London, January 1860.
The sound of rain echoed harshly on the lands of the foggy city, paining the ears hidden by round hats and silk scarves topped with umbrellas that shaded the bodies hurrying on the roads, seeking protection from the 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 fell over her still face, and her fingers, adorned with embroidered gloves, were carefully arranging the red rose stems on the tombstone.
"My lady." A high-pitched voice broke into the frame of her sad solitude, surrounded by heavy rains that were interrupted above her by an umbrella that was extended over her; so she craned her neck to face the man who stood behind her with a bewildered look and a face wet with the torrents rushing over him.
"It's getting late, do you need a ride somewhere?" 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 back on her heels.
He gestured to her and led her to the carriage, which was tied to purebred black horses, bridled by a driver by the side of the road, while he delayed his steps, shading her with the umbrella with every heel strike she took.
"Where would you like me to take you, ma'am?" he asked politely, glancing at her dark veiled face through which her voice came out softly and very low. "Balum House."
"What a coincidence, I live in the house opposite," he commented in surprise, which she didn't respond to. 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 eyes followed the trees greedily devouring the air behind the glass, blurred by the drops of water creeping coldly over his exterior, until he cleared his throat, interrupting her reverie. "You shouldn't have stayed in the cemetery so late. The weather is unsettling."
He couldn't see her face exactly, but he could make out the movement of her neck towards him; he was disturbed. He didn't like the idea that she could see him while he couldn't .
"I didn't pay attention to the time." All she said was enough to make him understand the implication of her cold tone, which expressed her desire not to speak or indulge in any discussion. So 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 density 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 above it that made him blink uncomfortably.
He didn't hear anything from her except a mumbled thanks before she lifted the edges of her black dress and walked steadily toward the imposing 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 unpleasant feeling. The door of his house was opened to him after the sound of the bell had dispersed into the spacious hall, where the silence was pierced by the rustle of his coat, which the house servant picked up along with his umbrella and hat while gently shaking his hair .
"Louis"
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 beautiful paintings 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 on her rocking chair by the wide window, twirling her knitting needles between her fingers, which were adorned with diamond rings as blue as her eyes, which followed him forward with a polite smile.
"Good day, Grandma." He took her wrinkled hand in his palm, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it as he sat on the opposite chair, watching her frowning face with his usual sharpness. "You were very late; you worried me."
"After I left Chancellor 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 teacup from the servant's grasp and murmuring a low thank you. "I also met that lady from the house opposite and had to give her a lift on my way."
His grandmother straightened suddenly, her features set in a strangely rough look that puzzled him as she asked slowly, "You mean... Seven Pallum?"
"I don't know her name; she hardly spoke to me. But she said she lived at Pallum's. Do you know her?" Louie looked up 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 his tongue when the dashing aristocratic lady answered him with a harsh, warning look that made him slowly back away as he sipped his tea, whispering under
his warm breath .
" She was suspicious anyway "
He knew very well how conservative his grandmother was, with her fanatical race regarding values and traditions that were like laws in their strict English society, and how strict she was in her quick judgments of people. So he did not try to ask his questions out of curiosity, knowing that he would not remain so 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 that there was nothing he could do. My father spent every penny he had before he died, in addition to his mortgage on the house for a huge sum. If I do not pay it off in time, we will be homeless. I do not know what he was thinking while he was doing these foolish things!"
"Speak politely of your father, Louis." 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 did not know how to bear.
At one moment, he was in Paris studying engineering like the rest of his distinguished family, enjoying the charming French atmosphere, until he received that telegram from his grandmother informing him of his father's death and the necessity 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 that the family owned.
" They were just bankrupt people 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 sheen of her green hair with a still look that silently followed her reflection.
Sigin Palom tied her silk robe around her neck, her bare feet touching the wooden steps, descending with a 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 tranquility that occupies every moment of her life?
The steam from the tea drifted before his eyes as he watched the surreal rain and the changeable weather outside, sensitive to the rustle of footsteps that pulled his neck backward, and smiling at the presence of his older sister as she calmly appeared in view.
Simon, the youngest son of the Palom family, maintained his warm, bright smile until Sevin stopped beside him, peering into the giant window with a glassy gaze that was distracted by his sweet, thin voice. "You were late at the cemetery this time, Sevin. I worried about you a lot."
"You know I don't pay attention to time out there." Sevin's lips straightened with a hint of misery that had become her companion for the previous years; Simon embraced her shoulder, kissing her forehead gently, and smiled languidly. As time passed, they became each other's backs and shoulders to lean on.
No one else in the family had priority over either of them
"How did you find a carriage to take you in that terrible weather?" Simon dropped a sugar cube into a mug of steaming tea and handed it to the blonde, who shook her head lightly, her eyebrows knitting together. "A man from the Legrent house gave me a ride."
"Louie?"
"Maybe. Do you know him?"
A momentary smile spread across Simon's lips as he dropped his empty goblet 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. He seems to have returned after his father's death."
