Page 12 of Mistress of Sins

“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 belonged to that young lady’s grandmother, who left it to her after she passed away last year. She was quite proud to show it to me when last she wore it to church. She would be heartbroken to discover it stolen.”

“I stole nothing,” Masilda protested. “It must have fallen from her arm.”

“As I imagine many such baubles do in your presence.” Jennet looked into the thief’s eyes, and let her own go steely. “Mr. Pickering did not hire you to steal from his guests. I suggest you leave at once, or I will summon the footmen to escort you directly to the magistrate.”

The fortune-teller grabbed the tarot cards and shoved them into the front of her bodice as she got to her feet.

“You watch, me fine lady,” Masilda said in a harsh Cockney accent, her lips curling into a sneer. “Before this dance is done, you will see your own death.”

Jennet would have laughed as the fortune-teller scurried out of the reception room, but the thieving charlatan’s prediction gave her pause. Unlike the rest of the Reed family, she herself had never been reckless. Indeed, she now devoted herself to living a very quiet life free of heedless impulses. Her demise, eventual as it had to be, had never greatly concerned her. Jennet had imagined dying only at an advanced age, possibly of boredom, definitely alone.

Only she did not wish to die alone, or tonight at the ball. But why would Masilda predict such a ghastly thing? Had she hoped to scare her in retaliation for being exposed as a thief?

“How do you do, Miss Reed?” a man said from behind her.

Turning to behold a tall highwayman ably disguised by a grinning mask, Jennet dropped into a polite curtsey. Too scattered in thought to surmise his identity, she said, “You have guessed my name, sir. Are we acquainted?”

He bowed in return before he pulled up the mask, revealing his long, narrow face and placid brown eyes. “Arthur Pickering, at your service.”

She regarded his costume. “Were you not earlier dressed as a straw man, sir?”

“No, that was an old friend. I thought you might have guessed when I greeted you at the door.” He glanced at the fortune-teller’s table. “I fear there will be no more readings tonight. One of the footmen reported seeing the Romany lady fleeing the house.”

“That woman was as much a traveler as I am.” She showed him the bracelet as she related what the fortune-teller had done, and her own threat, adding, “I expect it was high-handed of me to order her to leave, but I did not wish to create a scene unpleasant to your guests. I daresay you would have done the same.”