Foretold Heart

by Camille Oster

  Foretold Heart

  By Camille Oster

  Copyright © 2019 Camille Oster

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Camille Oster – Author

  @camilleoster_author (Instagram)

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579

  Camille.osternz@gmail.com

  Chapter 1

  London, 1834

  "THERE YOU ARE," Ester said from the doorway to Sylvia's room, walking in wearing her new green silk dress. It was the first time Sylvia had seen it, but she'd heard it described in detail.

  "You were right. It is flattering," Sylvia said and put away the book she’d pulled out, but hadn't managed to read beyond a sentence or two. "How are you?" she asked and rose to kiss her dear friend on the cheek.

  "Well. It is certainly chilly. There was ice forming on the puddles as I walked over." Ester moved to the window and looked down on the square below. "I don't mind the cold so much. Do you think it will snow this year?"

  "I hope so. I wish we’ll get a chance to skate at some point. Andrew does like to skate." Sylvia's brother Andrew was fond of any physical activity, particularly as they were in London for the season, which was just starting for the year.

  "There's a concert scheduled at the Royal Conservatory. Apparently it's running all week. We should go tonight if you don't have anything else you have to attend."

  The chill still in the material of Ester's dress radiated as she joined Sylvia on the bed. The fire crackled in the grate, working hard to keep the cold out. "That's a great idea," Sylvia said with a smile. Activities were being planned all over Mayfair this winter, and they had a pick of things to go to.

  "Do you think Marcus Sousney would join us?"

  "You can simply ask if he wishes to," Sylvia said.

  "I can't do that." Color spreading up Ester’s cheeks. Ester never had the knack for being forward the way Sylvia could. Couldn't ask a man if he wanted to join them on an excursion with the level of casual grace that makes it seem like the most natural question in the world. Ester got tongue-tied, which was strange considering she would talk the hind legs off a donkey otherwise. It was only in relation to Marcus.

  "Oh, did you hear? Angelica Colchester is engaged."

  Sylvia blinked, trying to place the name that sounded vaguely familiar. Her network of acquaintance didn't stretch as far as Ester's, mostly for the fact that she didn't bother stretching them. Frankly, she had all the friends she needed and if she took on too many, there were simply more relationships she had to invest her time in. "Yes, right. I am happy for her."

  "Henry Bartholomew."

  "Well, that's wonderful," Sylvia said, trying fruitlessly to place the name. "Related to the Colchester Bartholomews?"

  "Yes, I think so. But here's the thing," Ester said excitedly. "A fortune teller at Vauxhall Gardens foretold the match."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Sylvia chided.

  "No, it's true. And out of the blue, he appeared at a supper they had been invited to, and was smitten instantly. Almost as if the fortune teller found her a husband."

  "I'm not sure fortune telling works that way." In fact, Sylvia wasn't sure fortune telling worked in any way. It was all humbug. A ruse to earn some sham artist some coin. That wasn't to say one didn't enjoy the experience of being scammed. It was what one paid for after all.

  "We should go see her."

  "What?" Sylvia uttered.

  "I swear we will both be engaged by the end of this season. I feel it in my bones."

  "You don't have feelings in your bones unless you break them," Sylvia said with a smile. But it did draw her attention to the fact that she had to marry. She had been engaged once before and it had ended. It wasn't something she'd been certain about, but she had been proposed to during her very first season, and she had been so flattered, she'd said yes. In the end, it hadn't worked out and misfortune had seen her intended call off the wedding and seek a commission in India. It had been more relief than sorrow, because although she'd liked him, she'd never managed to develop any stronger feelings than fondness.

  If there was one thing she wished, it was that there be love in her life. A marriage should have more than mere fondness. But she was getting older and her mother was starting to worry.

  "It's not the first time this fortune teller has been right. Sarah Hambly swears she predicted her brother's rise in fortune when he inherited that estate from a great aunt he'd never even known about. This woman is the real thing. A gypsy woman who comes from a long line of fortune tellers."

