“Perhaps only more pleasant.”
It is an old argument. Alice’s treatment of Birchwood’s servants is notoriously poor. Worse, her rudeness often extends to family, particularly Aunt Virginia. My mother’s sister does not complain aloud, but I see the resentment pass over her face when my sister treats her like a glorified nanny.
Alice sighs in exasperation, reaching for my hand and pulling me up the steps toward Wycliffe’s door. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Lia! Come along, will you? You shall make us late.”
As I stumble up the stairs after my sister, my eyes drift to the Douglases’ bookstore, tucked into the storefront under the school. James is three years older than I and finished with his formal schooling. I know he will be at work in the shop and wish I could open the door and call to him, but there isn’t a moment left before I am pulled by Alice into the vestibule at Wycliffe. She closes the door, rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth.
“Heavens, it’s getting cold!” She unties her cloak, eyeing my still fingers. “Hurry, Lia, will you?”
I cannot think of any place I want to be less than Wycliffe. But Edmund has already gone, so I force my hands to move and hang my cloak near the door. Mrs. Thomason hurries toward us from the back of the building, looking in equal parts annoyed and flustered.
“You’re late for morning prayers, Misses! Now if you hurry, you might slip in without too much fuss.” She gives me a little push toward the dining room, as if I somehow need it more than Alice. “And I’m most sorry to hear of your loss. Mr. Milthorpe was a fine man.”
I follow Alice to the dining room, rushing to keep up with her purposeful gait. Through the doors, the voices of the other girls are strung together in eerie unison as they recite morning prayer. Alice pushes one of the heavy doors and steps through it in one motion. She doesn’t even try to be quiet, and I have no choice but to follow meekly behind her, wondering how she holds her head so high and her back so straight while making a spectacle of us both.
Miss Gray’s voice falters as Alice marches in, causing most of the girls to peek at us from behind closed lids. Alice and I slide into our seats at the table, mumbling the words along with the other girls. When everyone has said “Amen,” thirty pairs of eyes open to survey us. Some do it in a way they must think is careful, but others, like Victoria Alcott and May Smithfield, do not bother to hide their curiosity.
“Alice, Amalia. So nice to have you back with us. I know I speak for everyone at Wycliffe when I say that we are most sorry for your loss.” Miss Gray remains standing before the table as she delivers her practiced speech, sitting only when we have murmured our thank-yous.
Emily and Hope, the girls on either side of me, avoid my eyes. I have never been a skilled conversationalist, and death undoubtedly makes for awkward company. I study the napkin on my lap, the silver sparkling next to my plate, the butter congealing on my toast. Anything but the uncomfortable glances of the other girls. They avoid my eyes.
All but one.
Only Luisa Torelli looks at me candidly, offering a small smile that I feel as condolence even from across the table. Luisa always sits alone, the seats on either side of her empty whenever the girls at Wycliffe can arrange it. The other girls whisper about her because she is Italian, though with her raven curls, cherry-stained lips, and exotic dark eyes, jealousy is the more likely culprit. That I am now set apart for something even simpler — the novelty of being an orphan who has lost both parents to a bizarre set of circumstances — doesn’t seem to matter. All at once, it seems we are more the same than different, and I wonder if perhaps Luisa and I were meant to be friends all along.
Mr. Douglas has acquired an old French text, and we are divided into two groups and sent to the Douglases’ bookstore as part of our translation studies. I should like to have a quick word with James about the book, but he is at work in the back with his father, the other girls, and Mrs. Bacon, our chaperone.
In no time at all, I’ve completed my assigned passages and am standing at the bookcase nearest the window, browsing the new arrivals from London, when I hear hushed conversation coming from one of the other shelves. Leaning back, still hidden in the shadow of the towering bookshelf, I see Alice speaking in an urgent whisper to Victoria. Alice sets her mouth into the hard line that means she has made up her mind and will not change it no matter what is said, and with that, they look around and slip from the shop as if it is the most natural thing in the world.
