Chapter 6
Six
“What a lovely coincidence seeing you here, Madame Seraphina!” the Duchess of Grantley exclaimed. “Won’t you join us for tea?”
Although it had been surveillance, not coincidence, that brought Finn to Chuddums’s popular tearoom, she responded with a serene smile.
The Hawks had ascertained that the Harrington ladies took tea at the Leaning House on Tuesday afternoons, and the owner, Mrs. Pettigrew, always saved them the best table by the bow window.
The trio looked like a summer bouquet in their bright, fashionable frocks and beamed at Finn as if she were a long-lost friend.
Their friendly reception relieved Finn. She’d been concerned that Owen might have disclosed their first meeting to his family to discredit her.
Obviously, she needn’t have worried. A gentleman did not admit to his female kin that he’d trawled for pleasure in the streets of London—and ended up drugged and relieved of his personal belongings.
Finn would use his reticence to her advantage.
“How kind of you to offer, my ladies,” she said smoothly. “But I would not wish to intrude.”
“We would enjoy your company,” the Countess of Manderly said.
“With your help, we may also sample a larger selection of Mrs. Pettigrew’s delicacies.” Xenia Harrington’s brown eyes radiated warmth. “You would be doing us a favor.”
“In that case.” Finn slid into the empty seat next to the duchess, brushing her onyx skirts into place. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Mrs. Pettigrew set another place, and Finn found herself sipping the tearoom’s signature robust Assam from a blue-and-white patterned cup.
Conversation was easy. The women asked how she’d become a medium and about her “family of assistants”; these were questions to which Finn had ready answers.
She said her calling had chosen her, not vice versa.
As for her assistants, they were a family, brought together not by blood but by a shared vision (this was true).
When the duchess commented that Tansy seemed “as sweet as a lamb,” Finn had to stifle a grin.
The lively repartee relaxed and bemused Finn.
These ladies were unusual for the upper crust; warm and affectionate, they invited her to abandon formalities.
By the time the food arrived—delicious sandwiches and baked goods assembled on mismatched platters—she and her companions were addressing one another by their given names.
“What do you think of our village, Seraphina?” Xenia tore a morsel from a fluffy currant bun, slathering it with butter.
First rule of the game: stick to the truth as much as possible.
“I think that it is full of possibility,” Finn replied.
“That was my reaction precisely.” Gigi’s violet eyes danced. “Chuddums captured my imagination from the moment I arrived. The village is full of magic—and secrets.”
Finn adopted an enigmatic tone. “The secrets were what drew me.”
She knew her ploy was successful when gazes widened around the table.
“Do these secrets have to do with Bloody Thom?” Gigi asked breathlessly.
“Bloody Thom is our local ghost,” Xenia said. “He was the original owner of Bottoms House and was mysteriously murdered there eighty-odd years ago. It is said that he cursed the village.”
Finn knew all about the legend. To supplement Nell’s eavesdropping, she’d done her own reconnaissance.
She’d even made the ultimate sacrifice—and allowed Wally to take her on a tour.
After listening to him drone on for hours, she knew more about Chuddums than any person in their right mind ought to know.
Yet she had to tread carefully and keep her story consistent with what she’d told Owen.
When it came to schemes, she had a motto: a lie reliably repeated is as good as the truth.
“As a seer, reliving the memories of those who have passed beyond the veil is not uncommon,” Finn said. “For some weeks now, I have been visited by a presence. A woman who goes by the name of”—she paused for effect—“Rose.”
The ladies gasped. Finn hid a smile.
Like taking sweets from a babe.
“Rose was the pet name of Thomas’s lover,” Xenia said in a hushed voice.
“And wife,” Evie added. “They married right before he passed.”
“The three of us have had visions of her as well,” Gigi blurted.
“More accurately, we’ve had visions as her.” Evie fiddled with her watercress sandwich before raising her earnest golden-brown eyes. “We’ve experienced her memories, you see. As if they were…well, our own.”
In Finn’s experience, high society ladies were impressionable.
She’d studied mesmerists, and the tricks she’d learned proved helpful for her séances.
Yet she was mildly surprised that the Harrington women, who seemed sensible and intelligent, would believe they were visited by a ghost. The same one, no less.
Perhaps a life of privilege and propriety made them crave the titillation of the supernatural.
