Moonlight and Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page A

some water into a small jug that wouldn’t be missed. I put the twig in it and then hid it in the cupboard in my room. I’d think of how best to keep the twig alive more permanently later but for the moment it would have to do.

    I was right about Grizelda telling my stepsisters about my locket. Later that day, I was summoned to bring up the mended clothes to Odette’s room and when I arrived Ifound both sisters there trying on new hats in front of the big mirror. When I came in they pretended not to see me at first, then Odette feigned a yelp of surprise.
    â€˜Good heavens, Ashes! What do you mean by creeping in here like a thief?’
    â€˜Your mending,’ I said curtly, dumping it on the bed.
    â€˜Ooh, Babette, do you hear how she speaks to us?’
    â€˜We should box her ears,’ said Babette distractedly, admiring herself in the mirror, the delicate lace and feather concoction she was trying on emphasising the pale beauty so like her mother’s. Odette is darker and shorter by comparison and altogether less striking, though she’s a long way from being ugly. If they’d been characters in one of those old tales Mama used to read to me when I was little, my stepmother and stepsisters’ real selves would show on their faces, twisting them into gargoyles. But most people consider Babette and Odette to be perfect models of young womanhood: pretty, gracious, elegant, nicely spoken. And charitable , for with their mother they occasionally grace the ‘deserving poor’ of the district with their perfumed presence, bearing baskets of leftover food and pious platitudes. News of these occasions is, of course, always discreetly released in plenty of time to the social correspondent of Ashberg’s most fashionable magazine so that a touching photograph or drawing can be published for the edification of readers.
    Oh, I am turning into a veritable cat – an alley cat, that is – all claws and teeth and bitter heart. But that is better than becoming a mouse, which is what they’d like. I ignored Babette’s comment and turned to go whenOdette called me back. ‘Show us what our dearest father so kindly gave you,’ she said silkily.
    Her soft brown eyes were aglow with an unpleasant gleam. I knew what she intended by saying ‘our father’. She meant to suggest he was hers and Babette’s, and not mine at all, while at the same time reminding me of the fact I was indeed his disregarded daughter. Babette may look most like her mother but it is Odette who most shares her scheming, spiteful heart. Most of Babette’s thoughts revolve around herself, while Odette also thinks of others – only not in a nice way. And more than once she has caught me out with a clever shot, straight to the heart.
    But this time it was I who had the advantage over her. I made a great show of reluctance over showing them the locket and pretended to be embarrassed as they commented on ‘how kind’, ‘how generous’ my father had been and ‘how well he’d chosen the gift, it’s just perfect for you ’. It took a good deal for me to keep a still tongue but I managed it, knowing they’d tire of their game soon enough if I didn’t respond. As I was leaving, Odette took one final shot: ‘I suppose you might even wear it next week at the Prince’s ball.’ I stopped, stunned. ‘Oh dear, didn’t our father tell you?’ she added, her hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise.
    â€˜Don’t be silly, of course she can’t go,’ said Babette petulantly. ‘She’s a nobody.’
    â€˜That must be why our father didn’t say anything,’ said Odette in a hushed tone. ‘Me and my big mouth! I really must learn to control it.’
    I looked at her and in that moment I resolved to do two things: first, I would no longer submit to this torture; andsecond, one day I would be revenged on the