This story takes place between Books One and Two of the Perrault Chronicles. In Book One, Cendrilla Perrault is forcibly betrothed to Lord Bluebeard for a bride price of her weight in gold crowns.

Lord Bluebeard is rumored to be an ogre who has killed his six previous wives. The Perrault family even witness him beating a servant on the day he arrives to sign the betrothal contract, but this brutality does not soften Mother’s heart.

After spending just one night in Maison Bluebeard,  Cendrilla runs away and enjoys various adventures with the beaten servant, Jack.

Mother’s Misfortune starts on the same evening Lord Bluebeard took Cendrilla away.

~ONE~

Candide Perrault’s first sign of trouble was the burn of hot bouillabaisse poured over her head. The gloopy red liquid soaked into the silk gown made by the finest couturier in all the Seven Kingdoms.

She shrieked, and her daughters, Gabrielle and Angelique, looked on in wide-eyed horror.

Cook, the wretched sow, threw the china tureen aside and glowered at Candide, pudgy hands on childbearing hips. Her complexion glowed as red as a spit-roast hog. “That’s for selling an innocent child to a murdering brute!”

Before Candide could muster up a witty retort, the rotund woman spun on her heel and stormed out of the dining room.

“Mother,” cried Gabrielle. “Are you hurt?”

Despite having hot liquid trail down her back, Candide managed a smile. “I shall be fine once I’ve put that woman in her place.”

She strode out, keeping her steps brisk but elegant. The servants should never see their Mistress undone. Cook was at the main doors, handing two carpetbags to Benoit, the footman.

“And what,” Candide drawled, despite her mounting anxiety, “Is the meaning of this charade?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” the woman nodded to Benoit, who opened the door. “We’re leaving.”

Gabrielle and Angelique rushed past, like fawns chasing after a doe. Their lack of decorum made Candide bristle.

Angelique grabbed Cook’s hand. “But who will take care of us if you leave?”

“Please don’t go,” said Gabrielle through sobs. “We didn’t sell Rilla. It was her.”

All three women turned, fixing Candide with frosty glares. And without a word of goodbye, Benoit snatched the carpet bags and walked out of the open door. It took all her self-control not to wilt under the hostility. Candide straightened, held her head high and ignored the cooled bouillabaisse sticking her underwear to her skin.

“Cookie Palmiers, I will forgive this indiscretion if you turn back and submit yourself to discipline. However, if you leave my employ, I will have you in pillories for the assault of a noblewoman.”

The woman snorted. “You can try.” She pulled her hand out of Angelique’s grasp and stepped out of the house. “But if anyone deserves the stocks, it’s you.”

Gabrielle’s lips trembled. “And how will we feed ourselves now that we have no servants?”

Angelique gave Candide a withering look but remained silent.

“We have enough gold to hire a platoon of servants and have you married by the end of the month. With your beauty and this dowry, you could even marry the Crown Prince Armin.”

Gabrielle brightened at this, and Candide retreated to her boudoir for the evening.

***

The next morning, a loud coughing awoke Candide from her slumber. Both girls stood over her, their pretty faces marred by frowns.

“We’re hungry,” said Gabrielle.

Candide closed her eyes and turned. “Then eat.”

Those two could stand over her all she wanted. It would take Candide at least a few more hours of slumber to overcome the shock of being so viciously assaulted in her own home. And when she was ready, she would demand that Sergeant d’Armes drag Cook to the village square for her punishment. She smirked. If Candide  accepted him as a gentleman caller, she could make him arrest Benoit as an accomplice.

“Mother,” said Angelique, her voice sharp.

“What?” muttered Candide.

“The kitchen’s on fire.”

Candide pulled back her sheets and leapt to the ground, then tripped over her bed curtains. The twins stepped back, neither of the ungrateful girls crying out in horror at seeing their poor mother so debased. But now was no time to berate them on their lack of sympathy. She picked up the trail of her nightgown, made of the spun silk of Savannah spiders, and bolted down the stairs.

The cold marble of the floors chilled her soles, but she ran on through the corridors, down the grand staircase, and through the heavy, wooden door that marked the entrance to the servants’ domain.

She stood at the top of the stairs, her heart in her throat. Plumes of smoke streamed from the kitchen door, gathering on the ceiling like a cloud of despair. Black residue, presumably from the smoke, already stained the stone walls. There was no need to proceed further. The heat radiated up to where she stood, and she was in no mood to battle an inferno.

The twins caught up and peered over her shoulder. They immediately fell about coughing. Candide pushed them back through the doorway leading to the ground floor hall and shut the door.

“How,” she said, through gritted teeth, “did this occur?”

Gabrielle sucked in a breath, a stalling tactic she’d used since she was a child.

“Tell the truth,” she snapped.

