Masked

We were rich, you know, when my Father was alive. At least, I thought we were. We had maids and cooks and servants; we hadn’t ever had to do any work. We were surrounded by luxury, and we thought that our lives would always continue that way. Then Father died, suddenly. It turned out that it was fool’s gold, a mirage, all that wealth. It didn’t exist; there was nothing left. Worse than nothing left, for Father had financed our lifestyle by building up debts. Debts that presumably he had every intention of paying; Father was an honourable man, and he loved us. he would never have left us destitute. Except … he did. Once he had died, all we had was taken to pay those debts. Creditors who were prepared to wait for Father to pay, were not prepared to wait for my Mother to find the money. The house, our belongings … all went. We were able to keep only the most basic possessions. Presents I had been given by my Father were taken and sold, despite the sentimental value in which I held them. It added to the pain to see others using what my Father had so lovingly bought me.  

We would have been homeless, had not a rich relation taken us in, but we were made to feel that we were unwelcome, and my Sister and I were hidden away. Only my Mother was allowed to socialise, and the reason for that soon became clear. He wanted to marry her off; he had no intention of seeking husbands for either my Sister or I. That word ‘ugly’ had soon got applied to us, although in truth we were not so much ugly as not pretty. Not by the conventions of our day, and not with fashions that did not flatter us. Mother was under pressure to accept the first proposal that came her way, a widow with two daughters not being prime marriage material. Certainly not one without money. That is how we met Ella and her father. They were slightly down the social scale from us, and our assumption has always been that the marriage was to help him climb higher.

Of course, the problem soon showed itself in that Ella’s father could not afford servants and expected us to do the work, as Ella had for them both before the marriage. But none of us knew how to do it. We’d never had to. So of course Ella did it; she was the only one with any skills. To marry someone used to the life we were, and then expect her to become a common housewife was insulting! We did not think Ella minded; and her father certainly did not care, so long as the work was done. Understandably, Mother focused on my sister and I, and our own futures. It was not an easy time, and the fact that we still grieving for my Father was not really understood. Whatever he had done to us, he loved us and we missed him; the horrible situation we found ourselves in only added to our pain. To be honest, Ella was the least of our concerns. But I do acknowledge that none of this made for a happy atmosphere in the house.

The crisis came when the invitations arrived for the Ball at the palace. Now I want it made clear that neither my sister nor I had any hopes of attracting the attention of the prince, even had we wanted to. Mother focused on presenting us as well as possible, in the hopes of attracting the attention of someone else. It made us feel a bit like geese going to market, but that’s the way it was then. Ella’s father was happy for us to go; he wanted us off his hands, and he wanted to go to the palace. Noone had ever thought of Ella going. Of course she wanted to; what girl wouldn’t? But they would never have been invited before our parents married, so she was no worse off. Also, there really was not anything for her to wear, and no money to buy anything. As it was, my sister and I had to wear dresses that were slightly old-fashioned, but they were all we had.

Ella put up a fight, and there was a terrible row. The problem was, she wanted to wear one of my dresses. She was right that it had never fitted me, and that it would look good on her. But that wasn’t the point; she didn’t understand that. Father had given me that dress; it was the last present I ever had from him, and I kept it (with a struggle) simply for that reason. It was all I had been able to keep, and it was precious. When Ella suggested wearing it, I hit the roof! She was not going to get her grubby hands on that dress! It may well have seemed unfair, and even bullying, to Ella. But to me, all I could feel was the pain and grief of Father’s death. That was where the anger came from. In the end, Ella’s father made the decision that she was to stay behind.

So it was rather a shock when she turned up at the palace as she did (thankfully, not in my dress; maybe she had understood something). It was not really a surprise that she ended up marrying the prince; Ella was astoundingly beautiful. Whether she is happy, I do not know. I wonder whether she jumped from one bad situation into another … there was a reason why the palace held a Ball to find the prince a wife, you know. Normally, he would have married dynastically. Had that ever occurred to you?

To give Ella her due, she helped my sister and I find good husbands, and we are now happily married, although we see nothing of Ella or her father. It would not be appropriate, or wanted by either side. But that period of our lives was one of turmoil, pain and deep, deep grief. However we behaved, and however we looked, I just think we deserve more than to be remembered just as the “ugly sisters”.

This re-telling of Cinderella from the point of view of the Ugly Sisters is purely imaginary, and may or may not be true to the original story. Hopefully, it does suggest that there could be more behind the story. However, the point is not to make us think about fairy tales, but to encourage us to ponder about what might lie behind the face of those people we meet, and of those we see portrayed in the media. Those we make assumptions about, without really knowing their background; those we judge with one word, without pondering what makes them tick. We may or may not ever have the chance to know their story, but it is worth remembering that they have one.