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  Gossip

  The Evil Stepmother's Tale

  Cay Templeton

  © 2012 by Cay Templeton. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9983272-4-2 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-0-9983272-5-9 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012903156

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  For Mom and DJ

  &

  All Stepmothers who have been misunderstood.

  Special Thanks

  God

  Family & Friends

  Allegra Wilson

  Krista Leitzke

  Christina Cordle

  Dawn Anderson

  Ken Vose

  Jacob Appleberg

  Robert Christie

  Sophie Marie

  And of course . . . Humbug

  Chapter 1

  “Gossip"

  Gossip, by definition, is to talk idly about others’ affairs, and it tends, at times, to be quite cruel. It would seem to be the case in this particular town, at this particular time, that the harshest gossip revolved around the Queen’s evil stepmother, the Countess De Leon. She has always been described as a hard-nosed woman whose sole aspiration in life was for her eldest daughter to marry the prince.

  Seldom did anyone ever see the Countess in court, or even in town for that matter. But on the rare visits she did make, most noted that she always carried a walking stick. The ‘staff of terror,’ the town’s children called it. Many say that, outside of walking, its main purpose was to beat her stepdaughter anytime she failed to complete her chores on time. As the gossip goes, Isabella, also known in this tale as Cinderella, was forced to wash all the clothes, scrub every floor, dust the tapestries and tend to all yard work. At the day’s end, the young girl would be locked up in the tower to be kept out of sight and out of thought.

  Of course, no one ever witnessed the Countess's alleged cruelty. The only evidence that remained was the scars on the Queen’s body and the speculative gossip that would taunt the Countess for years. Once Isabella was married to Prince Fabian, the Countess De Leon went into hiding on her estate, where she has remained ever since.

  That is, until a most peculiar invitation was delivered into the hands of Mademoiselle Claire Du Bois to come pay her a visit . . .

  ***

  “Whoa,” escaped Claire’s lips as she looked out the carriage window. Even with the long shadows of dusk, the magnificence of the Countess De Leon’s lavish home was unmistakable. The large, two-story home rested a little way off the main country road. Acres upon acres of not just open land, but also forest, went in every direction.

  Without warning, the coach door flew open, and the cool evening breeze swept through the compartment. Just outside the door, an older man cordially bowed to Claire.

  “Welcome, Mademoiselle Du Bois. I am Botley, the head butler here at the Mon Reve Chateau.”

  He extended his hand to her, coaxing her out of the carriage. Once on solid ground, Claire couldn’t help but notice the stone wall as it stood menacingly, encompassing the estate.

  “We are quite pleased to see that you have made it safely,” he said as Claire’s eyes landed on the rotund figure before her.

  “It is a true honor to have been invited,” said Claire, bowing her head with thanks.

  “If I might ask, my lady, where is your escort? Surely you did not travel all the way from Stuttgart alone,” Botley inquired with mild concern.

  “Most of my travel I was escorted by my dear friend, Victor Krouse. He took leave to visit a sick aunt in Chartres but he will be joining me in town tomorrow.”

  “I see,” Botley murmured. “Well, while you are here with us, I hope you will find your accommodations to be comfortable and to your liking.”

  Judging by his pleasant smile, he seemed to be filled with some inexplicable delight at her being there. She didn’t let that distract her.

  “My stay here?” Claire repeated. “I thought I might stay in town. After all, I do not get the chance to travel much outside of Germany.”

  Botley’s happiness dwindled as if he knew something she did not. But before Claire had a chance to say another word on the matter, he gestured to the grand staircase before them.

  “After you, Mademoiselle.”

  “What is this all about, Botley?” Claire asked. “I received the most curious invitation from the Countess De Leon.”

  “I could not say, Mademoiselle.”

  The old butler continued holding his gesture to the stairs, unrelenting in letting Claire go anywhere but forward.

  “Botley!” came a stark voice. “Mother is waiting.”

  Botley didn’t bother to look, but Claire turned to see a young woman whose thin frame was silhouetted in the front door.

  “Oui, Lady Genevieve,” Botley replied.

  Without another word, Genevieve disappeared back into the house.

  “I do apologize. The Countess wishes to see you now. This way, please.”

  Botley turned and hurried up the stairs and through the front door.

  “Botley, wait, who was that?” Claire shouted, quickly following after him. “Botley?”

  Crossing over the threshold, Claire lost her thought completely. The entrance hall was even more glorious than the front of the home. To either side was a staircase leading to the upstairs halls which had intricately carved railings that were encased in gold. Overhead was a domed ceiling that displayed gods riding chariots across a cloudy sky.

  Botley didn’t hesitate before scuttling up the right staircase. Claire became breathless by the old butler’s quick pace.

  Stepping into the upstairs hallway, Claire instantly noticed the large bay windows facing away from the front of the house. Much to her dismay, when she looked out, nothing could be seen through the darkness.

