A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it ~ Jean de la Fontaine

Chapter 15.

Little Red Bonnet.

Catrin walked down the road with leisure. After Beatrice's return Mamma had sent Catrin off to take a basket to a sick elderly woman in the village. It was a habit of Mrs. Llewelyn's to be sure to take some sort of something to a person in need in the village. It was the proper thing for a woman of means and money to do after all, and it kept the local gossip in her favor. Thus when she visited the manor she would send Catrin and Beatrice over from time to time to perform works of charity.

Catrin had left before Beatrice's jailbreak and was blissfully unaware of the drama being once again played out at home.

She had had a pleasant visit with Mrs. Owens,listened to her complain about her sad lot in life, offered what comfort she could, and at last departed from the village and was on her way home. Her basket was nearly empty, save the lovely bouquet of flowers Mrs. Owens had given her from her flower garden. Not wanting to take the long way by the main road, Catrin decided to take a shortcut through the woods. It was a route well known to her as she and Beatrice often took it when going to the village.

Up ahead Catrin noticed a figure approaching. It was a man, and he walked by foot but led his horse by the reins. Shy of this unknown stranger, Catrin stepped aside to allow him to pass. He tipped his hat to her and would have gone by except his foot caught on a root and he lost his balance. As he wobbled trying to steady himself he accidently gave Catrin a little shove with his hand. Catrin took a step back, tripped over a root herself, and fell over in a heap. She dropped her basket upon her landing, spilling the flowers everywhere.

The young man, who was in fact Charles, had regained his balance by now and came rushing Catrin's aid.

"I am truly sorry, Miss," he said in a voice filled with embarrassment. "What a clumsy chap I made myself out to be. Knocking you over like this. Here, let me help you." He took Catrin by the hand and helped her sit up.

"It is nothing, sir," Catrin hurriedly reassured.

Charles in the meantime was collecting the scattered flowers and soon had them bunched up in his hands.

"I fear some of your flowers were bruised," Charles said, handing the ruined bouquet to Catrin.

"Do not trouble yourself," Catrin reassured. "The bouquet will look quite alright once I have removed the damaged ones."

"Still, I hate to be the waste in picking them," Charles chuckled. He stood up and offered Catrin his hand. Catrin hesitated for a moment then took it and let Charles help her to her feet.

"I shortened their already short lives;" Charles shook his head, gazing at the spoiled flowers. "I suppose this just goes to show how much use there was in picking them in the first place."

Catrin shook her head. "I do not agree with you, sir. They will cheer up our home. I will take them to Beatrice and perhaps put her in a good mood. That is truly the use of flowers, to bring cheer and color to a lonely soul. It is not how long they last, but the amount of joy they bring while they are still here. Thank you for helping me. I'll bid you a good afternoon."

She turned to go but Charles' caught her arm. Catrin caught her breath and turned to face him, her eyes filled with fear. She was alone in the forest with a man grasping her hand. What would he do to her?

Charles was gazing at her with wide eyes. "I had those very words spoken to me before," he said in a low voice. "At the masquerade ball. Out on the veranda a young lady who introduced herself as Cinderella told me the point of flowers was not in how long they lasted, but how much joy they brought while they still lived."

Catrin gave a sharp gasp. Those blue eyes, staring at her in utter disbelief, they were familiar. And the voice, a voice sounding like waves crashing on the sea, she knew it from before.

"It was you," Charles continued, his voice full of excitement. "You're the girl from the ball. The Cinderella that ran off at midnight. Why you even mentioned Beatrice when speaking of the flowers. This only adds to the proof. Why did you run off? Why didn't you give me your name? What is your name?"

Catrin shook her head and wriggled her hand loose. "I'm sorry, sir," she hurriedly stated. "I think you must have mistaken me with someone else."

"No, no, I swear it's you," Charles argued. "I recognize your voice."

"It wasn't me," Catrin replied. "I never attend balls. Please, sir, let me go." She finally managed to get loose from him and turning around ran away back to the main road.

