Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(37)
Signa stumbled, legs numb, as Marjorie gave her a gentle nudge toward her chair. One of the servants poured steaming tea into their cups while another set out teacakes and pastries. While Charlotte thanked them, the other two girls ignored the help. Their fascination rested solely with Signa, and their eyes glinted with it the moment Marjorie was out the door.
Eliza smiled at her from across the table. “Well, aren’t you a tiny thing.” Whether it was a compliment or an insult was impossible to tell. Eliza leaned forward, her long curls brushing the tablecloth. “How are you enjoying your time with the Hawthornes? They truly are the most interesting family.”
“Interesting?” Signa echoed, her throat so painfully dry. “How so?”
“The parties, for one.” Eliza laughed, as though the question was ridiculous. “Not to mention the wealth, the rumors, the mystery. I suppose you wouldn’t know considering you’ve only just arrived, but the family you’re staying with is the talk of the town.”
Signa dared to look sideways at Charlotte, who sat erect in her chair, wordlessly sipping her tea. She hadn’t said one word and busied herself by staring up at a landscape of a beautiful spring garden.
A Lady’s Guide to Beauty and Etiquette was very clear about gossip: Do not speak idly. Signa agreed, not caring to gossip about those who had shown her such grace. But Eliza’s eyes were lit with mirth and her tongue was ready to seep poison, and so to get the information she sought, Signa took the bait. She reached for a blueberry scone and leaned forward with a quiet intake of breath.
“Rumors?” she asked in a tone that conveyed she’d never once imagined such a heinous thing to be possible. “Surely, you’re mistaken? What sort of rumors are they?”
“All sorts,” Diana chimed in. “That ghosts haunt Thorn Grove. That perhaps Missus Hawthorne—poor thing—took it upon herself to end her life after discovering her husband had had a series of torrid affairs and too many illegitimate children to care for. They even say the help is in cahoots to rally against the family.”
The allegations seemed to be all hearsay, though Signa tucked the information away as more puzzle pieces to be sifted through at another time. “The Hawthornes are curious people,” Signa said, choosing her words with care; she had no assurance that whatever she said wouldn’t leave this table or that she wouldn’t be branded a gossip. “But they’re also very generous to welcome me into their home when they’ve suffered such a great loss.”
Diana made a noise in the back of her throat. “I’m sure your fortune helped with that.” She leaned back in her seat and examined her frilly white gloves. “My father says Mr. Hawthorne’s business is failing and that you’re to inherit a fortune grander than even theirs.”
Signa wasn’t shy about the butter she spread upon her scone, heartbeat so fierce that even her neck was beginning to perspire. When she’d imagined this conversation, it’d been much more informative and relaxed.
Charlotte peered up then. “She only just arrived, Diana,” she said in a smooth voice between sips of tea. “I doubt she knows much about the Hawthornes at all.”
Eliza’s lips tightened, and Signa took hold of another scone. She figured if she didn’t know what to say, then—so long as her mouth was full—she could bide her time and let the others speak.
But that was before a flood of cold air washed into the room.
“Is there a window open?” Eliza shivered. “I wouldn’t have thought I’d require a coat at tea.”
Signa knew too well what that draft meant and choked mid-bite. She tried to be discreet as she turned her head around to see Death was there beside her, sitting in a chair of shadows next to Diana. He folded one shadowy leg over the other, and in his hand, more shadows had formed an imaginary cup of tea, which he raised to her in greeting. Apologies, I forgot to bring my dress and gloves.
The words were not spoken aloud but seemed to reverberate in her head.
He was in her head.
She clenched her skirts and paced her breaths. No. No no no no. None of this was going according to plan.
First Charlotte, and now… no. Signa had eaten no belladonna; she’d not journeyed to the place between the living and the dead to access him. All her life, she’d been able to see Death only when there was reason for it—when someone near her was dying. She’d sooner try to kill Death again than let him take one of these girls, and she tried to convey every bit of that in the glare she shot at him. He seemed to enjoy it, a low laugh rattling in her head and filling her chest.
Relax, Little Bird. I only came for some rousing gossip.
Diana took a delicate bite of scone, unaware of the monster pretending to sip steaming shadow tea beside her. One touch, just a graze of his shadows, and these girls would be dead. Signa’s throat was too tight to swallow the hunk of scone that had lodged in her throat. She choked on it, grabbing for her tea and sucking down half the cup in one go.
Although Charlotte made a point of not staring, Diana laughed. “Good God, don’t tell me you’re not fed here? You eat as though you’ve not seen food all week. And those collarbones of yours… So very sharp.”
Signa’s shoulders wilted. She knew better, certainly. Knew to take her time, to take small bites, to pretend she didn’t find the food delicious and that she felt no desperate call to devour it all, and instead pretend she was delicate and barely knew the meaning of food.