I stood there, turning around for her to admire me, and she looked right through me at Martin and said, “Where’s Beauty?”
“Don’t know,” said Martin. “Haven’t seen her since this morning early.”
“The whole herb garden met and decided they didn’t dare let her out of the tower because of her Papa,” said Doll. “They say he’ll be home for her birthday celebration and he’ll let her out then.”
I walked a little closer to Doll, flapped my cloak arms at her. She didn’t even blink.
“But then they decided she might starve by then,” Doll went on. “They’re in there now, tryin’ to decide what to do about that.”
“How do they expect to feed her?” Martin snorted. “Send nut meats up by pigeon?”
Martin didn’t see me. Doll didn’t see me. They weren’t pretending not to see me; they really didn’t see me. It took me a moment, but I finally realized why. The black thread had sewn a cloak of invisibility, which is something a fairy gift might be expected to do. It was all perfectly logical. I went back in the stall and took the cloak off, wrapped it in the sack I’d brought my things down in, then came out again carrying the mostly finished cloak wrapped in a neat bundle.
“There you are, Beauty,” Doll said at once. “Your aunts decided they couldn’t let you loose without making your father murderous at them, but they’re not planning on letting you starve, either, though you’d be a bit hungry by the time they agree on how they’ll get you fed. No point in having Martin haul you back up there, far’s I can see. Do you want to hide out here in the stables or up in the servant’s quarters? There’s empty rooms up there.”
I said I’d stay in the stables, as it was airier and cooler than the attics where the maids lived, though the flies were much worse. The fact that the aunts wouldn’t turn me loose made me very curious as to what was going on, so I went around the corner, put my new cloak back on and wandered into the castle to hear what I could hear. Not surprisingly, no one noticed me. No one at all except Grumpkin, who insisted on trailing along, batting at my skirts just as he always did. Fairy things don’t impress cats. Fairy things and holy things. Cats are, perhaps, a separate creation.
I drifted along to my old rooms near the kitchen, wanting to know just what Sibylla was up to, and a good thing I did, for the little Weasel-Rabbit was up to nothing good.
“She has to die,” she was snarling to her mother as I sneaked in through the slightly open door. “Duke Phillip’s daughter must die.”
She disliked calling me, “Beauty,” I’d noticed. She usually referred to me as “Duke Phillip’s daughter.” There were certainly a lot of people wanting me dead. Evil fairy aunts. Wicked stepmothers.
“I had thought,” her mother said in a fussy little coo, “I really had thought that having her enter the convent at Alderbury would be sufficient.”
“Not at all,” said Weasel-Rabbit. “I’ve spent all morning going over things with Phillip’s steward. In the marriage agreement between Phillip and Elladine, she tied up her dowry for her children. If that girl goes into a convent, the convent will claim Elladine’s estate as dowry. They certainly won’t let the girl into the convent without one!”
“I thought their marriage could be set aside!”
“If the marriage is set aside, the Duke will have no right to the estates in Ylles. If there had been no marriage, there could have been no dowry. If the one did not exist, certainly neither did the other!” Sibylla stamped her foot in vexation. “No, the only way is if she dies. With her dead, Phillip will inherit everything she owns.”
“Why is it so important? Surely there is enough here …”
Sibylla laughed, a long, mirthless laugh. “Oh, Mother, we have miscalculated most stupidly. There is little or nothing left here. Affairs are in a shocking state. The estates in Ylles and Castle Westfaire itself are virtually the only property the man has not pledged to the moneylenders. The only reason he hasn’t pledged the estates in Ylles is that he has not been free to do so. Beauty seems to own them, though I believe she is not aware of that fact. The Duke never talks to her about anything, thank God. He scarcely knows she is alive except when she annoys him. He will not grieve greatly when she is gone.”
I found myself crouching along the wall, my face wet. I knew what she said was the truth, but it was very hard to hear.
“It is unheard-of to pledge land,” Sibylla’s mama whined. “No nobleman of honor would pledge land. Why has he not sold his villeins their freedom instead? Or pledged the crops?”
Even I knew the answer to that question, but I remained silent, wiping at my eyes, as Weasel-Rabbit answered.
“He has done all that. I think he would have sold his soul if it
