Wondering Sight (The Extraordinaries Book 2)

by Melissa McShane

  Her words made Sophia blush. “You do not know me well enough yet, Daphne; I can be spiteful and mean-spirited, particularly where Lord Endicott is concerned.”

  “Then he is your enemy. Oh, tell me, Sophia!”

  Sophia hesitated. “Daphne, it is a very great secret—”

  “If you’re about to suggest I cannot keep a secret, I will never speak to you again.”

  “No, my dear, but I feel—it is uncomfortable for me to share it.” But Sophia, looking at Daphne’s eager face, felt that secret clamoring to free itself from her heart. “And you must swear to tell no one.”

  Daphne rolled her eyes. “I swear it. And it’s mean of you to suggest I might tell someone, because I am excellent at keeping secrets.”

  “Very well,” Sophia said, “but let us return to your home first. Hyde Park might be thin of traffic today, but it is still rather public.”

  Safely settled in the drawing room of Lord Claresby’s town house, with a proper tea spread and the servants dismissed, Sophia settled into her chair and recounted the whole terrible story for her cousin, who listened intently, her expressive face passing from astonishment to consternation and then to anger. When Sophia finished, Daphne said, “But that is completely unfair! How dare they expel you simply because Lord Endicott has a beautiful face and is a viscount and has a strong voice in Parliament? Of course your Dream was correct!”

  “I am glad to have your support,” Sophia said, “but the evidence was all to the contrary. And it is not unknown for a Seer to misinterpret a Dream.”

  “Don’t try to defend them, Sophia. They were entirely in the wrong to turn you away, as if your record and your talent counted for nothing. Are you often forced to meet Lord Endicott? How awful!”

  “That was only the second time I have seen him since returning to London. I hope he was not implying he had been looking for me, these past weeks. I believe he is merely opportunistic in tormenting me when our paths happen to cross.”

  “Well,” Daphne said, taking up a tiny sandwich and biting into it with some ferocity, “I will refuse his invitation to dance if we ever are at the same ball together, and I hope to do it as publicly as possible.”

  “Don’t, please. He believes no one outside the War Office knows the truth, and—” Sophia took a sandwich of her own to cover her confusion. It should not matter if her friends shunned Lord Endicott, but the idea disturbed her, and she needed a few moments to work out why. “I do not know how Lord Endicott was prevailed upon not to reveal my accusations, and I am afraid he might change his mind if he knew the story had spread beyond the War Office. I never realized what a coward I am, Daphne, but the idea of being exposed as a liar, or sent to prison… knowing myself to be in the right would not be enough of a defense.”

  “You would not go to prison.”

  “I would, if Lord Endicott chose to sue me for slander.” She remembered the moment in which Lord Endicott’s eyes had been empty of anything human and shuddered to think of herself in his power.

  Daphne flung herself out of her chair and began to pace the room, snatching up another sandwich as she went. “It is incredibly unfair,” she said. “Is there nothing you can do?”

  Sophia took a long drink of her tea, which had gone cold in the telling of her story. It was one thing to tell Daphne the truth of what had passed between herself and Lord Endicott. Involving her in the quest to bring about Lord Endicott’s downfall… she knew enough of Daphne’s character to guess that the young woman would not be content to simply observe Sophia’s actions. “Nothing,” she said, “except avoid him, and hope this all fades with time.”

  Daphne made a face, sipped her tea, and made a different face, this one of distaste. “This tea is cold,” she said, “and I believe I will ring for a fresh pot. Then we will talk about other things, pleasanter things—did I tell you I Skipped from St. James’s Square to Bath yesterday?”

  “You say it as if I am to be astonished, when I know you made that same journey three days ago.”

  Daphne brandished a shining silver pocket watch at Sophia. “But now I have one of Gutermuth’s new watches, the kind that tells seconds as well as minutes. I wanted to set a record, but I was seven minutes and twenty-three seconds too slow. And Standiford’s doesn’t want me to try again, now that I know three locations in Bath to Bound to and need not Skip there. It is so hard to remember that they employ me, and are entitled to make that sort of demand.”

