Chapter Twenty-Four

When I woke the next morning, I was groggy from lack of sleep. Unsurprisingly, I had spent much of the night tossing and turning, agonizing over the events of the day in my mind.

While I knew it should have been the encounters with Helene and the Lavignes that occupied my thoughts, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't spent more time picturing a pair of dark, flashing eyes, if I hadn't heard the words "you blaze brighter than anyone I have ever met" playing over and over in my mind. I wondered if I had imagined the heavy, drugging sensation of that moment as it stretched between us, the way the air thickened, my heartbeat a wild staccato that I could feel everywhere.

The quiet didn't help. I had never known anything like the thick blanket of silence that fell over the world at night out here on the moors. London never slept, and to me the symphony of rattling hackneys, leary drunks and street sweepers was as soothing as a lullaby.

Here, the absence of sound felt unnatural, broken only by the occasional mournful wail of the wind or a jagged screech, which I eventually attributed to an owl, after first reassuring myself that no one was being murdered directly outside my window.

All in all, it was in a slightly worn and definitely agitated state that I approached the table in the breakfast room (a different dining room from the one we had eaten dinner in, because apparently one needed a separate room for every meal).

Only Helene and Mrs Finch were in there, and Helene looked more relaxed than I had seen before thanks to Mrs Finch's animated chatter.

"Good morning, Marigold." Mrs Finch smiled up at me over her coffee cup. "Beth has laid out tea and coffee, and she said she'll be back shortly with the food. I was just regaling Helene with tales of my grandmother and her brush with spiritualism."

For a split second I wondered if I was so tired that I was imagining things, but then my training kicked in. "Oh, yes," I said, sitting down across from the pair of them. "Those stories were always very … entertaining." My eyes flicked to Mrs Finch, looking for a clue, but she only drank her coffee with an unruffled calm.

"Yes, indeed," Helene agreed, nodding her head so that the curls arranged around her face bobbed. "Mrs Finch told me that for a brief time, her grandmother actually performed seances!"

"Mmm," I replied non-committally, reaching for the silver coffee pot on the table and wondering what on earth Mrs Finch was up to now.

"Once, in Paris I went to see a spiritualist perform, an American lady," Helene continued, and there was some colour in her cheeks. "She was marvellous. There was one point where the table we were sitting round levitated clear off the ground."

"I should think that would have been terrifying," I said, lifting the coffee pot in offer of refilling her cup.

"No thank you." Helene shook her head. "I can't stand coffee – my French friends found me a sore disappointment; it was far too English of me to prefer tea." She smiled, and I chuckled.

"But to return to the levitating table…" Mrs Finch nudged.

"Oh, yes!" Helene tilted her head to the side. "It wasn't terrifying precisely. More thrilling. I was fourteen and my friend and I had sneaked away from our lessons to attend." Her smile dimmed.

"Well, I can't blame you for that," I said, wanting to encourage her to keep talking. "I'm sure I would have done the very same thing myself."

"And I," Mrs Finch agreed. "But then, thanks to my grandmother, I was fascinated by it all. In fact" – here, Mrs Finch sat back in her seat and I knew whatever this bizarre fiction had been in aid of was about to become clear – "Grandmother always said that I, too, had the gift."

"Really?" Helene shivered, nothing but innocent delight in her face. I felt a pang of warmth towards her. I had been watching her so closely, and yet I was struggling to determine if she was telling the truth or perpetrating a ruse. Most of the time, I was certain that she was precisely the sweet, diffident young woman she appeared to be, but sometimes … sometimes there was something … off. Just a little out of balance, a tiny flicker across her face. A look that was almost pain or fear that had me questioning her.

Mrs Finch nodded solemnly. "Perhaps you would like a demonstration?"

"A demonstration?" A flash of uncertainty lit Helene's eyes.

"Surely you're not going to make the breakfast table levitate?" I grinned. "If I'm not mistaken, these teacups are antiques."

Mrs Finch laughed. "Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid." She turned to Helene. "Do you know anything about palmistry?"

I could hardly suppress my laugh of surprise. The woman was a genius.

"Oh, yes," I said eagerly, leaning forward in my chair. "Do show Helene." I nodded encouragingly at the young woman. "It is simply fascinating, I promise you."

"You want to read my palm?" Helene said cautiously, but I could feel her interest.

Mrs Finch shrugged. "I do not promise to be able to tell you much, but it is always interesting to try to get a glimpse into the future, is it not?"

"The future," Helene murmured thoughtfully. "Yes, of course." Then she laughed, embarrassed. "What do we need to do?"

