Cruel Lady, Charmaine's story, part one
A Disenchanted Short Story
Image: Public Domain, Woman with Black Cat. Gwen John, via Wikimedia Commons
Cruel Lady
Charmaine’s story, part one
Charmaine lifted her eyes from her book when she heard her mother’s shriek, muffled by the closed library door. The noise sounded like it came from the front door. Papa must have returned and come up with yet another plan to keep them all out of the poorhouse. Charmaine dropped her eyes to the page again, no doubt it would work as well as the previous four plans.
This time her parents hesitantly entered the library. Papa had a sheepish look plastered on his face, while Mama’s hopeful smile trembled on her lips. This did not look good. Charmaine obediently closed her book keeping her finger on the page. Flaking gold letters on the foxed leather cover proclaimed Potions, Spells, and Charms.
“My dear daughter,” Papa said. He glanced at Mama, who took up the tale.
“You know our difficulties,” Mama said.
Charmaine narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing to help the family,” Mama continued as if she hadn’t noticed Charmaine’s lack of enthusiasm.
Charmaine cranked up her smile to hide her worry. What did they want her to do? She glanced down at her book. She hoped it wasn’t a spell they wanted. She’d only read the books, she’d never cast a spell or brewed a potion. She was a lady, not a witch.
Papa strode further into the room, tripping over a hole in the shabby rug. His hand slammed onto the table in front of Charmaine as he staggered to regain his balance, then dropped into the chair opposite her. Mama stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder, presenting a united front.
“The Duke of Casterbridge has bought all my debt,” Papa said. He hesitated, again glancing at Mama, who pounced in.
“And he’s agreed to cancel it… if you marry him.”
Charmaine flopped back in her chair, mouth dropping open. “But he’s…”
“I’m sure he won’t be so very bad a husband,” Mama cajoled. “And sit up properly, don’t slouch.”
“He’s outlived two young brides already.” Charmaine shuffled back in the seat, attempting to straighten her back.
“Perhaps they weren’t very strong,” Papa said.
“He’s nearly 50!”
“A good age, if I say so myself,” Papa said, a little huffily.
“You want me to marry a man who is the same age as my father?”
Mama forced up the edges of her smile. “If you marry him, your father’s debt will be forgiven.”
Charmaine jerked to her feet and strode to the window. Outside, the garden and the farmland beyond was as shabby as the interior of the house. Charmaine closed her eyes against the sight of the once-prosperous estate. “If Papa hadn’t gambled away all the money, he wouldn’t have to sell his eldest daughter.”
“That’s enough of that!” Mama said. “The documents are signed.”
Charmaine spun. Striding towards them, she extended her hand. “Show me the contract!”
With a nervous glance at Mama, Papa unfolded a parchment from the inside pocket of his jacket. Hesitantly, he laid it across Charmaine’s waiting palm. With scant ceremony, Charmaine dropped into the desk chair and spread out the sheets. She read them closely, while Mama and Papa fidgeted behind her.
The document was simple: Charmaine’s hand in marriage, in exchange for cancelling her father’s debts. Grimly, she gathered the papers together and refolded them.
“As you can see,” Mama said. “The deal is done. You will marry him on Saturday.”
“And if I say no?” Charmaine lifted her chin.
“Then we will all end up in the poorhouse,” Mama said. “If you don’t care about your father and myself, think of Manuel and Manda.”
Yes, the eldest child always had to think of her younger siblings. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Very well, you may sell me to my death,” she whispered.
Papa jumped to his feet, face wreathed in false smiles. “Capital. It really will not be that bad, just you see.”
That did it. His lack of concern for her welfare put iron in her spine. “But only if you stop the gambling.”
“As you say, my dear, as you say.” He tugged at the marriage contract.
She slammed a hand onto the table, holding the document in place. “I want it in writing. A legal document, like this one, that transfers the estate to Manuel the minute you put another penny on the cards or horses.”
Outrage that she would doubt him. Bargaining to convince her to relent. Capitulation and a visit to the family lawyer.
