Tracy Barrett - The Stepsister's Tale

What really happened after the clock struck midnight?

Jane Montjoy is tired of being a lady. She’s tired of pretending to live up to the standards of her mother’s noble family—especially now that the family’s wealth is gone and their stately mansion has fallen to ruin. It’s hard enough that she must tend to the animals and find a way to feed her mother and her little sister each day. Jane’s burden only gets worse after her mother returns from a trip to town with a new stepfather and stepsister in tow. Despite the family’s struggle to prepare for the long winter ahead, Jane’s stepfather remains determined to give his beautiful but spoiled child her every desire.

When her stepfather suddenly dies, leaving nothing but debts and a bereaved daughter behind, it seems to Jane that her family is destined for eternal unhappiness. But a mysterious boy from the woods and an invitation to a royal ball are certain to change her fate.…

From the handsome prince to the evil stepsister, nothing is quite as it seems in Tracy Barrett’s stunning retelling of the classic Cinderella tale.

The Stepsister’s Tale

Tracy Barrett

www.miraink.co.uk

For everyone who struggles with building a family

made up of new members, new configurations, and new relationships

Contents

Prologue Prologue The house—it was too small to be called a palace—sat at the top of a hill, overlooking thick woods and a river. At a distance, it appeared to be the same as when Mamma was a girl: stately, welcoming, a place of parties and balls, where visitors came to spend long weeks, where Mamma and Papa had danced until dawn the night of their wedding. But once a traveler drew near, changes appeared. Holes gaped in the roof; some of the windows lacked glass, and most were bare of the curtains that would have softened their black emptiness. The few remaining shutters dangled unevenly and banged when a high wind blew. Inside, the grand stairway swept up in huge curves, gaps and broken boards making the going treacherous. Once upstairs, a curious visitor who tapped the breastplate of the suit of armor would raise twittering from the nests in the beams high above. The corridors were streaked with white bird droppings and were so dark that you never saw the faces in the portraits that hung crookedly on the walls, their frames riddled with wormholes, until you were almost upon them. And even then, they didn’t look back. Within their grimy outlines the faces of beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen stared out blindly but still proudly at the few who passed by in the dim halls. And for many years, only two people had walked through those dark corridors: descendants of the proud women and men depicted in the portraits, the last of their line—Lady Margaret’s daughters, Jane and Maude Montjoy.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

The house—it was too small to be called a palace—sat at the top of a hill, overlooking thick woods and a river. At a distance, it appeared to be the same as when Mamma was a girl: stately, welcoming, a place of parties and balls, where visitors came to spend long weeks, where Mamma and Papa had danced until dawn the night of their wedding. But once a traveler drew near, changes appeared. Holes gaped in the roof; some of the windows lacked glass, and most were bare of the curtains that would have softened their black emptiness. The few remaining shutters dangled unevenly and banged when a high wind blew.

Inside, the grand stairway swept up in huge curves, gaps and broken boards making the going treacherous. Once upstairs, a curious visitor who tapped the breastplate of the suit of armor would raise twittering from the nests in the beams high above. The corridors were streaked with white bird droppings and were so dark that you never saw the faces in the portraits that hung crookedly on the walls, their frames riddled with wormholes, until you were almost upon them. And even then, they didn’t look back. Within their grimy outlines the faces of beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen stared out blindly but still proudly at the few who passed by in the dim halls.

And for many years, only two people had walked through those dark corridors: descendants of the proud women and men depicted in the portraits, the last of their line—Lady Margaret’s daughters, Jane and Maude Montjoy.

Chapter 1

Jane stopped at the gate, which was half-overgrown with shrubs and vines, and put down her basket. She balanced on one foot and scratched her calf with the toes of the other. She could tell that Mamma hadn’t come back yet. The house looked dead, just a lot of wood and stone. It was only when Mamma was home that it looked alive.

She sighed and lifted her basket. It was light enough—berries were getting scarce, and the weather was too dry for mushrooms, except in the deepest part of the woods, where she didn’t dare to venture. She had found only a handful of sticks suitable for firewood.

The drive curved around to the wide stone steps leading up to the massive front door. Jane took a shortcut across the brown grass, glad that Mamma wasn’t there to see her. Only stable boys tread paths, she always scolded. Once, when Jane was particularly tired, she had reminded Mamma that there weren’t stable boys at Halsey Hall anymore. Mamma’s look of bewildered hurt and betrayal had stabbed like an icicle at Jane’s heart, and she never again mentioned the lack of stable boys—or of a proper stable—and never again walked across the grass while Mamma was home.

She climbed the uneven steps and leaned her weight into the door, which opened reluctantly. “Maudie?” she called. She heard scuttling to her left, where the North Parlor and the ballroom lay abandoned. She sighed again. Her sister was no doubt hiding a new treasure—perhaps some small gift from Hugh or his mother, Hannah Herb-Woman, or a brightly colored stone or snakeskin. Jane waited a few minutes and then opened the door, a little too noisily, so that Maude would have a chance to pretend she had merely wandered into the vacant part of the house for no reason.

Jane crossed the North Parlor and looked through the doorway—empty now of its door—into the ballroom. Maude seemed small in that vast space, her footsteps echoing as she crossed the scuffed and dusty floor that Jane dimly remembered gleaming, long ago. Now the grand room was a home for bats and mice, whose smelly nests cluttered the corners. The musician’s gallery above them was empty save for a few broken chairs where the black-coated cellists and flutists and trumpeters used to make music that moved dancers’ feet around the floor.

Maude’s shabby dress, so faded that it was impossible to tell its original color, was too tight on her. Her hair hung in lank strands; one of the reasons Mamma had gone to the city was to buy soap so they could wash more often. By the way her sister was studiously avoiding looking into a dark corner behind her, Jane guessed that this was where she had stashed her treasure.

“Mamma still isn’t back,” Maude said.

“I know.” When Mamma went to the little village down the hill she would return the same evening, but several times a year she made the longer trip to the city to barter cheese and eggs for soap and flour and the other things they couldn’t grow or make on their own, and she stayed overnight before returning home. But she had never been away this long before.