"Why nothing at all," Mrs Finch replied. "I will only examine at your palm, if I may? The right hand is best."

"Certainly," Helene said, holding out her right hand. Mrs Finch took it and gently turned it over.

"Fascinating," Mrs Finch said. "Marigold, come here and look – I know you will be interested too."

I got to my feet, carrying my coffee cup with me and made my way round the table to peer at Helene's hand, which was cradled in Mrs Finch's.

At once I saw the scar that Oliver had mentioned: a small crescent shape below her little finger. It looked absolutely real to me.

"Now this line here," Mrs Finch said, pointing at the crease that ran down Helene's hand from beside her thumb, "is your lifeline. And I'm glad to say that it is long indeed. I believe you will outlive us all, Helene!"

Helene chuckled. "Well, that is nice to know."

"Hmmm…" Mrs Finch frowned. "This line is your heart line. Unfortunately it has been slightly disrupted by the scar you have here."

"Oh, yes," Helene said, and as she looked at the scar, an expression of such desolation passed over her face that I couldn't imagine what she must be thinking of. Then she blinked and smiled shakily. "A silly childhood accident. Oliver climbed a tree and I did not care to be left behind. When I cut my hand on a jagged branch, it bled so much I almost fainted and would have fallen. He was furious that I had followed him when he told me not to, shouted at me the whole time, but he rescued me, carried me down on his back."

I smiled softly. "Yes, that sounds like him." It sounded so much like him that I knew at once the story was true.

Helene cleared her throat, looked down at her hand once more.

"Hmmm." Mrs Finch ran her finger gently over the scar. "Well, it makes it harder to read of course, but it is another long, well-curved line and so I think it is safe to say there is another happy ending in your future. You will find love, Helene, and it will be a great love that lasts many years."

"Oh!" Helene flushed with colour. "Do you think so? I—"

"My goodness, and what is going on here?" Mrs Lavigne's arch voice shattered the moment, and I turned to find her entering the room with Oliver on her heels.

"Good morning," I managed, and he gave no outward sign of any discomfort beyond his usually surly demeanour.

"Mrs Finch was telling me about her grandmother," Helene said, and I couldn't help noticing that much of her stiff unease had returned with Oliver's presence. "She was a spiritualist, and Mrs Finch was reading my palm."

Helene had snatched her hand away, and now had them both neatly folded in her lap.

I saw Oliver's eyebrows twitch ever so slightly.

"It is only a game, really," Mrs Finch said lightly. "Sadly, I do not have the same power that my grandmother possessed, but I do enjoy the practice of palmistry, so intriguing what one can divine. It's why I was so unsurprised when Mr Lockhart declared his intentions towards my goddaughter. It was clear to me from the beginning that the two of them were destined." She leaned forward, tapping her nose knowingly. "Matching heart lines."

"How interesting," Mrs Lavigne said. "I had no idea. And did I overhear something about Helene's romantic future?"

"Bright indeed, Mrs Lavigne," Mrs Finch replied, while Helene blushed again.

"I do hope so." Mrs Lavigne smiled. "My greatest wish for my daughter is the same happiness that I have found with her father. In France we were not really in a position to bring Helene out into society, but I expect that will change soon."

Oliver looked startled and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Oh. Yes." It appeared he had only just realized he might have some responsibility in presenting his unmarried sister to the rest of the world. A responsibility that would certainly involve other people.

Mr Lavigne bustled through the door at that moment. "I see I am a lazy oaf this morning." He beamed. "My apologies."

"Not at all, my dear," Mrs Lavigne said. "It seems you have beaten the cook to breakfast, after all. Poor Beth seems rather overworked." She smiled sweetly at Oliver, who only scowled back.

"If Beth wants any help, she only has to ask," he said shortly. "She has the running of the house well in hand and has for many years."

"Of course," Mrs Lavigne acquiesced, condescension in every word, "when one has been a bachelor for so long, I suppose that is the way these things happen, but soon Lockhart Hall will have a new mistress." She treated me to one of those long looks that felt like honey over steel. "I'm sure Miss Bloom will make many changes."

As Oliver's frown deepened at this, I could only assume that Mrs Lavigne was attempting to remind him that marriage would disrupt the running of his house in ways he might not like.

I opened my mouth to reply, but Oliver surprised me by jumping in first.

"Miss Bloom, of course, will have whatever she wants."

I felt colour burning in my cheeks.

"Can I pour anyone some more coffee?" Oliver asked, seemingly untroubled.

"Not for me, thank you," Helene said when he held the pot over her cup. "I was just telling Miss Bloom that I never outgrew my dislike of it, despite being practically a Frenchwoman."

