Page 41 of As Many Souls as Stars
They both accepted glasses of cherry-flavoured ratafia from a waiter and stood awkwardly by the veranda. Isaac said, ‘I still don’t know why you insist we come to these things.’
Events like this were Esther’s only real chance to see other people, cruel as they were, snide as they were. Besides—‘It is important for you to beseen, Isaac, if you’re to advance in society. If you could secure a position at a company, that would help. Perhaps you could even make a match.’
‘Shouldn’tyoube the one looking for a match?’
‘We both know there’s little chance of that, not after so many Seasons out.’ Taking a sip of the ratafia, Esther grimaced—it was far too sweet for her tastes; she should have expected as much—and then she disguised her disgust with a cough. ‘Go mingle. I will sit down.’
‘I could sit with you?’ he asked her, frowning in concern. ‘Aren’t I supposed to be your chaperone?’
‘It is fine. Enjoy yourself.’
She left him there before he could protest further, sitting at one of the tables set up by the fountain. She was immediately presented with a plate of finger sandwiches by an enterprising server. Esther tried to ignore the stares of the Ton, the muffled giggling of someof the children staring at her from the other side of the water. She watched as in the distance Isaac fell in with a group of other young men, who were swigging port and who welcomed him with friendly jeers. Despite his illegitimacy, he was well-liked by the more accepting members of the Ton for his perceptiveness, his confidence, his sharp wit.
Esther took a large bite of a sandwich—too large, crumbs falling from her lips, prompting giggles from a nearby young couple who had evidently been watching her. Cheeks burning, Esther put down the sandwich and busied herself with fraying the edge of the tablecloth, concentrating on the rasp of the fabric between her fingertips. She couldn’t get too upset, too nervous, or else she might lose control—making the shadows swarm around her. Recently, it had felt more and more difficult to prevent such accidents. It was as if part of her was rebelling against everything she had been working towards these past few years; as if it wanted her tousethe curse, release it, and watch with glee as it destroyed everyone around her.
There was a sudden clap of thunder. Esther flinched, then looked upwards. The shadow of a cloud suddenly passed over her, obscuring the sun. In a matter of moments, the entire sky had gone grey. The colour was so dark it was almost black, as if the blue had been painted over with soot. It was utterly extraordinary: there had been no sign of rain all afternoon.
Those across the green had also noticed the change, and hundreds of guests were now staring up in shock. A cold wind gusted over the congregation, and a few women shrieked as their shawls and hairpins were torn from them.
For a few minutes, most people were uncertain how to react, and some continued to wander around the fete as if the clouds would blow away. But the clouds didn’t change, and soon a streak of lightning flashed across the sky. A new crash of thunder came immediately after, loud enough to rattle the crockery on the table. The lightning had been so bright, it left a fissure across the clouds; it was as if the earth was an egg being cracked open. There was no rain, but the wind picked up its pace, and more ladies shrieked.
Esther, strangely entranced by the storm, made no reaction except to stare.
A third crash of thunder came, and with it, the exodus finally began. A sea of pale gowns and coattails surged away from the tables and towards Cheswick House. Esther didn’t follow. The clouds swirling above her seemed to have an unbearable loveliness about them. She wanted to reach toward them, fly away with the wind. She’d always liked storms; when she was a child, she would press her face to the window and feel it rattle with a gale. There was something satisfying, something raw, about each crash of thunder, how it vibrated against her sternum. It reminded her of music, the way the floor of a concert hall trembled along with the symphony. Almost familiar, somehow—almost comforting. Another one of those strange half memories she couldn’t explain.
It had yet to rain, but soon Esther was the only one left on the lawn. She was considering this—trying to remember whether she had ever experienced a dry storm—when an unfamiliar figure stopped at her table.
‘I thought you might desire some company,’ said the stranger. Her voice was low and accented with something Esther couldn’t recognise, with lilting vowels and rolling consonants. ‘You shouldn’t be sitting alone.’
Esther looked up at the woman. She was around her own age, early twenties, tall, dark-haired, and harsh-featured; there was a foreignness to her face, an intensity to her gaze, that was utterly alien amongst the society sort who were usually at these events. Esther was so arrested by her presence that she felt unable to reply.
The woman gestured to the empty seat. ‘May I?’
‘I… I’d rather you didn’t.’
She sat. Another crash of thunder came; the woman didn’t react. Esther frowned at her, wondering if they had met before. There was something recognisable, perhaps, in the subtle blade of her smile; the paint-like sweep of her eyebrows; the pair of moles upon her chin and cheek. Their eyes met, and the force of her familiarity hit Esther like cannon fire.
She took a gulp of her ratafia to hide her nervousness.
‘Forgive me my insolence,’ the woman said.
There had, on occasion, been other people like this stranger—those who pitied Esther, who thought to befriend her as an act of charity. But there was nothing that Esther despised more than pity. ‘You are not forgiven,’ she said. ‘I was enjoying my solitude.’
‘I was surprised to see someone else willing to brave the storm, so I thought we should acquaint ourselves.’
‘And now we are acquainted; you may leave.’
The woman chuckled. ‘I don’t even know yourname, my dear.’
Esther sighed. ‘Esther Harding.’
‘Esther,’ she echoed. She gave Esther a conspiratorial smile. ‘Named after a great beauty. How appropriate.’
She leaned over the table, took up Esther’s hand from her side, and brought it to her lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. Esther was so astonished by this she could do nothing but laugh, and she pulled sharply away. ‘Have we met before?’
‘Perhaps,’ the woman replied, with a flippant wave of her hand.
‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you at any events this Season,’ Esther said.