  “That is the Countess's private garden, Mademoiselle,” Botley mentioned. “All four walls of the house surround it so that she might enjoy the outdoors undisturbed.”

  “The house is built around it?” she asked, trying to understand the unique architecture of this strange yet fascinating home.

  “Yes.”

  Botley moved next to Claire and mimicked her gaze out the window. “She so loves her flowers. They come from all over the world, you know?”

  “She must have quite a fortune to be able to afford such a Utopia,” Claire stated, keeping her focus forward.

  “She does,” agreed the old butler. “But in all fairness, the Countess brought most of her plants back with her when she returned from her holidays with the Count.”

  At this, Claire broke and looked at Botley. “The Count. Seldom does anyone ever mention him. Was he a good sort of man?”

  “The best,” Botley said as his face softened into a pleasant smile again. “If you wish, I would be happy to show you the garden tomorrow once the sun has come up.”

  “I would very much enjoy that,” Claire said, contentedly. Botley nodded his head to finalize the agreement, then spun on his heel and continued down the hall.

  Entering the last hall, they drew close to the Countess's study when Claire stopped dead in her tracks. Hanging on the wall was a huge portrait of a young woman who sat gracefully in her chair with a humored smile. Her very graceful stature demanded the attention of every passerby.

  “Is this-” Claire stopped.

  “Isabella’s moth
er, Mademoiselle.”

  “The Queen’s mother?” Claire repeated, a little confused.

  “Yes. She passed away while giving birth to her.”

  Claire began to gnaw on her lower lip while she studied the entirety of the young woman’s face.

  “How old was the Queen when the Count remarried?” Claire inquired.

  “Five years, I think,” Botley said, taking a closer look at the painting himself.

  “Why would the Countess keep this up in the hall; next to her study, no less? It does not seem right.”

  Botley seemed to choose his words carefully before he said, “In the many years that I have served the Countess, I have learned two things. One, the Countess always has a reason for everything she does, and two, I do not always know what it is.”

  Frustration and confusion whirled around Claire the more she studied the pale pinks and beige colors that were used in composing the woman’s face. Her eyes flickered between the portrait and its closeness to the Countess's study door. At last, her eyebrows lifted and her face relaxed.

  “I see,” she said knowingly.

  A light-hearted chuckle came from behind her.

  “You were perfectly chosen for this, Mademoiselle Du Bois,” boasted Botley.

  “This?” said Claire, trying to get any hint of what he was referring to.

  “You just figured out why the Countess put this painting right outside her door. Did you not?”

  Claire bit her lower lip while her face contorted at the question.

  “I believe I know why, but it is all speculation.”

  Botley nodded his head approvingly. “I hear you are quite the sleuth.”

  “You could say it is a hobby of mine.”

  Botley walked over to the Countess's study door and opened it.

  “Let us see where this hobby leads you while you are here.”

  Claire looked into a dark room that lay just beyond the doorway, questioning if anyone was even in there. Her expression soured the more she allowed her mind to run wild with why the Countess invited her there.

  “You did not come all this way to stop now, did you? The Countess De Leon has not spoken to anyone since Isabella was made Queen. You should take it as an honor that she asked you into her home.”

  Claire’s shoulders dropped, acknowledging he was, in fact, correct on all accounts. Going through that door was the only way she would get answers to the mounting questions that continued to fill her mind.

  “Will you be here when I am finished?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Drawing closer to the door, Claire could feel the thumping in her chest growing stronger.

  “She has been waiting a long time to see you,” Botley said as he nodded his head for her to go in.

  Claire was perplexed by the remark but didn’t let it stop her from plunging headlong into the darkness.

  Chapter 2

  “Count Daughtry”

  Once the study door was closed behind her, Claire had to feel around to make her way through the room. Her eyes strained to compose the outline of each object she passed. An odd odor permeated the air and grew stronger with every step she took forward. All of a sudden, her knee slammed into a small table and she heard glass smashing on the floor.

  “Oh, blast it all,” she grumbled, and then leaned over to feel around for the broken pieces.

  “Leave it,” said a husky voice.

  The hair on the back of Claire’s neck stood on end. A glowing red ember danced through the air a few feet in front of her.

  “Countess De Leon?”

  In only a moment’s time a spark flew and a flame was flickering at the tip of a wick. The Countess De Leon lit several candles while she stood prominently behind her overly large desk. Even with the little light that was produced, Claire could still make out the hard, yet refined, face of the older woman smoking a hand-carved pipe.

  Her clothes were of fine fabrics and her salt and peppered color hair was tightly wrapped into a spinster’s bun. The only thing that jumped out immediately was the dark crevices that were embedded underneath her eyes.

  “You really needn’t bother with that,” said the Countess.

