Chapter 3: Grand Street

Lower Manhattan, New York

(North of Five Points District)

Sebro Devereaux detested her mother. Fortunately for her, the feeling was mutual.

That antagonistic sentiment increased a thousandfold as she sat across from the woman in the small, drafty living room of their tiny home. Beads of water dotted the large window behind them, allowing murky sunshine to pervade the interior.

“You sent Elsia to bring Zelpher back?”

The screech in her voice could have peeled the worn, aged floral wallpaper off the walls. As it was, her mother’s Skye Terrier, a long-haired, prick-eared lapdog named Armine, yapped at her in protest.

Sebro glared down at the dog lying on a satin-covered pillow in a small woven basket by her mother’s feet. If it were up to her, she’d have take a pair of scissors and cut every inch of its fur from its body in retaliation.

She’d known Elsia had gone after Zelpher. Elsia had told her as much when they met earlier in the week. If only she’d known Elsia had gone at the request of her mother, she would have convinced her not to do it.

“Don’t raise your voice, Sebro.” Dinah patted her lap twice and Armine leapt out of the basket to jump up into her mother’s arms. “You’ll upset Armine.”

“As long as Armine isn’t upset.” Sebro’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she eyed the way the dog gave a soft yap of affection.

As always, her mother was fashionably attired. Patterned with a multitude of gray dots, her pink cashmere morning dress flowed over her figure in voluminous folds. Ribbon quilling edged her gown and trimmed the high neck, pockets, and sleeves.

Upon her dark hair rested a cap made of Guipure lace, the crown lined with a bow and tied under her chin with satin ribbons. Straw-hued næuds, a knotted material inserted and tucked against the cap, framed her face.

Her mother made the perfect picture of elegance and domesticity.

Alas! That’s all she was. A facsimile with no substance.

“Mother, why did you do that?”

A look of warning entered her mother’s limpid eyes. “I don’t explain my activities to you, Sebro.”

“It was wrong of you to use Elsia’s weakness against her.”

Dinah sniffed. “I merely suggested a course of action, and she accepted.”

“More likely, you fooled her into thinking she was doing you a favor when, in fact, you are not interested in retrieving Zelpher as much as having him here. Appearances and all.”

Elsia’s one flaw was her cursed infatuation for Zelpher. Sebro knew that what her friend supposed for love was little more than a winter wonderland of fantasy, frozen in time by childish dreams and hope.

It had never melted underneath the harsh, bright light of reality.

She tried many times to cure Elsia of her blind fidelity to Zelpher. He’d done nothing, as far as she could see, to warrant such faithfulness.

“You’re like Penelope, waiting for Odysseus to come back from his long voyage,” she recalled telling Elsia last year, unable to keep the scorn out of her voice. “All the while, he’s entangled in the pleasurable bed of Circe.”

Elsia’s face had paled at that, but she said nothing.

She reined in her thoughts as Dinah said, “Zelpher needs to come home.”

“You were quite adamant about never wanting to see him again when he left.”

Good riddance, she added to herself.

Dinah’s pale face flushed like a stain of carmine. “How distasteful. Your sense of tact sorely needs improvement.”

Sebro leaned forward, her breathing elevated. Needling her mother was a pastime of hers she thoroughly enjoyed. “Mother, I am merely doing my duty as your daughter to remind you of your words when Zelpher left.”

“Remember your state, my daughter,” Dinah snapped back with a decided bite in her voice. “You were an unfortunate circumstance of birth.”

“And whose fault was that?” Sebro retorted.

Armine yapped again. The long tufts of fawn colored hair that normally covered his forehead flapped away, revealing his moist, brown spherical eyes gazing at her in reproach.

Mongrel.

Dinah said nothing, conceding the battle to her by rising from the old settee and setting Armine down on the threadbare carpeted floor.

Sebro’s eyes followed Dinah’s graceful gait, the victory of this bout briefly overrun by a fierce desire for things to be different. Her teeth worried her bottom lip.

Other women seemed to have close camaraderie with their mothers. Why couldn’t she?

Traitor, a voice in her head whispered.

Sebro straightened in the velvet backed chair, the slight melancholy that had assailed her vanishing.

Yes, it was a treacherous thought. Bonaparte would have taken over the world if such gullibility existed as he pursued his military campaigns.

She must never forget her mother was the enemy.

Dinah viewed her appearance in the long mirror against the wall, her hands lovingly caressing her figure. “I hope Mrs. Halley comes soon to check on Bristol. He can be quite exhausting in his current state.”

“Mother, is it in the realm of possibility that you minister help to your own husband?”

Dinah shivered delicately. “Enough, Sebro. I am of a frail constitution and cannot assist. Mrs. Halley does well as a nurse.”

Shaking her head, Sebro glanced at the clock and stood. “I’ll be back by dinner, Mother.”