Both girls stepped out of reach. Candide turned and glowered at them. She’d never strike her precious daughters. They knew that, so it hurt her heart to see them so cowed.

“Angelique wanted to make Johnnycakes…” her voice trailed off.

“And?” Candide turned to her youngest.

Angelique wore the pink gown Candide had commissioned for her trousseau, for when she’d secured a suitable union for the girl. The delicate, embroidered fabric was now a blackened mess. The girl wrung her hands, her face twisted in a way that would cause premature wrinkles.

“We hadn’t eaten last night, so we were hungry. Gabrielle made me spill the oil, and when I used it to light the stove, the fire spread.”

Candide sighed. Her revenge on Cook and Benoit would have to wait. “Fetch the buckets Cendrilla used to water the gardens. We will need to flood the basement, otherwise the fire will spread.”

***

After several hours of backbreaking work of drawing water, carrying it through the house like a pack of mules, and throwing it down the stairs, Candide felt certain she had contained the fire to the basement. She washed off the soot and sweat then doused herself with belladonna cologne from Metropole. Her purple silk gown with the puffed sleeves would convey her wealth, status and beauty to perfection. It was time to visit Sergeant D’Armes. She would add the fire to Cook’s list of transgressions against the house of Perrault and get the constables’ help in dousing the flames.

Since Benoit had left, it was left to Candide to take the horses out and fix them to the carriage. This was a task she hadn’t done since living in Savannah with her sister, Branca. She wondered whether Branca was still alive, and she thought of her youngest sister, Maria whose family would have expanded by now, but shook her head. Vengeance called.

Candide checked her face in the small, gilded mirror she kept in her purse. Perfection. She led the horse from the stable to the front driveway, her feet crunching the graveled ground.

The girls stood outside the front doors of the Manor, looking like a pair of identical angels. Candide smiled. Despite her misfortune, she’d brought up a pair of ladies worthy of any prince in the known world.

Gabrielle scowled. “I’m still hungry.”

Angelique glowered.

“Get into the coach and wipe off those ugly expressions.”

The girls huffed and obeyed.

Candide climbed to the driver’s seat and drove the carriage to the edge of the shopping district. From there, she and the girls would walk to the center. It would not let the townsfolk see her performing the menial work of a coachman.

With her chin tilted up, she strode through the town square, flanked by Gabrielle and Angelique. As usual, all heads turned to admire her and her gorgeous children. Pride bloomed in her bosom. Now that she had the funds, she would broker the best unions for the girls.

The jailhouse, a slate building with heavy, wooden doors stood in the corner of the square. Candide turned to the girls. “Stay outside. I refuse to expose you to the lesser elements of our society.”

Gabrielle bit her lip, and Angelique nodded, still with that unpleasant glare. Candide would speak to the girl later about presenting herself properly in public. She sashayed to the jailhouse and rapped on the door.

A young man she had never seen before answered. His eyes widened, and Candide preened with satisfaction. Even at her age, she had the power to reduce men to a stupor.

“Yes, Madame?” squeaked the young constable.

“I wish to see Sergeant D’Armes.”

He opened the door, and Candide stepped in. The receiving room was not as she had imagined. There was no sight of drunks, louts or layabouts, only a wooden desk which spanned the width of the room.

“Please wait here, Madame. I will fetch the sergeant.”

Candide inclined her head and waited.

In minutes, Sergeant D’Armes walked out. She forced a smile. The sergeant was not what one would call handsome. His beard resembled porcupine quills, and above small, squinting eyes jutted equally horrific brows.

“Madame Perrault,” he sneered.

Candide’s breath caught, and she stepped back. No one had spoken to her with such disdain since she was back in Savannah with Branca.

He leaned over the desk, scrutiny written all over his visage. “Did you know the penalty for betrothing a minor to a magical foe is life imprisonment?”

Her lips parted, but not even this seductive expression could melt the scowl off the sergeant’s face. “I’m not sure what you mean, Jean. I would never—”

“It’s Sergeant to the likes of you, Madame.” He spat the last word, and droplets of spittle glistened on the surface of the wood.

“I came here to make a complaint, Sergeant,” she said. “Cookie Palmier has—”

The man chuckled, but it wasn’t out of mirth. His look of glee seemed bestial. “What a waste of fine bouillabaisse. There will be none of that where you’re going. Lord Bluebeard is under investigation, and if we find out he is an ogre, both of you will be dragged here for judgement.”

Candide clasped her hands to stop them from shaking. “I must protest at this treat—”

Sergeant D’Armes slammed his fists on the desk, making Candide flinch. “Leave, or I will have you in stocks while we work out whether you sold a helpless girl to a flesh-eating monster.”

A whimper sprung from her throat. She spun and fled the jailhouse, tripping over her feet.

