Wicked Nights With a Lover (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #3)(5)

The echo of the diviner’s words whispered through her head like a sifting wind. You shall not live out the year.

She shivered. Rubbish, of course. Utter rot. Mrs. Danbury’s passing was a mere coincidence. She had been ill, after all, clearly not recovered from her initial affliction.

Marguerite was not ill. She was not going to die. At least not at any time soon, and she wouldn’t let some scheming swindler wreak havoc with her head. She would put Madame Foster firmly from her mind and get about her life. A life that looked suddenly brighter than it had moments before.





Chapter 3

Marguerite lifted her hand for a second round of knocking, ignoring the sting in her knuckles. Blast! She had to be home. Marguerite refused to believe she had made the trip to St. Giles for nothing.

Hawkers called loudly from the street behind her, selling their wares with hard, desperate voices. Carriages rattled past with noisy clatter. Despite the unseasonable cold, the streets were crowded. The only concession to weather appeared to be that passersby moved with haste, no doubt eager to reach the waiting fires and grates of their destinations. She, too, longed to return to Mrs. Dobbs’s cozy boardinghouse. It was a familiar enough place. She frequently stayed there between assignments, if she was not visiting either Fallon or Evie.

At last the door swung open. A woman strolled out, nearly knocking Marguerite aside where she stood on the stoop. Tucking her cloak more tightly around herself, the woman called back into the house, “See you next week, Madame.”

Madame herself stepped within the threshold. “Aye, and mind what I told you, Francie. Stay away from that Tom fellow.”

Francie fluttered her hand in the air as she descended the steps onto the cracked sidewalk.

Marguerite fixed her attention on the woman she had come to confront, despite all her attempts to put her from her head. Firming her lips, she gave a brisk nod. “Madame Foster. I’ve come to speak with you.”

The woman settled a lingering gaze on Marguerite. “You,” she said flatly. “I thought you would be here sooner.”

Before Marguerite could respond, she shrugged and waved for her to follow. “This way. I expect you’ll pay for my time. Just because you got the first reading for free—”

“I didn’t solicit your service that day,” Marguerite cut in sharply as she stepped into the dim shop that also served as the woman’s residence.

“You touched me,” she reminded Marguerite as they passed through a set of swinging parlor doors. “Grabbed me most rudely, if I recall.” Apparently she judged that tantamount to soliciting a reading.

Marguerite nodded her head doggedly. “Because you just informed my employer she would die—”

“That’s correct.” Madame Foster spun around with a militant gleam in her eye. “And was I or wasn’t I correct on that matter?”

Marguerite pulled back her shoulders, loath to admit that Madame Foster had been correct, no matter that she had been. For if she had been correct once, it stood to reason she could be correct a second time.

The woman snorted, doubtlessly taking Marguerite’s silence as affirmation. “Precisely what I thought. Well, whatever the case, you’re here now. If you want more information, you’ll have to pay like everyone else.” With a huff, she seated herself behind a small table covered in a rich green velvet cloth.

Marguerite remained standing. “How did you know Mrs. Danbury would …” She swallowed, still unable to say it. She settled for, “How did you know she would become ill again?”

Eerily green eyes gazed up at her. “How did I know she would die? The same way I know you will. I saw it.”

For several moments, Marguerite couldn’t respond. She simply gazed at the woman she felt certain to be a fraud. Only why was she here then? Why had she come at all?

“Have a seat.” Madame Foster motioned smoothly to the chair opposite her. “It’s why you came. To listen. And I’m getting a pinch in my neck looking up at you.”

Without a word, Marguerite sank down on the chair. Yes. She had come to listen. To find an explanation, something, anything. Perhaps Madame Foster possessed a better understanding of Mrs. Danbury’s health condition.

Or perhaps it was merely coincidence. An educated guess. Anything except that this female with her cat eyes actually saw the future.

“What?” Marguerite motioned between them, desperate to ease the tension, to remind the other woman that she knew she was a fraud and would not be so easily duped simply because she sat across from her as a willing party. “No crystal ball?”

Madame Foster smirked. “Your hand should be sufficient to start with.”

With great reluctance, Marguerite offered up her hand.

“Remove your glove, please.”

“Of course.” She slid each finger free, calling herself ten kinds of fool for even sitting in this woman’s parlor. She forced herself to not fidget as her hand was held between the older woman’s hands. She looked away, unable to watch her. Instead, she studied the contents of the cluttered room, noting that Madame Foster had a fondness for figurines of pug dogs. They covered every available surface.

After some moments, she sighed heavily, drawing Marguerite’s attention back to her. “It’s as I said. You’ll not live out the year. I cannot see the precise time, but before this time next year, you’ll be gone. Lost in a tragic accident. Sorry, love. This Christmas shall be your last.”