Moonlight and Ashes Read online

  My stepsisters laughed and made nasty remarks but I hardly heard them for my ears were filled with a roaring sound. My throat was clenched so tight I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. But all the fight – all the defiance – had gone out of me. All I could think was that through my stupidity I was responsible for the destruction of that lovely dress and of Maria’s hopes for her daughter’s wedding. If only I’d kept my mouth shut! How could I possibly have been so naive? Oh, if only I hadn’t been persuaded to accept Maria’s generous offer! I should have been stronger. I should have realised. I’d had enough experience of how hard life could be. But I’d let myself think things could be different. And now everything was ruined.

  Grizelda rang the bell and one of the maids appeared. ‘Tell Mrs Jager this girl is to be locked in her room tonight,’ she said. The maid nodded impassively. Grizelda looked at me, still hunched on the floor. ‘Get up, girl. Take those rags with you and get out of my sight.’

  Locked in my room, I sat numbly on the bed still clutching the remains of poor Maria’s creation. There was too much pain in me for tears; all I could do was stare at the ruined muslin, the torn lace, the shredded ribbons, and wish that I had never been born.

  I don’t know how long I sat there. When I emerged from my stupor, the room was dark. Soon, the others would be off to the ball. I didn’t care about that, not any more. But I did care very much about Maria. How could I possibly make it up to her? I had no money to buy new materials and I was all thumbs with needle and thread. I could darn and mend but the quality of Maria’s work was great art that made a mockery of my poor little skills. Somehow, I thought, I must try and throw myself on the mercy of a dressmaker and beg them to help me. I could try Madame Paulina. But it was unlikely she would help – she does not even meet my eye or say good morning any more.

  I had been right to spurn the knowledge of my moon-sister heritage. What good had the hazel tree done me? If I had not hoped things would change, I would not be in this situation. Oh, how I wished I could put things back!

  Suddenly there was a rush of wings behind me and I turned to see the little yellow finch perched on my narrow windowsill. And in its beak it carried a green hazel leaf.

  The finch looked at me, then flew down and dropped the leaf on the dress. It flew out again but was back in a flash with another leaf, which it also laid on the dress. It did this another ten times but nothing happened until it brought in the final leaf, laid it on the dress and perched on my bedside table, looking at me.

  Then came a rush of wind that threw all the leaves up in a spiral and, when they fell back down, the dress was not only as good as new but even better than before with an extraordinary fairy glamour that quite outshone anything I had ever seen – even in my dreams. The cream and honey and pale green had a sheen of unearthly beauty, and the faint scent of roses was stronger than before.

  Now my heart was full, not with darkness but a sweet delight, an awestruck wonder that reached deep inside me. And still I looked at the finch with bright eyes and I whispered, ‘Thank you.’

  But it wasn’t finished, not yet. Five times more it flew out of the window and came back with a leaf in its beak. This time, though, it didn’t lay them on the dress but on the floor at my feet. Where the first leaf landed, a pair of beautiful cream-coloured dancing shoes appeared; where the second leaf landed, a pair of ivory silk stockings as fine as lace materialised; in place of the third came a swirling satin cloak of mint-green, lined with a deeper shade; fourth, an exquisite little embroidered evening bag; and last of all was a crown of pale gold roses interspersed with white pearls, threaded on a fine, filigreed gold band.

  The finch flew out one more time and when it returned it did not have a leaf in its beak – but a key. The key to my room!

  I waited for about an hour till I could no longer hear a sound from the kitchen. The staff had been given the rest of the evening off and I knew most of them were planning to go to the night-fair that was being held to celebrate the Prince’s visit. No-one remembered me, in their eagerness to go off and enjoy themselves. And no-one would be around to see me creep out of my room.

