd seen her, and many of her wrinkles had disappeared.

"Ahhh. Sweet child. You need my help." She smiled, and the young Lucinda shone through. "So long as it's not too big, I shall do what I can."

I explained.

"Going to a ball? Like that? No, it won't do." She touched my neck, and it was hung so heavy with jewels that it took all my finishing school training to keep my head up.

Mandy snorted.

"Perhaps it's too much for small magic," Lucinda agreed. The weight vanished, replaced by a thin silver chain from which hung a white lily made of the same kind of glass as my slippers. I felt a slight pressure on my head, and lifted off a tiara fashioned as a garland of the same flowers.

"It's beautiful."

Lucinda replaced it on my hair. "Now, you need a coach. That shouldn't be too troublesome."

"How can you call a coach small magic?" Mandy demanded. "And horses, and a coachman, and footmen. People and animals! You've forgotten your lesson."

"No, I haven't. I won't shape them from the air. I'll form them out of real things.

That should satisfy your scruples, Mandy dear."

Mandy grunted, which I knew was not agreement, but Lucinda continued gaily.

"Earlier this evening in Frell I spied a giant's cart filled with pumpkins. An orange coach will be splendid."

A rumbling noise reached us. Outside, a mass, darker than the storm, took shape and grew larger. A seven-foot-high pumpkin rolled toward us and came to rest in the street outside the manor.

I watched Lucinda. She muttered no incantations, waved no wand. For a moment, her gaze shifted, and she seemed to stare within, not out. Then she winked at me.

"Look, child."

The pumpkin had been transformed into a gleaming coach with brass door handles and windows through which lacy curtains peeked.

"Mice will make plump horses," she said.

Six fat brown mice raced across the tiles of the hall. They vanished, and six horses appeared before the coach. A white rat became the coachman, and six lizards were transformed into footmen.

"They're wonderful!" I said. "Thank you."

She beamed.

Mandy glowered. "Anything can happen, you idiot!"

"What can happen? I'll make it safer. Ella, child, you'll have to leave the ball early. At midnight, your coach will become a pumpkin again, and the animals will regain their original shape until your next ball. The tiara and necklace will disappear."

I would have only three hours with Char. They would have to be enough.

"Ah, how glorious to be young and going to a ball." Lucinda vanished.

Glorious! Yes, to see Char. Nothing more. "Goodbye, Mandy," I said.

"Wait!" She ran to the kitchen.

I stood impatiently and gazed outside. As I watched, an orange carpet unfurled itself and rolled from the coach's door to ours. If I waited much longer, it would be wet and useless.

Mandy returned with her umbrella, uncompromisingly black and with two bent spokes.

"Here, love. I hope you won't be sorry. I won't hug you and muss your dress."

She kissed me. "Go now."

I stepped onto the carpet and raised the umbrella. The coachman jumped down from his perch and opened the carriage door.