“I’m fine,” she insists as soon as we shut the door. “You needn’t fuss.”
“It was another vision, wasn’t it?” She’s pressing her fingertips to her temples.
“Yes. Unhook me?” My fingers make quick work of the row of buttons at her back while I wait for her to elaborate. Tess only sighs as she pulls off the tea-soaked gown. “I can feel you staring at me, you know.”
I try to ignore my raging curiosity. Her reluctance doesn’t necessarily portend something awful; she’s going to be privy to loads of people’s secrets, and possibly it’s just none of my business. After all, I wouldn’t want her going around telling everyone that she saw Finn and me kissing.
Tess will be thirteen in another month. Under Elena’s tutelage, she’s grown into a proper young lady who wears a corset and petticoats and her hair up. When she pulls he1 thr red plaid dress over her head, I see the new curves of her hips and breasts. She’ll be voluptuous like Maura and Mother instead of skinny like me.
“I want to go with you to Harwood on Monday and see Zara,” she says.
I fasten the buttons she can’t reach and tie the black cummerbund at her waist. “I don’t want you setting foot in that place.”
She spins around to face me. “I thought you weren’t going to boss me anymore?”
I did say that, didn’t I? Old habits are hard to break. “All right. We’ll ask Sister Sophia. But you have to promise to stay with me the whole time. And you’ve got to steel yourself for it. You’re too important to the Sisterhood—and to me—to risk anything rash, no matter how much you want to help the girls there.”
“I promise to stay with you. I just want to ask Zara about the other oracles—whether the rest of them went mad like Brenna. Zara didn’t write about that in her book, but perhaps—”
Tess wasn’t as comforted as I’d hoped by the truth about Brenna. I sigh, tucking a wisp of blond hair back into her bun. “Brenna would be right as rain if it weren’t for Alice.”
Tess sits heavily on her bed, rumpling the green quilt. “She could be—we can’t really know. She was odd before that.”
“Odd isn’t mad,” I remind her, wishing I could forget about Thomasina, hoping Zara will have more discretion in front of Tess. “You’ll be fine.”
“Will I?” She grabs Cyclops and nestles her cheek against his furry head. “I hope so, Cate. I don’t want to lose my mind. I like being clever. I want to keep learning Chinese, and Sister Gretchen promised to teach me German and cryptography properly, once Sister Cora—well, once she isn’t so busy tending to her. Sister Sophia is going to show me how to make her Christmas pudding. And there are dozens of books in the library I haven’t read, and someday when I run out of stories to read, perhaps I’ll write my own. There’s so much I want to do yet.”
Her fear shatters me. “You will. There’s plenty of time to do all those things.”
“Is there?” She hugs Cyclops tighter. “It’s already December. In a month it will be 1897, and the prophecy says one of us won’t live until the turn of the century. That’s only three years. Maybe less.”
I grab her elbow, and she lets out a little yelp as I turn her roughly toward me. “Teresa Elizabeth Cahill, you listen to me. Nothing is going to happen to you. You aren’t going to go mad, and you aren’t going to be murdered. No one is going to harm you while there is breath left in my body, do you understand me?”
“Ouch, Cate, let me go,” she whines.
“No. This is important. I won’t have you give up. I don’t care what happened to the other oracles, and I don’t care what that blasted prophecy says. You are going to live a long, happy life. You’re going to learn Chinese and bake a dozen Christmas puddings and get married and have babies—or not, whichever you want—and write that book of yours. Is that clear?”
“Yes, fine. Now will you stop lecturing me?” Tess rubs her elbow.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.” I take a deep breath, struggling for control. “It’s only that—Tess, I have to believe we aren’t just puppets to Persephone or the Lord or the Brothers. That the choices we make matter.”
“We’ve got to be brave, even if we’re frightened sometimes.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners like Father’s, and I hope she is taking my words to heart.
“Especially when we’re frightened. I think the point is forging on anyway, even when we don’t see how we can get through it. I’m scared about Finn and you and Maura all the Mauy when time.” I pick up her tea-stained dress from the floor and drape it over the dressing table. “Er—I don’t know if she mentioned it, but Maura and I had an awful row yesterday.”