"That's right," Oliver said easily. "I had forgotten." I knew it for a lie, could read it in his face, though I doubted anyone else could. He had been gently testing her again. And she had passed. Again.

At that moment, Beth and Barker appeared, carrying in silver chafing dishes that they lined up on the side table against the wall.

After two more trips, they lifted the lids from the dishes revealing piles of bacon, sausages, cold meats, kedgeree, grilled tomatoes, devilled kidneys and fluffy scrambled eggs.

My stomach gave a growl of appreciation. It seemed that breakfast was the meal at which Beth shone, and from the pleased look on her pink face, she knew it too.

We descended on the spread with enthusiasm, and when I sat back down it was with a plate piled high.

"Forgive me, Beth." Mrs Lavigne held up her hand, and I realized she hadn't partaken of any of the food on offer. "Would it be possible to get just some thin porridge and perhaps a plate of fruit?" She cast a smile around the table. "A lady must sadly sacrifice to maintain her figure."

"Of course," Beth said politely, heading back towards the kitchen.

"You know, Miss Bloom," Mrs Lavigne said, picking up her teacup, "I discovered the most wonderful reducing diet in France."

"Oh, really?" I said, as I tucked into my bacon.

"Yes, it involves drinking vinegar, which is unpleasant of course, but one cannot argue with the results. I believe Lord Byron used the method himself." She poured a cup of coffee from the pot.

"I'm sure you're right," I replied when it seemed some response was necessary. "His poetry was quite melancholic, wasn't it? The poor man must have been dreadfully hungry."

Helene choked on a giggle at this, and her mother sent her a sharp look.

"Yes, well, better to be hungry than a glutton," Mrs Lavigne said snippily. "We ladies must suffer for the sake of beauty, mustn't we?"

"Must we?" I echoed.

"One doesn't want to be…" Mrs Lavigne trailed off as though tactfully reaching for the right words, while her nose crinkled in distaste. "Overly large."

"Nonsense," Oliver snapped, and all attention swung to him.

"I'm sorry?" Mrs Lavigne looked flustered.

"I said, nonsense." Oliver carved into a piece of ham with unnecessary violence. "It seems to me that women have quite enough suffering to do without adding drinking vinegar into the mix."

"Ah, but Miss Bloom understands my meaning, I'm sure," Mrs Lavigne rushed in, shooting me a sly glance. "It is such a struggle for some of us to remain thin, but it is important, too. The desire to be pleasing in our appearance is in our nature! We women want to be petite. Delicate and dainty, what is beautiful, what is most appealing…"

"I understand your meaning perfectly, Mrs Lavigne," I said as evenly as I could manage.

"Miss Bloom is perfectly appealing as she is," Oliver said shortly.

There was an awkward pause then, and once again I felt something warm unfurl inside me. Helene's eyes darted between Oliver and myself, something like surprise in them. If I had to guess, I would say she hadn't imagined he would defend me.

"It is curious, isn't it?" Mrs Finch said softly. "That society seems determined to make women smaller and smaller. It is almost as though the world is frightened of us, of what we may be if we were … unrestrained."

"Goodness!" Mr Lavigne chuckled. "This is as good as having that Fawcett woman to breakfast, isn't it?"

"What a charming compliment," Mrs Finch said, her smile showing her teeth.

After another awkward pause, Oliver cleared his throat. "I hoped today that the Lavignes and Helene might join me on a journey into York," he said, abruptly changing the subject and introducing the plan we had agreed upon the day before.

Mr and Mrs Lavigne exchanged a look of confusion.

"You know we are at your disposal, sir," Mr Lavigne said cautiously. "Is there any particular reason for the journey?"

"I feel we are overdue a visit to my lawyers there," Oliver said. "They handle my day-to-day business and are consulting with the legal team in London to deal with the matter of Helene's inheritance and any other claims on the estate. They require further information in order to draw up the appropriate papers."

"Of course, of course." Mr Lavigne nodded. "These lawyers do seem to enjoy tying things in knots."

"Well, I will be delighted to see York," Mrs Lavigne said happily. "Perhaps Helene and I can attend to some shopping. No doubt there will be many social occasions on the horizon for which we must look the part. It would hardly do for us to show Mr Lockhart up!"

Oliver stretched his mouth into something that I suppose he thought approximated a smile, but it was clear that he was condemning Mrs Finch and her plan to Hades.

"Mrs Finch and Miss Bloom, I hope that you will be able to entertain yourselves in our absence," Oliver replied dryly.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find something to do," Mrs Finch purred. "Don't you worry about us."