• London, January 1860 •
The pounding rain echoed harshly over the lands of the foggy city, paining the ears hidden by round hats and silk scarves topped with umbrellas that shaded the bodies hurrying along the streets, sheltering from the sudden attacks of the harsh winter.
The clock was almost striking five, a few minutes before sunset, and the wind was caressing her black scarf that draped over her still face. Her fingers, adorned with embroidered gloves, were carefully arranging the red rose stems over the tombstone.
"My lady." A thin voice broke into the frame of her sad solitude, surrounded by heavy rains that were interrupted from above by an umbrella extended over her. She craned her neck to meet the man who stood behind her with a bewildered look and a face wet from the rush of the torrents above it
"It's getting late. Do you need a ride anywhere?" he asked nobly, a small smile gracing his lips, which were trimmed with a well-groomed chin, giving his elegant appearance a distinctly aristocratic air.
She shook her head after a few moments, taking one last look at the tombstone with its deeply engraved letters before kissing the man's outstretched hand, straight on her heels, once again.
With a nod, he led her toward the carriage, which was tied to purebred black horses bridled by a driver beside the road, while he slowed his steps, shading them with the umbrella with every heel strike .
"Where would you like me to take you, ma'am?" he asked politely, grazing the side of her face, covered by the dark scarf through which her voice came out softly and very low. "Balum House."
"What a coincidence, I live opposite," he commented in surprise, to which she did not respond. She heard him order the driver to drive before he helped her into the carriage, following her, closing the door behind him and putting the closed umbrella aside. The horses set off in the open wind.
The road through the rainy streets of London was silent with a hidden confusion, and the eyes followed the trees greedily behind the glass, blurred by the drops of water creeping coldly over its exterior, until he cleared his throat, interrupting her reverie quietly. "You shouldn't have stayed in the cemetery so late. The weather is unstable."
He couldn't see her face exactly, but he could make out the movement of her neck toward him, which made him uncomfortable. He didn't like the idea that she could see him while he didn't.
"I didn't pay attention to the time." Everything she said was enough to make him understand the suggestion in her cold tone, which expressed her desire not to speak or indulge in any discussion. He pursed his lips in embarrassment and remained silent.
The threads of dusk were beautiful in a sky overcast with weeping clouds that drowned the cold city with a thickness that he encountered as he got out of the carriage in front of his distant house on the left side, opposite that large house with its meticulously arranged garden and a mysterious, oppressive spirit hovering over it that made him blink uncomfortably
He did not hear anything from her except a mumble of thanks before she lifted the edges of her black dress and walked steadily towards the majestic house under his watching gaze, until the house maid closed the door behind her
What a completely incomprehensible encounter it had been, leaving him with an uneasy feeling. The door of his house was opened to him after the sound of the bell ringing had dissipated in the spacious hall, where the silence was pierced by the rustle of his coat, which the servant, along with his umbrella and hat, had picked up while gently brushing his hair.
"Louie."
His steps stopped on the first step of the stairs, and he turned toward the study of the large house, which was rich in wall libraries filled with various volumes, adjacent to the exquisite portraits of the members of his distinguished family, of which only he and his grandmother. Mrs. Elizabeth Legrent remained.
His eyes stared at his grandmother, kneeling in her rocking chair by the wide window, twirling her knitting needles between her fingers, which were adorned with diamond rings as blue as hers, which followed him forward with a polite smile
"Good day, Grandma." He took her wrinkled hand in his, placing a gentle kiss on the back as he sat down on the opposite bench, watching her stern face with his usual sharpness. "You were quite late; you worried me."
"After I left Councillor Cornelius's office, I thought I'd stop by the cemetery. I haven't visited my father since I came to London," Ban explained grimly, snatching the cup of tea from the servant's grip and murmuring a low thank you. "Besides, I met that lady from the house opposite and had to give her a lift on my way."
His grandmother suddenly straightened, her features set into a strange, rough look that puzzled him as she asked slowly, "Do you mean... sivn Palom?"
