Haunting Violet (19 page)

CHAPTER 16

T
he silence was as heavy as a stone dropped right into the middle of the room.

But it was all too brief.

It shattered under the weight of several exclamations, startled gasps, and knowing snickers. Lord Jasper sat very still. I couldn't read his expression. Xavier stood abruptly, neck flushed and mouth hanging open. His mother was fanning herself vigorously, making strangled sounds. Elizabeth had tears in her eyes. I couldn't bear to look at Tabitha, but I knew Caroline looked both solemn and pleased with herself. Colin was cursing under his breath. Mother shivered delicately and lifted a trembling hand to her brow.

“Where am I?” she murmured, preparing to swoon. There were some who believed that a medium had no control over her actions when the spirits took her over. I knew for a fact that particular argument wouldn't be enough to save us. Already glares were heating, noses were lifting up with apparent disgust. No one liked to be taken for a fool, especially not the peerage.

As Mother let herself go boneless, Colin marched across to catch her, lifting her up in his arms. It was all very dramatic. And still not nearly enough to save us. I finally collected myself enough to jump out of my chair, snatch Mother's best dress from the floor, and hurry after them. We left a cacophony of voices behind. There was nothing people liked more than a scandal, especially one they'd witnessed themselves. Mother stirred, lifting her head.

“Damnation.”

We practically ran up the stairs and down the hallway. Colin didn't set my mother down until we were at the door to our rooms. We poured into them so suddenly it was a wonder we all fit through the doorway.

“What are we to do?” I whispered.

“Whatever it takes,” Mother hissed, whirling to glare at me. I flinched. “Who let that stupid chit light the lamp anyway? Why didn't you stop her?” She let out a howl of rage and tossed a nearby china pot across the room. It smashed into the wall, dripping cold tea down the silk paper to puddle on the carpet. She clenched her teeth. “It can be fixed,” she said suddenly. She was still half-undressed but she didn't seem to have noticed. Or she didn't care.

My teeth chattered together even though I wasn't cold. Everything had changed tonight. There was no going back.

“Is Lord Thornwood my—”

She cut me off with a withering look. “Oh, Violet. Not now.”

“What do you want to do?” Colin asked. “Shall I fetch Lord Jasper?”

She looked disgusted. “Idiots, the pair of you. We have to leave.”

“First thing in the morning?”

“Right now. As soon as the guests have gone to their beds.”

“Won't that condemn us further?” I bit my lip. “And how will I get a chance to speak to Lord Thornwood?” If he was my father, as he must be, wouldn't he want to talk to me too? And I had a hundred questions for him already … did I have any siblings? Grandparents?

“Forget him.” She grabbed her dress from me. “I won't stay here and have those uptight old windbags look down their noses at me. As if they're better than me. We leave tonight. Get your things.”

We waited until the house was quiet, broken only by the soft hush of the wind at the windows and the ticking clock in the hall. It took some time before the conversations in the parlor died and even longer before we stopped hearing footsteps outside our door. Half the guests were finding reason to walk down this particular hallway, hoping for another tidbit of gossip. Someone knocked once tentatively but we held our breaths and didn't answer.

Colin had snuck out and was waiting for us outside, at the end of the long drive, with the hired carriage. He'd had to walk all the way to the village to find one without alerting the Rosefield grooms. The horses nickered softly, tossing their heads. I glanced behind us when the front door swung shut, half-expecting candles to be lit at the windows, curious faces pressed to the glass, or at least Mr. Travis with his habitual late-night pacing. They stayed dark, unblinking. I shivered, wondering what Rowena would do now.

“Violet, do hurry up.”

Colin tossed our bags up onto the top. Mother was about to climb the step into the carriage when a figure shot out of the darkness and grabbed her hand fervently. Colin was about to shove it forcibly back when Mother fluttered her eyelashes and smiled demurely. I smothered a groan. Colin fell back to stand behind me, looking just as resigned.

“Lord Marshall,” Mother said softly.

“My dear,” he said, bringing her ungloved fingers to his lips in a way that made me grimace. He was handsome enough, I supposed, even with gray at his temples. But there was something about the way he moved that I didn't like and didn't trust. He was wealthy though, even wealthier than Lord Jasper, and that was all that mattered to my mother.

“I'm afraid we have been called back to town,” she said.

“I understand. They simply do not appreciate the delicacies of your … talents.”

“Exactly.” She tilted her head so that her neck was better displayed in the moonlight, pale and fragile as an orchid's stem. “I shall miss our little talks.”

He bowed. “Remember me,” he murmured, pressing a card into her palm. “Should you desire a change in circumstance.”

“I am flattered.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, my lord.”

He turned and left, lighting a cigar as he went. He didn't even glance at me. Mother tapped the card over her lips, consideringly. Then she disappeared into the carriage.

I wrinkled my nose. “I do
not
like that man.”

