Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(47)
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.