  Transfixed by her, Claire left the shattered figurine on the floor and moved to the armchair in front of the desk. Both the Countess and she sat simultaneously down in their chairs.

  Breaking free from the intense stare, Claire allowed her eyes to survey the room, taking note of every detail. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that covered three out of four walls of the study were the first thing that captured her attention. Not even if she read for five years straight did she think she could get through all these classics that hailed from every corner of the world.

  “I have no doubts that you are wondering why I have brought you here, Mademoiselle Du Bois.”

  “I am curious,” agreed Claire, her eyes landing on the portrait of the Count and the Countess with three little girls sitting at their feet. Two of the girls sat closer to the front of the picture while the third girl hid behind her father’s breeches.

  “Well, I have no need to beat around the bush about this,” said the Countess sternly, demanding Claire’s attention back.

  “It seems to me that I have been very . . .” The Countess's lips pursed, clenching her pipe between them. “. . . misunderstood by everyone.”

  “Honestly, Countess De Leon, I do not see how I can help you with the matter.”

  “Oh, come, come now. Surely, you of all people know how you can help me.”

  The Countess's eyes narrowed in delight. The weighted meaning behind her words hit Claire hard.

  “Me?” Claire stammered.

  “You are not just clever when it comes to solving mysteries, but you are also capable of writing it all down,” said the Countess decisively. “I want the people out there to know my side of the Queen’s very twisted story.”

  “Is that why you brought me here? You want to tell me your story?” Claire retorted through her fingers that were sprawled across her lips, still taking in the situation unfolding before her.

  “I need someone who will not be swayed by politics or bullying from the Queen. Someone who can understand what it is like to be an outcast. For that is what I have become ever since . . .”

  The Countess trailed off. Claire noticed the Countess's face drain of color before she looked away. An awkward moment of silence fell between the two women.

  “Is the Baron Dupree still in hiding?” The Countess asked.

  Before she digested what the Countess had asked, Claire could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Instead of backing down from the question, she locked eyes with the stern woman sitting across from her.

  “Clearly not.”

  The Countess smiled, pleased with herself.

  “I was hoping that he and his . . . ‘protégé’ would hear me,” she said, gesturing to Claire.

  “Under one condition.”

  “You want to know how I found out that he was your nom de plume,” the Countess blurted out.

  Claire cocked her head to one side, acknowledging the Countess's statement.

  “If you stay until the end, I promise you will learn how I found out you were writing under that name.”

  Another awkward moment of silence passed between them while the two women measured each other’s intentions. The tension was thick but not as strong as the curiosity swarming around the Countess's words. Clearly, this woman was not someone to be trifled with. And as much as Claire was astute to details that led her to solving problems, in her current predicament she was at a loss.

  Reaching down into her satchel, Claire grabbed some parchment, a quill, and a little bottle of ink.

  “Where would you like to begin?”

  “At the beginning, of course,” the Countess said in short.

  “The beginning,” Claire repeated, scribbling the words down. The Countess's eyes drifted down to a small picture frame that sat on her desk. All Claire could see wa
s the back of the canvas stretched cleanly over the wooden frame. Though she wondered what had captured the Countess's undivided attention, she dared not ask.

  “The fireworks were grand that year. Festivities were in full swing on the eve of Prince Fabian’s seventh birthday. Of course, as you know, he is now the King.”

  Claire dropped her head in acknowledgement and waited for the Countess to continue.

  “People showed up in masses at the castle to drink and have a merry time. I, on the other hand, had no desire to be there at all. It is a wonder that I even went.”

  “Why?” Claire blurted out.

  The Countess paused for a moment. Her ice blue eyes shot up. “If you will allow me to finish.”

  Claire nodded, a little embarrassed. “Of course. Please, go on.”

  “My husband passed away and it had been hard times for my two daughters and myself. Genevieve was especially close to her father and I would almost venture to say that she took his death the hardest. I would have much preferred to stay home and ease her to sleep than go to some ridiculous ball.

  “When it came to festivities, I wanted nothing to do with them. However, my dear friend, Lady Devereaux, thought it might be good for me to get out into society again. She was not a woman to take no for an answer.

  “I had not put much effort into my attire that night, for whom was I trying to impress? But when I climbed out of the carriage, I saw a man who instantly made me regret my decision.

  “Count Daughtry was a handsome man to be sure and the talk of all of France. Actually, you could say he was the talk of Europe seeing that he was a charming businessman who traveled all over the world for his work. I personally had never met him but could tell by the flock of young lady admirers standing around him that he was considered the most eligible bachelor in all of France.”

  Claire found her whole body had slid to the edge of the chair as she had become more entranced by the Countess's story. Biting her lower lip, she asked, “Did you join his circle?”

  “Certainly not,” snapped the Countess. “He could have had any young lady he wanted with his vast estates. I found it difficult to believe he would even glance in my direction.”