"He seemed noble." Siguine complimented him faintly, never taking her eyes off her little brother's sores, which glowed with a look she managed to decipher before he blurted out his thoughts in an eager tone. "How about inviting him to tomorrow's party? Let's thank him for his kindness."
Sikin was silent for a few minutes, her features unmoving as she pierced her brother's wide smile and the green of his dark eyes, as if seeing through a silk veil. She understood what he really meant, so she nodded slowly. "Of course. Send him the party invitation."
The silence dominating the Ligrint House office had no escape except for the successive taps of water in front of Louie'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 eyebrow tie.
His attention was forcibly snatched by the knock of the house servant, Oliver, who pulled their necks towards him questioningly. "Excuse me. Mr. Sigrid is here, Mr. Ligrint."
I'll be right there. Bring tea to the guest room, Oliver. Louis rose, bowing to his grandmother's permission before cutting his way into the wide west room where his only friend, with whom he had maintained a close relationship despite his prolonged separation, sat: the rose Harold Sigrid.
Harold untied his embroidered jacket and played with the neatly coiled locks that slid down to his temples, where the green of his eyes shone a bright shade that added "My dear friend." His voice cracked gently as he hugged Louis warmly. The latter smiled at him, patting the scion of the ancient lordly family on the back before gesturing for him to sit opposite him, trying hard to wipe the sadness from his eyes.
His clean-shaven face had a mischievous, mischievous look, which he smiled at as he greeted Louis happily.
"How did she manage to come under such weather?" Louis sneered, watching Harold slide into his chair, his legs spread out comfortably, defying all notions of strict decorum, as he smiled sideways. "First of all, I love winter, and secondly, I wasn't going to let anything stop me from checking on you and finding out what Chancellor Cornelius had to say."
A ghost of a sarcastic smile appeared on Louis's face as he stood up, fighting to hide his resentment, which swirled haphazardly around the room. He shook his head gently. "And nothing. Nothing left. In the end, all I inherited were unpaid debts and a mortgage that had to be paid off before the deadline."
His voice was laced with obvious bitterness, which saddened Harold's face with regret and made him bite his tongue in temporary ignorance. He didn't say anything to ease his pain before breathing, evaluating his lips lightly. "You know I'd help you with anything, but you're the one who knows best. I'm an old bankrupt!"
Louis couldn't hold back his laughter at Harold's outburst of sarcastic candor, which untied his face for several minutes. He then 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 danced his eyebrows mischievously as he leaned back on the sofa, half-stretched between it and the floor, which 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?"
Harold's expression relaxed, his frame stiffening as his gaze fell on Louie's back, amazed that escaped his tongue within a second. "How did you know the neighbors when you only got here 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 ride. Grandma said she was a bad omen; that got me a little curious." Louie shrugged, and Harold straightened, slightly pursed his lip.
"For once I agree with your grandma about something. She's right, everything that comes from the Palom House is bad, especially from the Paloms themselves."
"Why?"
Louie was puzzled by the unusual look of contempt that lit up Harold's eyes. His friend was always sarcastic and objecting to his grandmother's strict and reserved opinions of others, including her opinion of him, Harold, personally. So seeing him wear that fierce look towards someone was questionable.
That house had belonged to Henry Ballom until his only son, Simon, inherited it after his death. The Ballom family was famous for its market cattle and calves, and he and his eldest sister inherited a huge herd that accounted for a third of the market. The eldest daughter, Seven... or as she was called, the Lady of the Herd, had been married five times.
"Wow!" the word escaped Louie's lips in astonishment, confirmed by Harold with a serious nod as he continued his rambling narration. "She married many men of high standing, fitting her family name, but every man she married died mysteriously. A year after their marriage."
"She's young, twenty-six, and has been widowed five times in five years without ever taking off her black dress. Some consider that unlucky, others very lucky."
Louis knitted his eyebrows incomprehension, and Harold didn't 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 that caused some questionable gossip about him. We've heard rumors of trouble between them and the rest of the Pallums, so we haven't seen either of them in London for a long time. They're like a rotten branch on an old Pallum tree, my friend."
Suddenly, there was silence
Louie remained silent in his seat, trying to absorb the dubious history of two brothers descended from a large and well-known family like Pallum. He hadn't associated 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 note, which he extended to Louie, explaining, "The maid of Pallum House invites you, 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, bird." 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 glazed over with the old-fashioned, philandering look that was part of his careless persona
Harold doesn't care who the party is for or what occasion it is, as long as there is fine wine and beautiful women. He finds refuge in the parties of high aristocratic houses 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 doesn'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 gave him an encouraging glance, causing Louis to bite his lip hesitantly, forcing a smile to invade the lips of the mischievous lord.
Harold staggered outside, waving his fingers at the distracted Louis as his voice echoed in the hall of the vast house, a tone that rang in the corners of his troubled head.
"...Don't just be the sixth marriage, my bird."i