by Violet King
“Mr. Denny!” Lydia called out.
Mr. Denny returned their wave and crossed to meet them.
Elizabeth was confident Lydia, with her attentions purely on appearance, had no interest in Mr. Denny himself. At the same time, Elizabeth also wished to learn more about Mr. Wickham, and Lydia’s questioning, which was certain to occur, along with Miss Bingley’s longer acquaintanceship with Mr. Darcy, might yield some insight.
Mr. Denny smiled in return and walked towards them. “Beautiful afternoon, is it not?”
“Yes. Glorious. One could hardly count it as nearing winter.” Lydia flashed her most dazzling smile. “It is a delight to see you, Mr. Denny. And your friend, Mr. Wickham? He is not given leave to walk about the town today?”
“Mr. Wickham has… umm… taken on some extra duties for himself at the barracks.”
“Oh,” Lydia remarked. “He is so very diligent, isn’t he?”
“Very,” Mr. Denny said in an oddly flat tone.
Elizabeth asked, “How long have you and Mr. Wickham been acquainted?”
“We were assigned together to the same unit.”
So they had not been acquainted long, and Mr. Denny had a certain reserve when speaking of Mr. Wickham.
Interesting.
“Mr. Wickham, you say,” Miss Bingley interjected. “He and Mr. Darcy were raised together, though I fear they had some falling out.”
Raised together? How had Mr. Darcy seen no need to remark on that when issuing a blanket warning against Mr. Wickham’s character?
“Do you know what happened?” Elizabeth asked.
“I would say it was a lady, but Mr. Darcy is so reserved in his expression of affection one would hardly discover such a thing through ordinary word of mouth.”
“If there was a falling out, I hope such ill temper will be eased by their seeing each other again,” Jane said. “Childhood bonds are often the strongest, especially amongst family.”
“Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham are not related.” Miss Bingley said firmly.
“I had not meant to imply that they might be,” Jane said, her cheeks reddening with a faint blush. “Merely that two young boys who are raised together might have formed a strong bond. Such a bond is difficult to break. It may be damaged, but not broken…” Jane shook her head. “One would have to do something truly unforgivable. And I refuse to believe such a thing of either man, having had only the faintest interaction with both.”
Perhaps Jane was correct. Or perhaps Mr. Darcy’s standards being so unbending, he had viewed some action of Mr. Wickham’s as being unforgivable and acted accordingly. That, in Elizabeth’s mind, seemed the most likely.
But since neither Mr. Bingley nor Mr. Denny had any further insight into the matter, Elizabeth saw no need to press it further.
Lydia pressed it further. “Does Mr. Wickham often take on extra duties?”
Mr. Denny shrugged. “When it is necessary.” He turned to Elizabeth, “Miss Elizabeth, that bonnet is very fetching on you. If you don’t mind my remarking.”
It was better Charlotte was not here. Elizabeth had no interest in Mr. Denny, and it upset Elizabeth to receive such a clear expression of preference from him.
“Well, Mr. Denny,” Mrs. Bennet cut in, rather shortly. “We must be on our way.”
“Where to? Perhaps I can offer an escort.”
“It is women’s business.”
Mr. Denny glanced behind him. “You too?”
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
“Many ladies are visiting that spiritualist. What is her name, Godiva?”
“Be that as it may, we must be on our way.”
“Yes, of course. Ladies.” Mr. Denny bowed.
When Mr. Denny was well behind them, Mrs. Bennet whispered, “Two hundred a year. Lizzie, you must set your expectations higher than that, my dear.”
12
Madame Godiva’s leased home was at the edge of the main thoroughfare. The house was small, eighteen feet in front with a small yard in the back where her wagon was presumably settled. As they approached the door, it opened, and a small, simply dressed young housemaid answered. “I will inform Madame her guests have arrived.”
“Remarkable,” Mrs. Bennet said after the young woman had led them into the parlor. “Jane, had you made an appointment to see her?”
“No,” Jane said. “She said I would be welcomed at any time.”
