by C. J. Archer
"I want your honest opinion," she said, settling her restless hands in her lap. "Do you think the ball was a success or not?"
"It was, very much so. Why are you unsure? What has been said?"
"Nothing. At least, nothing that I know of. Why, what have you heard?"
"Only good things. So what's brought on this uncertainty?"
Her hands took up their busy work again and she sighed once more. "It's just that…the gentlemen were so…" She shrugged droopy shoulders.
"Dull?"
"Horrid."
"Horrid? In what way? Did one of them say something to you?"
"Not to my face, but I did overhear one of them telling another that I was pretty enough, but far too silly and provincial for his taste."
I dragged my chair over to her side and rested my hand on top of hers. "Sylvia, look at me."
She did. Her eyes were huge and watery.
"I have spent much of my life being the oddity. If my skin color doesn't single me out, the rumors of my medium abilities eventually do. I've been stared and pointed at, ignored, laughed at, sneered at, called a freak, a fraud, a savage, barbarian and worse. In fact, I was called a 'devil's whore' only a few weeks ago. Yes, it hurts—sometimes deeply. Especially when the people I thought were the kindest turn out to be the cruelest. I learned many years ago that those are not the friends I want to gather around me. I don't even want to waste time thinking about them. I have many other things I do want to think about, and people I would prefer to give my time and friendship to. People like you and Charity, Hannah, Emily, Jacob, and other members of my family."
She gave me a weak smile. "I do know all of that, and your situation has been so much worse than mine. I feel somewhat foolish for bringing it up at all."
"Don't be. Your feelings have been hurt, and you have every right to feel sad about the duplicity of those men. But not for too long. Don't let them upset you for any length of time because they're not worth it. You have other friends who adore you just the way you are."
I thought my speech quite a good one, but she didn't seem any happier. Her brow wrinkled further. "I do appreciate my friends," she assured me. "I know how lucky I am to have such good ones. The problem is, I'm supposed to choose a husband from among one of those toads."
"As am I," I muttered.
"Yet there's not a single one I wanted to spend five minutes with, let alone a lifetime."
"You don't have to choose yet. You have time to meet someone else."
"Uncle August is becoming insistent."
"He is? Why now?"
She sucked in her bottom lip and nibbled it. "I think it may have something to do with Tommy."
"I don't understand. I know Tommy is sweet on you, but he must know that nothing can happen. As do you."
She nibbled more and would not meet my gaze.
"Sylvia? What's happened?"
"Nothing! Nothing like that. It's just that…I may have given Uncle August the impression that Tommy possesses the qualities I would like in a husband." She suddenly grasped my hands, twisting to face me. "He is so much more of a gentleman than any of the ones I danced with last night. He's kind and even-tempered, and he likes me as I am."
I formed an O with my mouth. If I wasn't certain of her feelings for Tommy before, I was now. "So Mr. Langley thinks you wish to marry him?"
She nodded.
"And he's worried that you might run off with the footman and ruin your reputation—and his."
She nodded again.
It was quite the delicious scandal, except it wasn't so delicious when it was happening to a friend. Poor Sylvia looked stricken.
"What does Tommy think?" I asked.
"I haven't told him. I can't speak to him about such a thing. It would be terribly inappropriate."
"Would it? It seems to me that if he has feelings for you, and you have feelings for him, you ought to at least discuss what to do about it. Perhaps he will make a declaration and throw his hat into the ring."
"Make a declaration!" From the look of horror she gave me, one would think I'd suggested she run naked through the streets of Harborough. "Honestly, Cara, I'm surprised at you. I thought you would offer me sage advice, not make it worse."
"I'm sorry you think that way, but I stand by my suggestion. What's wrong with it?"
"I'm looking for a sensible solution to my problem. This is no fairytale, Cara. Tommy and I cannot be together. Uncle would make our lives miserable. He would never let me forget what a poor choice I made, and I'm afraid that would infect all the good in our relationship and turn it sour."
"Then I suggest you beg your uncle to allow you more time to choose a suitable husband."
"He said he has given me enough time. If I haven't chosen by Samuel and Charity's wedding, he's going to choose for me." She pulled a face. "Can you imagine? He'll find me a terribly noble gentleman, with no money to his name, who'll be sweet to my face then look down his nose at me after we're married. It will be positively awful."
I sighed. "Then it seems you have only one course of action to take."
"Yes?" she asked eagerly. "What do you suggest?"
"That you decide if you and Tommy love each other enough to weather the storm that will break over your heads if you choose one another." She opened her mouth to protest, but I held my finger up. "Think about it, Sylvia. Try to imagine the worst thing that could happen if you do choose him. And then try to imagine if you would still love him anyway, and he you. Because you are absolutely right. There are no such things as fairytales. But I, for one, do believe in happy endings. What do you want your happy ending to look like? Could it include Tommy or not if the worst comes to pass?"
I leaned forward and kissed the top of her forehead. When I sat back, I saw that she had a rather stupefied look on her face. I couldn't decipher what it meant, or whether my words had made any impact at all.
"I don't know if that helps or not," I said, "but that's what I would do in your situation."
