Chapter 12 #3
She took a gulp of her ratafia to hide her nervousness.
‘Forgive me my insolence,’ the woman said.
There had, on occasion, been other people like this stranger—those who pitied Esther, who thought to befriend her as an act of charity. But there was nothing that Esther despised more than pity. ‘You are not forgiven,’ she said. ‘I was enjoying my solitude.’
‘I was surprised to see someone else willing to brave the storm, so I thought we should acquaint ourselves.’
‘And now we are acquainted; you may leave.’
The woman chuckled. ‘I don’t even know your name, my dear.’
Esther sighed. ‘Esther Harding.’
‘Esther,’ she echoed. She gave Esther a conspiratorial smile. ‘Named after a great beauty. How appropriate.’
She leaned over the table, took up Esther’s hand from her side, and brought it to her lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. Esther was so astonished by this she could do nothing but laugh, and she pulled sharply away. ‘Have we met before?’
‘Perhaps,’ the woman replied, with a flippant wave of her hand.
‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you at any events this Season,’ Esther said.
‘I was born on the Continent,’ she replied. That explained the accent. ‘Since I came to England, I haven’t taken much part in society. I find it distasteful.’
‘Distasteful?’
She gave an elegant shrug. ‘One English dance is much like any other dance, and one Englishman, much like any other man; I find myself quite exasperated by them all.’
There was an unmistakable significance to her tone. Esther felt herself beginning to flush, and she cleared her throat. ‘What was your name?’
The woman paused, considering. Her fingers drummed a rhythm against the table; the strike of her thumb coincided with another crash of thunder.
‘Miriam Richter,’ she said.
Esther swallowed, her stomach squirming. She had a sudden and inexplicable sense of danger.
‘Miss Richter,’ Esther said, ‘I am flattered by your interest. But there are many other ladies at this event, no doubt, who are far more fascinating than I am.’
Richter smiled at her. ‘I doubt that. You are a bloom among weeds, my dear. But tell me—why are you sitting in this storm, all alone? Where is your chaperone?’
‘I presume my brother is inside with everyone else.’
‘He is a fool to leave such a gem unguarded.’
‘Do I require guarding?’ she asked.
‘From whom?’
‘You,’ Esther said. ‘I don’t know what your intentions are.’
‘You needn’t be frightened of me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Esther replied. ‘Still, something about you is… strange.’
‘Oh?’
‘I…’ She paused to consider her explanation. Richter watched her with dark eyes half lidded, chin resting on the heel of her hand. Esther said, softly, ‘Have you ever had a dream so beautiful that when you woke, you wept?’
Richter’s smile widened. ‘Do I feel like a dream?’
‘No,’ Esther said. ‘You feel like the moment I wake up.’
The thunder rumbled once more.
Esther might have expected Richter to be offended by this comment, or else confused; but the other woman made no reaction except to cock her head and narrow her eyes, as if calculating something.
‘You are living with your cousin,’ Richter said. ‘Thomas Harding.’
‘So you do know who I am. If this is some sort of trick—’
‘Do you trust him?’ Richter interjected.
‘Pardon?’
‘Your cousin. Do you trust him?’
‘That is an impertinent question, don’t you think?’
‘So, you do not.’
Esther huffed. ‘Of course I trust him. He is family. He gave Isaac and me a home.’
‘Is it a home, my dear? Or simply another snare?’
‘What do you—who are you, really? What is this?’
Richter blinked at her, in a slow, deliberate manner, as if blinking wasn’t an unconscious movement for her, as if she had to decide to do it. Otherwise, she didn’t respond.
Esther stood from the table, suddenly disturbed. There seemed a new darkness to Richter’s expression that she hadn’t noticed before—a coiled-snake sort of impatience.
‘I should leave,’ Esther said. ‘All the other guests are inside.’
‘Ah. I have offended you.’
‘Yes, Miss Richter, you have.’
‘Call me Miriam,’ she said.
‘I will not call you Miriam,’ Esther replied, and then she heard a scream. She gasped and turned to look at the house behind them. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘I swear—a woman screaming. I thought…’
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Richter said. ‘I think you ought to sit down.’
‘But what about the fire?’
‘What fire?’
What fire? Esther had no idea. There was not a fire, and she didn’t know why she’d thought there was. A searing, migraine-like pain began to build behind her eyebrows, and she hissed, stooping over as she clung to the back of the chair.
Richter stood. ‘Are you well?’
‘My head hurts.’
Cold, strong hands took hold of Esther’s arms and guided her back down into the chair. ‘There, now,’ came a voice in her ear, ‘calm yourself. No memories, no fear. All is well.’
At these words, a curious numbness spread through Esther’s mind, dousing the heat of the migraine, leaving her feeling dozy and disoriented. She gripped the sides of the table—momentarily dizzy—and waited for the strange sensation to subside.
Esther had never had one of her episodes so effectively dispelled. When she looked back to Richter, she was sat opposite her, smiling genially, as if nothing odd had happened at all.
‘How did you do that?’ Esther asked.
‘Do what?’
‘Fix the… You helped me.’
