Read Online A Darkness Strange and Lovely by Susan Dennard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Dennard
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you, do you understand? Elijah wasn’t the only necromancer in the family.” I thrust out a pointed finger, wishing with all my heart that my charade could be real. If only I were a necromancer. If only I were powerful enough to destroy those in my way.
But Oliver did not know I was bluffing, so I said with all the authority I could muster, “If you dare come close to me without my permission, I will use everything I know to destroy you.”
Chapter Six
I thought I would start bawling the moment I reached my cabin, but, in fact, being away from the depressed demon and his drink and walking with long, purposeful strides was enough to lift my mood—or at least to clear away some of the pulsing anger.
But not enough to calm my thoughts.
A demon? Bound to my brother by a necklace? An old man in Egypt?
I was more confused than ever . . . but I felt I could be certain of one thing: the drunk young man in the dining room was not Marcus.
I found Mrs. Brown in her dressing gown, lounging in one of the armchairs and reading. “Miss Fitt,” she said with a nod.
I winced. “Please, just call me Eleanor.” Ever since I’d realized Miss Fitt sounded identical to “misfit,” I had vowed I would never use my surname again.
She sniffed. “As you wish.”
“Where’s Lizzie?” I asked, crossing toward my bed.
“The bathroom, preparing her evening toilet.”
“Oh.” I peeked at what Mrs. Brown was reading as I passed: a book on manners. My lips twitched, and I wondered if it was the same book Daniel toted.
At that thought, an image of Daniel in a black evening suit materialized in my mind . . . and my mouth went dry. If anyone could fill out a dress suit well, I was certain it was he.
Clarence filled out his suit well too —
My lungs clenched shut, pushing out my air. I did not want to think of Clarence. Dwelling on his memory would stir up emotions I did not need.
I sucked in a shaky breath and dropped to the floor before my drawer. As I yanked out my nightgown, I checked quickly for Elijah’s letters—still nestled beneath my spare petticoat.
Right then the door swung open. Laure strutted in. “Ah, Mademoiselle Fitt! You were not in the saloon—you missed the most wonderful card game.” She stopped beside me and leaned onto her bunk, adding in a lower voice that smelled of wine, “Please tell me you did not spend the evening with the old goat.”
“The who?”
“Madame Brown.” She motioned to her chin and mouthed, “Beard. Like a goat.”
Despite my rattled nerves, I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I spent most of the evening on the promenade deck.”
“Ah, do you feel better now?”
“Much.” I smiled.
“ Magnifique. ” She bent down to her own drawer and withdrew a white shift. “Come, let us prepare for the night’s slumber. I wish to ’ave great dreams of true love and adventure.”
A little snort came from the armchair. Laure whirled around and wagged her finger in Mrs. Brown’s face. “Oh, what do you know of l’amour , you old—”
“That’s enough.” I grabbed her arm and towed her to the door.
Laure hooted a laugh. Once we were in the hall and headed toward the bathroom, she whispered, “But she is an old goat, non ?” She raised her voice in song. “Old goat! Vieille chèvre ! Old . . .” She trailed off as a wide-eyed Lizzie Brown walked by, her head swiveling to watch us pass.
I had to press my fingers to my lips to keep from laughing.
After we had used the bathroom, a stewardess came to our cabin to help us remove our dresses and—in Laure’s case—corset. I hadn’t worn one in months, and I rather liked the snide glares people gave me for it. One day the suffragists and I wouldn’t be the only ones foregoing the whalebone prisons.
By the time we were in our nightgowns, Laure’s wine giddiness had faded into wine exhaustion; and once the stewardess left, I practically had to carry her to her bunk. The Browns were already tucked in, and I
But Oliver did not know I was bluffing, so I said with all the authority I could muster, “If you dare come close to me without my permission, I will use everything I know to destroy you.”
Chapter Six
I thought I would start bawling the moment I reached my cabin, but, in fact, being away from the depressed demon and his drink and walking with long, purposeful strides was enough to lift my mood—or at least to clear away some of the pulsing anger.
But not enough to calm my thoughts.
A demon? Bound to my brother by a necklace? An old man in Egypt?
I was more confused than ever . . . but I felt I could be certain of one thing: the drunk young man in the dining room was not Marcus.
I found Mrs. Brown in her dressing gown, lounging in one of the armchairs and reading. “Miss Fitt,” she said with a nod.
I winced. “Please, just call me Eleanor.” Ever since I’d realized Miss Fitt sounded identical to “misfit,” I had vowed I would never use my surname again.
She sniffed. “As you wish.”
“Where’s Lizzie?” I asked, crossing toward my bed.
“The bathroom, preparing her evening toilet.”
“Oh.” I peeked at what Mrs. Brown was reading as I passed: a book on manners. My lips twitched, and I wondered if it was the same book Daniel toted.
At that thought, an image of Daniel in a black evening suit materialized in my mind . . . and my mouth went dry. If anyone could fill out a dress suit well, I was certain it was he.
Clarence filled out his suit well too —
My lungs clenched shut, pushing out my air. I did not want to think of Clarence. Dwelling on his memory would stir up emotions I did not need.
I sucked in a shaky breath and dropped to the floor before my drawer. As I yanked out my nightgown, I checked quickly for Elijah’s letters—still nestled beneath my spare petticoat.
Right then the door swung open. Laure strutted in. “Ah, Mademoiselle Fitt! You were not in the saloon—you missed the most wonderful card game.” She stopped beside me and leaned onto her bunk, adding in a lower voice that smelled of wine, “Please tell me you did not spend the evening with the old goat.”
“The who?”
“Madame Brown.” She motioned to her chin and mouthed, “Beard. Like a goat.”
Despite my rattled nerves, I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I spent most of the evening on the promenade deck.”
“Ah, do you feel better now?”
“Much.” I smiled.
“ Magnifique. ” She bent down to her own drawer and withdrew a white shift. “Come, let us prepare for the night’s slumber. I wish to ’ave great dreams of true love and adventure.”
A little snort came from the armchair. Laure whirled around and wagged her finger in Mrs. Brown’s face. “Oh, what do you know of l’amour , you old—”
“That’s enough.” I grabbed her arm and towed her to the door.
Laure hooted a laugh. Once we were in the hall and headed toward the bathroom, she whispered, “But she is an old goat, non ?” She raised her voice in song. “Old goat! Vieille chèvre ! Old . . .” She trailed off as a wide-eyed Lizzie Brown walked by, her head swiveling to watch us pass.
I had to press my fingers to my lips to keep from laughing.
After we had used the bathroom, a stewardess came to our cabin to help us remove our dresses and—in Laure’s case—corset. I hadn’t worn one in months, and I rather liked the snide glares people gave me for it. One day the suffragists and I wouldn’t be the only ones foregoing the whalebone prisons.
By the time we were in our nightgowns, Laure’s wine giddiness had faded into wine exhaustion; and once the stewardess left, I practically had to carry her to her bunk. The Browns were already tucked in, and I
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