It takes me a moment to realize what they have done. When the force of it hits me, I’m both relieved and oddly hurt not to have been included in whatever scheme they have planned.
It doesn’t take as long as it should to come to a decision that could land me in such trouble. Were it any other chaperone I might think twice, but Mrs. Bacon can be counted on for one thing above all others — her propensity for falling swiftly and deeply asleep on almost every occasion that Wycliffe’s girls are in her charge.
I move to the door with quiet purpose, trying to behave as if I have every reason to leave the bookstore. The soft clearing of a throat sounds behind me as the cold knob turns in my hand.
“A-hem.”
I briefly close my eyes, hoping it is James who has caught me sneaking away, for he will surely not tell. But when I turn, it is Luisa Torelli, leaning against one of the shelves and staring at me slyly from beneath the fringe of her inky lashes.
“Going somewhere?” she asks softly, eyebrows raised.
There is no menace in her face, only excitement barely concealed under the smile teasing her mouth. I should probably think through the decision to include her, but Alice has gone, and I don’t want to lose track of her while I stand about trying to make up my mind.
“Yes.” I tip my head to the door. “Are you coming?”
A brilliant smile breaks across her face as she nods, springing to the door as if she has been waiting years for the invitation. She is bolder than I, out of the shop and trotting down the walk while I pull the door shut quietly behind me. She is waiting, halfway to the corner, when I reach her.
She resumes walking, her eyes focusing on my sister’s retreating back, Victoria beside her. “I assume we’re going that way?”
I nod as the magnitude of our infraction begins sinking in.
Luisa seems oblivious. “Where are they going?”
I look over at her and shrug. “I have no idea.”
Her laugh is musical, ringing through the air as a passing gentleman turns to stare. “Wonderful. It’s a proper adventure, then.”
I fight a smile. Luisa is nothing like I imagined. “Yes, one that will land us in a heap of trouble if we’re caught.”
Her mouth widens in an impish grin. “Well, at least we shall take Victoria Alcott with us.”
Alice and Victoria have come to a building not unlike the one that houses Wycliffe. They stop on the walk, conversing as they steal glances at the door at the top of the steps. I have not given thought to Alice’s reaction when she realizes we’ve followed her, but there is nothing to be done and nowhere to hide. Her mouth drops open as Luisa and I approach.
“Lia! What… Whatever are you doing here?”
Quiet fury washes over Victoria’s face.
I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. “I saw you leave. I wanted to know where you were going.”
“If you tell,” Victoria threatens, “you will live to regret it. You —”
Alice casts Victoria a silencing glare before looking at me. “She shan’t tell, Victoria. Will you, Lia?” It is not a question that requires an answer, and she continues. “All right, then. Come along. We haven’t all day.”
They don’t give Luisa a glance. It is as if she isn’t there at all. As we follow them up the steps, I realize Alice did not answer my question. She does not break stride until we reach the top of the steps, leaning in to beat an enormous lion knocker against the carved wooden door. We shift nervously on our feet until we hear the sound of approaching footsteps.
&
nbsp; Luisa tugs on Alice’s sleeve. “Someone’s coming!”
Victoria rolls her eyes. “We can hear that, Luisa.”
Luisa’s onyx eyes flash in anger, but before she can defend herself the door is pulled open. In almost the same moment, we are met with a dark stare from the woman standing on the threshold.
“Yes?” She levels each of us with her gaze, as if to see who among us is sure to be the troublemaker. I should like to point her in Victoria’s direction, but I don’t have the chance or the nerve.
Alice pulls herself up straight, putting on her haughtiest air. “Good morning. We have come to see Sonia Sorrensen.”
“And who, may I ask, is calling. And for what purpose?” The woman’s skin is the color of dark caramels, her eyes a shade lighter, almost amber. She reminds me of a cat.
“We would like to pay her for a sitting, if you please.” Alice’s manner is imperious, as if the woman has no right to question her, though Alice is a mere girl who should not even be on the streets without a chaperone.
The woman’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly. “Very well. You may step into the foyer. I shall see if Miss Sorrensen has time for visitors.” She holds the door open as we file in, our skirts rustling and crowding around our legs in the small entry. “Please wait here.”
