Page 28 of An Honorable Deception
“St. Thérèse’s writing, the one they call the ‘Little Flower.’ A friend from school sent it to me when she heard I was still so ill. It took me a year to work my way through it—she sent me the French version, and the language is so flowery—but it was worth the effort. She speaks of the ‘little way.’ Of dedicating each moment, each pain, each everything to God. Relying on Him. Trusting Him in it and through it andforit, seeking what He would teach us and drawing closer to Christ through the suffering, as you said.”
“It sounds like a beautiful theology.”
She opened her eyes, though the sky blurred. “It saved my life. When I stopped focusing on how weak and miserable I was, I stoppedbeingso weak and miserable. It took time, but I felt restored. Reborn. Renewed. Then, when finally Icould venture beyond my room, I stumbled into some of Mother’s secrets.”
She winced at the memories. No—she winced at how quickly her new depth of faith had gone hard and dry and withered. Had she been the shallow soil of the parable? Quick to spring up and quick to burn in the heat of the sun?
Silence stretched between them for a long, infinite moment. And then Alethia said, “Sometimes I feel so alone. Like my pain has isolated me from the rest of the world.”
It wasn’t a question, but still Lavinia whispered, “Yes.”
“Samira said that when I feel like that, I should remember that it’s the arms of Christ that are my protective walls, not any I can build. That He is my shield. That when I feel the most alone, I should remember that is really when I’m most protected. That I’m not isolated—I’m enveloped by His love.”
Now Lavinia was the one reaching up to wipe tears from her cheeks. When she was sick, the walls of her home had felt like a prison, holding her in when she wanted only to be out. But this last year, they’d been her solace, offering a place of respite from a world that could never understand, because it didn’t know.
Why hadn’t she made the connection to the Lord? Why hadn’t she revisited what had gotten her through the first horror?
Because, deep down, she must have thought God had betrayed her, too, when He delivered her from death only to toss her into a nightmare. She hadn’t paused to see that the walls of that nightmare were His arms. That He wasn’t trapping her there with the monsters—He was shielding her from every ravenous beast that tried to devour her.
He hadn’t stepped in and changed her mother. But Hehadstepped in and spared every other life. He’d stepped inthrough those who were faithful to Him—Marigold and Yates and Sir Merritt. Much as she flailed against Him, He held her close.
She sniffed and finally made herself look over again. Alethia looked no more whole than she did, every bit as shattered. Every bit as desperate to cling to a hand stronger than any human’s. “Don’t take this wrong way, my lady—but I’m glad you were shot so you had to come here with us.”
Alethia’s laughter was just the thing they needed to chase away the clouds. Eventually, Lavinia would have to go inside and write down the bits of clues Alethia had shared about her history with Samira, in case it could help them find her. But for now, she wanted to sit with her new friend.
NINE
It was his second evening at Brooks’s, and Yates was not regretting that his membership was borrowed—or rather, that he and Merritt were only allowed in as Lord Xavier’s guests. Truth be told, he liked clubs solely because of their benefit to his work and the fact that the clientele of the prestigious clubs was the very one the Imposters needed to cultivate as their own.
But he had to admit that he doubted this particular surveillance would prove as useful as he had at first hoped. Their arrival in London had been greeted with a very unexpected headline—Victoria Rheams was in a coma in hospital, after being beaten and robbed on her way to one of the charities she supported, the article claimed, after meeting a friend for lunch on Monday last.
Monday. The very day she’d been supposed to meet Alethia but hadn’t shown up. The very day Alethia had been shot three times after she was supposed to have mether. Coincidence?
He couldn’t think so. But he also couldn’t barge into her hospital room and demand to see her, to try to rouse her from a coma. He could only spend what free moments he had on his knees, praying for the lady to recover—and certainlynot because it would be convenient for him if she did. Mr. A had been planning to call on her this week. Instead, Yates would return to the Tower with yet another bit of bad news for Alethia.
His stomach felt like lead.
Merritt didn’t look as though he felt any better ... though that could well be because they were in a club, and he hated such things. Determined to focus on what was still within their control, Yates tossed his brother-in-law a smirk. “You should really try to look as though you aren’t sizing everyone up like you would an enemy combatant, Merritt.”
Merritt’s expression didn’t soften. “You sound like Xavier.”
“Because Xavier is a wise and worthy friend,” Xavier said from Merritt’s other side.He, who had no reason to be personally affected by the shocking news of Mrs. Rheams, looked happy as the proverbial clam and as comfortable as Franco on the trapeze—and had in fact declared that he was glad to spend his evenings at the club because “his only reason for attending balls” had seemingly left London. Though knowing X, in another week he’d find another fair “reason” for attending whatever gatherings his parents thought he should.
He lounged in an armchair with a snifter of something in his hand and a newspaper open in his lap. “And you’re welcome, by the way. Again. For not only—again—using two of my valuable guest passes for you both, but for being so discreet and circumspect as to not even ask youwhyyou requested something you so clearly don’t want.”
Yates nodded. “He does have a point, Merritt. You couldn’t ask for a better friend. Handy chap to know, too, I have to say.”
Merritt snorted. “Don’t sing his praises so loudly, Fairfax. It’ll go straight to his head.”
Xavier buried a chuckle in his snifter. “Nonsense. I’m fully aware of my virtues. Why, your cousin was singing them herself the other day.” He made a show of closing his eyes. “Ah, sweet Georgette.”
Rather than rise to the bait, Merritt grinned. No doubt because he knew that the cousin he loved like a sister wasn’t truly in his friend’s sights. “I hear she trounced you in tennis again.”
“Shh!” Xavier quickly glanced around. “Don’t say that kind of thing so loudly, old boy. I have a reputation to uphold. And I shouldn’t have even let her bully me into playing. Isn’t fitting, you know, to let the genders mix on a tennis court.”
“He says because he lost,” Merritt said toward Yates, though obviously to Xavier.
Xavier grinned. “I would claim to have let her win, but you wouldn’t believe me.”