Tess leans back against the brass headboard. “I heard.”
I resist the urge to ask her what Maura said about me; I don’t want to put her in the middle, especially when she and Maura are rooming together.
“I suggested we might be able to organize a jailbreak at Harwood.” I dip a clean handkerchief in the pitcher of water by Tess’s bed, then scrub at the brown splotches of tea on her dress. “It would solve our Brenna problem. Maura and Alice jumped on the idea, but they only want to free the witches, and that doesn’t seem right to me.”
Tess gives a grim little nod. “I agree.”
“I think we ought to try and free everyone, but I don’t know how. The girls are kept too drugged to organize a mutiny.” I wring the dress out into the empty basin. “I’m so afraid we’ll make things worse for them. But maybe Maura has a point—maybe it’s better to risk it than to do nothing.”
Tess steeples her fingers together, thoughtful. “Is that why she was angry?”
I twist the dress in my hands. “Not really. She wants me to step aside and let her lead the Sisterhood. Her and Inez.”
“Is that what you want?” Tess traces the red squares on her plaid skirt. “Perhaps it isn’t fair, letting everyone think you’re the oracle, letting Maura be angry with you. I’m only delaying the inevitable. Maybe I ought to tell everyone it’s me.”
I sit next to her. “Are you ready for that? It’s a tremendous responsibility, Tess, and once you say it—well, you can’t unsay it. I don’t mind shouldering the burden a little while longer.”
“I wish I felt ready, but I don’t. I don’t know if I ever will.” She sighs, and it’s a heavy-hearted sound for a girl her age. “There’s something else that troubles me about telling. If Inez knows she has four years till I come of age, who knows what she might try?”
“Whereas if she thinks she might have to turn power over to me in a few months, it may keep her from doing anything rash,” I suggest.
It doesn’t escape me that I am in Inez’s debt because she knows about Finn. I hope he finds the information she wants soon so we’ll be free of her. Or will it go on and on? Will she demand something else next? Worries unspool through my mind. If she does, I’ll compel her to forget about him; I’ll have to.
Tess leans against me. “I don’t trust her. That’s not a premonition, just a feeling I have.”
“I have the same feeling, but I don’t know what to do about it.” I slide my arm around her shoulders. “Should I pretend to be the oracle? You could tell me your visions, and I could pretend they were mine.”
Tess giggles, knocking her blond head against my chin. “We could never pull that off. It would get too complicated, and you’re a terrible liar.”
I pull away. “I am not! Maybe to you, but—”
Tess swats my knee. “No, you really are. You think you’re convincing, but you aren’t. It would never work. We’ll have to keep thinking.”
More thinking, not doing. It nettles at me now; everything seems to come back to needing time, but that’s in scarce supply.
“Don’t look like that. We’ll figure it out.” Tess smiles up at me. “Together, I think we can manage just about anything.”
• • •
I’m meant to be leaving for Sachi’s trial, but I can’t find Tess. I wanted to tell her I’ve secured Sister Sophia’s
permission for her to come to Harwood on Monday. But she’s notut mea in her bedroom or the library or the kitchen. I dart into the sitting room, where Mei and Pearl are playing a game of chess.
“Have either of you seen Tess?”
Mei’s hair falls in a straight, shining black curtain to her waist. “She popped in half an hour ago and asked whether there’d been any word of my sisters. Seemed worried about ’em, with the snow coming.”
I glance out the windows. “It isn’t snowing now.”
“Looks like it could any minute,” Pearl says, huddling into her soft lavender shawl.
“It must be bitter cold down there. I gave Yang blankets to take to them. Families are allowed to visit twice a day, to bring them food, so Baba goes in the morning and Yang goes in the afternoon.” Mei slides her queen across the board, and Pearl groans. “I wish there were more I could do, but it’s not safe to go down there by myself. I was just telling Tess, it’s a bad neighborhood down by the docks. Pickpockets and all sorts of rough people.”
A sudden suspicion prickles my spine. “Tess was asking about that neighborhood?”
