The theme “The Clock Strikes” just had to trigger thoughts of the Cinderella fairy story, still one of the most popular for pantomimes. This was the first of my re-workings of Cinderella, which owes a lot to the 1930s country house crime novels of Agatha Christie.
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THE CLOCK STRIKES
Ella was getting nervous. “When the clock strikes twelve, it will be all over.” She reminded herself. “The shiny Bentley will turn back into a pumpkin. My lovely dress will be a plain maid’s uniform. I had better rush away. Rush away from the jazz, the Martini, the ballroom, and from the delightful man called Alfie.” Ella is running. Running down the step of the house to the drive, running along the drive to the road, running down a road with steep banks topped with hedges. Around every corner there is more road, and she is gasping for breath.
There was a loud rap on the door.
Ella woke up, grumbled an acknowledgement to the knocker, and stole a moment to cherish her dream. It was pointless to cherish it, because it was a world away from her mundane existence. Her half-sisters, well, they had a chance to party like that. But she had been born, as the lady of the house liked to say, “on the wrong side of the blanket”. Sir Malcolm Willoughby-Lowe prided himself on being kind to his bastards. He did not formally acknowledge them, but the favour he bestowed on certain children of the village made it obvious. She had a half-brother who had been found a good trade, and another who was a clerk in his lordship’s City firm. She had a tolerable life as a maid, and would in time become housekeeper.
It was still dark outside, and it was cold inside. Ella shivered constantly as she washed and dressed. Then she crept around the house lighting fires in every room with her trembling cold fingers, dusting and brushing as she went, so that by the time the family stirred, well after daybreak, the house would be cosy, clean and welcoming. Then she went to the servant’s room for her breakfast. The butler barked some orders for the day and, she noted with relief that she would be spending most of it in the kitchen and scullery. She preferred not to be seen “upstairs”, where one of her unbearable half-sisters might taunt her as “Cinders”!
At ten o-clock, Ella was washing dishes. It was her favourite job. Her mind could wander, and it did, back to her vivid dream. It must be the powder that she had mixed in with her cocoa. “From local flowers,” the pedlar woman had said, and Ella had an alarming thought that one of those flowers might be poppy.
There was an irritating buzz from the new electric board. Ella ran up the stairs to the hall. Perhaps a visitor needed their coat or shoes brushing. She saw his lordship with both his daughters and a stranger who looked remarkably like the delightful Alfie. The girls were fluttering around the young man but he seemed to be trying to retreat.
“So silly of me, Sir Malcolm, to come here without an invitation, on a whim.”
“Do stay for some tea.” His lordship wanted to please his desperate daughters. “I really would like to hear your ripping yarns from the colonies. And let’s play some golf when the weather eases off. It is a long time since I played with your father. It’s such a shame to hear that he is suffering again. Do give him my regards.” His lordship rambled on. Ella glanced at the man who looked like Alfie. Average height, intense blue eyes and fair hair. She was reminded of a photo of Lawrence of Arabia in a magazine.
“Ah, Ella, my dear.” His lordship finally noticed her. “Please bring tea and biscuits for five to the drawing room.”
Ella bobbed a curtsey and was about to scurry back to the kitchen when the stranger summoned her back. “Wait a minute!”
“Any special requests for the biscuits, sir?” She kept her eyes lowered, more out of embarrassment than deference.
“Sorry to be so forward, young lady,” the man continued. “Please could you take your cap off?”
Ella just did not know what to do. She felt the resentment of the daughters drilling into her.
“Go on, Ella!” His lordship snapped. So she did, and dared to look up.
The young man gasped, and looked very happy. “Oh my goodness! It’s her!”
His lordship laughed heartily. “Well I never! You have a funny dream about a young girl at this house and it’s one of the maids! I’m surprised that you would have remembered her, although she was here as a child, helping her mother after school.”
“I think we did meet when we were children, in the garden, didn’t you used to climb trees, and sit up there reading?”
“I did, sir.” Ella was trying to dredge her memory for a blond boy, but failing.
“And what are you reading now?”
“The Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie, sir.” Ella winced as the daughters tutted at her choice.
The young man nodded and smiled. Was he amused? In her dream, Alfie had been amused.
“And when will you be taking it back to the public library, Ella?” He asked.
Ella was very uncomfortable. All attention was on her, and she was used to being ignored by these people. She felt very hot. Could they see her blushing? “On Wednesday afternoon, sir. It’s my half-day.” She finally muttered a reply, fully expecting that the daughters would now make sure that her half-day would be changed.
“Jolly good! And do you have any chocolate bourbon cream biscuits?”
“Yes sir, we do.” Ella bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. She wondered if she was still dreaming, or if something monumental in the world of coincidence had just happened – that two people recognised each other from recent dreams. Best forgotten. She would still hope to see him at the library. If she did, it was most likely that his intentions were not honourable. So, best forgotten. Back to the to the daily grind. Tea for five and bourbon biscuits. At the double!
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Photo: Clock in the Cinderella Room, Christmas display at Hinton Ampner House, Hampshire, A National Trust property.
