Their comments pulled at Selina’s heartstrings. What she wouldn’t give to have felt that way, both when she’d lived in London with Rafe and after, when she’d gone to school. That these children were playing a part also tugged at her emotions—and not in a good way. She shoved the sensation away.
“Mr. Winter, what sorts of things do you need?”
“Clothing, books, money for food, and the other items I mentioned. Also for medicine. Mrs. Winter is now fetching a tonic, which is an extra expense.”
“And you manage all this yourself, all these children—how many are there again?” Rachel asked.
“Fourteen today,” Luther said. “The number varies. Some children don’t stay. They don’t believe they will be cared for here.” His tone was sad and appropriately heart wrenching.
“So they leave?” someone asked, sounding aghast. “How can we stop that?”
“I’m not sure.” Luther gave the woman a bright smile. “We do our best. Any funds you donate go entirely to the children. I work as a blacksmith. However, it’s becoming more difficult to maintain that work while I help Mrs. Winter care for the children. And we do hope to train them for domestic service.”
“You can’t keep working at the smithy,” Lady Aylesbury said. “We must start a subscription so you will have a steady income. Then you can focus your efforts entirely on the children. I wonder if we might take a tour of the home to see what we could do to improve your situation?”
“Yes, of course. I can answer any of your questions, as can Millie.” Luther gestured to the girl next to him. She was one of the oldest, maybe twelve.
Selina had said they didn’t want to accept a subscription—because this wasn’t real. But what if it was? What if she truly started a home for wayward children? The idea seeded in her mind.
Luther left the parlor, and most of the women filed out after him before the loud slam of a door crashed from the back of the house.
Selina hoped that was just one of the children. “Would you like me to check on that, Mr. Winter?”
“Yes, please,” he called from halfway up the stairs. The women following him continued on their way. However, the two that had not—Harry’s sisters, Rachel and Imogen—stayed behind with Selina.
“You go on ahead,” Selina urged. “I’ve seen the home before.”
“Are you sure you don’t need assistance?” Imogen asked.
“No, thank—”
Selina was interrupted by the arrival of Theresa, who’d swept in from the back of the house. Her dark hair was partially up, but lank strands hung around her face and neck. She looked pale except for the dark purple circles under her bloodshot eyes. “I forgot ’tis fancy lady day!”
She was still drunk. Blast it all! Selina rushed toward her, making sure to use the walking stick and maintain her slight hunch. “Mrs. Winter, my goodness, you look as if you’ve become ill yourself. Likely from tending to the sick child. Let me help you upstairs.”
“We can help her,” Rachel offered, coming toward them.
Theresa turned on Selina. “I don’t want your ’elp. Luther’s always going on ’bout you. ’Ow smart you are, ’ow pretty you are, ’ow—”
Selina took her walking stick and moved it atop Theresa’s foot, pressing gently—for now. “Mrs. Winter, you sound as if you’re feverish. Best to be quiet and go get some rest.”
Theresa glared at Selina. “I’m feverish, awright.” She lunged toward Selina, reaching for the veil.
Horrified, Selina reacted quickly—too quickly. She jerked back to avoid having the veil torn from her face, and in so doing, lost her balance. Rather than try to remain upright, she used her stick to take Theresa down with her.
Rolling so she was closer to Theresa, Selina whispered, “If you ruin this, you get nothing. Just go upstairs to your room and stay out of sight.”
Theresa’s eyes widened briefly. Then Imogen helped her up while Rachel crouched down beside Selina.
“Are you all right, Madame Sybila?” Rachel asked with concern.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Poor Mrs. Winter needs to lie down, I’m afraid. We should see her upstairs.”
“I can do that,” Imogen said.
As Rachel helped Selina to stand, Selina’s hat teetered. She felt her veil begin to shift. Moving more adroitly than she probably should have, Selina righted herself, then readjusted her hat to keep herself covered lest Rachel see beneath the veil. Though Selina wore cosmetics, she worried Rachel would still recognize her.
Rachel retrieved the walking stick and handed it to Selina. “You’re sure you’re all right? That was quite a fall.”
Selina had landed on her hip, and it did hurt. She prayed Harry’s sister hadn’t seen anything that would lead her to the truth. God, this was becoming completely untenable. “I’m fine, thank you.” She would be fine as soon as this bloody excursion was over. If she hadn’t already decided Madame Sybila needed to go, she would have done now.
The danger of Harry finding out she was the fortune-teller was too great. If Rachel told him what had just happened, he would surely investigate Theresa, Luther, and Sybila more intently than ever.
Hopefully, Beatrix would find success today, and they would be that much closer to having what they needed. Selina would do one more week as Madame Sybila and then be finished.
The rest of the visit transpired without further incident, and by the time the ladies left, Selina was in desperate need of a glass of whatever wine or alcohol Luther had in the house. “All I have is gin,” he said when she asked.
“Then gin it is.” Selina dashed upstairs to change out of her costume. When she returned to the sitting room at the back of the house, her disguise stashed in a portmanteau save the walking stick, which she’d left upstairs, Luther was there with two glasses of gin as well as the bottle.
He handed a glass to Selina as she set down the portmanteau and her bonnet, then tapped it with his. “To a successful afternoon.”
Selina let out a sharp laugh before taking a fortifying drink. She winced slightly, for she hadn’t drunk gin in some time. “I hope it was successful. Theresa almost bloody ruined everything.”
“I heard the commotion. What happened?”
“She came in drunk and blathering. She called you Luther and went on about—” Selina stopped herself. She didn’t want to tell him what Theresa had said and invite any discussion about how Luther might feel about her.
“I had to knock her down to shut her up.”
Luther chuckled. “Just as terrifying as you were when we were children.” His eyes glowed with admiration, making Selina uncomfortable. Yes, she’d had to exert her physical prowess in the past—she’d been taller than all the other girls, and it had helped—but she didn’t do that anymore. She hadn’t in a very long time.
“I’m not really,” Selina said, taking another sip of gin and then setting the glass down. She picked up her hat and veil from the chair where she’d placed them.
Luther touched her forearm. “I don’t care who you are—a fortune-teller, a Society lady, or the girl I’ve known nearly my whole life. I know you.”