As Jane spoke, the housemaid straightened up items about the room. She was slight in frame, but Elizabeth suspected older than she first appeared. She had mousy brown hair and a snub nose. Her eyes were sharp as she moved about. “I will bring you refreshments, and the Madame will be with you presently,” she said with a heavy Cockney accent.
A thick, red velvet curtain separated the receiving room from the rest of the house. The maid pushed it aside as she bustled out.
The others continued to converse as refreshments were brought. Some ten minutes after that, the curtain was pushed aside again, and a stooped woman in a layered, brightly colored frock stepped into the room. She held an ornately carved cane with vines and flowers running up the base to a wide knob, which Elizabeth realized was the head of the snake.
Madame Godiva’s hunched-over frame and layers of fabric gave the impression of her being quite old, but she did not possess the sagging wrinkles of someone who was truly elderly. She was likely no older than Elizabeth’s mother. Her eyes, however, were quite startling. Two shades of green as Lydia had described.
Madame Godiva said, “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Lydia, Miss Kitty, and you must be Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth,” she said, nodding to each in turn. Elizabeth curtsied, and after a pause, Mary did the same. It was an awkward motion for Mary, who was still clutching her leather-bound Bible. “Mother wishes me to speak with you, and it is my duty to obey my parents, but I have no interest in having my fortune explained,” Mary said.
Mme. Godiva smiled. “Certainly not. As it says in Leviticus, 19:31, ‘Do not turn to mediums or necromancers; do not seek them out, and so make yourselves unclean by them: I am the Lord your God.’ We can have a cup of tea and discuss music. You are quite fond of music, are you not?”
Mary’s eyes widened, and she looked at Mme. Godiva with newfound interest. “I am fond of the pianoforte and the compositions of Ignaz Pleyel. Mary rubbed her thumb over the cover of her Bible and then said, “I suppose, if it is just a conversation, then we can converse.”
Mme. Godiva said, “And yet, I believe this fashionable young lady of London style also has questions for me.” Mme. Godiva turned to Miss Bingley. The fortune teller’s stillness, in combination with her two-tone eyes, struck Elizabeth as an interesting note of drama. She hoped it unsettled Miss Bingley. “Miss Bingley is it?”
Miss Bingley’s eyes widened. “Yes. Did you tell her I would be joining you, Miss Bennet?”
Jane shook her head.
Elizabeth was less impressed, as the housemaid had certainly heard their mother refer to Miss Bingley by name and relayed such information to her mistress.
Madame Godiva continued, “You are playing court to a certain young gentleman and are concerned he may not recognize your advances?”
Miss Bingley nodded. “What do you see?”
“Perhaps this discussion is best held in private. Will you come first?”
“Yes, I am interested in your thoughts.” Miss Bingley agreed. With that, all concerns about murder forgotten, Miss Bingley followed Madame Godiva further into her house.
“How remarkable,” Mrs. Bennet gushed, gesturing with her hand towards the curtain, which had shivered to stillness. “Madame Godiva has a gift! To know Miss Bingley’s name without having laid eyes upon her!”
“Yes! It is exactly the same as I felt when she first sought me out,” Lydia remarked. “She says she gets visions and sometimes is compelled to take action.”
Compelled by the sight of a lady of means, Elizabeth mused. Still, the fortune teller’s powers of observation
did her credit. Her calming of Mary’s nerves was inspired, first with the quotation from the Bible and then the bit about music, which Mrs. Bennet would have shared almost immediately upon being asked about her family on the previous visit. Predicting Miss Bingley’s designs had also been a good exercise in deduction. What young, fashionable woman of wealth would consult with a soothsayer except for in pursuit of a husband?”
After some ten minutes, Miss Bingley returned, and Mrs. Bennet was called in next, which only made sense as she would give the soothsayer all the information she needed to guess at all of her daughter’s futures.
Yes, Madame Godiva was very intelligent indeed.
While the young ladies waited, they interrogated Miss Bingley on what she had been told, but she kept the details of the conversation to her herself, claiming she did not want to disturb the possibilities that had been outlined in their talk.
