While Mott secured Charlotte’s luggage to the top of the carriage, Charlotte said her good-byes to Bernadine. Livia wasn’t sure whether she would have taken the trouble: All Bernadine ever did was spin things, spools on a wire, wooden gears, paper windmills. She never spoke to anyone and Livia sometimes wondered if she could distinguish members of her family from strangers on the street.
She watched Charlotte with Bernadine, but for only a moment. It always made her both dejected and angry—at God himself, perhaps—to see the futility of anyone trying to interact with Bernadine. Charlotte was less bothered by Bernadine’s condition and spoke to her softly and calmly, an adult to another adult.
Livia waited in the passage until Charlotte was done. Then she accompanied her sister to the carriage—and climbed in first. “If you think I’ll limit myself to saying good-bye here—”
“I never thought that.”
During the ride Charlotte told Livia about the registries and societies that helped women find employment, lodging, and companionship, which was somewhat heartening—Livia had no idea there were so many resources available. But all too soon they came to a stop before the hotel where Charlotte would spend the night.
Panic assailed Livia. She gripped Charlotte’s wrists. “Are you sure, Charlotte? Are you sure you can do this?”
Charlotte nodded. In the light from the carriage lanterns, she seemed to be made of granite, all cool, solid strength.
Livia pressed a small pouch into her hand. “Take this.”
In the pouch were a crumpled pound note, several shillings, and three pairs of gold earrings. “This is all the money I brought with me to London. I have more in my bank account. If you’re in trouble, let me know. I’ll funnel you funds.”
Charlotte blinked several times in rapid succession—and looked as if she wanted to say something. But in the end she only embraced Livia. “I’ll be absolutely fine. You’ll see.”
So rushed, their good-byes. So complete, the silence and emptiness of the carriage. Livia stared at the sidewalks, crowded with wide-eyed tourists and insouciant young men in evening attire, strolling toward their next venue of diversion.
Her mind was sinking into a dark place. Sister, companion, refuge, hope—Charlotte was everything Livia had in life. Now she was gone, and Livia had nothing.
Nothing at all.
The carriage took a turn—a few more minutes and she would be back at the house her parents had hired for the Season, where there would be more silence and greater emptiness.
She would be alone. She would be alone for the rest of eternity.
Before she knew it, she’d yanked hard on the bell pull.
“Yes, miss?” came Mott’s voice through the speaking slot.
“I’m not going home,” she said. “I have a different destination in mind.”
Five
The pain behind Livia’s forehead corroded the backs of her eyes. Her tongue felt as if she’d used it to clean the grate. And when she tried to move, it became clear that a maniacal sprite was drilling holes into her temples.
It was morning and she’d spent the night in the guest room—in order to be able to lie more convincingly about not knowing when Charlotte had escaped.
She kept dreaming of Charlotte’s sweet, sad face. And for some reason, Charlotte’s features insisted on turning into Lady Shrewsbury’s, all pinched lips and jutting cheekbones. Livia had screamed at the hateful woman for ruining Charlotte’s life.
For ruining all their lives.
Groaning, Livia staggered out of bed: She needed to go down and delay her parents’ discovery of Charlotte’s absence for as long as possible.
She barely made it to the top of the stairs when Lady Holmes stomped up, a wild expression on her face. “You will never guess what happened!”
Her voice scratched across Livia’s skull. A wave of nausea pounded her. “Wh—what happened?”
Had Lady Holmes already found out that Charlotte was gone?
“Lady Shrewsbury is dead.”
Livia braced a hand on the newel post, her incredulity shot through with an incipient dread. “How can that be?”
“They found her expired early this morning. The doctor’s already been and declared it an aneurysm of the brain. But I think it’s divine justice. The way she came and shoved all the blame on us, when it was her own son who was the cad and the bounder? She deserved it.”
Livia shuddered at her mother’s callousness. “I don’t believe the Almighty strikes anyone dead solely for being petty, or even hypocritical.”