  “Shouldn’t you respect their wishes, if they are paying you?”

  “It’s not as if I don’t appreciate their generosity in hiring—though I don’t know that it’s generosity, when papa approached them on my behalf, after the War Office rejected me and I wanted something to do that was not paying calls and doing needlework, and I certainly don’t need the money, but papa—he is very clever with money—he says even if I need no money, and they reap the benefits of having it known that an Extraordinary is one of their couriers, it’s unprofessional not to have a fiduciary relationship.”

  Daphne set her cup down as a young woman entered the room with a fresh pot of tea and another plate of tiny cakes, from which Daphne helped herself to three. “I have the most atrocious manners when I’m at home,” she said, “though I manage not to speak with my mouth full, and mama is in despair at ever making me into a lady—I don’t know that I care about that, since I want a life of adventure—don’t you ever grow tired of being so constricted, annoyed at all these rules about what a proper woman is allowed to say or do?”

  “I have never felt constrained by society’s rules,” Sophia said, eating her cake with more delicacy than her cousin, “but I believe that is because society’s rules so often bend for an Extraordinary. Do you imagine a non-talented young woman of gentle breeding would be allowed to work for a public courier service? And you are not only employed, no one dares criticize you for it.”

  “That is because papa is so powerful—oh, I see, you mean the rules are already laxer for us than for other women.” Daphne helped herself to three more cakes. “And it’s true that papa and mama indulge me—they were entirely supportive of my attempts to enter the War Office three years early. I suppose I should be grateful for what I have.”

  She sounded so ungrateful, with her face scrunched up into a scowl, that Sophia had to laugh and say, “There are still many restrictions on us that seem foolish. I see no reason why you should not continue pushing the limits of what you are allowed to do. Perhaps it will make a difference to the next Bounder who comes along.”

  “At least no one dares tell a female Extraordinary she is less valuable than a man,” Daphne said. “Not in England, at any rate. They cannot afford such stupidity, especially during wartime.”

  “Indeed,” Sophia said, and sipped her tea. Its hot astringency soothed the last remnants of her irritability after encountering Lord Endicott. He believed her to be cowed by him, the helpless victim of his torment, because she was a woman and had no political power or noble rank to meet him on his own ground, and because she was a Seer whose Visions were disregarded by everyone who did have those things and might be convinced to act against him on her behalf.

  These thoughts made her anger rise again, and she took another drink, but its soothing power was weaker now. Justice, she thought, only half paying attention to whatever Daphne was saying, justice will not satisfy me. He tried to destroy my life—succeeded, as far as he is concerned. I will be content only with vengeance.

  In which Sophia contemplates money

  ophia woke from Dream, but continued to lie still, flat on her back in her bed, her eyes still seeing the last images of Dream superimposed on the high, shadowed ceiling. Money, again, bank-notes fading to piles of red muslin—why red?—and then to money again—always such prosaic things! It had now been two weeks since she began her quest to bring about Lord Endicott’s downfall, and nothing she Saw gave her any hint as to how she could succeed. No, that is untrue, she thought. All these images are meaningful, but I c
annot understand them.

  Money turning into things—well, that was probably a literal interpretation of how money was used to buy food and clothing and any number of other items. Did it mean Lord Endicott was going from government contracting into private trade? But there was nothing illegal about being a merchant, or a trader; it would merely be embarrassing if it came out that he, a viscount and a Shaper, were engaged in something so beneath his social status.

  Or did it mean he was buying something the ordinary things in her Dreams might represent? Could he be involved in the slave trade? That would be an excellent way to capture him; selling and buying slaves had been illegal for more than five years now.

  The bedroom door opened. “Sophia, I don’t—Sophy!”

  Guilt propelled Sophia off her bed. “Cecy,” she began.