After Miss Bingley came Mary, who returned with a pamphlet of Psalms, and then Kitty was called in.
“Now, may I visit the music store?” Mary asked. “Mme. Godiva said I might find new sheet music today. Something to stir the heart of one who might admire me. It was not telling of the future, more an explanation of the possibilities,” she added defensively.
Mrs. Bennet agreed, and extracting a promise for all to meet again at the carriage in an hour to return for dinner, they left.
After Kitty came Lydia, and then Jane. Lydia and Kitty left soon after Kitty’s fortune was told, leaving Elizabeth and Miss Bingley alone together in the sitting room.
Miss Bingley took a sip of her tea and said, “Madame Godiva says Mr. Darcy will be tempted by someone unsuitable.”
Elizabeth said, “That seems unfortunate.” And confusing. What business did Miss Bingley have discussing Mr. Darcy with Elizabeth?
“He will not succumb. Mr. Darcy has always been the picture of propriety.”
Elizabeth nodded and took a biscuit from the tray.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh, his aunt, claims he is engaged to her niece, but Mr. Darcy never speaks of it. Anne is a sweet girl, but not particularly robust in body or spirit. Mr. Darcy needs someone who will challenge him and offset his serious nature. I believe if he found such a lady, then he would marry her.”
“And you intend to be that woman?” Elizabeth asked.
“I cannot predict the ultimate object of his affections,” Miss Bingley said primly. “But I believe he would find a woman of his station more suitable than a country miss.”
Miss Bingley saw Elizabeth as competition for Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth almost laughed but managed to disguise the emotion as a cough.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Miss Bingley leaned towards Elizabeth.
“Yes. Yes. I should not have swallowed my biscuit just then.” Elizabeth managed. She took up the dregs of her tea and swallowed.
The curtain opened again, and Jane returned. “Oh, Miss Bingley, I feel so much lighter now.”
“Do you? What did she say?”
“Oh, I cannot share it. The future is too fragile, and my hopes too deep.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” the housemaid came through the curtain. “Madame Godiva will receive you now.”
“I cannot sit here any longer,” Miss Bingley said. “Do you mind if we step outside, just for some air?”
“Lizzie?” Jane gave Elizabeth a beseeching look. “We will step outside and enjoy the sunlight if that suits you, Lizzie.”
Elizabeth agreed. Best someone enjoyed the sunshine.
The housemaid led Elizabeth down a dark, narrow hallway to another thickly curtained door. She pushed it aside, and Elizabeth stepped inside. A sharp, smoky sweetness filled the air. An incense of some kind. The curtains were drawn, and oil lanterns were placed on tables at either side of the room. Layers of fabric hung from the walls. A second, translucent curtain separated the front from the back of the room. Behind it sat the silhouette of Mme. Godiva, rendered ghostly through the gauzy fabric. She called out, “This way, child.”
It was a wonder Mary hadn’t immediately turned on her heel and fled. Or more likely, Madame Godiva had met with Mary in a different room.
Elizabeth, not fearful of idolatry and demons, strode towards Madame Godiva. When Elizabeth passed through the gauzy curtain, Mme. Godiva said, “Sit.” She waved a hand towards a cushioned chair that had also been draped in a length of pale white fabric.
Elizabeth sat. The chair was surprisingly comfortable, and Elizabeth settled herself to wait. In the dim light, she could not get a good look at Mme. Godiva’s face, though her two-toned eyes shone eerily in the lantern light. Madame Godiva had streaks in her hair, which Elizabeth expected was to some extent powder as it gathered at the roots. She squinted at Elizabeth and said, “You are not the sort who wishes to have your fortune told.”
“Did my mother tell you this?”
“She shared that you had doubts, and those doubts are written on your face. It is difficult for you, seeing more than others do, and because of your sex, having those observations dismissed.”
“I do not pretend to see the future,” Elizabeth responded sharply.
“Then in that, we are of an accord. You see the present, as do I. Tell me, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, what do you see of me?”
“Am I not here to have you read my possibilities in the smoke or something of that persuasion?”
