“Very good, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. We have indeed been graced with the presence of a fortune-teller.”
Sophronia wondered, “Did you set off the alarm?”
The fortune-teller’s eyes sharpened on her.
Sophronia realized she had revealed more of her personality with that one question than was healthy. She was, after all, the only one who’d jumped straight to logistics rather than the exciting possibility of having her palm read.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. Madame Spetuna has been retained for the evening to tell your fortunes.” Mademoiselle Geraldine was wearing a lightweight muslin gown of chartreuse with cream stripes. It was a dress that better suited one of her students. Each stripe was patterned with pink roses. There was fringe all up the length of the sleeves and about the low square neckline that displayed the headmistress’s assets to great effect. Said assets heaved as she inhaled, and Professor Shrimpdittle looked as though he might faint.
She continued, “Given that there are ten of you, we must keep the readings brief. So tuck in quickly to the nibbly bits while we do so, and don’t stand on ceremony. If Miss Pelouse would pour the tea? Miss Buss, why don’t you sit first?”
Preshea took the seat closest to the fortune-teller with alacrity.
Madame Spetuna looked her over. “Ze cards, I think, for you, dark child.”
Preshea was made to pick five cards from a deck and lay them out carefully on the damask tablecloth. Madame Spetuna rearranged them a few times before settling on a pattern she liked.
This must be today’s subterfuge challenge. We are to ensure the fortune-teller doesn’t reveal anything to Mademoiselle Geraldine about our real training. Sophronia, nibbling a biscuit, sat back to watch. She wondered about the fortune-teller. Does she know what we do here? Or does she, like Mademoiselle Geraldine, think it is a normal, albeit floating, finishing school?
“Ah,” breathed Madame Spetuna, “this is most interesting. Most interesting indeed. You, my child, will marry well. More than once. A charmed life, so long as you weave a tight net, little spider.” The lady retrieved the cards and shuffled them back together into one stack in an attitude of dismissal.
Taking this as a sign her fortune was complete, Preshea stood. Looking particularly pleased with life, she passed over a few coins and gave Madame Spetuna a nice curtsy.
Mademoiselle Geraldine was fanning herself. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, Miss Buss. Let us hope it is widowhood and not”—she whispered the next word—“divorce that leads to your multiple marriages.”
Preshea sat and sipped from a china cup. “I shouldn’t worry, Headmistress. I am tolerably certain it will be widowhood.”
Mademoiselle Geraldine was reassured by this. Preshea’s future husbands probably wouldn’t have been. Even Lord Dingleproops, ordinarily unconcerned by those around him, looked apprehensively at the beautiful dark-haired girl. She gave him a wicked smile and a coy lowering of the lashes.
Reel it in, Preshea. Sophronia glanced nervously at the headmistress. But Mademoiselle Geraldine was waving the next victim forward.
Dimity took the danger seat. “I admire your fashion sense,” she told the fortune-teller with absolute sincerity.
Madame Spetuna tucked a lock of hair behind her ear—in which there were three earrings!
Dimity’s eyes sparkled.
“For you, the palm,” said Madame Spetuna.
Wide-eyed, Dimity presented the fortune-teller with both hands. Madame Spetuna bent over them, the many rings on her fingers flashing as she traced the lines.
Sophronia heard Monique whisper to Preshea, “I wouldn’t allow such a dirty, common creature to touch me!”
Madame Spetuna gave no indication of having heard. “You wish for a simple life, magpie. You will not get it. You will choose, many times, between loyalty and peace. A terrible choice.” She looked up at Dimity, her dark eyes sad. “I am sorry.”
Dimity nodded, her round face somber. “That’s all right, Madame Spetuna. I always suspected it might be so.”
Since she had forgotten her reticule, Dimity slid off one of her own many bracelets and gave it to the fortune-teller. They exchanged the smiles of kindred spirits.
Mademoiselle Geraldine called Monique. The older girl hid her excitement with a haughty expression. She sat and took up the cards without Madame Spetuna suggesting she do so.
“You are attracted to the cards, moonbeam? Good. It is always better when one is summoned.”
Once the icy blonde had selected five cards, the fortune-teller bent over them for a time. “You will never be as important as you think you are. That is all.”
“What do you know, old woman?” Monique stood with a sneer and left without offering a gratuity.
When she went to sit, Mademoiselle Geraldine wrapped the girl’s knuckles hard with a fan. “Manners!”
Monique, without further comment, curtsied to the fortune-teller and returned to her tea and Preshea’s questionable council.
Then it was Agatha’s turn. The redhead asked, in a hesitant voice, if her fortune might be told privately. Sophronia thought to warn her that this might not be permitted by Lady Linette under the subterfuge clause, but there wasn’t time. Madame Spetuna agreed.
Agatha was also given the cards. After her selection was laid on the table, Madame Spetuna whispered in her ear. Whatever Agatha’s fortune, it cheered the chubby girl. She was almost animated and passed over a ridiculously large sum to Madame Spetuna in thanks.