  It sounded fanciful, but who didn't enjoy a notion of fanciful every now and then? Then again, Vauxhall Gardens wasn't a place for unmarried girls like them. It was notorious for seedier amusements. Sylvia had only seen it during the day when it was more sedate, and frankly, unremarkable. As a garden, it wasn't much to see at all.

  "I doubt she would be there during the day," Sylvia said.

  "No, she wouldn't. We'd have to go in the evening."

  Sylvia bit her lip. It wasn't entirely unknown that they push the boundaries of appropriateness. Nothing terribly scandalous, and usually Andrew had to escort them. Obviously they couldn't go without a proper male escort.

  "Don't you want to know who your future husband will be?" Ester asked. In truth, it would be wonderful to just be told who she was going to marry, so she didn't have to think and worry about it every time she went to some evening's entertainment. It took so much effort, having to be the paragon of graciousness, in case that one man fell in love with her and offered his hand.

  "Wouldn't it be wonderful to know?" Sylvia said with a sigh. All that worry and anticipation settled once and for all. Then she would also know in which direction she had to set her sights, because unlike Ester, she didn't have a Marcus that made her blush every time she spoke to him. It would be simpler if she did. Then again, it wasn't perhaps the best position to be in as Marcus didn't seem all that interested in Ester. Perhaps it was worse being in love with a man who didn't really see you there.

  As much as she hated admitting it, she worried there would be heartbreak in Ester's future. Men didn't go from longstanding indifference to falling in love, did they? Maybe they did. Maybe he would notice one day what a jewel Ester was.

  Ester smiled beseechingly, her blond hair framing her face and her blue eyes pierced in their eagerness. She wanted to know if Marcus would eventually notice her the way she noticed him.

  "Alright, fine," Sylvia said with a sigh. "Let's see this woman."

  Rising from her seat, she walked over to her door with determined steps and down the hall until she knocked on Andrew's door. He'd arrived home late last night and was no doubt still sleeping. "Andrew," she called as she continued banging.

  "For the love of God, Sylvia," he called from inside the room and Sylvia took that as sufficient invitation to enter. The curtains were drawn, so she walked over and whipped them open. Andrew groaned and covered his eyes. Clearly he had been generous with the drink last night. Not enough that he was sleeping on the floor, but enough that his head no doubt pounded. Well, just desserts, Sylvia thought without sympathy. "The day is getting on."

  Andrew was actually a year younger, but he had freedom she could only dream of. It was unfair as out of the both of them, she was far more sensible, but there was nothing she could do about it. Squashing the pillow, his head dropped down on it.

  "You are taking us to Vauxhall Gardens tonight," she stated.

  "What? Are you insane? No."
<
br />   "No, I am serious. There is a fortune teller there who can accurately predict husbands."

  Andrew groaned loudly as he sat up. "You are too cruel for any man to want to marry you."

  Ester appeared in the doorway and Andrew scrambled to draw up his bedclothes, which was utterly superfluous as he was wearing his nightshirt. It wasn't as if he was indecent.

  "You shouldn't be in here," he said.

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Ester's seen you running around in your nuddy forever."

  "When we were children. We're not—"

  Sylvia walked to the bed and sat down. "Ester needs to know if Marcus will ever marry her," Sylvia said gravely, in the voice she used when she really wanted Andrew to do something. It didn't work so much anymore now that she couldn't punch him to make him comply. They were, after all, not children anymore.

  Andrew's gaze was going between her and Ester. And then he sighed. "Fine. We'll see the fortune teller, but then we are leaving. I am not running around Vauxhall Garden with two marriageable misses in tow. But it would be good to know that there will be someone to fob you off on."

  A punch hit him in the arm and he yelped. Alright, maybe she hadn't completely outgrown that tactic. Then she smiled. "Excellent. Shall we say seven."

  "Seven. No one is at Vauxhall at seven."

  "No, we're going to the concert at the Royal Conservatory first. Then after, on the way home, we'll see the fortune teller."

