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“What does Lord Ferrington know about fancywork?” asked Charlotte.
“He appreciates skill,” answered Harriet’s mother with quiet dignity.
One of the gardeners ran past the entry of the shrubbery carrying a palm tree in a pot. Its fronds were brown and curling at the ends.
“We should go,” said Harriet’s mother. “Papa has discovered the plants sent from London for the ball are not suitable. He’s…disappointed.”
“And his disappointment is so very loud,” said Charlotte.
This earned her an anxious glance. As one, they headed for the far edge of the garden.
Harriet led them along the path that avoided her grandfather’s lax sentries, who were thoroughly weary of their useless jobs by this time. They entered the camp from the woodland, and she noticed some things had been packed up in preparation for moving on. Harriet greeted those they passed, heading toward Mistress Elena’s caravan. It was proper to present visitors to her first.
Samia came running up as they approached, her face bright with curiosity. “You haven’t been here for ages,” she said to Harriet.
“It has been a while.” Harriet introduced her friends to the little girl. “We were going to say hello to Mistress Elena,” she added.
“She’s busy with Meric,” was the reply. “Making plans. Do you want to come and see the horses?” Samia asked the others.
She proceeded to lead them around the camp, offering a running commentary on its activities. “We are going north soon,” she said at one point. “I will see my cousins, and there will be a festival.”
“When do you go?” asked Harriet.
“Soon, I think. That is what they’re planning.”
“I will miss you.”
Samia’s smile was brilliant. “Me, too. But we may see each other again. We might come here next year. We like this place.”
Harriet tried to picture herself in a year’s time. Where would she be?
“I’ll read your palm and see,” added Samia as if answering her inner query.
“You did that already,” Harriet pointed out.
“But I didn’tfinish. Come.” Samia led them to a space off to the side of the camp. There was a bench made of twining branches and several log rounds turned up to serve as seats. “You sit here with me,” Samia told Harriet. The little girl hopped onto the bench and patted the seat beside her with a presence beyond her years.
Charlotte and Sarah each took a log and gazed at Harriet as if she’d become the day’s entertainment. After a moment, Harriet’s mother sat as well. Predictably, she looked uneasy.
“Come,” said Samia again.
Harriet sank down beside her and let the girl take her hand.
“So, I told you before, this is your Life line.” She traced the crease that ran diagonally down Harriet’s hand. “And this is your Heart line.” She indicated the more horizontal mark and put a small fingertip on one spot. “And there is the big change we saw.”
It hadn’t been exactlywe. But it was true about the change with her father’s death. Did Samia remember these things? Or were experiences actually recorded in her hand?
“Your Heart line is very strong,” said Samia. “And here, farther along, is another crossing. With the line of your head, your mind. It is a choice to be made. Soon, I think.”
“What sort of choice?” Harriet couldn’t help but ask.
“I cannot tell. Only that it will be very important for you.”
This was nonsense, Harriet knew. But Samia sounded so authoritative. “If you can’t tell me anything about this choice, what’s the use?”
“You can know it is coming and be ready.”
Harriet had to shrug.
