The Fairy Godmother Read Free

she had heard Jacques going back and forth to the carriage, carrying off the baggage that had yet to be stowed. There was a single basket on the floor, and a single case on the bare mattress; when Madame finished with Delphinium’s hair, she turned to Elena.
    â€œPut the toilette articles into the case,” Madame said imperiously, “and pick up all the china and put it in the basket, then bring both down to the carriage. Come, girls.”
    The three of them sailed out the door, and as Elena hurried to attend to this final task, she heard the sound of their elegant high-heeled shoes clacking on the staircase as they made their way down.
    She would have liked to just throw everything in the case and basket, but knew better. Madame would check. So she fitted the brush and mirror, the comb and pick, the powder-box and powder-puff, the cologne bottles, the rouge and lip-paint and the patch-box all in their proper places, then stacked dainty floral-figured saucers, cups, teapot and silver in the basket with the soiled napkins around them to keep them from jouncing. At least this was one set of dishes she wouldn’t be washing. With the case in one hand and the basket in the other, Elena hurried down the stairs and out the door.
    They were already waiting in the carriage, with Jacques up on the driver’s box, the hired horses stamping restively. She handed up case and basket to Daphne, who took them and stowed them away somewhere at her feet.
    Madame thrust her head out the window.
    â€œKeep the house tidy,” Madame ordered.
    â€œYes, Madame,” Elena replied, throttling down her joy. They still might change their minds—something might happen. Madame might get cold feet at the last minute.
    â€œDon’t let any strangers in.”
    â€œYes, Madame.”
    â€œWe will write to inform you of our address. Send any invitations from the Palace on immediately .”
    â€œYes, Madame.”
    Stepmother looked down at her, frowning, as if trying to think of something else, some order she had not yet given. Elena held her breath. There was one —she prayed that Madame would not think of it.
    And she did not. She moved away from the window, sat back in her seat, and rapped on the roof of the coach with her cane. Jacques cracked his whip and snapped the reins over the horses’ backs. With a clatter of clumsy hooves—they were nothing more than carthorses, after all—the carriage lurched into motion. It wallowed down the cobbled street, over the arched granite bridge, then around the corner and out of sight.
    Elena waited, listening for the sound of returning horses. There were too many things that could go wrong. They could discover that they had forgotten something. They still could change their minds….
    Madame could remember that she had not ordered Elena not to leave the house and grounds.
    The rose-scented morning breeze pressed her shabby brown skirt against her bare legs. Her bare feet began toache from standing on the hard cobbles. The larks overhead continued to sing, and a pair of robins appeared and perched on the sandstone wall beside her. The sun climbed a little higher. And still she waited.
    But the clock in the church tower struck the hour, and though she watched with her heart in her mouth, there was no sign of them. No rattle of wheels on the cobbles, no clatter of hooves on the stone. Only the song of larks overhead, the honking of geese on the river that flowed under the stone bridge, the whisper of the neighbors on the other side of the wall—
    â€œYou can come out now, Madame Blanche, Madame Fleur,” Elena called. “I think they’re really gone.”
    Two thumps, and the patter of footsteps, and the two old women burst out of their own gate and hurried over to Elena. They were as alike as two peas, these neighbors; sisters, round and pink and sturdy, dressed in handsome linen gowns with a modest trimming of ribbon, no lace, and white