The Maskmaker's Daughter by Holly Webb

Author:Holly Webb [Webb, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408327678
Publisher: Orchard Books
Published: 2016-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

Colette sat by the canal, staring into the oily darkness of the water. It seemed thick, almost soupy. Nothing like the blue silk – That was seawater, she thought dreamily, far out from land under a heavy summer sky. Or perhaps the shallows around an island, the way she might have seen it if she had run away to the lacemakers on Burano after all. The canal waters swirled and sucked at the steps below her feet, and Colette pulled back her pretty red leather slippers. They were a present from her father, along with a length of good wool fabric, and one of linen, from which to make herself two new dresses. She had never had such nice shoes. Never. Or such good food, or a room of her own.

But even with her own beautiful room, a settled home in the maskmaker’s house, and her own work to do, Colette still didn’t feel at home. It didn’t matter that she was with her father and Rizzo almost all the day: the apprentice smirked and grimaced at her whenever he could, and her father hardly seemed to notice that she was there. Maria and Lina hadn’t the time to talk to her, and the shop clerks had heard all about the master’s brat of a daughter from Rizzo, and didn’t want anything to do with her.

Colette brushed angrily at her stinging eyes. She wouldn’t cry – what if one of them saw her? The maids or, even worse, Rizzo?

A gondola slid by, like a patch of darker shadow on the water, the gondolier poling the boat along with scarcely a splash. A faint ripple sent the water lapping thickly at the steps again, and Colette rested her chin on her knees. What was she going to do? In some ways, she was better off than she had been when living with Ma but, given the choice, she would have gone back to her old life in the time it took to set one stitch. Perhaps when I’m older, Father will let me set up my own dressmaking establishment, Colette thought gloomily. Father – that didn’t even sound right. She hadn’t called him that, not yet. She didn’t call him anything, except sir, as Rizzo did, and that only occasionally. She didn’t think he noticed, either.

A faint bump sounded, further along the bank, and Colette glanced sideways in surprise. She hadn’t heard another boat coming. Whoever it was rowing had been remarkably quiet.

There was no boat.

Colette drew in her feet again, and sat up, ready to whirl around and dash back down the alley to the well-lit square. There was only one dim torch down here, set out by the owners of a house a little way down the waterside. She had been enjoying the dark; it all fitted her miserable mood: the lapping of the water, wheezing creaks from the wooden jetties, and the occasional low murmur from a passing gondola. That damp bumping noise had not fitted in. It was different, and strangely nasty, even though she couldn’t work out what it was.

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