"Thank you. I think."
"I hope you see that you're lucky, Sylvia. Lucky that your uncle cares enough about you to want the best for you. Lucky in that no matter what happens, Jack and Hannah will never cast you aside. And very lucky that Tommy cares for you as you are."
She blinked at me slowly, as if awaking from a dream, then flung her arms around me, almost knocking me off the chair. "And lucky that my friends are so wonderful."
I smiled. "You might not think so if you follow my advice. It will not be an easy path."
"I'll think about what you've said. I'm not sure what I want yet."
I sighed as she resumed her seat. "Nor am I."
"I'm so sorry. Here I am telling you my problems, when you've got the same pressure from your family."
"Not quite the same. They have allowed me to choose my own husband. Nor do I have to make a decision by the wedding."
"And if you can't choose? If you're presented with someone unsuitable whom you cannot stop thinking about? Will they be so accommodating then?"
I glanced back at the history book on the table. "If it were possible for us to be together, then they would support me." If it were impossible, however, their love and support wouldn't matter.
She sighed once more and slumped back into the chair. "All that organizing and fuss for the ball and I'm right back where I started. I'm not sure it was worth it, in the end."
"You seemed to enjoy yourself though."
"Did I? I don't recall. It's all a blur. It was such terribly hard work, and I hardly knew most of the guests. I know I have Emily to thank for many of them turning up at all, but I do wonder if they came just to see what the mysterious Freak House is like. Now that they've seen it and found it to be quite normal, I doubt they'll return again."
I suspected she was right, but didn't say so. "You didn't enjoy yourself at all? Not even a little bit?"
She thought for a moment. "Not particularly. I was too worried about everyone else enjoying themselves that I q
uite forgot about myself. I worried constantly about the new servants doing the right thing, and wishing Tommy were there to oversee it all. He's so competent, and everything runs smoothly when he's in charge. And of course that only led me to worry about his arm again and whether it would ever heal properly at all or…or not."
I squeezed her hand, but said nothing. She was clearly fond of him, but whether it was enough to cope with what lay ahead if she acted upon her affections, I didn't know. To encourage her any more than I already had would be irresponsible.
***
I returned to London the following day with Emily and Jacob. We were greeted at the door to their townhouse by the children, three of the senior members of staff, Samuel and Charity. The grave faces of the latter had us alarmed, but we listened to the children's stream of questions and long tales of what adventures they'd had in our absence before we retired to the sitting room.
"What is it?" Jacob asked as he waved off the footman who'd brought in the tea things.
"I can't find Alwyn." Samuel rubbed his jaw where a smattering of blond stubble had sprouted since we'd seen him the day before.
"Bloody hell." Jacob glanced at Emily and she cast a worried eye at the door.
"The children will be safe," Samuel assured her. "I've been up all night, searching for him, but didn't find him at his usual haunts and nobody has seen him. I collected Charity first thing this morning then came straight here."
"We asked the staff to be extra vigilant," Charity assured them. "So far, there's been no sign of trouble."
Emily sipped her tea and appeared perfectly calm, although I noticed her hand tremble.
"We must warn Jack and the others," I said. "Alwyn may not have returned to London at all."
"He did," Samuel said. "I asked at the Harborough station, and the stationmaster claimed a gentleman fitting Alwyn's description got on the train bound for London early yesterday morning. Alwyn is distinctive enough that I believe him."
Jacob drummed his thumb on his knee in an agitated rhythm. "Then we must remain alert until we find him."
Emily gave a firm nod. "I'm sure he'll show up."
"As am I," I said. "We have two more days anyway before he…before he said he will act."
"In the meantime, Charity must stay here," Emily declared. "Just until we know Alwyn has been found and hypnotized."
"Thank you," Charity and Samuel said at the same time.
We settled her into the guest bedroom next to mine, but instead of going to sleep there, she sat beside me in my bed. I was happy to have the company. Ever since Quin had left, I'd had trouble sleeping. I'd grown used to our nocturnal discussions and the comfort of simply knowing that he was close. Sleeping alone was so—well—lonely.
"How are the wedding plans?" I asked her.
"Coming together quickly, as a matter of fact." She sipped the hot chocolate that Emily had sent up earlier. I held my cup in my hands, warming them. "You'll receive an invitation soon."
"Is Mrs. Gladstone offering her assistance?" I knew Samuel's mother had initially been hesitant about her son marrying a woman with a sensational past, but she'd finally given their union her blessing.
"She's offered us every assistance. Of course, I've been sure to include her in the decisions along the way."
"All of them?"
She hid her grin behind the cup, but I caught the edge of its wickedness. "Oh yes. Every single one. I write to her every day and have even sent her sketches and fabric samples of my dress. I ask for her opinion, she sends it back, and then I do what I want."
I laughed. "That will only work so long as she remains at a distance."
"Thanks to Bert, she will. He doesn't need her there, of course, but she doesn't have to know that."
"That's kind of him."
"He said it was the least he could do after…after some of the problems he caused."
Problems that had now all gone away, thank goodness. I pecked her cheek. "I'm so happy for you. Both of you."
