‘Should we go or ...?’ I began eyeing the greenish-brown water swirling with floating twigs. It did not look or smell too pleasant, and I decided I did not want a herbal foot bath after all.
‘Oh no, please stay. I do so like hearing what goes on at the house,’ begged Lucinda. ‘Tell me more about the tea party. Who is being invited?’ She winced as Mrs Busby plonked one of her feet in the foul-scented water and then the other. ‘Gracious, that is rather hot, Mrs Busby!’
‘It needs to be for the herbs to work,’ she replied, kneeling beside the basin and briskly rubbing ‘the herbs’ intoLucinda’s ankles. I would have thought cold water would have been better for swelling, but what did I know? I noticed Lucinda’s cheeks growing flushed. She looked so hot and uncomfortable, poor girl. I hoped Mrs Busby’s herbal remedy did not bring on the baby. I was not mentally prepared forthatjust yet.
‘We have not been given any names,’ replied Jane. ‘Only that it will be a few of the local ladies.’
‘I am sure Lady Claridge and her daughter, Miss April, will attend,’ Mrs Busby chimed in. ‘They live at Willowmere Hall a few miles away.’
‘Is Lady Claridge very curious or overly attentive, Mrs Busby?’ I enquired. ‘Namely do I need to be on my guard?’
Mrs Busby tilted her head thinking. ‘I have not met her personally. But I have a friend who is a maid at the hall, and she told me she is quite exacting over small details. She runs a tight ship, you could say, especially since her husband died and she’s taken over his estate. She is also not backward in coming forward, if you take my meaning.’
My spirits sank. She sounded like a right battleaxe.
‘How old is her daughter?’ I asked her. ‘She must be still quite young if she is living at home.’
‘I believe Miss April is 26 years of age.’
‘Oh,’ I said, surprised, having expected her to say 16 or somesuch.
‘I don’t think she has had much luck with suitors,’ said Jane sympathetically. ‘I remember now—Elizabeth tried to match her with Henry at a supper party before he was married, but it was all in vain. He recounted that he thought her nice enough, but her mother insufferable. He made the excuse of feeling ill after the main course and hastily left the table, despite Elizabeth’s insistence that he “looked perfectly well” and should stay where he was and “eat his custard”. He had us all in fits telling the tale.’
I laughed at that. Henry Austen was funny, and I could quite imagine him feigning sickness to escape an overbearing mama who was on the prowl for her daughter. How easy it was for young men to escape such situations! I felt instantly sympathetic for Miss April—to reach the grand old age of 26 and her awful mother being the sole reason for her state of singledom. What hope was there for her?
I was musing on this when Lucinda suddenly let out a little scream. ‘Ow! What are you doing?’ I turned to see Mrs Busby gripping her foot hard, her eyes glassy and pointing in different directions. She looked as if she was in a trance.
‘I can see two men in your life,’ the woman droned in a stilted voice that sounded very odd.
I glanced at Jane and mouthed, ‘What?’ She hitched a shoulder in reply.
‘Mrs Busby, are you all right?’ I ventured but received no reply.The woman’s lips were now moving, but nothing was coming out.
‘Two men?’ prompted Lucinda.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Busby intoned solemnly. ‘One who can cause your downfall.’
A shudder passed through me. Surely she was talking about Dorian? He could cause all our downfalls.
‘And the other man?’ enquired Lucinda expectantly.
Mrs Busby’s lips moved, and we all leaned closer and waited with bated breath. She must have the second sight!
‘He could be good. He could be bad,’ she said vaguely.
Lucinda bit her lip. ‘And my baby? Will it be all right?’ It seemed she was taking the opportunity of Mrs Busby’s preternatural state to get as much information as possible.
Mrs Busby’s eyes fluttered, and her forehead wrinkled in concentration. ‘I can’t see your baby.’
‘Oh no! Please, God, no!’ Lucinda gasped. She yanked her foot out of Mrs Busby’s grasp and collapsed back on the sofa with a soft cry of distress. Mrs Busby crumpled and lay on the floor with her eyes closed, twitching.
After that, there was a flurry of activity from Jane and me—the former attempting to rouse Mrs. Busby with smelling salts and frantic fanning, while I busied myself comforting the tearful Lucinda with murmurs of, ‘What a load of old codswallop’ and ‘It’s nonsense. Don’t believe aword of it, dearest’.
Eventually, Mrs Busby came to. She sat up and looked bewildered and asked why she was on the floor. When Jane told her what had occurred, she hung her head, saying that she sometimes had ‘strange turns’, that she could not control them, and that she hoped that she had not said anything untoward.
Jane reassured her that she had not, but she could not help but notice Lucinda’s cowed demeanour and my arm around her, so it was obvious that she had. She buried her face in her hands and let out a sob.
‘Perhaps it is best if you rest, Mrs Busby. You are not quite yourself,’ said Jane, kindly patting her shoulder. ‘Let us go to your cottage now. Is your husband nearby? Can I fetch him?’
