Mrs. Rose stepped forward. “Itwouldseem so. But nothing is ever as it seems while at court. Believe me, Lord Forscythe is not known for his gentle nature, and I doubt his daughter is much different. You of all people should know that the most beautiful flowers hide the sharpest thorns.”
As if to make a point, Mrs. Rose snatched the cotton boll from Elswyth’s fingers. Then she yelped, dropping it and clutching her hand. “What the devil was that? I’m bleeding!”
Elswyth frowned, picking up the cotton boll with her tweezers. “I would have warned you, if you’d asked. It’s an experiment for Dr. Gall. He’s teaching me plant hybridizations. This one is a hybrid of cotton and the sisal plant, whose fibers can be stronger than steel. With some modifications, the plant can be induced to produce a kind of living carbon-rich fiber—”
“I said I’mbleeding! I’m going to stain my gown!” Mrs. Rose cried. She looked at her finger, which she held gingerly, and then, with a look of disgust on her face, began to suck the blood away.Perhaps Icanconclude that Mrs. Rose is not a killer,Elswyth thought.Being terrified of blood would make murdering someone quite difficult.
“Don’t do that. You’ll get an infection,” Elswyth said, standing. “Come over to the light.”
Elswyth sat Mrs. Rose by the glass wall and then firmly extended a hand. “Give it here.”
Mrs. Rose looked skeptical for a moment and then offered Elswyth her injured hand. Elswyth removed two levels of magnification from her glasses, flipping the extra lenses up, and examinedthe wound. There were several lacerations on Mrs. Rose’s pointer finger and thumb, and a few shallower ones on her palm and other fingers. Part of Elswyth was impressed—she’d have to investigate the potential uses of the fiber’s sharpness. Would that be a detriment if she wanted to weave it into a cloth? And would that—
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Rose said, interrupting her train of thought.
“Applying an antiseptic,” Elswyth said. She concentrated for a moment, rubbing her fingers together and secreting the essence of yarrow. She followed it with a layer of pine resin to seal the wound.
“Well, what does that do?” Mrs. Rose said. To Elswyth’s surprise, she seemed frightened.
“It will keep you from getting an infection. Or would you rather go back to sucking your thumb?”
Mrs. Rose frowned but said nothing more about it.
“I must say, Mrs. Rose, I’ve never seen you nervous before. You always seem so sure of yourself.”
Mrs. Rose straightened her posture, tucking a stray hair back into place. “A lady knows that she must keep her composure even when she is uncomfortable. But I must admit—I’ve always been quite frightened around doctors.”
A memory flashed before Elswyth, a blurry image of a man in a white coat standing above her bed, talking with her father in a hushed voice. Feverish delirium tinged the memory, even ten years later. She could almost feel the pain in her skull and the oily cramping in her stomach.
“I am quite the same, actually,” Elswyth said.
Mrs. Rose cocked her head. “And yet you are something of a healer, are you not?”
“They share the same source. When I was a girl, I nearly died. From the blight.”
“Poor thing,” Mrs. Rose said. “It seems no one was safe from that disease, not even the royal family.” She shuddered.
Elswyth shrugged. She continued working on Mrs. Rose’s hand, infusing essence of willow through her skin. She wouldn’t notice, but it would help with the pain. “You did ask how I got my scar—that is how,” Elswyth said. She didn’t elaborate on the exact circumstances; it was more or less true.
Mrs. Rose stared for a moment. Then, to her surprise, she turned her hand over and placed it atop Elswyth’s. “Well, if that plague did one good thing… it brought another healer into the world.”
Elswyth didn’t know what to say. It seemed a rare moment of tenderness from Mrs. Rose. She cleared her throat and tied a bandage around Mrs. Rose’s hand. “That should do it.” Then, unable to look at Mrs. Rose any longer, she stood and moved to her workbench. She felt, for whatever reason, desperate to change the subject.
“I think that I should attend Miss Forscythe’s party,” she said. “It will be a good opportunity to meet new people, as you wish. All of them should be highly regarded if they are acquainted with the Forscythes. And there should be plenty of eligible bachelors.”
Plenty of men who knew Persephone,Elswyth thought.Maybe one who would have wanted her dead.She moved to the sink and began washing the secretions from her fingertips.
“But that’s quite the problem, Miss Elderwood,” Mrs. Rose said. “You are not ready for those introductions. You have only just begun learning the ways of court, and if you offend someone at this party, this early in the season, your reputation may be ruined.If that’s the case, then you will never find the sort of husband you need to save your house.”
Elswyth scrubbed her hands harder. “And what will happen if I refuse?” she said. “If I accept the invitation and assume that Miss Forscythe is serious about buying my silence, then I have a chance of befriending her. But if I refuse, and if she is insulted, then I will certainly become the target of her retribution.”
Mrs. Rose frowned. She looked at her injured finger, tucking it into her lap like a bird with a broken wing. She thought for a moment, her mouth working over silent words. “Rubbish. She’s backed us into a corner then, hasn’t she? We’ve been outmaneuvered.”
Mrs. Rose stood, beginning to pace. Then she turned to Elswyth. “That settles it. You’ll go. But we’ll spend every waking moment until then preparing. We need to rehearse your tableau vivant first and foremost. These soirées are all about pageantry, and it’s possible you’ll be expected to perform. We’ll practice dancing, just in case—do you know the quadrille? Why am I pretending? Of course you don’t. We’ll have to work double-time through the chapter on parlor games. And don’t get me started on your je ne sais quoi!”
Mrs. Rose moved to Elswyth and took her by the arm, dragging her toward the doors. “No. From this moment until the moment you enter that party,youare withme.”
CHAPTER TEN
