A minute passed.
Then another.
And another.
And still she did not come.
I sat in the booth, unable to leave, unable to stop my short grasping gasps for air.
What had I done?
I’d wanted her to see me as I truly was now. Her sister, grown up and ready for the responsibilities of adulthood. Ready to fly from the nest. Ready to make decisions for myself. I wasn’t a little girl any longer.
I hadn’t guessed she’d react like that.
Against all odds, my stomach let out a loud gurgle. I dared to look over at the customers. A few people quickly glanced away—they had been staring—but some offered sympathetic smiles.
Another barmaid, different from the woman who had served us, came over, her steps tentative as if she wasn’t sure her presence would be welcomed. Her skin was a dark copper and her black hair was cut short beneath her mob cap.
“Are you unwell, Miss Thaumas?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine. Just fine,” I said, trying to believe it was true. Every minute that passed without Camille’s return increased the dread building in my chest.
“You’re crying,” she observed, and pushed Camille’s unused napkin toward me.
I snatched it up, patting at my eyes. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
“Sisters can be difficult, can’t they?” she guessed, her eyes darting toward the door as though Camille had suddenly stormed back in.
She hadn’t.
“They can be,” I agreed.
“I have three,” she said, ducking into the booth, sitting in Camille’s spot. “All older. It’s hard being the baby of the family.”
“It really is.” Despite my misery, I smiled at her. “I’m Verity.”
She took my extended hand, shaking it with her cold, calloused ones. “Miriam.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miriam. Thank you for coming over. I…I’m not exactly sure what I ought to be doing and everyone was staring so.”
“Not everyone,” she said, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “There’s that gentleman over there, seated with the lady in green. She’s been giving him an earful about some new hat she saw in the shops and I don’t think he even heard your sister leave.”
A bit of laughter burst from me. “Well, that’s very good to know. And here I was, worried we’d caused a scandal.”
“Oh no, miss,” she said, her face drawn with mock gravity. “If you want to know a true scandal, look at that couple sitting over there—the man who has the big gold ring…and the lady whose fingers are decidedly bare.”
I studied the pair she spoke of. They were leaning in toward each other, whispering and looking as if they were the only two people left in the world. “What’s so shocking about that?”
Miriam’s blue eyes twinkled; her smile was sly. “See that woman over near the bar, in the purple dress?”
I spotted her, studying the couple with barely concealed wrath. I ate more of the chowder, expecting something to happen.
“That’s the gentleman’s sister-in-law. He’s not yet spotted her, but it’s obvious she has him.”
“Scandal indeed.”
“Feeling better?” she asked, gesturing to the half-empty bowl.
“I am,” I admitted. “I still don’t know what to do, but—”
“Verity.”
I jumped, startled by Camille’s voice. I hadn’t noticed her return or approach, and judging from the color leaving Miriam’s face, neither had she.
“You’re back,” I said.
“Yes, well…Roland has the boat loaded. We ought to be getting home.”
“Don’t you want to finish lunch? Perhaps we could talk about—”
“We need to leave.”
“Camille, this is Miriam,” I said, feeling terrible my sister had not even bothered to acknowledge the girl in front of us. “We were just talking.”
Camille’s gaze drifted over her, never settling upon her face. An angry red crept out of the ruffles of her collar, staining her neck like a bloody handprint. “The tide waits for no one,” she said, her eyes fixed above Miriam’s head. Without a goodbye, she turned on her heel and was out the door, never once looking back to see if I followed her.
Later that night, I tapped on the door of Camille’s parlor.
“Come in,” she bid, her voice light and welcoming. I feared she thought me William or one of the children.
Entering, I spotted her seated before her vanity, removing the day’s finery. I watched her face sour in the mirror’s reflection and knew I’d been right.
I turned, glancing out the windows at the setting sun as it painted the world crimson. Camille and William’s suite of rooms took up nearly all the fourth floor of the west wing and offered the most spectacular views. I could even see the flash of light from Old Maude tonight and wished I could somehow will myself back to those golden childhood days on Hesperus.
“Dinner was lovely,” I started, trying to mend this horribly broken fence with the empty compliments Camille usually drank up like water.
“You didn’t take a bite of it.”
I knew she’d been watching me over the rim of her goblet, assessing my every action.
She tilted her head and plucked off a fat teardrop pearl earring, then placed it in a silver dish.
“Camille…can we talk about this afternoon? Please?”
She removed the other pearl and rubbed her earlobes, massaging them. “I don’t see the point, but you do seem determined to have your way in all things today, so fine. Let’s talk about it. Let’s talk well into the night, till we’re both hoarse and exhausted. I have a council meeting at seven on Vasa tomorrow, but I’m certain the men will understand if I’m not at my best. I’ll just tell them Verity wanted to talk.”
“Camille…”
She spun around on the little tufted stool, her eyes sharp and fierce. “What?”
Faced with her wall of fury, my resolve crumbled away. I felt as though I were standing on the cliffs outside Highmoor. One wrong step and I would fall over the edge, careening toward my end.
Eulalie’s painted smile flashed in my mind and I winced.
“I didn’t…I didn’t mean for it to go the way it did.”
“A small reassurance,” she said, turning back to the mirror. She took off her necklace, laying it out on a dazzling midnight-blue cloth. As she folded up the little square of velvet, I noticed her cuticles had been picked raw.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wanting to take a step toward her, wanting to kneel next to her like I would have when I was younger, pressing my forehead against her side. She would have reached out to comfort me then. She’d have rubbed small circles between my shoulder blades, placed a kiss on the top of my head.
“For what?”
Her words stung like acid and I pushed away the thoughts of what she used to do. There would be no such comfort today.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t want you angry.”
She sniffed. “Well, you’ve failed spectacularly at that.”
I swayed back and forth, uncertain of what to do. It was clear she wasn’t in the mood to talk—this conversation would go nowhere—but I also knew if I were to turn tail and retreat, the incident would fester between us, growing and spreading like the black rot of a gangrenous limb.