As far as Finn was concerned, the more gullible these well-bred fillies were, the better.
“Rose has shared her past with me as well,” she said.
Her audience looked delighted.
“What has she shown you?” Gigi asked eagerly.
“When I commune with spirits, the images are like reflections in the water.” Finn kept her voice misty and vague. “They come in and out of focus…like ripples of consciousness.”
“That is odd.” Evie furrowed her brow. “I saw Rose’s memories quite clearly. Well, except for—”
For some reason, Gigi elbowed her, and she stopped mid-sentence.
“Some visions were clear,” Finn said hastily. “For instance, I had repeated dreams of walking along a path lined with oaks. Eventually, it led to a house…an old country manor with a gabled roof and stone walls. The place had three rows of sash windows—”
“Heavens,” Xenia squeaked. “You are describing Bottoms House to a T!”
“I see myself approaching this manor again and again.”
Finn went on as if she were caught in a memory. She fluttered her eyelids, then stared out the window without blinking her eyes (she’d practiced this until she could do it for two minutes straight). Smoothing her expression, she deepened her tone to a hypnotic register.
“I feel a longing to enter this place. To search for something…something I lost. Until I find it, I cannot rest in peace. I must go inside. But I cannot…unless I am invited.”
Gigi, Xenia, and Evie inhaled sharply.
“I’ve a treat for you, my ladies. Fresh from the oven!”
The cheerful voice broke the spell. Finn bit back a curse as Mrs. Pettigrew trundled toward their table.
The middle-aged matron’s cap sat askew atop her salt-and-pepper curls, and her gaze was bright with excitement.
She cradled a dish as if it were a newborn babe, holding a small pitcher in her other hand.
“At long last, I have made my great-grandmama’s recipe as she intended it to be made,” Mrs. Pettigrew announced.
Xenia’s gaze shot to the dish. “Heavens, is that—”
“It is indeed, my lady. Bloody Poor Knights of Windsor pudding, as conceived by my Great-Grandmama Esther. Now I may serve it with the original Chuddums cherry sauce—thanks to our very own Countess of Manderly, who revived the cherry crop.”
Evie blushed as Xenia and Gigi raised their teacups to toast her.
“This initial crop was small,” Evie said. “With any luck, the yield will increase over time as the Widow’s Moth population grows.”
Despite her annoyance, Finn had to ask. “What do moths have to do with cherries?”
“You’ve asked the right woman,” Xenia said. “Evie is writing a book on the subject.”
“I shall be happy to explain.” Evie peered at the offering Mrs. Pettigrew set on the table with a flourish. “But perhaps we ought to try this delectable pudding first?”
Mrs. Pettigrew served her creation, drizzling it with a deep red sauce from the pitcher.
Under the proprietress’s perusal, Finn sampled a forkful—and nearly moaned with pleasure.
The sweet dough was soft and custardy on the inside, with a crisp and caramelized exterior.
The textures and flavors were as comforting as a warm blanket in a cold orphanage.
The cherry sauce—tart, sweet, and enriched with butter and brandy—elevated the dish from tasty to sublime.
“Do you find it to your liking, Madame Seraphina?” Mrs. Pettigrew asked.
Finn had to restrain herself from gobbling up the rest of her pudding. In her present role, she had to maintain an air of mysticism, as if she were above earthly needs.
“Yes.” She inclined her head graciously. “Your great-grandmama would have been most proud that you resurrected her recipe.”
Mrs. Pettigrew gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Do you sense that? Is she…is Great-Grandmama Esther here?”
In for a penny.
“Without the proper preparation and equipment, I cannot say for certain. However”—Finn pressed her fingertips to her temple—“I do sense a feeling of…pride from beyond. A spiritual satisfaction in knowing that her legacy has been passed on to another who shares her talent and love for cookery.”
“My mama, God rest her soul, always said that I took after Great-Grandmama Esther.” Mrs. Pettigrew’s eyes grew moist behind her spectacles. “Now I know it is true. Thank you, Madame Seraphina. My thanks to all of you for making this possible.”
“Your delectable pudding is ample reward,” Xenia said warmly.
“I have an idea,” Gigi announced.
This was unsurprising. The duchess struck Finn as a woman who was full of ideas.