Charmaine handed her copy to Manuel and returned to Potions, Spells, and Charms. Just beyond the page where she had been interrupted revealed a way through this. She schooled herself into the part.
***
Despite the dress being her mother’s made-over wedding gown from 20 years before, Charmaine was a beautiful bride. Her black hair hung in waves to her trim waist, and her green eyes sparkled. If it wasn’t with joy, but anger, no one commented.
Papa held out a hand to help her into the lead coach. Behind her, Mama and the twins waited for the second carriage.
Charmaine stared at the twins in their made-over finery. “You are not coming.”
“What?” Manuel demanded. “I’m not missing cake and a party!”
Charmaine folded her arms. “It’s bad enough Papa selling me, to save you. I’m not having you witness my humiliation. Same goes for you, Mama.”
“When did you get so mean?” Manuel shouted.
“Yes, mean,” echoed Manda.
Charmaine shrugged. “If you three are there, then I won’t be.”
Papa waved his hands ineffectually at Mama. She glared at Charmaine, but her daughter returned stare for stare.
“How about I bring you some cake back?” Papa said. “But let’s get on, do.”
“But we never go out,” Manuel said.
“Never have fun,” Manda agreed.
With a final glare, Mama ushered the complaining children into the house, and the second carriage was returned to the stable.
“You didn’t have to be so cruel,” Papa said. “I didn’t want them to know about the bargain. You’re making me out to be a monster.”
Charmaine’s knuckles whitened around the small bag of coins that tradition said a bride had to throw to the poor. “If you’re not a monster, then why have you sold me to one?”
Papa huddled against the carriage side and stared out of the window.
Charmaine kept the silence for the remainder of the hour-long carriage ride from their estate to the Duke’s city of Casterbridge. Guards flung the gates wide open and a fanfare of trumpets on the walls welcomed her into her new home. With cold eyes, she grimaced at the noise. The people cheered, but behind them stood guards with drawn weapons. Most of the populace wore rags. Children desperately called out for the alms the bride was supposed to throw.
Just before the heavy stone bridge that crossed the River Caster, she tugged the signal cord and the carriage stopped. A footman jumped down to lower the step for her. The river marked the boundary between the poor quarters and the rich houses near the Duke’s palace. Charmain consigned the pity she felt for the populace to the block of ice in which she had encased her heart. She tipped the bag of coins upside down. The silver pennies raced along the gutter. Most tumbled into the drain to be lost forever. Two of the children caught a penny each. They sprinted away through the now silent crowds, before their contemporaries relieved them of their spoils. Charmaine tossed the empty pouch over their heads and returned to her seat in the coach, signalling the stunned footman to continue on their way.
“Charmaine!” Papa whispered. “What has got into you?”
“If even my family doesn’t care about me, why should I care about the poor people of the town.” She ruthlessly clamped down on the tears that wanted to fall.
The carriage stopped again at the steps of the Grand Cathedral. Silence swept over the crowds as she climbed out. Word had already spread about her cruel gesture. With a regal wave and a cold heart, she accompanied her father into the cathedral.
***
The Duke was as handsome as his Duchess. As they walked out of the cathedral as man and wife, the crowds desperately cheered, goaded by spears from the guards in their midst. Papa sidled over to congratulate them.
“There, she is yours, your Grace. You have her hand in marriage,” he said.
Charmaine peered down her nose at him. “Give him the bills, and then chase him out of town. I never want to see his cowardly face again.”
“You can’t mean that,” Papa gasped.
“I do.”
The Duke laughed and waved over a page. The page handed a grimy package of letters and bills to her father. “And call his carriage, my Duchess does not want him present for the celebratory banquet.”
“No!” Charmaine said. “Send the carriage away. Make him walk back to his home.”
Throwing back his head in delighted cackles, the Duke waved his hand and the guards chased Papa through the crowded streets. As the Duke settled Charmaine into his golden coach, he said, “A woman after my own heart.”
Charmaine let her green eyes travel over him. “Only if you’re serving it stuffed and roasted on a silver platter.”