  After I was sure I was alone, I unlocked my room and went into the kitchen. I warmed some water on the big wood stove, added a few drops of the rose water used for flavouring sweets and, taking it to my room in a jug with some soap, stood in a tin basin and poured the water all over me. After a thorough wash, I dried myself and put on the underthings and stockings, then slipped into the dress, which fell in perfect folds around me, and shoes. I brushed my hair till it shone, and pinned it up so it fell in a soft roll at the back of my neck. I then placed the crown of roses carefully on my head and put on the cloak. I looked at myself in the bowl of water.

  I’m truly touched with magic, I thought, as I looked back at myself in the soft light of the moon that came through the window. My hair shone, my eyes sparkled, my lips were alive with a coral shine. My skin – now with a honey glow – gave off a perfume of roses much stronger than the few drops of rose water could have provided. Even my hands, that usually bear the marks of my drudgery, felt soft once again. It was strange, like seeing oneself in a beautiful dream. I wondered if my stepmother and stepsisters would recognise me, as I hardly recognised myself. My mother had promised me everything would change. It was now up to me to make sure it would, and not to let fear or doubt stand in my way.

  Before I left my room and ventured into the moonlit streets, I took one last thing – Maria’s locket – and fastened it around my neck. She had thought it too poor to wear but I felt differently. And when I looked into the watery mirror and saw that it too glowed with the same glamour, I knew I had been right.

  I closed the door of my room and locked it behind me, replaced the key on the nail and set off into the patch of woodland. As soon as I saw the hazel tree, I realised it had stopped growing. No, it had actually shrunk, as if the effort of the magic had taken some of the vitality from it. I gazed at it, a little anxious; then, suddenly, from the tower in St Hilda’s Square, came the sound of the clock striking nine and as it did so my mother’s voice came into my mind and said, ‘When the clock strikes twelve, you must leave or be discovered, my darling daughter.’

  ‘I will, Mama, I promise I will,’ I said aloud. I slipped out through the door in the garden wall and into the street. I had half-thought that perhaps there might have been a carriage waiting for me, a vehicle born of the same night-magic, but there was not. I’d have to walk through the backstreets to avoid attracting attention, for St Hilda’s Square and the main bridge across the river were full of people going to the night-fair. In this part of the town, though, it was quiet. As I sped up the hill towards the castle, my feet, in those lovely shoes, seemed to skim over the cobblestones as though they had wings, and in hardly more time than it takes to write it, I was at the gate.

  Quite suddenly, I was frightened that my stepmother had somehow contrived for me to be refused entry, so when the guards asked me my name I gave them the name of a character in one of my mother’s favourite novels – a young Champainian woman who was a mistress of disguise and who worked as a spy for her government. And as citizens of the Republic of Champaine, a country far to our west, have a romantic reputation for glamour, I thought it appropriate.

  ‘My name is Mademoiselle Camille St Clair,’ I announced loftily, ‘and I am expected.’

  I don’t know if it was my confident tone or my borrowed glamour but the guards offered no resistance or protest. They only nodded a little bemusedly and let me through without even asking me where my carriage was.

  I went through the courtyard towards the lights and music of the ballroom. At the door a footman took my cloak while another asked who he should announce, then I was sweeping in, straight into the bright hubbub of the ball.

  Couples whirled about the floor and for a moment I could not see my family amongst them. I spied Odette first, whirling in
the arms of burly Count Otto (I recognised the ‘face like a bulldog’ at once!). Then Babette, dancing with a man I recognised at once to be the Prince. Dressed in the sky-blue uniform, he was just as I’d seen in the miniature, with golden epaulets on his shoulder. He was blond and good-looking, though not quite as handsome as in the pictures. His eyes were a paler shade of blue, his hair less golden, his lips a little thinner and the expression on his face not as appealing. Still, he was a handsome man. Of my father there was no sign but I caught sight of Grizelda, sitting at a little table on the opposite side of the room with the ladies she called her dearest friends. She was looking like the cat that got the cream and they were looking like that same cream was choking them!

  It would have been quite amusing if I hadn’t been so nervous. All my old doubts and fears came rushing back and suddenly all I wanted to do was to turn around and walk away. But at that moment the dance stopped. As the Prince bowed to Babette, the footman stepped forward to announce me and the Prince looked straight at me. He smiled and, leaving Babette standing there, he came towards me.

  ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Mademoiselle St Clair?’

  ‘It would be an honour,’ I stammered, aware of all the eyes on me, especially those of my stepmother and stepsisters. But I need not have worried; though an expression of slight puzzlement flashed across Grizelda’s face, neither Babette’s nor Odette’s expressions showed a flicker of recognition – only spiteful curiosity. The protective glamour of the hazel tree must have dazzled them so that they did not see any familiarity in my face or what I was wearing. I offered up a silent thanks to my mother as the Prince took my hand and led me to the centre of the room.

  Fortunately my mother taught me to dance – although I think the shoes would have helped me if I had needed it, for I felt as though they hardly touched the floor as the Prince and I glided around the room.

  Close up, those first impressions were reinforced. Yes, he was handsome – even very handsome – but there was a hint of temper to the tight lips and a touch of arrogance in his blue eyes that made me feel a little wary. He was an excellent dancer and he soon set out to be charming as he whirled me around the floor, asking me about myself (I said I was a visitor from Champaine) but mostly showering me with compliments and claiming that his evening had been dull till I had walked into the room. I can’t say I disliked what he said – I especially liked imagining how furious Babette would have been had she heard – for it was sweet balm after so many years of spite and disregard. But it did not go as deep as my heart, for despite the fine words and the admiring looks, there was still something about him that I did not warm to.

  But when the dance ended, he asked me for another. And by the end of the second dance just about every mother in the room, and most of their daughters, were looking daggers at me – especially Grizelda and her daughters. I could see them whisper to each other, probably wondering who this interloper was who had captured the attention of the Prince. Feeling more and more uncomfortable, the pleasure I had first derived from being singled out changed to an anxiety that I would be found out if I kept attracting so much attention.

  To my relief, before he could ask me to dance again, a footman came over bearing a folded slip of paper on a silver platter. The Prince took the paper and read it, then bowed to me and said, ‘Mademoiselle, I must regretfully leave you for a moment as there is an urgent matter awaiting my attention.’

  I gave him a deep curtsey. ‘Of course, Your Royal Highness.’

  ‘Don’t go away, though, Mademoiselle,’ he said with a dazzling smile before he strode off through the crowd that parted before him, the men bowing and the women curtseying as he passed.

  After he had gone, a great many curious eyes turned back in my direction. I made as though I did not notice and, with my head held high, moved in the direction of the supper room just beyond the ballroom. I was famished and dearly hoped no-one would waylay me with questions or an offer of another dance before I got to those tables groaning with delicious food. Reaching the supper room without incident, I was able to fill a plate without too many people looking at me (though I could feel their eyes burning on my back). I slipped away, not wanting to eat under their stares, and went from room to room till I found a quiet little antechamber which contained a small table, a chair and not much else. The lamp on the table was unlit but that did not matter for the room was bathed in moonlight coming through its one window so that everything was nearly as bright as day.

  I sat down and with a sigh of relief started on the food. Just as it had looked, it tasted wonderful: caviar on croutons, lobster in tarragon cream, steamed young asparagus with a lemony sauce, tiny pheasant pies, some anchovy eclairs and a preserved artichoke salad which tasted of the sun. It was the kind of thing I could normally only dream of and I took my time to savour each mouthful.

  ‘Well, here I was thinking I’d get some quiet in here,’ came a soft, amused voice behind me, making me jump. I turned to see that someone had noiselessly come in through that door at the other end of the room. He was a young man about the Prince’s age, as tall and broad-shouldered as Leopold, his eyes also blue but veering more towards grey, while his hair was coal-black. He had a pleasant face but wasn’t particularly handsome. He was dressed for the ball in a smart dark brown uniform with silver epaulets, but carried a book under his arm. He saw me look at the book and smiled ruefully.

