The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(48)

“There,” she finally said. “Now we get to the fun bit.” She picked up the green tentacles and poked them back into the soil. “First there was one cactus, now there are seven, eight…” She took the last piece and stuck it into the pot that she’d filled. “Nine.”

“What? That’s it? No water, no special potions?”

“It’ll take a few months for them to take root,” the woman replied. “Water them only when the sand is dry. But yes, as I said. The cactus is a hard plant to kill.” She handed the pot to Jane. “Here. For you.”

“Oh my goodness,” Jane said in surprise. “Can you do that? Just give me a cactus like that?” She frowned and looked at the woman. “Wait. You’re only a volunteer. You can’t.”

“If you walk out the doors with it, you’ll own it nonetheless,” the woman replied. “I had not thought that the intrepid Miss Jane Fairfield would balk at a little thing like ownership.”

“How did you know my name?”

“I’m Violet Waterfield. The Countess of Cambury.” She looked expectant.

Jane blinked at her. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

She seemed nonplussed. “You don’t know who I am? Oliver always does forget the honorary members.” She held up her left hand in her glove. “Brothers Sinister? Oliver, Sebastian, Robert?”

“Oliver. Do you mean—”

“Of course I mean Oliver Marshall,” the woman said.

“How did you know—”

The countess smiled mysteriously. “I know everything. That’s my duty in our little group.”

“I see,” Jane said puzzled. “What a lovely vocation.”

“Vocation?” Another huff. “Of course not.” There was a particularly self-satisfied smile on her face as she spoke. “I volunteer.”

Chapter Ten

Jane’s mind was still whirling when she entered her sister’s room late that night.

For years, Emily had been her only confidante, the one she told all her troubles. Now, over the course of the past few days, Jane had gathered a host of secrets she couldn’t tell her sister.

There’s this man. He was thinking about humiliating me, but never mind that—let me tell you about the Johnson twins.

Did you know that Bradenton has put a bounty on my head? Apparently, I’m worth an entire vote in Parliament. Or the destruction of a cactus. I’m not sure which one honors me more.

Do you think Mr. Marshall likes me? I have no notion what to think of him.

But that was a lie, too. She knew exactly what she thought of him.

While she was gathering her thoughts, her sister spoke instead. “Did you know that there are people who don’t drink alcohol?”

Jane put her head to her side. “I’d heard.” In Cambridge, surrounded by young men, she’d mostly heard those people mocked. “Is it the Quakers who don’t believe in imbibing or the Methodists? I never can remember.” She glanced over at her sister, who was watching her intently. “Why?”

“I read about it.” There was a faint flush on Emily’s cheeks, though, one that suggested that it was more than a matter for idle speculation. “There are…other sorts, aren’t there, though?”

“Hmm. I hardly go around asking.”

“Of course.” Her sister looked down, fingering the fabric of her night rail.

Jane was trying to formulate what she might say to her sister. If she started telling the story, she could hardly withhold a piece. And now she had other people’s secrets to keep. She couldn’t tell her sister what Genevieve had said. That wasn’t her secret to disclose. Jane had argued with Emily before, but she’d never had secrets from her.

“You’re pensive,” Emily said. “What on earth has happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Jane lied.

Emily looked at her. She looked across the room at the new cactus plant on Jane’s chest of drawers and raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said. “I see. And here I thought I was the one that nothing happened to.”

Jane winced. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“Don’t humor me,” Emily snapped. There was nothing to say to that—nothing that wouldn’t make it worse at any rate—so Jane held her tongue.

Emily finally spoke again. “Did you know there are people who don’t eat meat?”

It was apparently a night for odd questions. “I knew a man who didn’t like the taste of ham.”

“Not just ham. All meat.” For some reason, Emily wasn’t looking her in the eye, and Jane had a sudden suspicion.

“Emily,” she said softly, “do these people who don’t eat meat or drink liquor have names, by any chance?”

Her sister shrugged insouciantly. “Of course not. Or at least they don’t have names that I would know. How would I?”

If Jane hadn’t known what an excellent liar her sister was, she would have thought nothing amiss. But Jane knew Emily far too well. And so she stopped and studied her, and realized that something was different.

Emily wasn’t fidgeting. No little bounces on the edge of the bed. No jigglings of her leg. She only drew idly on the coverlet with her finger.

Before they’d come to Titus’s, she could have mapped her sister’s activities during the day by her fidgets at night. Had she run outside for two hours? She could sit calmly and orderly by bedtime. Had it rained, keeping her indoors? She’d not be able to sit still, jumping up and moving around.