"Wait, Miss," Charles called after her but Catrin ran all the faster. She didn't know how to react to meeting the stranger who had so charmed her at the ball. She was frightened at this unexpected meeting and felt the only right and safe thing to do was to get away from him as quickly as possible.

Charles was tempted to try and catch her but thought the better of it. It was obvious she was not going to tell him anything and he'd only frighten her all the more. For some strange reason she was denying meeting him, though Charles could swear on the Bible the young lady in the red bonnet was his mystery Cinderella.

"She certainly has a habit with running off," Charles mused. He watched as she disappeared and contemplated his next move He didn't want to lose her again, and figured the only thing left to do was follow her. He knew his Cinderella had run back to the main road. He also know that if he turned around and if he retraced his steps it would take him to the main road as well. And if he hurried he would get there before she did. He could keep in the woods but have the road in sight and wait for her till she appeared. From there he would follow her at a distance and discover where she lived.

"Charles, you are positively wicked," he chucked to himself as he mounted his horse and had it go at a quick trot. What a day of surprises this was turning out to be. He had gone to his father in Bath only to discover Miss Morton had departed from there quite suddenly for no apparent reason.Charles had been annoyed at this and upset at Elwyn. He had spent two weeks with his cousin and now that Miss Morton was gone.Having remained with his father for a week Charles had decided to return to Llys Gwyn since Bath was boring without Miss Morton and he was afraid his miserable cousin might attempt suicide again.

Thus he had returned to Wales and being in a hurry to get to his cousin, Charles had decided to cut across Derwen Goch instead of going around it. That was how he had found himself on this little forest path. He had of course noticed the lady in the red bonnet and matching jacket making her way merrily down the road but hadn't given her a second glance until that silly tripping act.

"But it turned out to be a fortunate twist of fate," Charles concluded. "So I suppose I can forgive Elwyn for dragging me to his run down castle and I can forgive Miss Morton for departing as well, since all of this led me to bump into Little Red Bonnet." Charles laughed at the new nickname he had given his mysterious dancing partner. Why was she so determined to hide her identity? Who could she really be?

The main road came in sight and Charles pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. He waited quietly, petting his horse and whispering soothing words to keep the animal calm and patient.

There, the unmistakable red bonnet soon came to sight. He could see she still walked at a quick rate, glancing back from time to time, as though afraid Charles was going to appear chasing her at any moment.

"I'm smarter than that," Charles chuckled to himself. He kept far enough in the woods to keep from being noticed but near enough to the road to avoid being seen.

His luck seem to take a downhill turn when the woods ended and fields began. Charles frowned, wondering how to keep following his mysterious girl now. She would still glance back from time to time and if he were to ride out onto the road she would be sure to see him. But all was not lost because two woodcutters appeared on the road and with a smile tipped their caps to her.

"Afternoon, Miss Llewelyn," one of them said.

"Aha," Charles thought. "Now Little Red Bonnet has a name. Miss Llewelyn." It was certainly a familiar name, Charles could swear he had heard it before, but didn't want to bother trying to remember. "Elwyn is a native to these parts," he figured. "He is acquainted with all the families in the area that I never bothered to get to know. He'll be sure to shed some light on who Miss Llewelyn is and where she resides. She is obviously a lady of means to have been invited to the masquerade."

Satisfied that he now had a name and a face to his Cinderella, Charles mounted his horse and rode out onto the main road. Little Red Bonnet was long gone so there was no fear of frightening her. Only she wasn't going to get rid of him so easily. He would sniff her out and discover just who she was and where she came from. He would also discover why she insisted on keeping her identity a secret. Running off at midnight, telling him he was mistaken when it was obvious she recognized him as well, there had to be a logical explanation to her behavior. Why didn't she want to get to know him? Had he offended her somehow at the ball? It certainly didn't seem like it back then. He had thought her to be enjoying his company. After her display in the woods he wasn't so sure.

"Well I may not have found a glass slipper," he concluded as he rode in the direction of the castle. "But a red bonnet is really just as good."