  ‘I’m not much of a one for parties and crowds. I thought I’d just hide in here and read awhile.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, flushing, ‘but I thought nobody would come here so I –’

  ‘Don’t apologise, it is I who should do that,’ he said. ‘Coming in like that and frightening you away from your food.’

  ‘Oh no, you didn’t, I had already finished,’ I lied, embarrassed to have been caught gluttonising like that all on my own.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Well, then you won’t mind if I eat one of those eclairs, will you? They’re one of my favourites.’ I nodded and he took one and popped it in his mouth. ‘I wasn’t as clever or as far-sighted as you to get myself a plateful of food before I fled that ballroom,’ he went on, and picking up a pie, ate it as well. ‘Did you ever see such a crush! Glad I’m not in Leo’s place and can escape without anyone noticing.’

  Leo. He had called the Prince ‘Leo’. He must know him very well. Not just a courtier, then, but a friend who had come with him from Faustina.

  He must have read my expression, because he said, ‘Forgive me. I’m being rude again. My name’s Maximilian von Gildenstein. Everyone calls me Max.’

  So this was Count Otto’s son, the Prince’s childhood friend! Surprised, I blurted out, ‘You don’t look much like your father.’ I could have kicked myself for being so impolite.

  But he laughed. ‘No. I take after my mother, I’m told.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And you, mystery lady, what is your name?’

  ‘St Clair,’ I said, promptly, ‘er . . . Camille St Clair.’

  ‘Goodness,’ he said lightly, ‘just like my mother’s favourite heroine.’

  My cheeks burned. Trust me, I thought to myself, to meet someone whose mother had the same taste as Mama! Hastily, I said, ‘My mother was also a fan and as our family name is St Clair, she thought it would be nice if I was called Camille.’

  ‘Mothers, eh?’ said Max, his eyes twinkling at me from behind his glasses as he cheerfully grazed on the rest of my supper. ‘Still, it is a nice name and it suits you.’

  He smiled, and popped the last of my lobster thoughtfully into his mouth. ‘So what do you think of the ball?’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I said weakly. ‘I am having a very good time, thank you.’

  ‘You should be out there, not skulking in here, you know,’ he said seriously. ‘Or yo
u might miss your chance.’

  ‘My chance?’

  ‘There are more pretty girls out there than fancy buttons in a draper’s shop,’ he said, ‘and every one of them hoping to catch Leo’s eye.’

  I drew myself up and looked at him. ‘If you are quite finished, I would like to be alone again, thank you.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’ he said disarmingly. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, Mademoiselle St Clair. It’s just that it can be a bit much . . . knowing that all those people – they don’t see Leo, they don’t see my friend. They see the Crown Prince, the most glittering prize in the whole empire if only they could land him.’

  ‘And so what if they do?’ I snapped. ‘It doesn’t mean I do. And it doesn’t mean that your friend is always just your friend. I mean,’ I added, as he looked confused, ‘out there he is the Crown Prince and everyone bows and curtseys to him and has eyes as you say only for him. And it looks like he likes it.’

  ‘What would you know of that?’ he said, sounding annoyed. ‘You do not understand what it’s like, nor know him as I do.’

  ‘And nor do I wish to,’ I said sharply, ‘for I have no desire to land that “glittering prize”, as you put it, sir. You say I do not understand his situation, well, you do not understand mine. And you know me and my reason for being here no more than I know the Prince as a person. Now, goodnight to you.’

  ‘No, wait, Camille, I only meant . . .’

  But I did not turn around and he did not follow me, yet the sting of his words lingered. I wasn’t royal, but I knew well enough what it was to be fawned over because of your social standing. And I knew well enough how shallow it was, too. But the Prince clearly did not. He might complain to his friend in private, but you could tell he enjoyed the attention and adulation.

  ‘Oh!’ Rounding a bend in the corridor, I had almost run straight into Prince Leopold himself and Count Otto, the two of them deep in conversation. The Count looked cross at the interruption but Leopold gave me a dazzling smile. ‘Mademoiselle St Clair! Are you going back to the ballroom?’