Prophecy of the Sisters (5 page)

It is rare enough to find Alice casually about the library but rarer still to find her conversing privately with James. Certainly,
they maintain a comfortable if distant friendship given the closeness of our families and the relationship between James and
me, but it has never been anything more. I have never witnessed a flicker of attraction or even playful flirtation between
them, yet the feeling that rises in me at the sight of them together comes perilously close to one of alarm.

I stay silent, watching and waiting as Alice walks slowly behind the chair in which James sits. She trails a finger along
the high back of the chair, not quite touching the nape of James’s neck.

“I think I should like to take more of an interest in the library now that Father is gone,” she says, her voice a seductive
purr.

James sits up straighter, staring ahead as if she is not, at that very moment, the height of impropriety. “Yes, well, it is
right here under your very own roof. You can avail yourself to it any time you choose.”

“True. But I wouldn’t know where to begin.” She stands very still behind him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders,
the bodice of her gown just behind his head. “Perhaps you can assist me in choosing material most suited to my… interests.”

James stands suddenly, crossing to a writing table and busying himself by shuffling the papers on its surface. “Actually,
I’m quite busy with the catalogue. I’m certain Lia would be willing to help you. She knows the library and its contents better
than I.”

James’s back is to Alice. He does not see the expression that flashes across her face, but I do. I see the rage there and
it matches my own. What can she be thinking? I’ve had enough, and I step into the room, crossing it briskly. She is surprised
to see me, though not ashamed as I would have expected. James lifts his eyes as I come into view.

“Lia,” he says. “I wanted to finish a few things here, but Father had another client. He should be back to retrieve me” —
he pulls his watch from his pocket, consulting it before continuing — “any moment now.” He flushes, though surely he has no
reason to be embarrassed when it is my sister who behaves so badly.

I steady my voice before speaking. “Perfectly understandable. I’m sure my father would be pleased with your diligence.” Forcing
a flinty smile to my face, I turn my attention to my sister. “Really, Alice. James is quite right; if you’ve an interest in
the collections, you need only ask. I’d be happy to help you choose something.” I stop short of questioning her behavior,
for I do not want to give her the satisfaction of my seeming paranoid and insecure.

She tips her head, looking into my eyes and studying my face for a moment before speaking. “Yes, well, perhaps I shall. Still,
it does ease my mind to know that James, in all his expertise, is present should you ever be… unavailable.”

“Not to worry,” I tell her firmly. “I’ve no intention of being unavailable, to you or anyone, anytime soon.”

We stand across from each other, the wing chair between us, for an awkward moment. I see James only in profile and am relieved
that he remains quiet.

Finally, Alice gives me a small, tight smile. “Well, I’ve some things to attend to. I shall see you, both of you,” she adds,
looking pointedly over my shoulder in James’s direction, “later.”

I watch her leave but do not say anything about the altercation to James. I want to apologize for Alice’s odd demeanor, but
my mind is full of questions to which I am not sure I want answers.

The next morning, my sister is silent on the way to town. I don’t ask her why, though Alice’s silences are rare. This time
her silence is an echo of my own. I sneak a glance at her out of the corner of my eye, noting the curve of her chin and the
curls that bounce at the nape of her neck as she leans her head toward the window of the carriage.

The carriage rattles to a stop, and Alice sits up straighter, smoothing her skirt and looking my way. “Must you look so unhappy,
Lia? Won’t it be nice to escape the gloom of Birch-wood? Heaven knows the great dreary house will still be waiting for us
at the end of the day!”

She delivers the words with good humor, but I feel the tension in her voice, see it on the too-careful set of her face. This
is the theatrical version of Alice, the one who has carefully rehearsed her lines.

I smile in answer as Edmund opens the carriage door.

“Miss.”

“Thank you, Edmund.” I wait on the sidewalk as Alice emerges from the carriage. As usual, she does not bother speaking to
him.

He turns to me before leaving. “I’ll be back at the end of the day then, Miss.” He doesn’t often smile, but he does it now,
so faintly I wonder if anyone can see it but me.

“Yes, of course. Goodbye, Edmund.” I hurry to catch Alice as she heads for the steps in front of Wycliffe. “You might at least
be polite, Alice.”

Alice spins around, favoring me with a carefree smile. “And why is that? Edmund has worked for the Milthorpes for years. Do
you think a simple ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ makes his tasks any easier?”

“Perhaps only more pleasant.”

It is an old argument. Alice’s treatment of Birchwood’s servants is notoriously poor. Worse, her rudeness often extends to
family, particularly Aunt Virginia. My mother’s sister does not complain aloud, but I see the resentment pass over her face
when my sister treats her like a glorified nanny.

Alice sighs in exasperation, reaching for my hand and pulling me up the steps toward Wycliffe’s door. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,
Lia! Come along, will you? You shall make us late.”

As I stumble up the stairs after my sister, my eyes drift to the Douglases’ bookstore, tucked into the storefront under the
school. James is three years older than I and finished with his formal schooling. I know he will be at work in the shop and
wish I could open the door and call to him, but there isn’t a moment left before I am pulled by Alice into the vestibule at
Wycliffe. She closes the door, rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth.

“Heavens, it’s getting cold!” She unties her cloak, eyeing my still fingers. “Hurry, Lia, will you?”

I cannot think of any place I want to be less than Wycliffe. But Edmund has already gone, so I force my hands to move and
hang my cloak near the door. Mrs. Thomason hurries toward us from the back of the building, looking in equal parts annoyed
and flustered.

“You’re late for morning prayers, Misses! Now if you hurry, you might slip in without too much fuss.” She gives me a little
push toward the dining room, as if I somehow need it more than Alice. “And I’m most sorry to hear of your loss. Mr. Milthorpe
was a fine man.”