Colin grunted an agreement before following me into the carriage and shutting the door behind him. The seats were worn and the curtains faded, but at least it was clean and didn't smell like someone's unwashed coat or travel luncheon. Mother didn't speak, only brooded and stared out of the window. I brooded just as fiercely. I hadn't wanted the responsibility of helping Rowena, but now that I had it, I worried about how I was supposed to make any progress back in London. We'd likely never be invited to travel again, and certainly not back to Rosefield. And there was still the mystery of Mr. Travis to consider. What if he did something untoward while I was away? Or Peter? I'd never had a chance to witness his temper for myself.

Not to mention the fact that the story of Mother's exposure and ruin would reach London soon enough. And then what would we do? Mother's threat of sewing for long, arduous hours was very real. Worse yet, I didn't think I actually sewed well enough to even have that option. And what of Colin? Where would he go? Would we be separated?

I was fretting so much that at first I thought it was only the gathering mist, or the stress of the last few days, that was making the shadows into faces. After all, Mother hadn't once turned away from the window and her morose sulking.

The view from my window was decidedly different.

The mist thickened until everywhere I looked were ghostly faces and pale hands scrabbling at me. Some raced along on equally pale horses; others just hovered on the other side of the glass. There was a lady with curls piled high and a line of blood at her throat like a red satin ribbon; another one in a tattered, moth-eaten wedding gown; a man in a beaver hat; another with a sword he waved about quite uncaring as to which unsuspecting spirit he might cleave in two. They merely fell apart like rain, and then came back together again. We were a ghostly caravan, our single hired carriage and a parade of frantic spirits keeping pace.

My expression must have altered considerably since Colin's eyes bore into mine, willing me to glance away from the hazy spirit-crowds. When I did, his gaze latched onto mine.

“Look at me,” he mouthed so as not to draw Mother's attention, but a flash of white had me turning back to the window, which was now fogged with ghostly hands. Colin's boot kicked my ankle. Hard.

“Ow,” I mouthed back, rubbing the bruise.

“Only me,” he whispered. “Look only at me.”

Mother never once took notice of our silent conversation. Colin's eyes turned to silver when the faint light from the driver's lamp caught them. The pupils were black and large, like calm water at midnight. The carriage rocked softly as we made our way down the bumpy road. The spirits faded away.

I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep until Colin murmured my name. My cheek was pressed against his shoulder. We pulled up to the station and dragged our trunks behind a copse of cherry trees to wait until morning. We didn't speak, not one of us, but Colin passed me a penny dreadful, creased from being in his pocket. When I opened it to read, a pink rose petal fell out, the same as I'd found on my pillow.

I kept it in my pocket on the train ride the next morning. We arrived in London early, negotiating the foggy London streets in another hired coach. The coal smog was thick, pressing against the narrow houses, against the pubs, against the thin trees. Flower girls stood at the corners with handfuls of violets. The men rolled out their carts, selling muffins, baked potatoes, and meat pies. As we passed by Hyde Park and Mayfair, the walkways were lined with maids parading pampered pets, little fluffy white dogs mostly and the odd pug, but a few cats as well, and even one disgruntled monkey.

Our street was still relatively quiet, the curtains drawn tight behind every window. Colin carried our bags in as the horses clopped away. The fog was thicker here, filling up every empty space, every alleyway and crevice. It was hard to breathe. Mother sailed upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom. Colin and I sat in the shadowy parlor and stared at each other. I'd never felt so tired in my entire life.

“What are we going to do now?” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “I can't think what will happen.”

We were very aware of the unnatural silence coming from Mother's room.

“It's going to be bad, Vi,” Colin said.

“I know.”

Mother didn't come down for the entire day, not for tea or even for dinner. The plate of beef stew and apple pudding was still outside her door where she'd left it hours before. It was cold, congealed, and untouched. I admit I didn't have much of an appetite either, but I forced myself to drink tea and eat some bread and butter with a slice of cheese.

I reread
Northanger Abbey
for the eighth time to pass the hours. When I next looked up, it was to the concerned face of an old woman, thin and transparent as old paper. I yelped and fell off the edge of the bed with a thump. She yelped back in that faint ghostly manner, her eyes widening in alarm.

“Oh!” I snapped peevishly, crawling up onto the feather tick and pulling the quilt over my head. “Go away!”

I'd had quite enough of spirits. How was one expected to think rationally and carry on a normal conversation when one was constantly dealing with this sort of interruption? I didn't know how the other mediums managed and I simply didn't care. I didn't
want
to be a medium.

I sulked until I fell asleep. When I woke from my rest, I wrote Elizabeth a long letter. I couldn't imagine what she was thinking, beyond being thoroughly vexed with me. And then I wrote to my father. I couldn't help myself. I hardly knew how to start, and if it would even be read. Surely he was as curious as I was?