“Not entirely,” Gwenivere said.
“You’re right,” Giselle shot back. “It was mine, too, for telling him I could see ghosts.”
Her twin crossed her arms. She looked the picture of a stern matron at the end of her rope, but she couldn’t hold the attitude for long. Her moods were like spring storms, blowing with violence in the moment, but gone in the next.
“All right,” Gwenivere finally said. “How bad is it?”
“Awful. The ghost just screams and screams. It’s like an ice pick to my brain. And if I can hear it, imagine how awful it is for Jonathan. I don’t know how he’s endured this long.”
“Do you think he’s been haunted for the last year?” They both knew that spirits had their own timing. Some lay dormant for years until something stirred them again. Others were at their most vicious immediately after death. It all depended on the situation.
“He said something about it being a difficult year. He didn’t give me specifics, but I’ll bet it’s the old viscount.”
“He made misery for everyone in life. Of course he’d do the same in death.”
“He made misery for us,” Giselle countered. Papa was sure the old viscount was the reason he’d never been given another parish. But rather than fight the situation like Gwenivere wanted, their father called it the will of God and ministered to London’s poor. And they’d had to scrimp and save ever since. “He loved his family.”
“Did he? Or did he simply like having them under his thumb?”
It was a good question and not one she could answer. That was between the living viscount and the dead one. “It doesn’t matter now. They’ll have to figure it out without us.”
It took a moment for her sister to understand. Too much to hope that she wouldn’t figure it out. But still, Giselle had wanted to keep some things private. But her twin always understood.
“You told him! After everything that he did to us—” she quickly amended the statement. “After everything that his family did to ours, you still offered to help him, didn’t you?” Her voice took on a mocking, singsong tone. “Please, my lord, please let me fix your problem after you threw us out of our home!”
“I didn’t offer,” Giselle snapped. “I told him what was going on, and then he…” She sighed. “We both know it’s a hard thing to believe.”
“Did he laugh at you?”
“No!”
Gwenivere arched her brows, and eventually Giselle elaborated.
“He dismissed my words, as do so many others. And so he will just have to muddle through like everyone else who refuses our help.”
Gwenivere was quiet for a long moment, her gaze heavy as she considered her twin. And though Giselle hoped that would be the end of the discussion, her sister proved herself smarter than anyone else.
“You gave him our direction, didn’t you? So he could call on you if things got worse.”
Giselle winced. “I didn’t give it to him.” She sighed. “I gave it to his footman.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Of course not. It’s been ten years!”
“It has. But you’ve never made eyes at anyone else. It’s always been him. Don’t deny it, I know it’s true.”
“You don’t know anything. There have been other men.” Good ones who were kind and even funny. All of them had been seminary students, come to work with her father. A few even had aristocratic heritages, though they were all younger sons. She’d liked each one, but none had ever made her feel the way Jonathan had.
Thankfully, Gwenivere didn’t argue. She’d had her own share of heartache for the same reason. It was hard to tell anyone that you could see ghosts. Harder still to endure when they thought you mad enough for Bedlam. For all that their father called it a blessing from God, every one of them had labeled it a curse at one time or another.
“What are you going to do?” Gwenivere asked.
“Nothing. If he wants my help, then he can call on me. Otherwise, I have work to do.” Her father wasn’t the only one who worked with the poor. They all did their part in one way or another. Hers was as a seamstress. She didn’t work for money at any shop, though she could easily get a job as such. No, her task was to help the bitter poor. It was hard to get a job when one’s clothing was in tatters or was so filthy no one would hire you. She took whatever was thrown away or given to the church and remade it for those in need. And so she always had a pile of stitching at hand. And if she stitched blessings into every garment she touched, then that too was the work of God. Or so her father claimed. She never expected that the next person to enter their home would be another soul from her past.
But then, a moment later, a tentative knock sounded on their door.
A moment later, Giselle opened the door to reveal Lady Susanne, Jonathan’s sister. She looked young and out of place inher fashionable gown and bright copper curls, but the torment in her eyes would reach the hardest of hearts.