I follow Alice to the dining room, rushing to keep up with her purposeful gait. Through the doors, the voices of the other
girls are strung together in eerie unison as they recite morning prayer. Alice pushes one of the heavy doors and steps through
it in one motion. She doesn’t even try to be quiet, and I have no choice but to follow meekly behind her, wondering how she
holds her head so high and her back so straight while making a spectacle of us both.

Miss Gray’s voice falters as Alice marches in, causing most of the girls to peek at us from behind closed lids. Alice and
I slide into our seats at the table, mumbling the words along with the other girls. When everyone has said “Amen,” thirty
pairs of eyes open to survey us. Some do it in a way they must think is careful, but others, like Victoria Alcott and May
Smithfield, do not bother to hide their curiosity.

“Alice, Amalia. So nice to have you back with us. I know I speak for everyone at Wycliffe when I say that we are most sorry
for your loss.” Miss Gray remains standing before the table as she delivers her practiced speech, sitting only when we have
murmured our thank-yous.

Emily and Hope, the girls on either side of me, avoid my eyes. I have never been a skilled conversationalist, and death undoubtedly
makes for awkward company. I study the napkin on my lap, the silver sparkling next to my plate, the butter congealing on my
toast. Anything but the uncomfortable glances of the other girls. They avoid my eyes.

All but one.

Only Luisa Torelli looks at me candidly, offering a small smile that I feel as condolence even from across the table. Luisa
always sits alone, the seats on either side of her empty whenever the girls at Wycliffe can arrange it. The other girls whisper
about her because she is Italian, though with her raven curls, cherry-stained lips, and exotic dark eyes, jealousy is the
more likely culprit. That I am now set apart for something even simpler — the novelty of being an orphan who has lost both
parents to a bizarre set of circumstances — doesn’t seem to matter. All at once, it seems we are more the same than different,
and I wonder if perhaps Luisa and I were meant to be friends all along.

Mr. Douglas has acquired an old French text, and we are divided into two groups and sent to the Douglases’ bookstore as part
of our translation studies. I should like to have a quick word with James about the book, but he is at work in the back with
his father, the other girls, and Mrs. Bacon, our chaperone.

In no time at all, I’ve completed my assigned passages and am standing at the bookcase nearest the window, browsing the new
arrivals from London, when I hear hushed conversation coming from one of the other shelves. Leaning back, still hidden in
the shadow of the towering bookshelf, I see Alice speaking in an urgent whisper to Victoria. Alice sets her mouth into the
hard line that means she has made up her mind and will not change it no matter what is said, and with that, they look around
and slip from the shop as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

It takes me a moment to realize what they have done. When the force of it hits me, I’m both relieved and oddly hurt not to
have been included in whatever scheme they have planned.

It doesn’t take as long as it should to come to a decision that could land me in such trouble. Were it any other chaperone
I might think twice, but Mrs. Bacon can be counted on for one thing above all others — her propensity for falling swiftly
and deeply asleep on almost every occasion that Wycliffe’s girls are in her charge.

I move to the door with quiet purpose, trying to behave as if I have every reason to leave the bookstore. The soft clearing
of a throat sounds behind me as the cold knob turns in my hand.

“A-hem.”

I briefly close my eyes, hoping it is James who has caught me sneaking away, for he will surely not tell. But when I turn,
it is Luisa Torelli, leaning against one of the shelves and staring at me slyly from beneath the fringe of her inky lashes.

“Going somewhere?” she asks softly, eyebrows raised.

There is no menace in her face, only excitement barely concealed under the smile teasing her mouth. I should probably think
through the decision to include her, but Alice has gone, and I don’t want to lose track of her while I stand about trying
to make up my mind.

“Yes.” I tip my head to the door. “Are you coming?”

A brilliant smile breaks across her face as she nods, springing to the door as if she has been waiting years for the invitation.
She is bolder than I, out of the shop and trotting down the walk while I pull the door shut quietly behind me. She is waiting,
halfway to the corner, when I reach her.

She resumes walking, her eyes focusing on my sister’s retreating back, Victoria beside her. “I assume we’re going that way?”

I nod as the magnitude of our infraction begins sinking in.

Luisa seems oblivious. “Where are they going?”

I look over at her and shrug. “I have no idea.”

Her laugh is musical, ringing through the air as a passing gentleman turns to stare. “Wonderful. It’s a proper adventure,
then.”

I fight a smile. Luisa is nothing like I imagined. “Yes, one that will land us in a heap of trouble if we’re caught.”

Her mouth widens in an impish grin. “Well, at least we shall take Victoria Alcott with us.”

Alice and Victoria have come to a building not unlike the one that houses Wycliffe. They stop on the walk, conversing as they
steal glances at the door at the top of the steps. I have not given thought to Alice’s reaction when she realizes we’ve followed
her, but there is nothing to be done and nowhere to hide. Her mouth drops open as Luisa and I approach.

“Lia! What… Whatever are you doing here?”

Quiet fury washes over Victoria’s face.

I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. “I saw you leave. I wanted to know where you were going.”

“If you tell,” Victoria threatens, “you will live to regret it. You —”

Alice casts Victoria a silencing glare before looking at me. “She shan’t tell, Victoria. Will you, Lia?” It is not a question
that requires an answer, and she continues. “All right, then. Come along. We haven’t all day.”

They don’t give Luisa a glance. It is as if she isn’t there at all. As we follow them up the steps, I realize Alice did not
answer my question. She does not break stride until we reach the top of the steps, leaning in to beat an enormous lion knocker
against the carved wooden door. We shift nervously on our feet until we hear the sound of approaching footsteps.