She ascends a simple wooden staircase, and we are left in a perfect silence broken only by the ticking of an unseen clock in a room beyond the parlor. The desire to flee presses upon my chest as I realize we are standing in a strange house with who-knows-who upstairs and not a soul in the world to know where we are.
“What are we doing here, Alice? What is this place?”
Alice’s smile is cold and hard. In it I see the pleasure she finds in knowing things other people do not know. “We are here to see a spiritualist, Lia. Someone who can speak to the dead and see the future.”
I do not have time to ponder Alice’s reasons for wanting to know the future. Voices drift from the room above us, and we look to each other in the crowded vestibule. Our eyebrows lift in silent question as heavy footsteps rattle the floorboards over our heads.
The woman peers down the steps, beckoning us up the staircase. “You may come.”
Alice pushes to the front. Victoria and Luisa follow her up the stairs without hesitation. It is only when Luisa reaches the third step and turns to me that I realize I haven’t moved.
“Come on, Lia. It’s all in good fun.”
I swallow my sudden fear and smile a response, following her up the narrow steps and through a door at the right of the landing.
The room is dark, the shades drawn over the windows so that only the faintest whisper of light lurks about the edges of the frame. But the girl sitting at the table is full of light, surrounded by candles flickering gold against her creamy skin. Her hair shimmers even with the meager glow from the covered windows, and although the room is full of shadows, I can see the curve of her cheek and am sure even from the doorway that her eyes are blue.
“Miss Sorrensen is a touch under the weather.” The woman who brought us to the room glances accusingly at the girl. “She can only offer you a brief sitting.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Millburn.” The girl’s voice is a murmur to the older woman, who closes the door behind her without reply. “Please sit down.”
Alice and Victoria move cautiously toward the table, taking the chairs opposite the girl. I, on the other hand, am so drawn to her that I take the seat to her right. Luisa sits next to me, closing our mismatched circle.
“Thank you for coming. I am Sonia Sorrensen. You’ve come for a sitting, then?”
We bob our heads, unsure what to say. No social lesson at Wycliffe has prepared us for such an outrageous occasion.
She meets our eyes, one at a time. “Is there someone with whom you’d like to make contact, a message you hope to retrieve?”
Only Victoria speaks. “We would like to see what you know about the future. Our future.” She sounds impossibly young, and I wonder if I might remember her shaking voice to call upon the next time she is mean at Wycliffe.
“Well…” Sonia looks at each of us again before settling her eyes first on Alice, and then me. “Perhaps I shall have a message for you.”
Alice’s eyes find mine through the dark. For a moment, I think I see cold fury there, but I quickly discount it. I am not thinking clearly. The forbidden outing and strange house, a house likely made strange as a way to make Sonia’s task easier, has loosened the strings of reality. I take a deep breath.
“Let us join hands.” Sonia holds her hands out to either side. Hands are clasped until it is only mine that is left to be joined with Sonia’s to complete the circle. When I reach out, careful to conceal my wrist, her hand is cool and dry in mine. “I must ask for silence. I never know what I will see or hear. I work at the will of the spirits, and sometimes they have no will to join me at all. You must not speak unless directed.” Her eyelids flicker and then close.
I peer at the faces, distorted and shadowed, around the table. In them I see remnants of the girls I know, but here no one is as they seemed in the sunlit street. With nothing to do but stare at Sonia, they close their eyes one by one. Finally, at last, I close mine as well.
The room is so completely sealed that I do not hear a sound — no horses’ hooves or shouts from the streets below, not even the ticking clock in the house below us. Only the whispery in and out of Sonia’s breathing. I settle into it — in, out, in, out — until I am not sure if it is her breathing or my own pacing the seconds and minutes.
“Oh!” The sound bursts forth from the seat next to me, and I jump as my eyes fly open to Sonia’s face. Her eyes are already open, though she seems very far away. “There is someone here. A visitor.” She looks at me. “He’s here for you.”