  “You have been Dreaming almost in the middle of the day? Oh, Sophy, you promised you would not become obsessed!” Cecy closed the door behind her. She was gowned elegantly in pomona green silk with short, puffed sleeves, and wore pearls twined through her blond hair. “You are not even ready for this evening!”

  “It will take me no time at all to dress. You look lovely tonight!”

  “Do not change the subject, Sophy. Why are you Dreaming now? Isn’t night-time enough?”

  Sophia sat on her bed and picked up her pencil, twirled it in her fingers, then set it down. “It was only one Dream. It took barely any time at all. Now, I should call Beeton to dress me—”

  “And how many Dreams in the last twenty-four hours? Don’t think I did not realize what you were doing when it took you nearly an hour to join me after breakfast this morning.” Cecy sat heavily next to Sophia and took her hand. “I will not tell you that your… your project is not important. But you must know, dearest, that it is not so important that you should drive yourself to breaking.”

  “I am not near breaking, Cecy.”

  “If our situations were reversed, and I were the one overexerting myself, you would insist I go to bed and stay there. I don’t like that you believe my concerns for you can be easily dismissed, when you insist on overriding my judgment about myself so often.” Her voice was shaking, and Sophia’s guilt turned into a burning ache inside her chest.

  “Please forgive me, Cecy,” she said, putting her arm gently around her friend. “I should not disregard your concern. And you are right—I am spending too much time in Dream. Even if it does not exhaust me, I am neglecting my other interests. And you.”

  “You must remember Lord Endicott believes himself secure from the law,” Cecy said. “He certainly does not suspect you of still trying to prove him guilty of wrongdoing. You are simply impatient.”

  Sophia sighed. “I know.” She stood and stretched, aware that her hair had become disordered from the pillow and her gown was no doubt horribly wrinkled behind. “Now I will dress, and I will be ready to leave for Lady Montclair’s dinner party, and I swear not to think of Dream at all this evening!”

  “Oh, I don’t expect you to do the impossible, and not think of it at all,” Cecy said with a smile. “But you will have many opportunities to discuss politics with Lord Montclair and his guests, and I imagine that will keep you distracted.”

  “You know me so well! Now, take yourself off, and tell Lewis that I am, in fact, attending the dinner party. He never says it, but every time we go somewhere I can see that he is wondering ‘How is it that Sophia always takes so much time to ready herself, when Cecilia is always done in half the time and is twice as beautiful to boot?’ “

  “He does not,” Cecy said, laughing, “but of course if he did not believe me more beautiful than you, he would be a very poor husband. Though I have always envied you your auburn hair.”

  “And I have always wished to be blonde like you. Such a pity hair color cannot be altered by an Extraordinary Shaper! Imagine how much business she would have!”

  With Cecy gone, and Beeton summoned, Sophia hurried through her toilette as quickly as she dared. Carelessness in her dress was unthinkable, even for a private gathering such as Lady Montclair’s dinner; she was always conscious of being on display, like an elegant bolt of satin brocade laid out in a shop window. The image was a little too apropos tonight, since she had spent so much time in Dream the last several days; it made her feel as if Dream were all there was to her, as if it made her some commodity to be admired, or sold, irrespective of the woman she was.

  She picked up a pearl ear-drop, let it twirl and glow in the lamplight, then set it down with a sigh. Remembering Cecy’s dress, she passed over her favorite green gown in favor of a golden muslin that brought out the red highlights in her hair, donned a coral necklace and earrings, and submitted to having her hair coiled high on the back of her head and secured with golden pins tipped with tiny beads, so she appeared to be wearing a nearly invisible crown of gold. Cecy clapped with delight when she saw her, and Lewis bowed to her with exaggerated courtesy.

  “I take it you’ve achieved new heights of sartorial splendor,” he said as they all settled themselves in the four-seated landau, which was securely hooded against the November night. “I’m afraid I know nothing of these things.”

  “I would suppose a Shaper would have to at least be aware of the common ideas of beauty, in order to Shape his form most elegantly,” Sophia teased.

