Yes. Their rooms were called cells. It was the reason Celine had stitched a cheeky set of letters into the edging of each handkerchief she’d fashioned.
GTTAN
A nod to her favorite Shakespearean tragedy, Hamlet.
“Get thee to a nunnery.”
Celine studied the five letters of script hidden in the complicated swirls of lace, a flicker of joy warming through her. Then she glanced across the rickety wooden table, her heart growing heavier with each passing second.
Was this all she could expect of life?
Her features hardened. Celine sat up straight, the whalebone of her corset catching her breath as it stretched across her chest. She should be grateful to be here. Grateful to have a place among decent people. Grateful for another chance at life.
Determination took root inside her. She smiled brightly to a potential patron, who failed to acknowledge her presence. Celine swallowed her looming scowl before shifting her attention to a pair of young women critiquing the glazing on a porcelain cup Pippa had completed days earlier.
“Lovely, don’t you think?” the girl on the left murmured to her friend.
The other girl glanced about distractedly. “It’s not bad, if you favor that sort of thing,” she drawled, tucking a strand of wayward brown hair beneath her straw hat. Her voice faded to a hush. “But did you hear what the dockworkers discovered at the pier yesterday morning?”
The first girl nodded once. “Richard told me. Her name was Nathalie or Noémie something-or-other.” Unease marred her expression. “He suspects the Court might be responsible, since it happened near their domain.”
Court? Celine wondered. As far as she knew, there had never been an American monarchy.
“Like an animal had mauled her!” The brunette shuddered. “Poor soul,” she tsked, though her eyes gleamed with unspoken thoughts, “left to rot in the sun alongside the day’s catch. If the Court had anything to do with it, they’ve become even more ruthless than before. Not that it matters. They’ll curry the right favor, as they always do.”
Despite Celine’s better judgment, her interest was piqued. She craned her neck toward the pair.
The brunette continued, her words breathless. “Did Richard tell you what happened to her head?”
“N-no.”
“I heard it was completely severed from the poor young woman’s body.”
The first girl gasped, a lace-gloved hand covering her mouth. “Dear Lord.”
With a solemn nod, the brunette picked up one of Celine’s embroidered handkerchiefs. “Her face was all but unrecognizable. Her father had to identify her based on her earbobs alone.”
At this, Pippa cleared her throat in an unmistakable attempt to dissuade the two women from continuing such salacious talk. A frown cut across Anabel’s face, her look turning peevish.
“Ladies, can we be of any assistance?” Celine offered the pair of young patrons a pointed smile.
The brunette’s eyes narrowed as she dropped the handkerchief with a careless flick of her wrist. “No, thank you.” She reached for her friend’s elbow, looping her arm around it, directing them away from the rickety table.
Once they were beyond earshot, Anabel harrumphed. “Gossiping about a murder in the shadow of a church . . .” she muttered. “Dinna they ken better than to provoke the spirits in such a brash manner?” Her Scottish brogue deepened with her disdain, her fingers batting away a fat honeybee buzzing about her brow.
Pippa sighed, then caught Anabel’s hand, preventing her from swatting at the hovering insect. “That poor girl.” She sat up straighter, her petite features gathering. “I hope her suffering wasn’t prolonged. Who could do such a thing?” Lines formed between her brows. “What kind of monster could take a human life like that?”
Anabel nodded crisply. “I hope the fiend responsible burns in Hell for all eternity. ’Tis the only justice for a murderer.”
A hint of color threatened to creep up Celine’s neck. She rolled her shoulders back, calming the storm in her chest. A bead of sweat collected in the hollow of her throat before sliding between her caged breasts. “I completely agree,” she said lamely. The words felt ashen on her tongue. Celine twined her fingers together, praying for an end to the discussion.
Thankfully, it appeared both Pippa and Anabel were in agreement. The trio recommenced their efforts to raise money for the church with renewed vigor, standing in tandem to greet another group of potential patrons.
Most of the passersby paused to consider the jars of mayhaw jelly and lemon pear marmalade the girls stationed in the kitchen had finished preparing yesterday. Not a soul cared to while away a moment perusing the painted cups or the elegantly folded handkerchiefs.
Gloom took refuge on Celine’s shoulders, like a beast settling in the shadows. She glanced about, searching for a source of comfort. At least none of the people assembling before them mentioned the ghastly murder that had occurred within sighting distance of Jackson Square.
Celine supposed that reprieve—at the very least—was something for which to be grateful.
* * *
After three hours of little success, Celine’s gloom had become a thing with teeth. Rays of sunlight continued to slide ever closer, the heat growing oppressive, making her long for the comfort of nightfall. Even the branches above felt burdened by the weight of the sultry air, their blossoms like eyelids, growing heavier and sleepier with each passing moment. Pippa’s blond curls began to frame her face like a damp halo. Anabel tightened the yellow ribbon about her brow and sighed loudly. It appeared her patience had run thin as well.
The slender Scotswoman twisted an auburn curl around her index finger and yanked it straight, her freckled nose wrinkling. “Och, it’s as hot as a witch’s cauldron. And just how are we to meet any eligible young men when all our days are spent raising money and all our nights are spent in prayer?”
There were many things Celine wished to say in response. She chose the least offensive option. “Perhaps it would be better if our nights were spent raising money instead.” Her cheerful sarcasm failed to strike a chord with Anabel. The redhead stared at her with a confused expression.
But Pippa could always be counted on to understand her friend’s dark sense of humor. She shot Celine a look, her lips twitching. Then she turned her graceful head back toward Anabel. “Maybe finding a husband shouldn’t be our only concern?”
“Aye, it shouldna, but I’ll tell ye, a sturdy young man would be a nice distraction from all this humdrum.”
“Or he could make it worse.” Pippa adjusted the slender chain of the golden cross around her neck. “In my experience, sturdy young men don’t always improve upon the company.”