Sisters' Fate
Page 50So canny. She’s like Elena, always planning. I’m grateful for it now. “Hurry! The entire convent—”
“The Sisters have contingencies for this sort of thing. Don’t follow me, Cate. You’ll only wind up getting yourself or someone else killed. Do you understand?” She stares at me until I nod, and then she transforms herself into a pretty brunette and swirls out the door.
I struggle to my feet, turning to Prue. “I’m sorry. What happened at the cathedral—”
“You got me out of there. That’s all that matters.” Prue smiles. “There’s a note on the front door that the shop’s closed for Christmas. O’Neill’s gone to his daughter’s. I’d like to let Alistair know where I’ll be, but I don’t suppose I should leave that information lying around.”
“I can write a note in—” Code, I mean to say, but my mind catches up to the phrase his daughter. “My father! Prue, my father’s here in New London. The Brothers will go after him next. I’ve got to warn him!”
Grisly images of Father being tortured fill my mind. Prue hops down off the cabinet. “How long will it take for your magic to come back?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”
• • •
I pound on the door of Father’s flat, praying that I’m not too late. It took an hour—sixty torturous minutes—for my magic to return. What if the Brothers have already sent soldiers for him? What if they’re waiting for us? What if they’ve already beaten him and dragged him off to their prison in the basement of the council building? What if—what if—what if? Doubts pulse through me in time with the hammering of my fist.
Prue catches my arm. “Stop,” she hisses. “You’re going to roust all the neighbors.”
Guilt stabs through me at his smile. “Not Maura,” I say, dropping both illusions as we push past him. “And not Tess. This is Prudencia Merriweather, Alistair’s sister. We’re—we’re in trouble.”
“Well, you can stay here for as long as you need,” Father says. The three of us stand crowded in the tiny entryway. Two cloaks hang on the pegs just inside the door. A pair of leather gloves lie on the hall table where he dropped them—likely when he came in from church. I’m so grateful we caught him at home.
“I can’t. Neither can you. You have to leave. But you can’t—” I catch both of his hands in mine and squeeze them. Father’s hands are soft, a gentleman’s hands, unused to hard labor or even the reins of a horse. “You can’t go back to Chatham. They’ll look for you there. They might arrest you—hurt you—to draw me out.”
“The Brothers?” Father asks, and I nod. His grip tightens. “Where are your sisters?”
“They’re still at the convent. I sent someone to fetch them—someone I trust.” I run a hand over my windblown hair. It’s strange to refer to Alice as such, but she’s proved herself worthy of it. “You’ve got to go, Father. They could come for you any minute now.”
Father takes the steps two at a time. “Tell me what happened while I pack a few things.”
I follow him, and Prue scurries after both of us, right into his bedroom. He pulls his valise from beneath the bed and begins stuffing things into it—books from his bedside table, a daguerreotype of Mother when she was my age. Prue goes to his armoire and begins to take out shirts and vests, tossing them on the bed. She’s dead helpful in a crisis, I’m learning. I just pace.
“I was supposed to be glamouring Prue at church, but I lost focus. Someone recognized her and the guards tried to arrest her. They would have hanged her, Father. They started questioning me, and I—I lost my temper and—” I take a deep breath. “I smashed all the windows in the cathedral.”
“Richmond Cathedral?” Father pauses with his hands full of crisply ironed shirts.
“O’Shea recognized me. We’ve met before—at the convent, when he came to speak to the headmistress. He’ll come looking for me. Not just for what I did today, embarrassing him like that, but because of the prophecy. When he finds out I have two sisters—” I break off as the tide of worry threatens to pull me under. “We’ve got to go into hiding, all of us.”
“You’re the oracle, then?” Father asks.
“Tess,” I explain. “Wait. How did you know about the prophecy?”
“I haven’t been living in a cave.” But Father gives me a sheepish look as he snatches pants and unmentionables from his dresser. “I talked to Marianne after you left last night.”
Marianne! Oh, Lord, is there no end to the lives I can ruin? “She should go back to Chatham straightaway. I don’t want her and Clara coming to any harm.”
“I’ll stop and warn her.” Father puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s strange to realize that he is only a few inches taller than I am. I suppose I still think of him as the towering giant he seemed when I was a child. “What about you? If the Brothers could be here any minute, you ought to be on your way. Surely you’re in more danger than anyone else.”
I exchange a quick look with Prue. “I’ll see you safely out.” I’ll be damned if I let the Brothers imprison him without a fight.
Father zips the valise and strides into the parlor. “Let me fetch money from the safe and we’ll be on our way.”
I bite my lip. “Where will you go?”
I gulp, imagining Father in a tawdry inn populated by—who? Pickpockets and prostitutes? I’ve never seen either, though I’ve heard tales. I’m more concerned about sickness. “Be careful. The fever—”
“I’ll send word for you if I take sick.” He shoves a sheaf of documents into his bag along with the money pouch. Then he turns to me. “I don’t want you checking up on me. It’s not a fit place for a young lady.”
A young lady! I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Prue recites Alice’s address for him as we clamor back down the stairs. “That’s where we’ll be for the time being.”
“Cardiff, eh? And if I see Finn whilst I’m telling Marianne the news, should I pass that along?” Father pulls on his gray cloak. “He’ll be worried.”
I blush. What, precisely, did Marianne tell Father? “I don’t want him involved in any of this.”