  “You know I settled on this form when I was eighteen,” Lewis said, smoothing back his black hair, “and I’ve been satisfied with it ever since. And as Cecilia seems to find it appealing, I have no need to look to other models for change.” He was tall, and lean, with an aquiline nose that suited the smooth masculine contours of his face and well-modeled lips that were always quirked as if he expected any moment to see or hear something to make him smile.

  “You are certainly the handsomest man I know,” Cecy said.

  “I agree,” Sophia said, “and it is such a pity you are already spoken for. Whatever are the rest of us to do?”

  Now Lewis did smile. “I thought you had resolved not to remarry,” he said.

  “True, but I might agree to be swept off my feet.”

  Cecy made an O of pretended astonishment. “And what characteristics ought a man possess in order to do this sweeping?”

  Sophia pretended to think. “He should be of no more than average height,” she declared, “fair-haired and fair-skinned, quick to laugh and to make me laugh. Intelligent, but not too sober-minded; fond of the theatre; a good dresser; and just poor enough to appreciate my fortune. And I believe I would like to marry a Mover. I loved Richard, but he was not a comfortable husband, always Bounding off even before we both entered the service.”

  “Oh, Sophy, you spoke too quickly,” Cecy said, laughing, “I wish to write down your list so I will know to whom I should introduce you, and whom to help you avoid!”

  “I ought to provide Lady Daveril with my list, and let her do all the work!”

  They were still laughing as the landau pulled up to the Earl of Montclair’s town house near Oxford Street, and were barely able to contain themselves when the footman took their cloaks. They were among the first to arrive. Lady Montclair, a young woman only a year or two older than Cecy and Sophia, tall and thin with brown hair elegantly styled in a manner that did not show her to advantage, greeted them warmly and ushered them into the drawing room.

  The Earl of Montclair possessed no talent, and his fortune was not large; the dimly-lit drawing room was of no more than average size, large enough for perhaps ten people to gather comfortably and fifteen to stand cheek by jowl. The furnishings crowded the room like a second set of guests, Grecian-inspired sofas and cabinetry that were ten years out of date, suggesting to Sophia that Lady Montclair could not easily afford to replace anything. But the furniture was well-tended and showed no signs of wear. Rosewood pedestals carved with oak leaves flanked the fireplace, bearing large arrangements of hothouse flowers that gave off a strong, sweet scent and were already beginning to wilt from the heat.

  Cecy immediately
made for the low-backed sofa upholstered in soft fabric with narrow green stripes, a very un-Grecian design, to begin an animated conversation with a woman already sitting there. For someone who was frequently homebound, Cecy had a surprising number of friends drawn from all levels of their social class; being a Speaker kept her from the kind of isolation that might otherwise be her lot. Sophia left her to her conversation and wandered the room alone.

  The wide entry hall connected the room to another, slightly larger room opposite, decorated in the same classical style, where card tables had been set up for the guests’ entertainment after dinner. It was only in Sophia’s imagination that they seemed huddled together, plotting her downfall. Not everyone would choose to play cards, and with any luck those who did not would be people Sophia wished to speak to. She was a terrible card player, unable to remember the rules of loo and vingt-et-un, even worse at reading the faces of her partner or her opponents.

  Cecy teased her about it, saying that surely a Seer ought to be able to know what cards everyone else held, though she knew Sight did not work that way. Sophia tried not to let her distaste for the pastime show, as it was not uncommon for her to arrive at some event only to discover that the hostess had arranged the entire thing with an eye to what would please her. It made her uncomfortable, feeling that the entire success of some evening was dependent on her enjoyment of it, and she sometimes had to struggle not to let her true thoughts about some tepid gathering show, for fear of hurting her hostess’s feelings.

  “Mrs. Westlake,” her current hostess was saying, “I am so pleased you chose to join us. And—” her voice dropped to a whisper, though there was no one nearby “—I cannot thank you enough for the Vision you gave me last week. To know my poor brother is still alive—though of course he cannot return to England, not after what came of his duel, but I am so relieved. Thank you.”