"I don't know her name; she hardly spoke to me. But she said she lived at Palom House. Do you know her?" Louie looked at his grandmother, whose jaw was set in a strangely indignant grimace as she continued knitting the wool in her hands with a telling scowl. "Don't come into contact with that woman again, Louie. She's a bad omen."
"What do you mean?"
He swallowed when the dashing aristocratic lady answered him with a harsh, warning look that made him slowly back away, sipping his tea and whispering under his warm breath. "She was suspicious, after all."
He knew only too well how conservative his grandmother was, a woman of the strict English tradition and a woman of the strictest morals and values that were like laws in their strict English society, and how strict she was in her quick judgments of people. So he didn't ask questions with a curiosity he knew would not last long.
He had enough to occupy his mind.
"What did Cornelius tell you?"
He sighed in despair after her question, wiping his forehead with grief that returned to dominate the gloomy atmosphere of his life, filled with worries that do not dissolve like the clouds of the sky.
"He told me there was nothing he could do. My father spent every penny he had before he died, along with a huge mortgage on the house. If I don't pay it off in time, we'll be homeless. I don't know what he was thinking while he was doing this nonsense!"
"Be polite about your father, Louie." His grandmother rebuked him angrily, which he met with a sigh that delayed his desire to roll his eyes, which were filled with annoyance. He placed a responsibility on his shoulders that he didn't know how he would bear
One moment, he was in Paris, studying engineering like the rest of his distinguished family, enjoying the charming French atmosphere, until he received a telegram from his grandmother informing him of his father's death and the inevitability of his return home as soon as possible.
But no sooner had he done so than he discovered his father's bankruptcy and his numerous debts, which had become his only inheritance that he was required to pay, in addition to releasing the mortgage on the house that had been the only place where he and his grandmother could live after his father had sold everything the family owned.
They were bankrupt with a good reputation.
The tangled balls of fire fought in the blazing fireplace, warming her cold limbs with a warmth that made her relax in front of her ornate mirror as she gently styled her blonde locks, softening the shine of her green eyes with a still gaze that silently followed her reflection
sivn Palom tied her silk robe around her neck, her bare feet touching the wooden stairs, descending with every peaceful spirit that shook the corners of the vast, almost empty house with a stillness that left a soft impression on her heart.
What is more beautiful than serenity occupying every moment of her life?
The steam from the tea drifted before his eyes as he followed the surreal painting of the rain and the changeable weather outside, sensitive to the rustle of footsteps that pulled his neck backward, and smiling at the entity of his older sister as she calmly appeared in the scene.
Simon, the youngest son of the Palom family, maintained his warm, radiant smile until Seven stopped beside him, gazing at what lay beyond the giant window with a glassy gaze that was distracted by his sweet, high voice. "You were late at the cemetery this time, sivn . I was very worried about you."
"You know I don't pay attention to the time out there." Sigin's lips curled in a hint of unhappiness that had become her companion for the previous years. Simon hugged her shoulder, kissed her forehead gently, and smiled softly. As time passed, they became each other's backs and shoulders.
No one else in the family had any preference over either of them.
"How did you find a carriage to take you in that terrible weather?" Simon dropped a sugar cube into a steaming mug of tea and handed it to the blonde, who shook her head lightly, her eyebrows knitting together for an inch. "A man from the Legrent house gave me a ride."
"Louis?"
"Maybe. Do you know him?"
A momentary smile spread across Simon's lips as he dropped his empty glass onto the golden carriage and clenched his fists evenly. "He's the only son of Marc Legrent. They said he was studying engineering in France. It seems he came back after his father's death."
"He seemed noble." sivn complimented him faintly, without removing her eyes from her little brother's sores, which glowed with a look she managed to decipher before he expressed his thought eagerly. "How about inviting him to tomorrow's party? Let's thank him for the favor."
sivn was silent for a few minutes, her features unmoving as she took in her brother's wide smile and the dark green of his eyes, as if seeing through a silken veil. She understood what he meant and nodded slowly. "Of course. Send him the party invitation."
