buy some new clothes, and that you should come too,’ she said, as the men entered the room.
‘New clothes!’ said Louis in horror. ‘I cannot abide them. Always they are uncomfortable. They scratch or they are too tight or they are too loose, and they are never the right shape. A coat needs to be worn for a year before it is comfortable.’
‘You see, Elizabeth, we can do nothing with them!’ said Carlotta with a laugh.
A game of cards was suggested and everyone readily agreed to the plan. They were just taking their places at the card table when there came a sudden loud knocking on the front door.
Elizabeth looked up in surprise and all eyes turned towards the hall.
‘Now who can that be?’ asked the Count.
There was the sound of voices in the hall. The butler’s voice was angry and contemptuous, and the other, a woman’s voice, was feeble with age and yet at the same time resolute. A moment later the door was flung open and the old woman entered, followed by the outraged butler, who said something in his own language to the Count. Although Elizabeth could not understand his words, his indignation was clear, as was his step towards the old woman. But the Count lifted his hand and the butler stepped back, muttering.
‘We have before us an old crone who asks to tell our fortunes. What say you?’ said the Count.
‘Let her in!’ said Frederique, laying down his hand of cards. ‘It would be a thousand pities to miss such sport.’
‘What do the ladies say? Would it amuse them?’ asked the Count.
‘Certainly,’ said Clothilde.
‘But assuredly! I would like to discover what she makes of my hand,’ said Isabella with an impish smile.
The Count, his eyes glittering in the candlelight, turned to Elizabeth. ‘Do you object, Mrs Darcy?’
The old woman came forward. By the light of the fire Elizabeth could see that she was not as old as she had at first appeared. Her face was lined but not wrinkled, and her stoop was assumed. Elizabeth guessed that the woman was a friend of the Count’s, someone who had agreed to pose as a fortune- teller in order to amuse his friends, and she said, ‘No, I don’t object at all.’
‘Alors, then please, come closer to the fire,’ said the fortune-teller.
She spoke with a heavy accent, but she spoke in English, confirming Elizabeth’s opinion that she was a friend of the Count’s and not the peasant woman she appeared to be.
She established herself on a stool by its side, protected from the brightness of the candles by the shadow of the mantelpiece.
Clothilde stepped forward, but the old woman said, ‘Not yet, my dark lady. There is one here who must come before you; I see a bride.’ She fixed her eyes on Elizabeth. ‘I would give a fortune to the bride.’
Elizabeth went over to the woman and sat opposite her and the woman held out her hand.
‘You must cross my palm with silver,’ she said.
‘Ah! Now we come to it,’ said Frederique, laughing. ‘The fortune is nothing, the silver is all.’
There was a murmur of laughter amongst the Count’s guests and then Darcy stepped forward, placing a coin in the old woman’s hand.
The fortune-teller nodded, bit it, and then slipped the coin into the folds of her cloak.
‘Now, come close, ma belle.’ She took Elizabeth’s hand and turned it over so that it was palm upwards. ‘I see a young hand, the hand of a woman at the start of her journey. See,’ she said, pointing to lines that ran across it, ‘here are the dangers and difficulties you will face. Your hand, it is the map of your life and the lines, they are the dangers running through it. They are many, and they are deep and perilous. You will be sorely tried in body and spirit, and you must be careful if you are to emerge unscathed.’
‘That all sounds very exciting!’ said Gustav.
‘And very general,’ said Clothilde with a laugh.
She had drawn closer and was now standing by the fire.
‘You think so?’ asked the fortune-teller sharply. ‘Then give me your hand.’
Before Clothilde could react, the fortune-teller seized her hand and turned it palm upwards. She ran her finger across its lines and then let out a moan and began to rock herself.
‘Darkness!’ she wailed. ‘Aaargh! Aaargh! The emptiness! The void! Everything is darkness!’
‘She puts on a fine show,’ said Frederique in a stage whisper.
‘I put on no show,’ said the woman, turning to him