Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall #3) - Hazel Hunter Page 0,17
she told him. “I am sorry I was so silent at the time. I fear I had nothing to say that would have been acceptable or even rational. Indeed, I spent the first week imagining how I might kill him if he ever returned.”
He nodded, completely unperturbed by her malevolent admission. “Knife in the back, or a bullet through the heart?”
“Poisoning,” Jennet said. “Much tidier, and I would not have to be there.”
“I have been pushed to such thoughts myself on one or two occasions.” Jeffrey glanced at Herakles before he said, “Often life demands of us heroic effort in the worst of circumstances. I think that is when we are most capable of it, and when we become the best versions of ourselves. That I learned from my dear sister, Lucetta, who is quite a hundred times the best of heroes.”
“You are fortunate.” She thought of the ugly scene she’d had with Charlotte Fletcher. “It is not always possible to be a hero and human. Sometimes we become the worst instead of the best.”
“Happily, there is almost always another chance to prove ourselves otherwise.” He offered her his arm. “May I escort you back to the ball?”
Chapter 7
When Jennet returned with the vicar to the reception room, she noticed an older woman wrapped in a colorful shawl sat on one side of a small, black-draped table by the hearth. An embroidered scarf tied back her frizzed hair from the face she had painted so heavily it looked like a crackled mask. A pair of wide-eyed young ladies, whom Jennet recognized as two of her neighbors’ youngest daughters, sat on the other side of the table. Between them and the older woman lay a battered deck of tarot cards.
“Alas, despite my best efforts there remains much enthusiasm for certain pagan practices,” Jeffrey said to her. “And my dear wife now looks ready to dance, or smack me with her crook. I should attend to the former before she resorts to the latter. Enjoy your evening, Miss Reed.” He bowed and then headed across the room.
Jennet remained where she stood to watch the fortune-teller. During the summers a band of Romany were permitted to encamp at Reed Park when hired to help with the sheep shearing, thanks to Jennet’s mother, who had a soft spot for the nomadic people. Every year Margaret would take her to the field where they kept their gaily-painted caravan wagons. There she would greet their ladies and assure they had all they needed for their families. From that long familiarity Jennet knew the travelers to be mannerly and quiet. They dressed in practical garments and kept to themselves.
If this florid fortune-teller had been born a Romany, Jennet would dine on her velvet domino.
Beyond the reception room lively dancing music played. Jennet looked for Catherine, only to see her friend engaged by a handsome young man a short distance away. Before she could catch her eye Catherine took the man’s arm and walked with him in the direction of the music. She should follow them, she thought, but glanced again at the fortune-teller, who now had both of the young debutantes hanging on her every word.
Unlike the Romany, who were the cleanest people Jennet had ever encountered, this traveler had a line of grime under her chin, and black-rimmed fingernails.
Jennet seethed silently as she watched the reading progress. The woman’s exaggerated gestures and frequent leanings over the table seemed more suited to the stage than the telling of fortunes. The manner in which she dealt out the cards seemed highly suspect as well. When the fortune-teller took one of the girls’ hands in hers and leaned closer to whisper to her, Jennet recognized her game.
Oh, this would not do.
She watched until the fortune-teller finished the reading, and the giggling girls left the table. Only then did she approach. “Good evening, Madam.”
“Milady. I am Masilda,” she said in a stilted accent, and gestured toward one of the chairs. “Please, join me, and I will read the cards for you, for free.”
“I should pay you something for your trouble.” Jennet reached down as if to hand her a coin, and then reached into the fortune-teller’s wide sleeve. As the would-be Romany stiffened, she pulled out the bracelet she had seen her slip from the girl’s wrist. “Or perhaps not. You appear to be doing quite well for yourself.”
Masilda recoiled, and scowled. “That I have never seen.”
“Fortunately, I have.” She nodded in the direction of the two debutantes. “This bracelet