The Savage Inheritance

A Fortune Told

Boston, 1747

Mary's trip to the market the following week proved much less eventful. There was even fresh herring at the fishmonger's stand for Missus Martin's pie. Despite the sunshine and the air warming with the promise of spring, Mary felt a deep chill in her heart. She had not slept well since the mad gypsy had given her an unwanted and foreboding prophecy.

Joshua insisted that she had nothing to fear. The man was notorious for his ravings. He had come from Dogtown outside of Gloucester and was known as Theophilus Gold, a French vagabond who told fortunes. Joshua felt himself an expert on the subject of upper class gossip. He often attended to Mister Martin at dinner parties and business ventures. He was young and not a bad sort, but Mary was weary of tolerating his inflated speeches on the subject.

"Seems Mister Cyril Bawden is visiting," Joshua observed as they approached the square.

The man's fine carriage sat out front. Mary grimaced. Missus Martin had a particular dislike for her husband's strange friend. Mary had only seen the man once from afar and agreed with her mistress. Bawden was a fussy, skeletal man who did not give the impression that his reputation boasted as a great businessman.

They cut around to the servant's entrance at the back of the house. The kitchens were over warm as the cook and other house maid were in a tizzy preparing tea for Mister Bawden, who was known for his voracious appetite. Mary removed her bonnet and gloves then hung up her rough, woolen cloak. Despite the roaring fire, her extremities felt like ice.

"Was the herring good this week?" the cook, Missus. Bloom, asked as she unwrapped the brown paper and smelled it.

"Of course it is," Mary declared. "Do you think I would purchase it otherwise?"

The other maid, Sarah, directed a playful wink at Mary. "Of course not, you and your fine airs wouldn't allow it."

A low chuckle came from the corner. Mary turned as she tied her apron around her waist. A man with ragged black hair tied loosely in a queue reclined in a chair against the wall. He pulled a pipe from the pocket of his black garrick coat and chewed on the stem thoughtfully, his gaze honed on the herring as it was deboned by Missus Bloom's nimble fingers.

"Who are you?" Joshua asked disdainfully.

"He is Mister Bawden's... employee. Mind your manners." Missus Bloom swatted Joshua with an oily hand.

The stranger shifted to cross his long legs. His heavy lidded eyes lifted to Mary.

"So what do you do exactly for Mister Bawden?" Joshua asked.

"This and that." The man didn't take his eyes from Mary as he answered. She looked away, feeling flushed.

"I've heard tell that you read fortunes," Sarah commented with a coquettish grin. "That you're something of a gypsy. Would you read mine?"

"Shameless girl," Missus Bloom muttered as she took the kettle from the hearth.

Mary remained by the table arranging the tray for tea, her focus centered entirely on her task. The air hummed with an electricity that emanated from the man in the corner. It was nearly impossible for her to ignore. She was stunned the others hadn't noticed.

After a long silence, she dared a glance in his direction and met eyes once more. Joshua's babbling, Mrs. Bloom's grousing, and Sarah's flirtations muted as though they were underwater. 

Or perhaps she was the one submerged. 

A memory flickered into her mind's eye. A handshake between friends and a cup of tea. The scene changed to the night stained window of a carriage, a pair of warm arms holding her tightly as they bounced down a country road.

Mary ripped herself from the stranger's trance. Those images were only from dreams, she reminded herself. But why had they felt so real?

"I'll read that young lady's fortune," Mister Bawden's man spoke.

Mary did not need to look over to know that he meant her. There was the feathery shuffle of worn paper as the man mixed a deck of old cards in his ink smudged hands. Mary's heart dropped to her stomach when she noticed that the backs of them matched the card she had stashed in her purse. Missus Bloom had recognized it as one of the Besançon cards.

A footman for the carriage stuck his head into the kitchen. "Ramsey, Mister Bawden is ready."

The man servant named Ramsey rose to his feet and tucked his tri-corner hat under his arm. He slipped the deck of cards into his pocket.

"Evening to you all." He nodded to the room, but ignored Mary.

"Isn't that the way of it, eh? We spend all that time and energy into making the man a fine tea and he leaves without a drop," Missus Bloom said after he'd left.

"The mistress won't be happy," Sarah chirped. "Though I do wish you had let him read your fortune, Mary."

"I don't believe Mary needs any more counterfeit fortunes." Joshua stepped protectively behind Mary.

She tried not to roll her eyes and picked up the tray to bring the tea out to Missus Martin. The porcelain rattled as her hands trembled. Missus Bloom gave her a concerned glance.

"It's only a little heavy," Mary explained before excusing herself into the coolness of the stairway leading up to the front rooms.

After delivering the tea to the sitting room, her mistress clearly grateful that her guest had left, Mary paused in the hall outside. She rubbed her hands together, trying to quell the inexplicable fear rising in her chest. She fished her purse from under her apron and pulled out the tattered card. The letters on the back that had been etched into the tavern bill were clear in the candle light from a nearby sconce.

R-A-M.

Ramsey had been the man's name. Mary shivered as the candle next to her flared and horse hooves echoed down the cobblestones outside.