Cinderella Six Feet Under(105)

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.

“Cinderella did not do that,” Lady Cruthlach said.

“Who cares, you old bat?” Prue set off down the corridor. There went that wheezing again, and a creaking-basket sound. Prue stole a look over her shoulder.

Lord Cruthlach bore down on her in a wicker wheelchair. He was just as scrawny as ever but his eyes had life in them now, and he spun the wheels with gusto. Lady Cruthlach wasn’t far behind. Her little pointed hat hung on the side of her head, and her eyes looked mean.

Prue ran as fast as the tight, glass-beaded slippers could go.

*

At two minutes till midnight, the orchestra finished playing and shuffled offstage. The crowd watched and whispered as footmen cleared the dais of the musicians’ chairs and stands. Fans flicked. Ladies giggled nervously.

Prince Rupprecht strode up onto the dais in his white evening jacket, crimson sash, golden epaulets, and medals.

Ophelia’s palms sweated. Would her plan work?

Prince Rupprecht began a speech in French, and Griffe whispered a translation in Ophelia’s ear.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Prince Rupprecht said, “at last the moment has arrived that we have all been anxiously awaiting. The moment when I, Prince Rupprecht of Slavonia, announce the identity of my cherished, my love, and, yes, my intended.”

Feminine yelps rang out. A glass splintered somewhere.

“At the stroke of midnight,” Prince Rupprecht said, “I shall identify my cherished one, the only lady of flawless beauty, the only lady with a foot small enough to fit”— he extracted a tiny, shining shoe from his pocket—“this glass slipper.”

The crowd erupted like a tree full of chickadees.

“Silence!” Prince Rupprecht boomed.

The crowd hushed.

“At the stroke of midnight, I shall fit this dainty slipper to my darling . . . Cinderella.”

Ophelia craned her neck to see the huge golden clock on the wall. One more minute.