  Andrew groaned. He hated concerts, which was surprising as he slept through most of them. "Now get out of my room!" he yelled. "Lovely dress, by the way, Ester. Is it new?"

  Ester smiled at the compliment. "Yes. Delivered this morning."

  Sylvia exited the room and closed the door behind her, looking Ester in the eye. "Done. We go tonight."

  "Want to go down to the chocolatier down on the Mall?" Ester suggested. It was hours until they left for the concert, after all. All sorts of young girls visited the chocolatier in the afternoon, and it was a brilliant place to show off a new dress.

  Chapter 2

  BOTH SYLVIA AND ESTER sat with their heads together, looking out the window as they approached Vauxhall Gardens. It was chilly, but it wasn't putting the revellers off. In the evening, it looked much more exotic, with foreign architecture—Italian and Indian, even Chinese. Sylvia wasn't an expert on architecture, but it looked very exciting to her. And it was quite busy, much more so than when she had seen it during the day. Lamps dotted the space like sparkling stars.

  They passed a group where a woman was howling with laughter, and she heard what she knew was drunken banter. Gentlemen walked with women in garish dresses. Others were sitting in gazebos, being served sumptuous meals. It was unlike anything Sylvia had ever seen before. It looked very exciting. She knew that some married women came here with their husbands for an evening, and she wondered if she would once she was married.

  "Do you think they are ladies of the night?" Ester asked, her eyes wide with shocked excitement.

  Andrew sighed. "We're going in and out, and that's it. No dallying. Mother is never going to forgive me if she finds out, so I don't want anyone seeing either of you. I'm sure your mother would be equally unforgiving, Ester. I still can't believe you talked me into doing this."

  "Don't be such a bore, Andrew," Sylvia chided. "We'll only be here a few minutes. Where is that fortune teller?"

  "I have no idea. I don't make a habit out of giving my money to charlatans."

  "Only publicans," Sylvia chortled, giving her brother a pointed look.

  "There," Ester said, pointing at a striped tent. There was a chalkboard hanging from a pole that said 'Madam Miska, Fortune Teller.' "That must be her."

  "I don't see any other around."

  Andrew tapped the roof of the carriage and it pulled to a stop. He got out first and then helped them down onto the gravel path. A cool wind blew down the length of the tree-lined avenue and they quickly walked toward the tent. Light peered through the flaps, and it was humidly warm when they stepped inside. A small pot-bellied stove stood in the corner, warming the exotic looking space filled with red velvet and gauzy materials with small mirrors and coins sewn in. It was certainly very gypsy-like. A woman sat at the table with heavily kholed eyes and her hair was covered by a scarf depicting roses and thorns.

  She looked at them with uninterested eyes, gathering up cards on the velvet-covered table. "One pound," she said.

  "A pound!?" Andrew replied with disbelief.

  "A fortune is a valuable thing."

  "Valuable? All you do is flip some cards and spew—"

  "Stop arguing, Andrew, and recompense the woman," Sylvia stated to her brother. "You first," she continued, nudging Ester forward, who now looked very uncertain. For a moment, it seemed as though she would bolt from the tent.

  "Hello," Ester said with a weak smile as she sat down on the gold-painted chair. "My name's Ester."

  "Names are not needed."

  "She's very courteous, isn't she?" Andrew whispered tartly.

  "I'm sure it's all to build mystique."

  "If that's what you call it."

  "What is it you wish to know?" the woman asked, looking Ester in the eye for the first time.

  "I would like to know who my husband will be."

  The woman looked unimpressed. "Cut the cards." She waited for Ester to do so. With a careful hand, Ester reached over and grabbed half the deck, placing it awkwardly in the fortune teller's hand, who shuffled the cards and then lay them out one by one, mumbling to herself.

  Ester looked on hopefully.

  "Ah, there is a husband for you."

  A relieved smile spread across Ester's lips. "Who?"

  "He is kind and gentle. You have already met."