“You see me as a Gypsy charlatan with designs upon some piece of your family’s fortune.”
“I cannot believe you are a Gypsy. Gypsies travel together. They stay for a few days, a week at most, and then they leave. You have leased a home, and your accent is Cockney. You are also not as old as you pretend.”
“No, but it is easier to speak truth and have it believed when one is perceived to be old and strange. We all wear masks to make our way in this world. Give me your palm,” she said.
Despite herself, Elizabeth wanted to see what the woman would do next. Elizabeth pulled her glove from her left hand and extended it. Madame Godiva flipped her palm up and held the hand with a firm grip. She squinted and pulled Elizabeth’s hand closer to the lantern light. Her own hands were bare, and her skin was warm and dry.
“You are the sort who makes her own destiny. Be cautious of judging too quickly. You are often correct, but a quick glance over something does not yield the same insight as a slower, more measured approach.”
“No vision of true love or a settled future?”
“I could offer you a more in-depth prognostication, but you would only shrug it aside.”
Elizabeth sighed. Madame Godiva was not wrong. While she might not see the future, she had already had occasion to speak with many of the ladies at the village, and perhaps she might have learned something that could apply to Elizabeth’s own problem.
“You have spoken with others about their own fortunes, have you not?”
“What a person shares with me and what the Fates disclose about them is not to share.”
“I am not interested in fortunes or fate. Merely your own observations. My sister Lydia seems particularly enamored of a young soldier who we met at Saturday’s Assembly, while she was slighted by another young gentleman who was also in attendance.”
“You speak of the odious Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “So Lydia spoke of him?”
Madame Godiva ran her thumb over Elizabeth’s palm. “He has slighted you as well.”
Elizabeth was surprised Lydia had mentioned that. “Slighted me, warned me, and then attempted awkwardly to regain my regard. He is most troubling.”
“A complicated man. Your fates are entwined.”
“Not for long, I hope. I dislike him. Mr. Darcy is unthinking and rude, and yet he seemed sincere in warning me off of Mr. Wickham.”
“Perhaps he wanted you for himself?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Hardly that. I am, in his own words, but passably handsome, and even if he held my features in higher regard, he is already too aware of my own eccentricities and far too proper
to tolerate them.”
“But he asked you to dance.”
“After he said he would not dance with me or anyone who had been slighted by other men.”
“Did you find Mr. Wickham more convivial?”
“Mr. Wickham smiled with his mouth but not his eyes.”
“And Mr. Darcy?”
“Mr. Darcy does not smile at all.”
“I will not call this a fortune, merely advice. You are an intelligent, perceptive, and sensitive young lady. Do not shutter it behind airs and small deceptions. Find someone who loves you as you are. Else you will have neither the security nor happiness you desire.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Being loved for herself was all she wanted, but even a lady like Jane, who was as close to a womanly ideal as Elizabeth could imagine, had to play at small deceptions in the name of propriety. Small deceptions were a woman’s way of moving through the world. Madame Godiva herself was almost in her entirety a small deception. Was she then unhappy?
Perhaps.
Mme. Godiva’s grip on Elizabeth’s hand tightened until it was almost painful. Her body tensed, and she shuddered. The two-toned eyes seemed in that moment to stare into the depths of Elizabeth’s soul. Elizabeth shivered.
Madame Godiva said, “I see a letter and betrayal.”
“Lydia told you about the letter.” Of course she had, and now Madame Godiva was using this information to unsettle Elizabeth and thus inspire belief. Elizabeth would not be moved.
Madame Godiva said, “A ball. A needle. A prince.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Mr. Darcy will ask your hand in marriage.” Elizabeth wanted to laugh, but something in the light and the play of shadows over Madame Godiva’s face and those eyes froze all mirth from Elizabeth’s spirit.
“Twice.”
Instead of humor, Elizabeth felt the stirrings of anger. She had already seen through the charlatan, and they had been having a pleasant enough conversation, and now this. “I said I did not believe you. Do not think you can change my mind with exaggerated theatrics.”