“You must enter your dish in the pudding contest at the fair next month,” Gigi said. “You’ll be sure to claim first prize.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Mrs. Pettigrew twisted her fingers in her apron. “My pudding is a treat, to be sure, but bakers will be coming from the surrounding parishes. Their entries will be more refined—”
“But not more delicious,” Xenia said. “What a splendid idea, Gigi.”
“Our husbands will be adjudicating the contest,” Gigi said. “And we shall be sure to cheer you on, Mrs. Pettigrew. Won’t we, Seraphina?”
Realizing that Gigi was addressing her, Finn blinked.
Why are these ladies so friendly?
Finn was not used to being welcomed. In the orphanage, she’d been shunned and alone until Iris showed up, and with the exception of the Hawks, she’d never felt a sense of belonging. The natural way these females included her made her feel…uneasy.
“If I am available,” she said vaguely. “A seer must go where she is called.”
After Mrs. Pettigrew departed, Gigi said, “I do hope you intend to stay awhile, Seraphina. You are just what Chuddums needs.”
“I am?”
“You said it yourself. You were summoned here.” Xenia lowered her voice. “I think it was Rose who called to you. I think she wants you to uncover a final secret at Bottoms House.”
My scheme is back on track.
Finn nodded sagely. “A séance at the manor might reveal the secrets Rose wishes to share.”
“And those secrets might lead to the breaking of the curse,” Gigi declared. “That must be why Rose led you to Chuddums—to us.”
“As the spirits instruct, so we should follow.” Finn smiled. “Shall I pay a visit to Bottoms House tomorrow?”
“Oh. Um.” Xenia bit her lip, exchanging looks with the others. “I may need to make some arrangements first—”
“What Xenia is trying to delicately convey is that we must first deal with my brother Owen.” Gigi sighed. “As you may have noticed, he is skeptical of spiritualism.”
Drat you, Owen Harrington, for foiling me again.
“In my experience, males can be rather closed-minded,” Finn said tightly.
“Owen isn’t closed-minded by nature.” The fierce way Gigi came to his defense spoke volumes about the strength of their familial bond. “In fact, he is the most adventurous and free-spirited of my brothers. Or at least he was until…until his time in the army.”
If Finn had antennae, they would have quivered.
This was the first she was hearing about Owen’s military background.
The Hawks had scoured the village for gossip about him but had netted surprisingly little.
They’d learned that he’d designed several local gardens and was making a name for himself as a landscape gardener.
He was also considered Chuddums’s most eligible bachelor.
A rumor was circulating that when he fell in love, he would break the so-called curse of Bloody Thom.
With his wild hair and turbulent eyes, Owen had struck Finn as an artistic sort. Or a rakehell. The revelation that he was an army man made her question her perception. It also aroused her curiosity—for purely professional reasons, of course.
“I didn’t realize Lord Owen had military experience,” she said.
“He is not fond of the topic, and we respect his wishes.”
Despite her natural effervescence, the duchess spoke sternly, reminding Finn that the Harringtons (like the Hawks) had a reputation for loyalty.
Gigi wasn’t going to disclose more about her brother’s past, which made Finn wonder why.
Had Owen seen battle? Even if he had, a toff like him probably had a lofty commission.
It was common knowledge that the family patriarch, the Marquess of Blackwood, was a war hero who’d helped defeat Boney.
As the son of a distinguished gentleman, Owen must have enjoyed a career path paved by nepotism and gold.
“We must speak to him before planning a séance,” Evie agreed.
Finn was not about to let another opportunity slip away.
“Perhaps Lord Owen would prefer a private audience with me.” Despite her racing heart, she managed to sound calm and assured. “This would allow him to experience my skills firsthand and ask any questions he might have. I have found that nothing reassures like the truth.”
Or lies cleverly disguised as such.
“That is kind of you to extend an invitation,” Xenia said. “We shall pass it on.”
“When you do.” Finn sipped her tea and strategized.
“Do convey to his lordship that I respect his doubt and hope he will extend me the courtesy of dispelling it. While the spiritual world may seem daunting and uncharted to the uninitiated, assure him that it offers rich and unexpected rewards—for those brave enough to explore beyond the veil.”
Owen wasn’t the only one who could issue a challenge. Being an excellent judge of character, Finn was confident that he would not be able to resist the gauntlet she’d thrown down.
“We will tell him,” Gigi promised.
Finn took another bite of pudding.
The game is not over yet, Owen Harrington.