there was enough to make a cloak. Straight cloaks are very easy. Father Raymond taught me the pattern, because they're almost the same as the monks wear, except the monks' don't open down the front. First you cut one flat piece as long as from your shoulders to your heels and wider across than your shoulders, for the back. Then you cut four more pieces, the same length and half that wide. Two of these are for the front. The third one gets cut in half, and then each piece folded in half again for sleeves. The last one gets cut in half, and one of the halves gets folded with one end sewed shut for the hood. The hood piece gets gathered on at the neck, which is the hardest part, and if you're not careful it leaves an ugly bunch of puckers on the inside. If you want to get fancy, you can use the other sleeve-sized piece to make pockets. Since I had a lot of time on my hands, I got fancy and made great deep pockets on both sides. By noon, I had it mostly done except for sewing braid around the hood and down the front to finish it off. I'd used the sides of the cloth, what Dame Blossom calls the self-edge, for the edges of the sleeves and front, so all I had to hem up was the bottom. I heard Doll's voice outside, so I put it on and went out to show her.
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
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
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