Alice looks around, wrinkling her nose. I smell it a moment later. Pipe smoke. Just the memory of it, really, but a memory that my soul knows no matter what my mind says.
“He wants to tell you that everything will be all right.” Sonia closes her eyes for a moment, as if trying to see something that cannot be seen with them open. “He wants you to know that…” And here she stops. She stops and opens her eyes wide in surprise, staring at me before turning her gaze to Alice and then back again. Her voice is the murmur of whispered secrets. “Shhhhh… They know you’re here.”
She begins to shake her head, muttering as if to herself or someone else very near, though it is quite clear she is not speaking to us. “Oh no… Oh no, oh no, oh no. Be gone, now,” she says softly, as if negotiating with a wayward child. “Go on. It is not me. I am not the one. I didn’t summon you.” Her voice, held in quiet calm until now, cracks with the strain of her false demeanor. “It is no use. They will not listen. They’ve come for…” She turns to me, lowering her voice to a whisper as if afraid someone might overhear. “They’ve come for you… for you and your sister.” She is perfectly lucid, looking directly into my eyes with such clarity that it is impossible to think her mad, though her words should make it easy to believe.
The room grows quiet. I don’t know how long we sit in the surprised silence before Sonia finally blinks, looking around her as if realizing where she is for the first time. When she sees me she sits up straight, fixing me with a stare filled with accusation and fear.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
I shake my head. “What… What do you mean?”
She looks into my eyes, and even in the flickering candlelight I see that they are blue, just as I thought. Not the saturated ocean blue of James’s eyes, but a blue as brittle as the ice that forms on the deepest parts of the lake in winter.
“You know,” she says softly. “You must know.”
I shake my head, not wanting to look at the other girls.
“Please, you should go now.” She pushes back from the table so fast her chair tips to the floor.
I look up at her in shock, frozen in my seat.
“Well, if this isn’t a load of poppycock!”
Alice rises, her voice breaking through the awed silence. “Come, Lia. Let’s go.”
She marches over, pulling me up from my chair and turning stiffly to Sonia, who still stands with such horror on her face that I’m almost immobilized all over again. “Thank you, Miss Sorrensen. What is the fee for the sitting?”
Sonia shakes her head, blond curls bouncing. “Nothing… Just… Please do leave.”
Alice pulls me toward the door. She does not have to say a word to Victoria, who is already making her way out of the room. Luisa waits for Alice and me to leave. I hear her footsteps on the floor behind us, an unfamiliar comfort as we make our way from the room.
I hardly know what I am doing as Alice leads me down the stairs, past the woman called Mrs. Millburn, and out the front door. I have the vague sensation of pressed bodies and swishing skirts as Victoria and Luisa work their way out around me.
Otherwise, it is nothing but a dream as we hurry down the street in awkward silence.
The cool afternoon air, together with the possibility of being caught having taken our leave from the bookstore, should be enough to force me back to reality. But somehow it isn’t, and my earlier unease with my sister is forgotten as I stumble through the streets with my hand in hers as though I am a child. Victoria walks a few steps ahead, while Luisa trots alongside, saying nothing.
When Mr. Douglas’s shop comes into sight, I see Miss Gray, standing outside and speaking harshly to James and Mrs. Bacon. They turn their eyes to us as we come into view. I avoid looking at Miss Gray’s face. If I do, I shall know for certain how very much trouble we are in. Instead, I focus on James. I stare intently into his face, creased with worry, until it is only him I see.
6
Alice and I pull on our coats in silence, Miss Gray’s reprimand ringing in our ears. Luisa’s stricken face as she was sent to her room is still fresh in my mind, making it impossible to feel sorry for myself.
It is only Miss Gray’s pity for our recent loss that has saved us from a report to Aunt Virginia, and by the time we close Wycliffe’s door behind us, it is near enough to dismissal that Edmund is already waiting, standing tall beside the carriage. Alice marches down the walk and is already settling into the darkness of the carriage when I hear the voice behind me.
Prophecy of the Sisters Page 4