The silence that dominated the study of the House of Ligrint had no escape except the successive taps of water in front of Louis's eyes, who stared with a concerned face that his dignified grandmother paid no attention to as she continued knitting her wool with a sturdy brow tie.
His attention was forcibly snatched by the tap of the house servant, Oliver, who pulled their necks towards him questioningly. "Excuse me. Mr. Sigrid is here, Mr. Ligrint."
"I'll come right away. Bring the tea to the guest room, Oliver." Louis rose, bowing to his grandmother's permission before making his way to the spacious west room where his only friend, with whom he had maintained a close relationship despite his prolonged separation, sat: Lord Harold Sigrid
Harold untied his embroidered jacket and played with his neatly coiled curls, sliding down to his temples, where the green of his eyes shone with a bright hue that gave his clean-shaven face a popular, mischievous look. He smiled happily as he greeted Louis.
"My dear friend," his voice cracked gently as he embraced Louis warmly. The latter smiled back, patting the scion of an ancient lordly family on the back before gesturing for him to sit opposite him, trying hard to wipe the gloom from his eyes.
"How did she manage to come under such weather?" Louis sneered, watching Harold slide into his chair, his legs spread out in a comfort that defied all notions of strict decorum, as he smiled sideways. "First of all, I love winter, and secondly, I was going to let nothing stop me from checking you out and finding out what Councillor Cornelius had to say."
A ghost of a wry smile crossed Louis's face as he stood up, fighting to hide his resentment by hovering haphazardly around the room, gently shaking his head. "And nothing. Nothing left. In the end, all I inherited were unpaid debts and a mortgage that had to be paid off before the due date."
His voice was laced with obvious bitterness, which saddened Harold's face with regret and made him bite his tongue in temporary ignorance, which he didn't say to lessen his misfortune, before he breathed, evaluating his lips lightly. "You know I'd help you with anything, but you're the one who knows best the truth of the situation. I'm an old bankrupt!"
Louie couldn't hold back his laughter at Harold's outburst of sarcastic candor, which untied his face for several minutes, after which he turned to him with the remnants of his fading smile. "You're not broke, Harold. You just don't skimp on your desires with any pound you get. And that's the truth."
"What's the use of money if I don't enjoy it, my dear bird?" Harold's eyebrows danced mischievously as he leaned back on the sofa, almost stretching his body between it and the floor that cradled his long legs while Louie shook his head, focusing his attention out the window that overlooked the house on the other side, and settled down.
"Harold," he called softly, only for the other to hum in response. "What do you know about the Palom House?"
Like someone stung by a scorpion, Harold's expression relaxed, his frame stiffening in place as his gaze fell on Louie's back in surprise, which escaped his tongue within a second. "How did you know the neighbors when you only arrived a week ago?"
You know I don't have time for introductions. But I met that lady from the Palom house earlier today at the cemetery and gave her a lift. Grandma said she was a bad woman; that made me a little curious. Louie shrugged, causing Harold to straighten up, slightly curling his lip.
For once, I agree with your grandmother on something. She's right. Everything that comes from the Palom house is bad, especially from His voice was laced with obvious bitterness, which saddened Harold's face with regret and made him bite his tongue in temporary ignorance, which he didn't say to lessen his misfortune, before he breathed, evaluating his lips lightly. "You know I'd help you with anything, but you're the one who knows best the truth of the situation. I'm an old bankrupt!"
Louie couldn't hold back his laughter at Harold's outburst of sarcastic candor, which untied his face for several minutes, after which he turned to him with the remnants of his fading smile. "You're not broke, Harold. You just don't skimp on your desires with any pound you get. And that's the truth."
"What's the use of money if I don't enjoy it, my dear bird?" Harold's eyebrows danced mischievously as he leaned back on the sofa, almost stretching his body between it and the floor that cradled his long legs while Louie shook his head, focusing his attention out the window that overlooked the house on the other side, and settled down.
"Harold," he called softly, only for the other to hum in response. "What do you know about the Palom House?"
