“But I told him, and his two ugly daughters, that I was going to Champagne. Or, I told the daughters. Perhaps they forgot to tell Malbert.”
“Forgot? No. They’ve been keeping it a secret.” One of the stepsisters must have removed Artemis Stunt’s book from Henrietta’s dressing table. They must have feared that if Ophelia or Prue saw the book, they might deduce where Henrietta was. “Why would Eglantine and Austorga neglect to tell Malbert where you’d gone?”
“Isn’t it obvious? They didn’t wish for me to come back.”
*
“I’m mighty thirsty,” Prue said to Dalziel. She’d polished off the entire roast fowl that a footman had wheeled into the guest chamber, along with a dish of the most luscious gravy. But the gravy had been as salty as the seven seas, and now she was absolutely parched. She eyed the turtle’s swimming basin. Fresh water in there . . . no. She just couldn’t.
“Take a glass of wine,” Dalziel said.
“Can’t. I’ve got my big performance coming up. Won’t you get me a cup of water from somewhere? How about a whole pitcher? Maybe with some ice?”
“Your wish is my command, Miss Prudence.” Dalziel headed for the door.
“Don’t be too long,” Prue called after him. “It’s fifteen minutes till midnight.”
Once Dalziel was gone, Prue changed out of the nun’s habit and into her costume. It was tight in the waist, and since it was a ballet costume it exposed her bare feet and ankles. Luckily, Prue wasn’t shy about her ankles.
A knock on the door. Dalziel was back already?
She swung the door open. No one was there. The long corridor, with its painted panels and elephant-sized furniture, was empty.
She was shutting the door when she saw a blue brocade pillow with tassels on the corners and a pair of sparkling shoes sitting on top.
“Hello?” she called down the corridor.
No answer.
Prue broke into a smile. Dalziel. He felt bad about her not having shoes for the ball. These were a little gift from him. She leaned over and wiggled her right foot into a slipper. It was awfully tight, but by golly was it pretty, with clear glass beads stitched all over in a flowery design. She had to cram her toes into the ends and then hook her finger around back like a shoehorn—but she got it in. Same with the left one.
Ouch.
She hobbled back into the chamber. The door had almost fallen shut when she heard a wheezing sound.
Her ticker gave up for a few beats.
Slowly, she pushed the door back open and stuck her head out.
“Cendrillon!” Lady Cruthlach said. “You naughty, naughty girl. You will be late for the ball! The prince awaits.”
Prue took a step back. “Prince Rupprecht?”
“Whoever he is.” Lady Cruthlach’s face had more color than the last time Prue had seen her. She wore a small, pointy black hat, a lavender cape, and she held some kind of stick. A . . . wand? “It does not matter. The important thing is that the story continues without error.”
“What story, ma’am?”
“The Cinderella story! Don’t you know who you are, girl?”
“I sure do, but it seems like you don’t.” Prue moved to shut the door. Instead, it burst open and Hume shoved in, reaching out for Prue.
Prue dodged him and dashed across the chamber. Hume trundled after her.
“Hume shan’t allow you to miss the ball, my lovely,” Lady Cruthlach called.
Prue made it to the fireplace. She snatched up a brass coal shovel from a rack, and the rack crashed to the floor. She lifted the shovel high.
Hume smiled. One of his front teeth was missing.
He didn’t think she was going to do it. “This is for all them kidnappings, you ogre!” Prue yelled. She took a mighty swing and smashed Hume across the side of his head with the shovel—clang.
To her amazement, he thunked to the floor.
“Oh!” Prue dropped beside him. Thank goodness. He was still breathing. She scrambled to her feet, tottered across the chamber, and pushed past Lady Cruthlach in the doorway.