Eleanor was approaching her fourteenth birthday. I had visited to invite her to spend some time with me. I was planning to help her in acquiring the wardrobe she would need for formal affairs. I had heard some rather unsettling rumors about Giselle selling items from the country house to settle accounts in town. I was seriously concerned about the well-being of my Goddaughter.
Giselle welcomed me into her home and immediately began to complain about Eleanor’s rudeness and harridan-like ways. “She back-talks and tells me I am not her mother and therefore have no authority over her. She dresses and acts like a common milk maid. Perhaps you can take her in hand. The girl gives me headaches.”
This description sounded so unlike the sweet child I had previously visited that I insisted Giselle call Eleanor to us at once. This was the first time I heard that odious name, Cinderella. I later learned the meaning. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Eleanor came immediately. She was without shoes and in loose clothing which did nothing to hide her maturing figure. I was appalled. She made her curtsy to me in proper fashion. I held my arms out and she glanced first at Giselle before running to me for a hug.