Haunting Violet (14 page)

None of us spoke until we were back on the estate grounds. In the privacy of the grove, he set me down on my feet. The oak trees dripped around us and the sun was already coming out, falling between the gnarled branches like honey.

“This way,” Elizabeth said, leading us down yet another secret walkway, this one winding past the kitchens to a little-used door. Everything smelled like wet roses. We took the servant stairs and hurried down the hallway toward a small family sitting room. “No one ever comes here,” she assured us, shutting the door behind her. It was hardly proper for us to be behind closed doors unchaperoned, but none of us cared much. Damp wool, soggy petticoats, and angry ghosts tend to put things in perspective.

Colin crouched and lit the wood prepared in the grate. Soon we were huddled in front of the flames, sprawled like puppies on the ground, fighting for every ounce of warmth. It was so much nicer than the coal fires in the grates of London houses. The smell of the wood smoke was like a warm scarf on a winter day. We left our damp boots on the carpet. I was still racked with the odd violent shiver even though I was beginning to feel warmer. I let my hair down and wrung it out like a rope, holding it out to the fire to dry.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Colin asked grimly.

I hadn't told him before now because I'd been afraid he would only mock me. We set up too many tricks of our own. But given what had just happened, there seemed little chance of him teasing me about it now.

“I …” I bit my lip and stared into the flames. I could feel him looking at me. I tried to picture Xavier's polite and proper smile and couldn't. “I … I've been seeing spirits,” I finished in a rush, as if daring him to make a comment. There was a long beat of silence and another. I didn't know what he was thinking. Finally, I had to give in and look at him. I arched an eyebrow defensively. “Well?”

Which, I admit, was hardly a gracious way to thank him for rescuing me.

But I really hated having to be rescued.

He nodded. “All right.”

I gaped at him. “All right? That's all?” I glanced at Elizabeth, whose eyes had drifted shut. Her breathing was even and slow. I knew she wasn't pretending because she never would have let her mouth hang open like that had she been awake. “After everything?” I whispered.

“I believe you, Vi.” For some reason it made tears burn behind my lids, but I blinked them away. Bad enough I'd nearly fainted; I wasn't about to become a watering pot as well. I picked at the lace of my petticoat, tumbling like frothed cream out from under my hem. His ears went red, which was odd. He was hardly the prim and proper sort. I knew full well he'd been to Covent Garden to mingle with the unsavories. He was eighteen years old, after all. “But you have to be careful.” I looked down when he touched my hand. “What were you doing at the pond?” he asked.

“We went to contact Rowena,” I explained, telling him about the ball and the fact that a murderer had waltzed among us and ending with the apparition that had flung itself out of the agitated water.

“You little ijit,” he cursed, shaking his head. “Didn't I tell you there was something off? Did you not even think to protect yourself? Not a speck of salt on you, I reckon.”

I only blinked at him. “What does salt have to do with any of this?”

“It protects you from evil.”

“Salt?” Disbelief all but dripped from my voice. I couldn't help it. “Table salt? How is seasoning myself going to help? This isn't a dinner party.”

“It may as well have been, the way you invited that spirit like you did. You leave yourself open that way, as you found out. You have to be careful, Violet.”

“How do you know all this?”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

I tilted my head. “How, Colin?” I asked again.

He jerked a hand through his hair. His blue eyes gleamed. “Because me mam had the gift.” He said it so fast I almost didn't understand him.

“Your mother?” I repeated uselessly. In all the years I'd known him, he'd never talked about his family. “Truly?”

“Aye,” he said quietly.

“But … you don't believe in spirit gifts.”

“I don't believe in your
mother's
spirit gifts.”

I made a face. “Fair enough.”

“Me own mam saw things,” he said, looking at the fire as if she might be there behind it. “And they always came true. She didn't say anything about spirits. She just called it the Second Sight. Said it was hereditary and dangerous sometimes, if you didn't take care.”