Sophronia wished she were a fortune-teller. It would be an admirable way to inspire discomfort. Professor Shrimpdittle, for example, might be shaken into distrusting Bunson’s. Then again… I wonder how much it costs to buy a fortune? Sophronia assessed her own meager funds. Then, while Agatha bumbled back to her seat, Sophronia pulled out a scrap of paper and a bit of graphite from her reticule. Three shillings, she wrote, to imply that Bunson’s headmaster no longer trusts Prof S. There was no time to code the note; she simply had to hope the fortune-teller was game.
Sidheag assumed the seat with a certain bravado. She held out her hands without being asked.
“You have done this before, wolf child?” Madame Spetuna’s eyes were sharp on Sidheag’s face.
Sidheag nodded.
“Then what I tell you will be no different. You know your fate and you cannot escape it. Why do you dally here pretending to be tame?”
Sidheag nodded and stood to resume her seat. Her curtsy was perfunctory, but the fortune-teller did not take offense. It was almost as if she knew Sidheag’s curtsies were always perfunctory.
Finally Madame Spetuna gestured to Sophronia.
Sophronia went eagerly. Suspicious nonsense, of course, but terribly fun suspicious nonsense. I wish Soap could have his fortune told. He’d love it.
Madame Spetuna looked her up and down. She said, “The palm, I think, for you.”
Sophronia offered both hands.
The fortune-teller seized them by the wrists. Her touch was soft and dry, and she smelled of exotic spices Sophronia could not place. I must train my nose, she thought. Such information could be important, particularly if a given smell is associated with an enemy or an informant.
“Even now, you think only in terms of the game. You are well chosen, little bird. Or are you a stoat?” Madame Spetuna bent forward, looking even harder at Sophronia’s palms. She was close enough for Sophronia to feel the woman’s breath on her skin. “Give your heart wisely.” She paused a long time over one particular wrinkle. “Oh, child, you will end the world as we know it.” Madame Spetuna swallowed and then turned Sophronia’s hands over and placed them, palm down, on the table. She leaned forward, pressing them into the tablecloth as though she might rub out what she had seen.
It was an admirable performance. Sophronia thought she ought to applaud. Everyone was silent in awe. Sophronia looked over at Felix. He was making a face.
Then Monique giggled. “Stoat, of course Sophronia’s a stoat.”
Mademoiselle Geraldine recovered her composure. “What a very odd fortune, Miss Temminnick. What game could she possibly be referring to?”
“Oh, Headmistress, we have been playing loo these last few nights. Perhaps it is that?” Sophronia lied easily.
Mademoiselle Geraldine looked relieved. “Oh, yes, indeed. Now, which of the gentlemen would like to go next?”
Sophronia stood, reached into her reticule, and passed the fortune-teller a shilling and the note. Since handling and exchanging money was always an embarrassment, everyone made a point of not really watching the gratuity.
Sophronia pretended to get her skirt caught in the chair as she rose. In a flurry of long sleeves she bent and almost tipped Madame Spetuna’s teacup over. Under cover of this, the fortune-teller opened and read the note.
By the time Sophronia had sorted herself, and the chair, out—Mademoiselle Geraldine reprimanding her for such unladylike clumsiness—the note had vanished, and Madame Spetuna was giving Sophronia a funny look.
Sophronia arched one eyebrow. She’d been practicing that expression for days; it was a very intelligencer sort of skill, and she felt she ought to know how to do it. Her eyebrow twitched slightly and didn’t arch gracefully, but it got her point across.
The fortune-teller nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Pillover assumed the seat. “It’s all nonsense, of course.”
Madame Spetuna used the cards on him. “You are greater than the sum of your parts,” she said.
Pillover looked doubtfully down at his tubby form. Sophronia wondered at a woman dressed in scarves quoting Aristotle.
Madame Spetuna continued. “And you will never make your father happy. Stop trying.”
Pillover drooped.
Lord Dingleproops was next. “What a lark!”
“Wager to win, my lord, not to lose.”
“That’s all you have to say to me?”
“Wager any more and you could learn nothing at all.”
“You speak in riddles. Come on, Felix, saddle up.”
Felix assumed the seat, lounging back as was his insolent manner. His posture always gave the impression of not caring. About anything.
“You will not repeat your father’s mistakes. You will make new ones, all your own.”
“Very meaningful, Madame Spetuna. Of course, you might suspect any young man of being somewhat at odds with his father.” Felix’s eyes were narrowed.
Madame Spetuna only looked at him and adjusted the red-and-gold shawl around her shoulders.
The young viscount slouched over to take a seat opposite Sophronia and next to Monique. He ought have talked to Monique, but instead he said to Sophronia, “Occult nonsense.”
Sophronia blinked at him, her green eyes very direct. “Well, are you, my lord?”
“Am I what?”
“At odds with your father?”
“Is that interest I see at last, Ria, my dove?” Felix smiled and turned to talk with Monique.
Sophronia was left in possession of the field but also feeling as though she had lost something. I must get better at extracting information. She considered. Perhaps he requires feminine sympathy?
Mademoiselle Geraldine, meanwhile, was urging Professor Shrimpdittle to have his fortune told. The good professor looked as if he would rather not, but the headmistress’s assets were clearly irresistible. He took the seat.