Delighted by his choice of witty bride, the Duke laughed again and the carriage pulled away. Both Charmaine and the Duke waved to the frantically cheering crowds until they arrived at the Duke’s palace in the centre of Casterbridge.
The wedding banquet was beyond anything an impoverished lady could imagine. And afterward, a great ball was held.
All the lesser nobility in the area attended at the Duke’s command. Charmaine caught the pitying glances they cast her way, along with relief that their daughters were safe from the Duke, for now.
Servants carrying trays of food and wine scuttled around the edges of the ballroom. Forced cheer filled the air as the Duke opened the ball, waltzing with Charmaine. After the first dance, Charmaine was solicited for every dance. Each nobleman must dance with the new Duchess, and she took great pleasure in reminding them of the times they had spurned the wallflower she had previously been. An impoverished lady stood no chance, but a new Duchess received all the attention.
After the tenth dance, or was it the eleventh, Charmaine had to rest. She glided to the edge of the ballroom prepared to sit out. A servant bumped into her. A glass of red wine spilled over the hem of her hand-me-down dress. Barely a stain, but still.
The servant quivered through mumbled apologies. Charmaine waved her husband over. He strolled across.
“Look at what this clumsy oaf has done!” she said. “I want him whipped and flung into the street.”
Dancers nearby stopped and stared at the scene. The musicians played on doggedly. The Duke handed the shaking servant over to the butler. “Do as the Duchess commands.”
Then he claimed Charmaine’s hand for their final dance before retiring.
As the music stopped, the Duke led Charmaine to the grand double doors of the ballroom. “Are you ready for your wedding night?”
“Not at all,” Charmaine said. “It’s not happening.”
“I’ll send your father to jail!” he whispered into her ear with menace.
Charmaine flung her head back and laughed. “The marriage contract just stated ‘hand in marriage’. You have that. You’ll get nothing more from me.”
The Duke tightened his grip around her arm. “You think so? I think otherwise.”
Charmaine wrenched her arm from his grasp. In a clear voice that rose above the music, she recited:
“Thrice times three and all of that,
Turn this cruel woman into a cat!”
A wave of heat rushed over Charmaine, burning her. The Duke jerked his hand away as if she burnt him. Fur burst from her arms. All that she was, squashed and shrank. She screamed in agony until the scream turned into a yowl. Fighting her way free from the wealth of cream–coloured fabric, she scrambled for the door on four paws.
“Kill that cat!” the Duke shouted. “Don’t let it get away.”
Feet scurried everywhere. Human screams terrified the little black cat. An air current brought the scent of outside to her nose. Keeping to the shadows and under tables, no more than a shadow herself, she crept through the building.
The Great Doors of the castle opened. The guests hurried away from the disastrous wedding. Fathers ushered away their daughters, who were no longer safe from the Duke’s eyes. No one noticed as a little black cat slid into the night.
The next day a proclamation was sent down from the palace. Kill all the cats in town. But by then the little black cat was long gone.
***
The years passed as years do. The Duke died from poison in his breakfast one morning. His fourth Duchess was declared insane for the crime and locked away in an asylum. With no heir, the townsfolk worried about who would rule. Life stuttered on.
Manuel received the estate the first time his father gambled on the horses. The lawyer taught the boy how to manage the finances and farming, as stated in the contract drawn up by his sacrificed sister.
Manuel was twenty-five, and his twin Manda was on a visit from her home with her husband when an old, black, farm cat crept into the kitchen to snooze in front of the dying hearth. It fell asleep on the rug. Its last sleep.
When the kitchen maid came to build up the cooking fires for the day, she saw a naked woman lying on the rug. The maid screamed, waking the whole house. Feet pounded the corridors as everyone ran towards the noise, expecting that the maid was being murdered.
The woman woke and stared around.
“It’s the Duchess!” the cook whispered.
The butler tossed a tablecloth over the woman, who clutched it around her naked form. She caught sight of Manuel and Manda.
“I’m home,” Charmaine said.