“Do you have it? Do you see things?”

He shook his head.

“Colin.” If he thought I was going to be fobbed off with a vague reply, the day's events had clearly addled his wits. He had to know I had no intention of letting this lie.

“She told me about a girl with violet eyes,” he said quietly, rising to his feet.

I looked up at him, startled. “She did?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “I should go.” He stalked toward the door, opening it slightly to make sure the hallway was deserted. His hair was still damp, tousled. I couldn't help but remember the weight of his body pressing me into the grass.

“Colin?” I said quietly.

“I have to go.” He didn't turn around.

The door closed behind him.

CHAPTER 12

T
he next day, Elizabeth leaped out at me from behind a wall of ferns on my way to the library.

I only shrieked a little.

She grinned at me. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” I asked suspiciously.

She tugged on my arm. “Come on.”

We sped through the drawing room, pausing for a quick curtsy to Lady Lucinda and another woman I didn't recognize. We were out the back doors and into the garden before they even finished a return greeting. We ran across the lawns and through the fields, clambering over the fences. The sun was out again, shining on the last of the raindrops clinging to leaf and grass. A startled rabbit dove under a hedgerow.

“Where are we off to? Back to the pond?” I asked, lifting my hem clear of a mud puddle. “Is that wise?” I could still feel the cold push of the spirit trying to enter my chest.

“We're going to Whitestone Manor.”

“Aren't you forbidden to go there?”

“I can't worry about that. There's something going on and I mean to find out what it is. You could have drowned yesterday.”

“What are we going to do once we get there? I can't imagine Tabitha will be overjoyed to see me,” I pointed out.

We climbed over another fence, this one with a few wooden steps on either side, which made it much easier. Corsets were not conducive to wriggling.

“No, she'd probably have you thrown out.”

“Thank you,” I said dryly. “That's very helpful.”

She just laughed. The field was dotted with fat cows, all placidly munching away. There was easily a thousand acres of orchards and farmland. No wonder Tabitha's uncle was so concerned about fortune hunters marrying her for her wealth.

“We're going in through the back where no one will see us. Old Mrs. Moon is still the housekeeper, and she's always been kind to me. Maybe we can get some information from her.”

The house was as big as Rosefield, made of pale stones that gleamed like pearls. The windows shone brightly, like dozens of eyes watching our progress. All the flowers in the gardens were white as well: roses, foxglove, dahlias. It was lovely, like a fairy tale. We followed a wide dirt path around to the servant's entrance. Elizabeth didn't seem to mind overly, even though ladies never used the back doors. She just smiled as if we were being naughty. The servants curtsied as we passed or tugged their caps. I felt awkward, as if I were intruding. I was more like them than I was like Elizabeth. Three years ago I would have been curtsying to her in the same manner. Oblivious, Elizabeth just sailed right through the kitchen.

“Wentworth has a French cook,” she whispered. “He always made the most delicious sauces. Better even than Uncle Jasper's chef.”

The cook was standing behind a huge wooden table, slicing a leg of meat. A kitchen girl handed him brightly polished utensils off a white napkin. Something delicious-smelling bubbled in a pot on the stove. In the scullery on the far side, two maids washed a pile of dishes in a deep sink. Their hair was damp, arms red and chapped. I looked away. One false move and I might end up here, as Mother was so fond of telling me.

We passed through to the still room. Elizabeth stood in the doorway smiling widely until Mrs. Moon looked up from the flowers she was crystallizing. There were violet and rose and marigold petals, all coated with sugar. She wiped her hands before bustling over. She looked just like her name, round and cheerful with white hair carefully curled and pinned under a white ruffled bonnet. She smelled like candy and tea.

“Bless me, child, we haven't seen you here since … well, it has been a long time, hasn't it?”

“Oh, I've missed you!” Elizabeth hugged her briefly.

