Sisters' Fate

I take a deep breath and speak before he can. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything weeks ago. You really—Finn, you ought to find some nice, ordinary girl and marry her. Your mother said as much tonight.”

Finn hesitates, his brown eyes inscrutable behind his glasses. “Is that what you want?”

I let out a miserable little laugh. “Of course not. But it’s what I should want. For your sake.”

“But I don’t think that’s what I want, either.” He takes my hand—right there on the steps, right where anyone could see us. “I think I might want a girl who’s rather more extraordinary. A girl who would risk her own life to help people and to right wrongs—a girl with a scandalous aptitude for magic and nursing—and kissing.”

I blush at the way his voice dips, a little rough, on kissing. “You mustn’t romanticize—”

“Shhh.” Finn puts his leather-clad finger over my mouth before I can recite my failings. “There’s so much I don’t remember, Cate. I don’t feel the way you do—not yet—but give me time to catch up?”

“All the time you need,” I promise. My heart feels like a balloon, soaring into the sky, ready to burst from happiness. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. No more secrets.”

“I’ll take you up on that. Not now, though. It’s freezing out here.” He trails a finger over my cheek and gives a wicked grin when I shiver, as though he knows it’s from his touch and not the cold. “I do remember some things, you know. Like last Christmas?”

“Last Christmas?” I echo, confused. We barely knew each other then.

“You came to the shop to buy a book for Tess. I picked out the Ramayana for you. It was the first time I noticed you. The first time I thought about kissing you.” Finn’s eyes dart down to my mouth. “I know the other night wasn’t our real first kiss, but I’ve got to say—it more than lived up to my expectations.” He looks across the silent street before leaning down and brushing his lips over mine, butterfly-quick. “Merry Christmas, Cate.”

It is the best Christmas present I could have wished for.

“Merry Christmas, Finn.”

• • •

Back at the convent, I’m surprised to find light and noise spilling out of the front parlor. The private sitting room is where girls usually gather; it’s far more comfortable in there. “Cate! Come join us!” Rory hollers.

“Rum punch?” Prue offers, leaning unsteadily out the door.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I hang up my cloak. “I thought you’d be with your brother.”

Prue frowns and takes a swig from her glass. “Alistair refused to let me spend Christmas with him. Said it was too dangerous. He still blames himself that I was stuck in Harwood. Stupid patronizing creature.”

A tiny white kitten comes barreling out of the room, slides across the wooden floor, and plows into the wall. It shakes its tiny, furry head and sits there, looking perplexed. Vi comes chasing after it. “Cate, Tess, look what Papa gave me!” She scoops up the kitten and cuddles it to her bosom, beaming. “There are two. I’ve named this one Noelle, and her brother Nicholas, on account of being Christmas kittens. Come see!”

We follow her into the parlor, where Grace is knitting in the silk chair by the fire, her needles flashing. Lucy and Bekah are playing with the other kitten and a pink hair ribbon. There’s a pewter punch bowl on the tea table, half full of some sweet-smelling concoction. Rory hands me a glass.

“What are you doing in here?” I wonder, joining Sachi on the settee.

“I couldn’t stomach watching your sister lord it over everyone for another minute.” Sachi rolls her dark eyes. “Something’s put her in a good mood.”

“I can’t imagine what.” And although I tell myself it’s Christmas and I don’t want Maura miserable, the truth is I hoped she’d be lonely without us. I take a sip of the punch, which tastes of oranges and sugar with a kick of something stronger.

“Elena and some of the other governesses are drinking mulled wine and singing carols in the library, so we decided to make this our headquarters.” Prue flings out her arm, sloshing punch onto the brown carpet. “Livvy plays beautifully, but if I hear one more badly tuned Christmas carol, I’ll scream. I’m not feeling very merry.”

“She’s a bit foxed,” Rory whispers loudly. “Put out at her brother for babying her.”

“Well, that’s Alistair for you,” I admit. Now is obviously not the time to tell Prue that her brother is planning some sort of scheme for tomorrow.

“Oh, and Alice sent a message. Her father’s taken sick, so she’s going to stay with him tonight.” Sachi traces the flowers etched into her glass. “The fever must be spreading like the dickens if it’s reached a wealthy neighborhood like Cardiff.”

“The convent felt so empty this morning.” Most of the girls who could afford it went home. Mei is spending the day across town with her aunt and little sisters. Pearl and Addie took the train to Addie’s family’s dairy farm in Pennsylvania, and Rilla left this morning for Vermont. She interviewed Livvy and Caroline about their time at Harwood before she went—and gave me strict instructions to watch while Merriweather read her article.

I watch as Tess strokes the second kitten’s wriggling back. Nearby, Prue stretches out on the carpet. I wonder where her brother is tonight. He must be missing her. For all that he is a conceited, condescending fop, Merriweather’s heart is in the right place. He loves his sister; he wants to protect her. I can understand that.

“Jennie Sauter and one of the other new girls ran off,” Rory says. One of the kittens makes a mad dash out into the hall, and Lucy and Tess scramble after it.

“Why?” I ask, taking another sip of the punch. “Jennie didn’t seem unhappy here.”

“Maybe they were homesick.” Rory shrugs. “It is Christmas. If you’ve got anywhere else to be—well, you’d want to be there, wouldn’t you?” Her brown eyes are sad. Is she thinking of her drunk of a mother—or remembering her dead stepfather, who was by all accounts a kind man? She glances down at the empty serving tray. “I’m going to fetch more gingerbread.”

I look to Sachi, wondering if she’s missing her parents, too.

“How are you managing?” she asks me, smoothing her frock—a bright fuchsia with turquoise polka dots. “You must be missing Finn.”

“Actually . . .” I launch into the story of our reconciliation. I’m at the bit about him needing more time when Lucy comes running pell-mell into the room.

“Cate! Come quick. It’s Tess!”

I dart down the hall, the others scrambling after me, to find Tess crumpled on the first-floor landing in a heap of green brocade and blond curls. “What is it? What happened?”

She isn’t crying this time, but her face has gone pale as milk and she’s shaking like a leaf. “The—the kitten,” she says, pointing at the limp little body lying at the foot of the stairs.

Vi falls to her knees, scooping it up in her hands. But it doesn’t wriggle or meow or lick her with its sandpapery tongue. It doesn’t do anything. My heart sinks.