‘A drop of magic, that is all,’ Miriam said. ‘To soothe an unsettled heart.’
Magic.
Esther regarded her warily. She was scared, but also delighted—she’d never met anyone who had a similar gift to hers. No wonder she’d felt such a curious sense of familiarity when they’d first met; like recognises like, after all. But still, without certainty…
‘Prove it,’ Esther said.
‘Prove what?’
‘You say you can use magic? Prove it.’
Richter sighed, as if she were placating a child.
Then she raised a languid arm, wrist limp.
A fork of lightning speared the sky and struck her open palm, pooling there in a twisting rope of light; it lasted only a moment before it was gone.
It left a sharp ozone scent and a crackling static in the air.
Esther could feel her hair lifting from her shoulders.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Esther said.
Miriam dropped her hand. ‘I am like you. Our power is the same.’
‘You knew what I was when you came to speak with me.’
‘Yes. I wanted to warn you.’
‘Warn me of what?’
‘He knows,’ Richter said. ‘Thomas. He knows of your curse, your power. He blames you for his every misfortune, and he intends to enact revenge.’
‘He blames me,’ Esther echoed, feeling the blood drain from her face.
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know about that? About Thomas?’
‘I… I cannot tell you.’
Esther spluttered. ‘Then why in God’s name should I believe you?’
Richter reached over the table and cupped Esther’s cheek.
Esther froze, a deer before the rifle, and their eyes met.
The other woman wore a strange expression: something between joy and concern.
Although her skin was cold, her touch had a curious warmth, and Esther could feel it radiating across her chin and down her neck.
‘Because,’ said Miriam, ‘no one else shall ever care about you as much as I do, darling. You could live a thousand years, a thousand lives, and no one will. I promise you that.’
Esther wanted to say something to deny her, but she couldn’t.
This woman was a stranger still, appearing as suddenly and as violently as the storm itself.
She was asking Esther to cast aside all of Thomas’s kindness, refuse herself the one refuge fate had offered her; and she couldn’t. Of course she couldn’t.
So why did she want to?
Esther felt her gaze drift to Richter’s lips.
She is handsome, she thought, so handsome for a woman, so striking in aspect, so strong of feature.
She found herself imagining what it would be like to touch the harsh line of the other woman’s jaw, to lean forward and taste those lips herself.
And then, quite unbidden, came a succession of images: a darkened room, a bed—her bed—sheets rumpled, twin bodies, a sharp-nailed hand pressing hollows into her thighs, fingers wound into red hair, a tongue tracing the jut of her hip.
Esther shuddered with the intensity of them, with the sudden ache she felt.
Richter’s eyes darkened. Another clap of thunder: with it howled the wind, streaming against Esther with such fury, it was an animal leaping at her, clawing at her face.
Her hair flew back, pins tearing away in pricks of fleeting pain.
Esther scrambled after them, tried to catch them in midair, but they were lost. She looked back to Richter, flushed, her hair falling in a wild tangle across her shoulders.
Richter did not seem to mind her sudden disarray. If anything, the desire in her eyes reflected Esther’s own.
‘I know what you are thinking of, my dear,’ she said. ‘I would be amenable, if you are.’
‘I—I wasn’t…’ Esther groaned. It hardly even felt worth denying. ‘Well—that’s not—if you know about the curse, then you shouldn’t wish to associate with me, regardless.’
‘I needn’t worry about that, my dear. I’m much too powerful for such a thing to affect me.’
Esther paused. ‘What? Is—is that really true?’
‘Naturally,’ Richter replied, tone placid.
Esther swallowed. The thought that there might be someone she could spend time with, without fear or guilt—she couldn’t even dare to consider it. If it proved untrue, it would crush her.
But hadn’t this woman held lightning in her palm? Hadn’t she soothed the terrors of Esther’s visions, and put her own visions in their place? That sort of power was beyond anything Esther had accomplished. It was the sort of power she’d never imagined. The sort that could break a curse.
‘I still believe you may be a lunatic,’ Esther said. ‘And I don’t believe you about Thomas.’
Richter’s mouth curled downward in displeasure. ‘I see.’
‘But… if you are willing to teach me how to use my magic, as you can use yours? If you can help me break my curse? Then I might give your warning more consideration.’
Esther had expected immediate agreement—Richter wanted her, after all; that had been made clear enough—but Richter hummed in thought, leaning back in her chair.
There was a new distance to her gaze, as if she were remembering something from very long ago; when they’d met, Esther had been certain they were the same age, but now there seemed something older about her, something almost weary.
I am like you.
Esther wondered if Richter was lonely, too.
‘You wish to break your curse,’ Richter said.
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’ Esther sighed, folding her hands in her lap.
It discomfited her to speak of it in public, even as isolated as they were, with all the Ton inside.
‘Call on me later, if you are willing to speak more on the matter. Explain what you know, and how you know it. Otherwise, I will consider our acquaintance at an end.’
Miriam held out a hand to her. ‘Tomorrow, then.’
Esther slowly, reluctantly, placed her hand in hers.
‘Tomorrow,’ she echoed, ignoring the instinct to pull away.