"Thank you. But what about you? You seemed out of sorts at the ball, even before Lord Alwyn spoke to you. Dare I ask, but is it Quin?"
I nodded. "I can't stop thinking about him."
Her lips flattened in sympathy. "Ordinarily I would encourage you to do everything you can to pursue happiness. After all, I'm living proof that obstacles can be overcome. But in your case, I hesitate to give that advice. I cannot see a way for you two to be together."
"I know. And please, don't worry about me. It is a hopeless situation, and I will be all right. I just need a little more time." I believed it. I truly did. At least, my head believed it. My heart hammered out a protest against my ribs that could not be easily ignored. "You must enjoy this time with Samuel."
She hugged me. "Thank you. I will. I am. But I don't want to ignore my friends after they've been so good to me."
I hugged her back. We stayed up talking into the night, mostly about Sylvia and Tommy, but also about the upcoming wedding and the Gladstone family.
The following day, after we returned from a walk in Hyde Park with the children, a letter was awaiting me.
"It's from Lord Alwyn," I announced to Emily and Charity.
They both stopped removing hats and gloves and stared at the letter. "What does it say?" Emily asked.
I read it while the nanny took the children upstairs and the butler gathered our things, then handed it to Emily. Charity watched her expectantly. I swallowed.
"'Call off your dog,'" Emily read. "'I don't know what Gladstone thinks he can do, but it won't work. You have twenty-four more hours in which to deliver the book to my house. I will know when you have done so. Remember what will happen if you do not.'" She folded it up and handed it back to me.
I held it with the tips of my finger and thumb as if it were poisonous, and took it up to my room. Later, Samuel and Jacob reported in. They'd been searching for Alwyn together all day. We did not need them to speak to know that they'd had no luck finding him. It was written all over their miserable faces.
"He seems one step ahead of us," Jacob said with a shake of his head. "Every time we hear he's at a certain club, we go there only to find he's just left."
"Surely he must sleep at some point," Charity said.
"It seems not."
"We lost him entirely before luncheon." Samuel scrubbed his hands through his messy hair and bowed his head. He looked exhausted.
Charity put her arm around him and brushed his hair back. "We'll find him. He can't hide forever."
But it felt like forever. Then the following afternoon, a little after the twenty-four hours was up, another letter arrived, hand delivered by an employee of Bethlem Hospital. It was addressed to Emily and Jacob. Emily gasped as she read, and Jacob's face grew grave. When they'd finished, they handed the letter to me. I read it through, feeling nothing as I did so. I didn't gasp or sigh or utter any words until I folded it up.
"It's my father," I told Charity and Samuel who'd been waiting patiently for us to finish. "He's dead."
CHAPTER 3
My father, François Moreau, had been committed to Bethlem Hospital shortly after I went to live in Melbourne with my brother, Louis, and his new wife, Celia. I had never felt much affection for him. My mother had deposited me with François when she knew she was dying, shortly before her death. He wasn't the ideal person to bring up a young girl, but there was nobody else. As far as she knew, I had no other family. My parents had never married and the circumstances of my birth were not imparted to me. I had never asked, having realized from a young age that there were some stories that didn't end well and should not be retold.
I ran my fingernail along the fold of the paper, sealing the contents as best as I could, much like I'd closed off the memories of my childhood. Some of them returned to me as I stood in the entrance hall of my niece's house. The bone-deep cold of a winter's night spent inside the one-room apartment I shared with François. The bigger neighborhood children pulling my hair as they called me nam
es. The rest I managed to shut away before they brought on the sting of tears or the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness again.
François had not been cruel to me, but he had not taken on the role of father either. In fact, he largely ignored me. The only reason I had enough to eat was because I stole fruit or vegetables from his grocer's cart when I was hungry. His neglect may not have been a deliberate act but in my youth I hadn't really understood that he was mad. To me, many adults showed signs of madness. Drunks stumbled through the streets at all times of the day and the whores lifted their skirts for anyone with a coin. Many children were neglected until they were old enough to earn a few pennies, and husbands beat their wives until they fell unconscious. François's maniacal laughter and constant mutterings were just typical adult behavior, as far as I had been concerned.
Perhaps his madness was why I stopped laughing when he became my guardian. He seemed to do enough for the both of us. I stopped talking too, and it wasn't until Emily rescued me that I slowly returned to being myself. The time I spent with François became a blur, one that I preferred to forget. I'd done a good job of it too, since moving to Melbourne. Even returning to London had not brought the memories back. Only visiting François at Bethlem had. It was why I'd visited him only twice and had refused to go again.
Now, staring at the folded letter in my hand announcing his death, a part of me wished I'd had a chance to say one final goodbye. François's blood flowed through my veins. I was a medium because of him, and I was more resilient thanks to him. Perhaps I'd owed him at least a few words of acknowledgement.
"How did he die?" Charity's voice faltered as she looped her arm through mine. "Was it natural causes?"
"It doesn't say," Emily answered for me. She circled her arm around my waist and squeezed. I hugged her back. François had been her grandfather and, although she'd never had much of a relationship with him, she must be feeling somewhat set adrift by the news too.
