Mother Goosed: The Tale of HindaElla--Part VI

"Wow," the Prince exclaimed. "I hear bells!"

"Err, your Highness, I believe that is the clock striking the hour."

"No, it's bells," the Prince answered just that little bit condescendingly, but dutifully turned to look at the clock on the wall. HindaElla saw her opening and scurried off, or at least went as fast as she could wearing those ridiculous shoes. She had had enough; no ball should last this long. And even princes had a disconcerting habit of turning into pumpkins around about midnight. Besides, Mrs. Gottenmuter had told her "Leave him wanting more. The Prince has to do the chasing."

As she hurried through a side door and out of the ballroom one of her crystal shoes wrenched free, but HindaElla had no time to stop and look for it. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," she muttered. Mrs. Gottenmuter had the carriage waiting by the door and HindaElla leaped in and slammed the door shut. The carriage took off in a hurry, speeded on its way by the echo of "Where is she? Where is She?" that wafted out of the ballroom's open windows.

Once safely ensconced back in Mrs. Gottenmuter's house, HindaElla broke out into frenzied speech. "Please, please tell me it's not always like this?!"

Calmingly, Mrs. Gottenmuter offered HindaElla a cup of Chamomile tea and a question: "What is not always like this my dear?"

"Meeting a Prince!" HindaElla answered frustratedly. "I don't think I can go through with this again!"

"Well then, don't," said Mrs. Gottenmuter.

Hinda Ella stared at her incredulously but with just a glimmer of hope shining out of her eyes. "You mean I can stop looking for a Prince? I can just do what I want?"

Mrs. Gottenmuter shook her head. "No my dear. I mean take the Prince you found tonight. The thing about princes, you see, is that they are mostly the same under the skin."

"Not much of a romantic, are you?" HindaElla muttered.

"Oh? Is it romance you want?"

"Well yes...at least sort of...oh I don't know!"

"There are men," Mrs. Gottenmuter admonished "who will admire your looks in verses of measured poetry. They will prate on and on about your goodness. They will promise you that they will hang the moon just for you."

"Why do I think there is a "but" in there somewhere?" HindaElla asked.

"BUT" Mrs. Gottenmuter continued, "they can't change the wheel on a coach worth a damn and they are totally useless when the thatch on the roof catches fire. All poetry and no practicality."

"So that's it?" HindaElla asked plaintively. "Either you get the poetry or you get the practical but you can't have both?"

Mrs. Gottenmuter soothingly patted HindaElla on the shoulder. "There's true poetry in the practical. The man without pretty speeches but who does what needs doing is living his poetry." Mrs. Gottenmuter drew HindaElla towards the door. "Come my dear, it is time that you returned home."

As she left HindaElla at her home Mrs. Gottenmuter spoke softly to her. "Get some sleep my child. And dream of your true Prince." She turned and left HindaElla, all the while patting the crystal shoe hidden deep in the pocket of her cloak.







To Be Continued