As she was writing her letter, Rebecca came into the room. “Excuse me, my lady, I was looking for Lucifer. Cinderella says he’s been menacing her mice again, and I wanted to have a chat with him.”

“Try the kitchen, he likes teasing the dog. Or maybe up in the attic; he loves how warm it is up there, because it gets lots of sun.” Lady Tremaine didn’t look up from writing her letter.

“I can take that letter to the village to be sent off to Lady Hackle once you are finished,” Rebecca offered. Lady Tremaine raised her eyebrow. “By the way, did Lady Hackle ever say if she found the book of fairy tales? I feel just awful I didn’t find it in any of the trunks.”

“She didn’t. I will include a postscript inquiring again,” she said, signing the letter and putting it into an envelope. As she wrote out the address and affixed her wax seal, she wondered how Rebecca knew she was writing to Lady Hackle. Then again, who else in all the world would she be writing to?

“Before you go, please tell Nanny to keep an eye out for Sir Richard’s return. I wouldn’t like him to find Anastasia and Drizella taking lessons with Cinderella,” she said.

“I understand, my lady.” Rebecca took the letter from Lady Tremaine and left.

Finally alone, Lady Tremaine let out a great sigh. She had decided there was no way she and her daughters could stay another fortnight in that château. If she didn’t hear back from Lady Hackle within the week, she would steal back her own money if she had to, and if there was none to be had, then she would sell something. But one way or another she would leave this place.

She looked up and saw a face she didn’t recognize in the mirror. It was her own face, of course, but it didn’t seem like it belonged to her. She looked old, haggard, and worn-out from all the drudgery of keeping Sir Richard’s house—Sir Richard’s first wife’s house, she corrected herself. She could never shake that woman, not with all the portraits around the house haunting her, the eyes watching her every step. At least Cinderella had been sweet to her since that Christmas Eve dinner. It did make things somewhat easier, though they hadn’t exactly become friends. How could they, when Lady Tremaine resented her for being treated like a princess while she and her daughters were used like servants and degraded at every opportunity?

It had already been a long day and Lady Tremaine still had all her housework to do, along with her daughters’. This had become the custom on the days Sir Richard was at court, and she was thankful no one in the household had alerted him to her little deception.