“I’m dreadfully sorry to hear that, Millicent,” Kate says, slipping effortlessly into Varina’s soft, lilting accent. “I don’t relish being right. But the leaves never lie.”
Millicent shakes her head with a sigh. “Well, it’s better I find out now than after taking my vows. Can you imagine?”
“You deserve better, Millie.”
“I do, don’t I?” With a satisfied nod, the young woman turns back to her companion.
“Did you really see that in her tea leaves?” I ask.
“No,” Kate whispers. “But her suspicions were well founded. Her fiancé came here with her once. He cornered me in the back and propositioned me. She already knew he was a cad. I just provided confirmation.” She smiles. “Thesisterwas his mistress. I found out aboutthatfrom one of the other actresses at the theater. I read people much better than I read tea leaves, my dear. Just like I read you.”
Inside the cozy café, which smells of freshly baked goods and coffee, an older woman with a warm smile approaches us, an apron tied around her waist. “Ah, Varina. There you are!” she exclaims. “You’ve already had two customers looking for you.”
“I’m sorry I was delayed, ma’am,” Kate says. “They haven’t left, I hope?”
“No. They’re waiting in your alcove.”
“I’ll get to it, then.” Kate glances at me. “This is my friend, Miss Jones. Miss Jones, this is Miss Mabel Cahill, the proprietress of this fine establishment. Could you please find her a table and a cup of tea, Mabel? Take it off my evening pay.”
“Certainly. Follow me, Miss Jones.”
Kate weaves through the tables toward the back of the room, then disappears into a candlelit alcove draped with deep-blue velvet. I’m nervous without her at my side, but follow Mabel into the main dining area. It’s been years since I’ve been to any sort of restaurant. My eyes skate around the room, but I’m careful not to let my gaze linger on anyone for too long. I pray my costume is successful enough to disguise my identity. After my brief encounter with Arabella, I’m wary of public establishments.
“How long have you known Varina?” Mabel asks. She sits me at a table next to a small stage in the front corner, near the windows. “She’s never brought a friend with her before.”
“Oh, only a few weeks,” I say.
“Well, you’re welcome to come any evening she works.” Mabel smiles. “What sort of tea do you like, dear? We’ve just gotten a new shipment of oolong. It’s lovely, bright and fresh. Or we have coffee, if you prefer.”
“The oolong sounds delightful.”
“Milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
While I wait, I try not to look too closely at the other patrons, many of them middle-aged matrons. It’s the sort of bourgeois café my mother and her friends would frequent. A place to see and be seen. Being seen is the last thing I want, so I lower my gaze and turn slightly toward the window. I’m relieved when Mabel brings my tea, along with two warm scones. I thank her and tuck in, the tea’s crisp bouquet a perfect counterpoint to the sugar-encrusted scones, which remind me of the ones Siobhan used to make. Teatime was Papa’s favorite part of the day, and he’d always break his work to enjoy a full complement of pastries, jams, and biscuits and regale us with stories. From the time he was a pup, Walter remained close at hand, eagerly awaiting any morsel we might drop. It’s the simple, everyday things like this that I miss the most about my old life and my family.
I lift my teacup and drink to quell the pinch at the back of my throat and drown the nostalgic memories threatening to overtake me. Now that survival isn’t my driving force, at least not as keenly, my mind has slowly been excavating my grief—examining it in my sleep. My dreams are haunted by Rebecca. By Papa. Even by my little sisters, long dead.
A few minutes later, Mabel seats a pair of ladies at a table near mine. I flinch. One of them is Arabella Meade—I recognize her hairstyle immediately, with its high topknot and cascading side curls. I dip my chin, my wig swinging forward to hide my face. She’s so close I can smell her perfume, a heady tuberose scent. Thankfully, from this angle, she’d have to look over her shoulder to see me, but her companion hasa full view of me, and I her, though I don’t recognize the young woman, who’s dressed in mourning clothes that match her solemn expression.
After they’ve settled in and ordered their tea, I hear Arabella ask how the young woman has been getting on. The temptation to eavesdrop is much too strong to resist, so I crane my neck forward, ever so slightly.
“Well enough. Considering.” The young lady’s lip quivers. Her voice is choked with emotion.
Arabella reaches out, places a hand over her companion’s. “These things take time.”
“I keep expecting her to come home. As if she’ll walk through the door at any moment. It’s like some horrible dream I can’t wake from.”
“I remember feeling that way about Eleanor. It isn’t right, is it?” Arabella sighs. “It’s terrible to lose a sister. Especially in the way you did.”
“The coroner said she didn’t suffer ... but how can they know that for sure?”
“Try not to think like that, dear. Remember what a blessing she was to you in life, instead of thinking about her death,” says Arabella.
Arabella was always smooth and well spoken, knowing just the right things to say in any situation. Her unruffled manner made her courtroom lies about me all the more believable. Oh, how she hated me. And I never gathered quite why, apart from resenting my friendship with her sister, Eleanor. But my dear friend tried to warn me, didn’t she? Years before she died.Be careful of my little sister, Lil. She despises you behind her smile.
Arabella makes cooing sounds, patting the young woman’s arm as her face crumples and she sobs softly into her handkerchief. “Denise was always so proud of you. Your brothers, too.”