  Ester barely sat in the seat, she was leaning so far forward. "Is his name Marcus?"

  "No," the woman said curtly and Ester froze. "It is not the man you have in mind."

  "But…" Ester started.

  "It is someone else. Your marriage will be quite soon."

  "But…" Ester repeated. "Are you certain? Really look."

  "It is not the man you hold hopes for. The man for you is fair in hair and fair in nature."

  "Oh," Ester said, her shoulders sinking.

  "But it will be a good match. There will be children and you will be happy."

  With large, disappointed eyes, Ester looked back at Sylvia.

  "That's wonderful," Sylvia said brightly. "A happy future with a husband and children." But she knew Ester was heartbroken hearing that it wasn't the man she wanted.

  "Well, that was money well spent," Andrew chuffed tartly. "Shall I pay another pound for her to tell you there is a husband waiting and you will be very happy. I would quite happily tell you that for free."

  "Yes, but you are not a fortune teller."

  Andrew was about to say something, but he held his tongue. Exhaling slowly, he drew out another pound note from his pocket and placed it on the table. Smiling tightly, the woman quickly swiped it. It was no secret that Andrew was less than convinced by her credentials.

  "Now," the woman said, inviting Sylvia to sit. "What does your future hold? Cut the cards."

  Sitting down, Sylvia reached over the cut the deck in half. They were cards unlike any she had seen. They had pictures of people and things. Suns and moons, and animals. Coins and chalices. Strange things she had no understanding of.

  Card after card went on the table, and the depictions meant nothing to her, but her eyes darted between the cards and the woman's eyes, but there was nothing she could discern.

  "Well, there is a man," she said. "Dark in hair and dark in nature. Uneven in his gait. A limp."

  "A limp?" Sylvia said, her smile faltering.

  "Ooh," Andrew said. "Not only dark, but a cripple to boot. Does he have a hunched back?"

  The fortune teller ignored him. "That is the man you will marry." She gathered up the cards.

  "Is that all?"

  "Yes
. Only one husband. Did you expect more?"

  Sylvia didn't know how to answer such a strange question. The woman relented. "The cards can be temperamental and they do not give names. I see no distance so both of these men are nearby. That is all I can tell you. You will both be married. Do you wish your fortune told, sir?"

  "No, I think you have lightened my purse sufficiently," Andrew replied. "And so we must bid adieu to the lovely woman. The carriage awaits." He held the flap open for them to exit.

  Sylvia walked outside and Ester followed. "No, I think Andrew is right. She is a complete charlatan," Ester stated. "We cannot live our lives by the declaration of some woman in a tent, can we?"

  Clearly Ester did not want to give up her hopes of Marcus taking an interest in her. And truthfully, Sylvia felt a little torn, because she believed the woman's declarations were true. At least in the case of Marcus. If Ester garnered little interest in him now, that was unlikely to change.

  Andrew quickly helped them into the carriage and instructed the driver to take them home.

  Ester sat quietly and downtrodden for a moment. "Because she said it doesn't mean it is true. All she did was flip some cards. It could be utter drivel."

  "Two pounds worth of drivel," Andrew said.

  As for herself, a man dark in hair and dark in nature—with a limp. That didn't even reflect anyone she knew. Her mind searched for someone who fit the description, but came up empty. She didn't know anyone with a limp. A limp, her husband was to have a limp? That was not what she'd envisioned when walking back down the aisle with her husband. Neither had she expected dark hair. Not that she found dark hair unattractive—it was simply not what she'd imagined.

  Would there be children? She hadn't thought to ask the woman, who had said to Ester there would be children. Did that mean there wouldn't be? Why hadn't she asked? Would they be happy? That was something the woman had said to Ester too, but hadn't elaborated on for her. What did that mean? Was she to marry some ogre with a limp? Surely not. She wasn't exactly unfortunate in terms of birth and dowry, and had to, with desperation, accept any offer that came her way. It was generally viewed that she was a charming young woman. Certainly didn't have to marry some ogre with a limp.