Read Online Angel of Ruin by Kim Wilkins - Free Book Online

her face. Then he was off again, chasing imaginary rabbits.
    “You really should tie him, Mary.”
    “He doesn’t like to be tied. Look at that cloud. It looks like Betty’s face.”
    Anne and Deborah sank down on the ground next to Mary. “No it d-doesn’t. It looks like an elephant.”
    “Betty looks like an elephant,” Deborah said.
    “Except her arse is bigger,” Mary added. “’Tis a wonder it doesn’t swallow the pot when she goes.”
    “Mary!” her sisters chorused together.
    “Do you know she is twenty-four?” Mary continued, as though she hadn’t heard. “Liza told me.”
    “And how old is Father now?” Deborah asked. “Six and fifty? It seems you and our new stepmother have something in common, Mary: a taste for older men.”
    “They can’t possibly be lovers,” Mary said in a mock-serious voice. “For Father can’t see where to put it.”
    “Mary, you’re outrageous,” Deborah said, choking back a laugh.
    “Death, I am! I revolted myself,” Mary said, giggling. “You’re right to admonish me, sister. Mad Mary has finally gone too far.”
    They lay in the grass for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the city closing around them: carriages and street vendors and builders; the creaking of nearby windmills. Max, tired of playing by himself, returned to Mary and dropped a stick in her lap. She sat up and threw it for him, and he raced off again.
    “Anne,” Mary said quietly.
    “Yes?”
    “Have you thought any more about the summoning for the angel?”
    Anne felt her whole body tense against the question. She sat up. “No,” she said. “And I shan’t. You should p-put the whole thing out of your mind, for it was many years ago and the angel p-probably has other young charges now. We are n-nearly grown women.”
    “But why can you not remember? Didn’t Mother make you repeat it over and over?”
    “Can you remember every n-nursery rhyme of your childhood?”
    “I can remember some. The important ones. Come, Anne, it is important.”
    As soon as the pressure was on, words failed her and she became angry. And then the anger locked up her voice tighter still, leaving her with nothing but a mouthful of frustration. “I … y-you sh-sh —”
    “Leave Anne alone, Mary,” Deborah said. “You’re upsetting her.”
    Mary stood up and stalked off, muttering darklyunder her breath. She joined Max on the other side of the field. Anne watched them for a while, as they ran and played together. Then Deborah said quietly, “She’ll lose interest in the idea soon, don’t worry.”
    Anne didn’t reply. Her tongue still felt incapable of forming words.
    “And you really must let go this notion that you are responsible for Johnny’s death.”
    “I cannot,” Anne said in a whisper. Although Deborah was determined not to believe her, Anne knew what she had seen and heard. Far from seeming unreal, it was the most vivid memory of her childhood. Even her mother’s face was blurred from her recollection now. But the angel, with his fierce beauty and his soft voice, was seared into her imagination.
    “Look!” Mary shouted, motioning towards the road behind them. Anne turned to look. An elaborate carriage was approaching.
    Mary ran towards them, skidding to her knees on the ground. “Do you see that carriage? Why, ’tis so rich and fancy it must be the King’s!”
    “The King, Mary?” Deborah said, exasperated. “Why on earth would the King be trundling around near Mooregate?”
    “He does sometimes come out in his carriage. I have heard he does.”
    “On special occasions, with a full retinue and liveried servants, and people crowd the streets to see him. That is not the King.”
    Mary’s face fell into disappointment.
    “Come, let us return home.” Now conversation had turned elsewhere, Anne found it easier to speak. “It will soon be supper t-time.” She was always conscious of incurring Father’s anger by being late.
    “Yes, I suppose we should,” Mary said,