“Sure. Where the warehouse is, and what it’s like down there.” Mei captures another of Pearl’s knights. “She’s a right curious little thing. I guess she hasn’t seen much of New London yet, has she?”
“No.” I suspect she’s out remedying that right now. I excuse myself and run into the front parlor, where Sister Sophia and Rory are waiting for me. Blast. I promised Rory I would go to the trial with her, but this is an emergency. “I can’t—I’m sorry, something else has come up—will you go, and tell me what happens?”
Rory gapes at me. “It’s Sachi’s trial, Cate. What could be more important than this?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back. Trust me, Rory, please. You know I wouldn’t miss it unless I had to.” I wrestle on my cloak and am out the front door and heading down the steps when a familiar laugh catches my attention. It’s Maura, jumping down from a black phaeton, and for a moment, my heart lifts, hoping Tess is with her and my suspicions are unfounded.
“Thank you!” Maura giggles, and as the man sets her gently on the carriage block, I recognize my childhood best friend. I feel a pang of homesickness as I look at Paul. He seems just the same: square jaw, strong shoulders, sun-streaked blond hair that flops over his tanned forehead.
“Maura!” I shout, hurrying toward them. My heart drops when I see it’s Alice sitting in the back of the carriage, not Tess.
“Cate!” Maura’s radiant despite her plain black cloak—and not the studied gaiety she’s adopted since she’s been at the convent; she’s really beaming. “We’ve had such an exciting morning. Paul was kind enough to take us shopping and treat us to lunch at a little café. It was just how I imagined life in the city would be—like something from a novel!”
“Hello, Cate,” Paul says. “Or am I to call you Sister Catherine now?”
He moves to take my hand and then stops, as if uncertain whether such liberties are permitted with members of the Sisterhood. Or perhaps it’s just me he’s uncertain of. The last time I spoke to him, I told him I’d consider his proposal of marriage. I let him kiss me. I kissed him back. I lied.
“You can still call me Cate,” I say, offering an awkward smile. “It’s good to see you again. I trust you’re well?”
“Yes, indeed.” Paul turns to catch Alice. “The Harwood addition is an important job for us, you know, a contract with the National Council. If they like our work, they may turn to us when they need an addition to Richmond Cathedral or a new National Archives. Jones made me the overseer on-site to ensure things go smoothly.”
“I bet you’re marvelous at that,” s adral or aMaura coos. She’s standing very close to Paul, her head cocked up at him as though she hangs on every word. “You’ve become so—authoritative.”
“That’s grand,” I say flatly. I hate to be rude, but I haven’t time for this; I’ve got to go find Tess, and every minute we stand here chatting, she’s getting farther ahead of me.
“How have you been, Cate?” The black horse fidgets in its harness, its hot breath fogging the air, and Paul reaches up to pat its neck.
“Fine. Glad to have Maura and Tess here now. Thank you for escorting them; it was very neighborly of you.” I hate the way my voice stresses it. I have no right to feel uncomfortable about his attentions toward Maura. “If you’ll all excuse me, I was just on my way out; I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“You can’t go out alone,” Alice reminds me.
“I’m catching up with Tess,” I explain, praying she’ll leave it at that.
“I’ll come with you and tell you all about our day,” Maura suggests. She turns to Paul, her hand toying with one earring in a way that somehow makes her look nervous and shy. Where did she learn these charming tricks? “Thank you again for a lovely lunch, Paul. I hope you’ll call on us again soon.”
I don’t wait for him to make a reply, just rush off down the gray, blustery street. Maura has to practically trot to catch up with me. “That was rude. Why are you in such a rush? Are we really having a secret rendezvous with our spy?”
“He’s not your anything,” I snap. I want to order her back to the convent, but if Tess is in trouble, I might need Maura’s help.
“Are you sure I can’t give you a lift in the carriage?” Paul shouts.
“No, thank you! The wind is very—bracing!” I shout back.