Outside, the sun bore down on her like an unforgiving deity. She bowed her head, avoiding its harsh glare. Sweat trickled from her hairline, making its way down her face like a centipede.

“Mother. What in the Seven Kingdoms is happening?” asked Gabrielle, hysteria raising her voice in pitch. “Everyone hates us.”

Angelique strolled up, fanning herself. “I expect they disapproved of what Mother did to Cendrilla.”

Candide pursed her lips. A small crowd of commoners gathered around her. She flashed her eyes at the girls, a warning not to speak of such things in public. But it was too late because some of the people surrounding them jeered.

“Disgraceful, it is, what some folk will do for gold,” said a withered crone.

“Hanging’s too good for her,” said Madame Beaufort, the cheese monger.

“Put her in the stocks,” yelled a drunk. “The treacherous peacock.”

Candide grasped the twins wrists and hissed, “We’re leaving.”

***

After a most distressing run across the town centre, they boarded the carriage and set home at top speed. Throughout the journey, the sergeants words haunted Candide. Of course, she’d heard the rumors about Lord Bluebeard. But how else was she going to muster the vast amounts required for Gabrielle and Angelique’s dowries?

The carriage trundled down the dirt road, its movements sending jolts of fear through Candide’s belly. It was only a matter of time before the gossips confirmed Lord Bluebeard’s status and she’d be dragged away with no one to fend for her daughters. She brought her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. There was only one option left: to take the gold and leave Moissan.

As the girls disembarked, she said, “pack a trunk. We’re leaving Clement.”

“Are we going to Metropole to meet Prince Armin?” asked Gabrielle.

Angelique strode past without a word.

Candide huffed. She failed to understand the girl’s attitude.

While the twins packed, Candide carried the twenty-three bags of gold coins to the carriage’s strong box, ignoring the hunger gnawing at her empty belly. She helped the girls load their trunks and was about to enter the Mansion to fetch her own when a fine carriage entered the driveway.

Candide frowned. She had expected no gentlemen callers today, and the jailhouse used carts that doubled up as cells. Perhaps whoever visited would ensure their safe passage to Metropole.

“Get in the carriage, girls.”

“But I want to see who’s come to visit,” said Gabrielle.

Angelique climbed in, avoiding eye contact.

Candide didn’t have time to ponder the mood swings of her youngest. She threw her shoulders back, made herself form a warm smile, and strode to the carriage.

“Welcome, My Lo—” Her words were cut off by a meaty fist which shot out of the open window and wrapped itself around her throat. It belonged to Lord Bluebeard, and his face was scarlet, prominent veins pulsing on his temple.

“Where is she?” he roared. Lord Bluebeard shook her as though the answer would fall from her lips.

Candide felt her skin tighten, and her lungs struggled for air. Tears streamed from her eyes. She wanted to speak, but the man, no ogre, blocked her air supply. Her mouth opened and closed, her throat making ugly, choked sounds.

Lord Bluebeard threw her to the ground. “Where is she?”

With several deep breaths, Candide felt able to talk, even though her throat burned and her neck felt squeezed into a corset. “Surely she is with you?”

“She ran away with that boy,” he spat.

“Cendrilla didn’t come here. She is no longer welcome.” Candide struggled to her feet and wish she hadn’t. Her head spun like a wisp carried away in the wind.

“You’ve reneged on our deal.” He stalked toward her, and Candide could not help but to stumble backward until she bumped her posterior on the carriage. “I have financed you and your wretched daughters for the past two years and paid off your debts, all for Cendrilla’s hand.”

“And you have it, My Lord.” She shrank into herself, hoping that her daughters wouldn’t make a sound and get themselves noticed by the monster.

He bared his teeth, which seemed larger than average for a human. “I didn’t pay her weight in gold crowns for one day of betrothal to the girl!”

Candide nodded, trying not to crumble under his stare. Lord Bluebeard’s eyes blazed, and he looked ready to incinerate everything in her path. “My Lord, I will find her for you. I suspect she may have gone to see an old fisherman who sells us lobster. His wife was once kind to her.”

Lord Bluebeard’s nostrils flared, and Candide hoped he wasn’t smelling the lie. He grabbed her hair and yanked her up. so their eyes were level. “Find me my bride, and I will forgive you for bringing her up as a servant in her own home.”

Candide’s scalp was aflame. She clenched her jaw and somehow nodded.

Lord Bluebeard threw her aside and peered into the carriage. “I hope, for your sakes, you are not leaving town.”

Candide’s heart flip-flopped. She shook her head, praying that Angelique wouldn’t contradict her.

“Good, because wherever you go, I will find you.” He glanced at a spot high above her, nodded, and went back into her carriage.

Candide turned around, but all she could find were three bluebirds perched on top of the coach.

TO BE CONTINUED…

If you want to find out where Cendrilla went, click here to get your copy of the book!