“And look at you, all grown up. Don't you look smart in that pretty dress.” She clicked her tongue. “I'm all over sugar, mind yourself.”

“Oh, I don't care a fig about that,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, we're covered in mud as it is.”

Mrs. Moon smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “So you are. And who's this then?”

“Violet Willoughby, this is Mrs. Moon. She makes the best berry tarts in all of England.”

“Flatterer. Come on, then, I expect you're thirsty.”

We followed her into the housekeeper's parlor, where there was a hearth with a single easy chair in front of it and several baskets of knitting. The cupboards on the opposite wall were packed floor to ceiling with the manor preserves, jams, spices, and sugar. She lowered herself carefully into a chair at the small table, motioning for us to do the same. A maid hurried in with a tray of tea and berry tarts.

Elizabeth all but fell on the tarts. She ate with a little moan of delight before she recollected herself to why we were here in the first place.

“Tell me, then, have you been keeping out of mischief?” Mrs. Moon asked.

Elizabeth smiled breezily, licking a bit of raspberry off her lip. “Of course.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

We drank our tea with fresh milk and ate tarts. It wasn't until she'd reached the bottom of her cup that Elizabeth remarked on anything other than the weather and fond memories of Mrs. Moon chasing her and Rowena out of the kitchen with a broom when they accidentally turned over a pot of bubbling jam. At the mention of Rowena's name, Mrs. Moon sighed. “Poor lamb.”

“I still miss her,” Elizabeth said quietly.

Mrs. Moon patted her hand. “Of course you do, dear.”

“I still don't understand how she drowned. She swam quite well.”

Mrs. Moon looked away. “A dreadful accident,” was all she said.

Elizabeth leaned forward, rattling her empty cup. “But it doesn't make sense, Moony.” Which I gathered was their childhood nickname for the housekeeper.

“Tragedies never make sense. Have some more tea.”

She poured the rest of the pot out and pushed more tarts toward us. Chewing wasn't going to stop Elizabeth from asking questions though. She just took smaller bites and swallowed quicker. “Do you remember that day? When Rowena drowned?”

“ 'Course I do. She'd had another row with her beau and couldn't sleep. Tabitha was sulking because her father sent word that he'd stay in India for the foreseeable future. Miss Donovan was here too, though the girls were too distracted for lessons, it was that hot out.”

“Was there no one … strange about?”

Mrs. Moon frowned. “What do ye mean, strange? Sir Wentworth had guests and even your own Lord Jasper's house was full to the brim with summer visitors. It's always like that in the summer.”

“But no one … sinister?”

“
Hmph
. Don't go getting wild ideas in your head, Lizzie. You always were one for storytelling. Rowena had an accident. I expect she was tired or else suffered a cramp of some kind. The doctor said it would have been peaceful-like.” Mrs. Moon touched a napkin to her lips. She stood up with a warm but firm smile. “Shall I go see if Miss Tabitha is at home?”

“But we came to see you,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “And not even a hello for your old childhood friend?”

“I've seen Tabitha all week at Uncle Jasper's,” she muttered. “And she's cross as two cats.”

“Well, I expect she's just tired.”

Elizabeth gave a long-suffering sigh as she dragged herself into a standing position. “Very well, if we
must
.”

“It's what ladies do.” She said it very decisively. “Now, come along.”

We followed obediently behind her, making faces. The last thing I wanted to do was visit with Tabitha. The rooms were huge, every surface polished and dusted. The drapes were heavy velvet, but here in the country, they were pulled back to let in the sunlight. There was no danger of the city's coal fog smearing every nook and cranny with soot. We were left in a sunny parlor, vases of orchids and gladioli sharing their heavy scents.

“So both Caroline and Peter were here,” I whispered. “And they have a secret between them—I heard them in the garden one night.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened. “Really? But he's a gentleman. And she's too dull to have secrets.”