Like someone stung by a scorpion, Harold's expression relaxed, his frame stiffening in place as his gaze fell on Louie's back in surprise, which escaped his tongue within a second. "How did you know the neighbors when you only arrived a week ago?"
You know I don't have time for introductions. But I met that lady from the Palom house earlier today at the cemetery and gave her a lift. Grandma said she was a bad woman; that made me a little curious. Louie shrugged, causing Harold to straighten up, slightly curling his lip.
For once, I agree with your grandmother on something. She's right. Everything that comes from the Palom house is bad, especially from svin Palom herself
"Why?"
Louie was puzzled by the unusual look of contempt in Harold's eyes. His friend was always sarcastic and objecting to his grandmother's strict and reserved opinions about others, including him, Harold, personally. So seeing him wear that fierce look towards someone was questionable.
"That house belonged to Henry Ballom until his only son, Simon, inherited it after his death. The Ballom family is famous for its cattle and calves, and he and his eldest sister inherited a huge herd that accounted for a third of the market. The eldest daughter, Seqeen... or as she is called, the Lady of the Herd, has been married five times."
"Wow!" Louis blurted out in astonishment, confirmed by Harold with a serious nod as he continued his rambling narrative. "She has married many men of high standing, fitting her family name, but each one died mysteriously within a year of their marriage."
"She is young, twenty-six, and has been widowed five times in five years, during which time she never took off her black dress. Some considered her unlucky, others very lucky."
Louis knitted his eyebrows in incomprehension, and Harold did not delay in explaining. "Each man she married, she inherited a respectable and substantial estate. Each time, she came to live with her brother until the next marriage."
"Her brother Simon never married, and this has caused some dubious gossip about him. We've heard rumors of trouble between them and the rest of the Palom family, so we haven't seen either of them in London for a long time. They're like a rotten branch on a very old Palom family tree, my friend."
Silence fell suddenly.
Louie remained silent in his seat, trying to absorb the dubious history of the two brothers, both descended from a large and well-known family like Pallum. He didn't associate the name with those who controlled a third of the cattle market, but now knowing that they owned it with such a shady reputation was chilling.
They were both distracted by a discreet knock on the door, where Oliver stood on the threshold with a telegram-like piece of paper, which he extended to Louie, explaining, "The maid of Pallum House, you are invited, Mr. Legrent. She said that Mrs. Seven would be honored by your presence."
Louie was surprised. He accepted the invitation with hesitant fingers, looking at Harold, who was smiling with silent evasion before turning his attention to what looked like an invitation to a party. He was surprised. "Didn't you say that her last husband had recently died?"
"Yeah. But that's a monthly party they're throwing. And apparently, you're on the radar, birdie." Harold winked playfully, which Louis didn't pay much attention to for long, feeling strange about the whole situation. She hadn't even seemed interested in talking to him, and now she'd sent him an invitation to a party she was throwing at her house.
Suspicious.
"You should go, though." Harold glared idly as he stood up under Louis's disapproving gaze, lazily retying his jacket knot around his neck.
"Didn't you say they were weird and I should avoid them?"
"Yeah. But they make good wine and know pretty girls." Louis rolled his eyes at Harold's playful smile, his green eyes glowing with the old-fashioned, genteel look that was part of his careless persona
Harold didn't care who the party was for or what occasion, as long as there was fine wine and beautiful women. He found in the parties of the high aristocratic houses a refuge for his desires and his revelry, which stripped him of his noble family's dignity and made him a man with an inherited title he didn't deserve.
"Come. Get away from your father's troubles for a while and your grandmother's stifling discretion. Have some fun." Louis felt a hand pat his shoulder and looked at him encouragingly, biting his lip hesitantly, forcing a smile to invade the mouth of the feisty lord.
Harold walked with waddling steps outside, waving his fingers at the distracted Louis while his voice echoed in the vast hall of the house, a tone that rang in the corners of his troubled head.
"...Don't just be the sixth marriage, my bird."
**