“It’s freezing,” Maura complains, stuffing her hands into her black fur muff, snuggling her face into the warm lining of her cloak. “He’s sweet to offer, isn’t he? You should have seen the café he took us to for lunch. It was so elegant. Business must be booming for him to afford that plus his phaeton. Those little gigs are all the rage now, Alice says. Ugh, would you slow down? I can’t keep up. Where are we going, anyhow?”
I whirl on her. “I am going down to the docks to stop Tess from liberating the Richmond Square prisoners. I’d welcome your help, if you can stop throwing Paul in my face for two minutes.”
Maura stops in front of a neighbor’s brick mansion. There are yellow roses climbing over the wrought-iron fence. “What? Why would she try to do that?”
A combination of my inspirational speech and her vision, I suspect.
But I can’t tell Maura that.
I grab Maura’s arm and pull her along. “I don’t know, but I hope we can stop her if we hurry.”
Did Tess foresee herself freeing the prisoners? Or did she see something dreadful happen to them, and this is her pigheaded way of trying to stop it because I told her we should fight our destinies, that it was better to try and fail than do nothing?
We’re silent as we hurry through the well-to-do residential neighborhood. A few more phaetons pass us, carrying men and girls going for an afternoon drive, with a mother or sister or maid in the back seat serving as chaperone. Like Paul, they’ve got the leather hoods drawn up to protect their delicate passengers from the wind. We turn onto North Church Street, heading away from the great spire of Richmond Cathedral.
A block later, Maura clutches at my arm. “Cate, look!” she whispers.
On our right there’s a blackened, burnt-out shell of a building. The brick facade still stands, but the roof and trim are darkened with soot, and the windows are all missing. It obviously used to be a ustialshop of some kind, but now I can see clear through the big picture window to the building behind it. I wonder what it was until I see the sign dangling from a post out front.
“It was a bookstore,” I say grimly. I can’t help remembering the shuttered door of Belastras’ bookshop on the day I left Chatham, the sign that read PERMANENTLY CLOSED.
Better that, at Marianne’s choice, than this.
I doubt this fire was an accident.
Maura stalks ahead of me, her boots clopping angrily against the sidewalk like a horse’s hooves. We pass through a small corner of the market district: a flower shop selling bouquets of roses, a haberdashery, an apothecary,
and a cobbler’s with a window full of fine leather boots. When a lady in a white fur hood comes out of the teashop, the bracing scent of bergamot washes over me. The last shop in the row is a toy store, and the windows are a child’s dream come true, full of tin soldiers, rag dolls, spinning tops, puzzles, skipping ropes, and a great gorgeous dollhouse.
“Oh,” Maura breathes, pausing for a second before the plate glass. Then she looks over her shoulder at me and blushes, plainly embarrassed to be caught mooning over such childish things. I feel a tug of affection toward her. She’s still my little sister, trying so desperately to seem grown-up.
“Do you really like Paul?” I ask quietly. “Or were you just trying to get information from him?”
We turn onto a street full of red brick duplexes. The sidewalks here aren’t as well-kept, but there are children laughing and playing with marbles.
“It had nothing to do with that,” Maura insists. “He asked me to go for a ride in his new carriage, and I thought it would be fun, so I said yes.”
“That was all?” I press.
Maura smirks. “Well, I thought it might annoy you. That was an added bonus. Look, you can do whatever you want about”—she lowers her voice—“Harwood. I’ve got more important things to worry me.”
“All right,” I say doubtfully.
“It’s true.” She turns her face into her cloak for warmth; her words are muffled when they reach me. “Just—stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
The street is sloping down toward the river now, and ahead of us I can see the mast of a tall ship. The buildings around us have grown more derelict. Ramshackle tenements crowd close together on overgrown lots. Rags are stuffed into cracked windowpanes to keep the cold out, but it doesn’t stop the babble of voices from reaching the street. Wagons rumble past, laden with goods from the warehouses. A group of boys is playing stickball in a muddy park filled with debris. A man sits jabbering to himself on a park bench, surrounded by pigeons. I’ve delivered food to a tenement near the warehouse in question, so I’m passing familiar with this part of the city, but without Robert and the carriage, I don’t feel safe here.
Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two Page 20