Madame Zeta merely took a seat on a cushion across from him, her gray-blue eyes direct. She didn’t appear amused. “Have you ever heard of the Path of Life?”
Jonathan winced inwardly as he sat down across from her in an effort to humor whatever it was she was about to say. “I have not.”
She lifted a leather cord from around her neck, revealing a gold medallion dangling from the end of the length. The intertwined design reflected the light in the room and seemed to shine with a magic of its own...
He blinked. Much more of this and he would start to see green fairies that weren’t there. He didn’t think that he’d drunk absinthe recently, but who knew what he’d really been drinking in that tent.
“You were brought to me for a reason, Englishman,” Madame Zeta announced as she trailed a finger along each curve of the symbol in her palm. “You will find that sometimes our paths are intertwined on this journey through life. Sometimes the road to self-discovery takes much travail, but how we prosper depends on our determination to succeed.” She tucked the medallion back beneath her clothing with a certain amount of reverence that didn’t go unnoticed by Jonathan. She brought forth a white handkerchief with the same symbol embroidered in gold thread in the center and handed it to him. “This is for you... to remember that whatever it is you may seek, you shall find it if you will only be true to yourself.”
Jonathan rubbed his thumb over the symbol with a light frown. Again, he was struck with the oddest sensation. He looked back at Madame Zeta and said in all sincerity, “Thank you.”
She gave a brief nod, her gaze suddenly distant. “I have known many men like you, Englishman. I believe that you are pure of heart. Don’t make me regret my decision to put a measure of faith in you.”
A lump suddenly clogged his throat, and Jonathan swallowed hard against it. “I promise.”
Chapter Two
“AGNES, REALLY, MUSTyou be so shamelessly flirtatious?” Miss Fanny Grouseman reprimanded her sister.
They stood in the middle of the bustling village of Polperro selling their garden vegetables in the outdoor farmer’s market. It had been a rather prosperous day thus far, although the sky was still gray and overcast with the threat of more rain.
Her younger sister sniffed haughtily and grinned once again at the attractive man in uniform who passed by with a smirk. She crossed her arms defiantly. “Just because you are such a stick-in-the-mud, doesn’t mean that the rest of us should shrivel up and die.”
Fanny barely refrained from rolling her eyes at her sister’s dramatics. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to you that this particular man is a revenue officer, here to put a stop to all smuggling, the very thing that keeps Polperro afloat after the war and the increase in taxes?”
Agnes tossed her free-flowing brown hair. “He’s only doing his job. Besides,” she shrugged. “Perhaps it’s time the villagers ceased such illegal activities.”
Fanny clenched her fists in an effort to hold back her temper. “You seem to forget where those fancy adornments you enjoy so much come from.”
Agnes turned and glared at her. “I’m not feeling well. I think I shall go home and lie down.” With that, she flounced off.
A resigned sigh slipped out. Being the oldest of three sisters carried a lot of responsibility for Fanny. Agnes was only fifteen, but already she was more high-spirited than either Fanny or their middle sister Lilah had been at that age. If their mother didn’t tighten their leash on her, she was bound to make an error in judgment that would shame the entire family.
As it stood, smuggling was common knowledge among the locals, as most of the men assisted in the offshore trade, including their father. However, since the accident a few years ago where a Customs officer was killed on The Lottery, resulting in a crewman being tried and executed for murder, the Crown had effectively increased their patrol in an effort to cease all imports coming in from the island of Guernsey and beyond. These days they had to be even more discreet when it came to bringing goods onto Cornish shores. One misstep could see more than just her father sent to the Old Bailey.
“That’s quite a scowl,” a masculine voice drawled.
