The celebrated fortune teller in Vauxhaul Garden was notoriously accurate in foretelling husbands. Or so they said. For Sylvia and her friend Ester, their prophesies were anything but comforting. Ester wasn’t going to marry Marcus, whom she’d set her heart on, and for Sylvia, the prophesy pointed her in the direction of the Lord Britheney, a man with a dark history and formidable reputation. Well, fortune tellers were all charlatans, weren't they? Just a stupid act to fleece people of their coin. It was categorically not true. It just couldn’t be.