A few moments later the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Tabitha stopped in the doorway, wearing a beautiful yellow dress with a white underskirt. She looked exceedingly tired.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

“I came to eat Moony's tarts,” Elizabeth said, lounging back with a hand on her stomach. She groaned. “And I ate too many.”

“You never did know when to stop,” Tabitha said, but not meanly. She sat down on the edge of a scrolled chair, as if she wasn't sure if she was going to bolt. She eyed me with distrust. I just smiled as inoffensively as I could. I'd been dealing with Mother's temper all these years; I wasn't going to be cowed by a debutante, no matter what her family connections might be. There were crystal vases everywhere, overflowing with roses and irises and larkspur. Elizabeth stifled a sneeze.

“Why all the flowers?” she asked.

Tabitha lifted her chin haughtily. “They're from my admirers.” There were enough of them to stock a flower shop twice over. She looked over them proudly. “Almost every eligible bachelor at Rosefield has sent some, even Fitzwilliam.” I wondered briefly if Xavier sent any but wouldn't give her the satisfaction of peeking. “There are even some from London, though I haven't been in over a year and I'm not even officially out yet.” She preened like a cat.

“Your uncle must have had a fit of nerves,” Elizabeth snorted.

“A little,” she admitted.

“Should we visit with him?” Elizabeth asked, still rubbing her too-f belly.

“No, he's in a dreadful temper. He lost at cards and then saw all the flowers. And father sent word that—” She glanced at me. “Well, never mind. He's in a temper.”

“Just as well. I don't think I can move.”

“Are you enjoying your stay in the country?” Tabitha asked me stiffly.

“Yes, thank you.” I nodded.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

Polite parlor conversation always made me feel itchy. Colin and Frederic, though of different classes, were allowed to sneak off and drink Madeira behind the shed. No one expected them to smile and sit politely. I suddenly envied them and their choices. I wanted to stroll through Vauxhall Gardens and visit the gaming hells and the opium dens. I wanted to walk in Hyde Park without a maid, or ride too fast in a carriage down St. James Street. I suddenly wanted it all.

And I was going to start by throwing off the pretty shackles of drawing room chatter. It was probably a bad idea. I wasn't sure why I did it, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I leaned forward.

“Tabitha, your sister wants us to find her murderer.”

Not precisely how I'd meant to begin.

“Not this again,” Tabitha snapped, turning to Elizabeth, who had sat up from her lounging as if a stray spark from the grate had set her skirts on fire. “Why did you bring your lunatic friend with you if you can't control her?”

“Tabitha, please just listen to her,” she pleaded.

“I've already told you, I'm not a Spiritualist. I don't believe in ghosts.” She whirled toward me. “Is she here right now?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“How convenient.”

“It doesn't work that way. Actually, I'm not entirely certain how it works,” I admitted.

“It doesn't work at all,” she said. “And my sister wasn't murdered. She
drowned
.”

“You know as well as I do that your sister was far too good a swimmer to drown in a little pond.” Elizabeth scoffed.

Tabitha narrowed her eyes. “You didn't think so before you met
her
.” By which I gathered she meant me.

“Perhaps that's true. But it's only because she made me think, not just blindly accept what I was being told. And you can't deny people have been acting queer about it.”

“I don't know what you mean.” She was trying to sound uninterested but it was too late. I'd caught the flicker in her eye. I just wasn't entirely certain as to how to decipher it.

“Perhaps I'm wrong then,” I said. “I
hope
so. I only know that she's trying to tell me something, and that she's trying to protect you.”

“From what?” I didn't think she knew she was chewing anxiously on her lower lip.

“I'm not sure. But she won't rest. Not until we find out what happened to her.”

“She drowned. She was tired.”

“Do you really believe that?” I asked softly.

She leaped to her feet and paced to the window. “I have to.” It was the most honest thing I'd heard her say. Although I didn't like her much, I could at least admire her for that alone.

“Can you remember who was here that week?” I asked. “We have to start somewhere.”