Haunting Violet (21 page)

I was embarrassed to discover my eyes were watering. “Nothing. Are you ready?”

He raised an eyebrow. “For what exactly?”

“A stroll through a graveyard?”

“You want to frolic in a graveyard?” He tilted his head, suddenly understanding. “The one where Rowena is buried, by any chance?”

I nodded, biting my lip. “Highgate Cemetery. Do you think we can find her grave?”

“Aye, I reckon we can.”

We took the back stairs and the servants' door as quietly as we could. We paused in the relative seclusion of a ragged lilac tree. There was a definite smell of rotting vegetables emanating from the vicinity of the front stoop.

“At least the mob's gone home for the night,” Colin said under his breath.

“But they'll be back, won't they?”

He nodded, not looking at me. “We'll worry about that tomorrow.”

“I have coin enough for a hack to get us there but we might have to walk back.” I showed him the pouch tied to my waist before pulling my hood up over my hair to hide my features.

“Where'd you get that?”

“It's the last of the money Lord Jasper gave me. I haven't had a chance to get to the bookshop.”

He whistled through his teeth. “Are you sure about this?”

“No.” I smiled but there was no humor in it.

Colin waved a hackney down and we climbed in the back. It smelled of stale sweat and spilled gin. The floor was sticky.

“Not exactly the Jasper family coach, is it?” Colin remarked, pulling the window open.

The nearer we got to the fashionable section of town, the more carriages clogged the roads with gilded family crests and armed drivers. Gentlemen helped ladies in silk gowns to the sidewalk and gaslights blazed in parlor windows. I'd thought Rosefield was gracious and beautiful, but Mayfair glittered with diamonds. There were butlers in starched collars and mansions so immense and lovely, they hardly seemed real. Hyde Park was a green shadow curled protectively around decadent ballrooms and men's clubs. We jostled in the back of the hack for a long time, breathing the smell of horses and coal fog. It was blurring the lights and suddenly we might have been entirely alone in the world. My breath sounded loud in my ears as the carriage halted and the driver called down to us.

“Here you be, lad. Highgate.” As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, Colin handed the requisite coins to the driver. He tipped his hat, slipping the money into his jacket pocket. “Mind the spirits,” he chortled, nudging the horses into a walk.

“I assume the Wentworth family has a mausoleum on the west side,” I murmured. Highgate Cemetery was split by Swain's Lane, bisecting it into two portions.

“They are rather fashionable,” he agreed.

The front gate loomed out of the mists, black iron bordered and overhung with a huge Egyptian-style arch the color of sand in the wavering glow of gas lights. Colin led us past it, not even pausing.

“Are you ready?” Colin whispered. “We'll have to climb the fence. The fog should keep us hidden and we can use this tree for leverage.”

“Why can't we go through the main gates?” I asked, knotting up my cloak so it wouldn't catch me up.

“They'll have guards, against the Resurrection Men,” he reminded me, testing a portion of the fence to make sure it would hold our weight. The Resurrection Men were notorious for digging up graves and selling the body parts to doctors and hospitals for study and practice. It made me think of the first time I'd read
Frankenstein.
I'd hidden under my covers the entire night and hadn't gotten a single wink of sleep. I wondered briefly if the Resurrection Men were haunted by the spirits of desecrated bodies howling for revenge.

“You're not going to go missish on me, are you?” Colin asked, waiting with his hands clasped together to give me a boost. I scowled, my spine straightening.

“Of course not.” I placed the heel of my boot in the cup of his hands and let him push me up until I could grasp the top of the fence. I hauled myself over as if I were mounting a horse. Which I'd never actually done before.

Needless to say, it was hardly a graceful affair.

I landed with a grunt. Colin vaulted over, landing in a crouch without a single hesitation. It was clear this was not the first fence he'd ever climbed over. I made a mental note to question him about it later. We crept down a walkway hung with ivy, the center of my head feeling like it was being pierced with hot needles. I rubbed it, wincing.

The sound of carriage wheels and horses was faint, seeming more distant than they actually were. Drops of water clung to the wool of my dress and my cloak, the hem dragging in the grass. We were in a soft cocoon. It might have been romantic.

If it wasn't for all the dead bodies.

And the faint scratch of a footstep.

I froze. “Did you hear that?”

Colin tensed as well, listening. After a moment he shook his head. “I don't hear anything.”

“Probably my imagination,” I said. My brow throbbed. Shapes seemed to coalesce, flitting through the fog. No one was particularly distinct, an eye there, a hand, the shape of a waist in a misty corset. The spirits were making themselves known, but the mist made it hard to see them clearly. That made it worse somehow. “It's crowded in here,” I said tightly.

“Will you be all right?” Colin shot me a look of concern.

I nodded grimly. “Yes, let's just find Rowena. The sooner we can do that, the sooner we can get out of here.”

Mausoleums sat like ornate boxes and stone angels wept all around us. The stones were hard to read in the thickening fog. It would have been much easier with a lantern, but we could hardly stay hidden that way. I had to trace some of the letters with my fingertips. The names were unfamiliar. We pressed on, following the avenue to the famed Circle of Lebanon, in the center of which stood a massive cedar tree several hundred years old. In the moist, warm darkness, I could smell the green tingle of it hanging in the fog. The stone circle was pockmarked with doors and yet more names etched into the stone.

“Here's a Wentworth,” Colin called quietly. I hurried over to him. It wasn't Rowena but we were at least among her family. She couldn't be far. We checked the other names, squinting in the dark. I was starting to feel decidedly light-headed. I swayed lightly, grabbing the wall for support. There were too many spirits vying for attention, hovering on the edge of my vision. The pressure on my head was making me feel ill. The mouth of the doorway opened beside me.

I was going to have to go in. I hovered in the doorway, a breath of cold damp air swirling around me. Colin came up behind me.

“I should have brought a candle,” I said nervously.

“I've matchsticks,” he answered quietly, striking one against the stone. The flame was small and feeble but infinitely better than no light at all. And in the little house of death, no one would see it burning. I took a step forward, and another. Colin was a comforting presence at my side, the light flickering madly over his face. It was cool, the ground littered with old leaves. I was glad for the warmth of my cloak.

Rowena Wentworth.

There was her name, engraved in fancy scrollwork, and the dates 1857–1871.

The flame ate at the thin matchstick and it guttered out. Colin swore under his breath and lit another match.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It's all right,” I replied, even though my heart had just performed a full pirouette in my chest. I took a handful of salt from my pocket and sprinkled it at our feet.

“Rowena Wentworth!”

She didn't appear.

The matchstick went out again. The darkness felt thick and heavy around us, like a cloak I didn't know how to shrug off. I could hear Colin fumbling for another matchstick. They scattered to the ground.

“Damnation,” he muttered.

“Ow,” I yelped suddenly. Colin jumped, jostling me.

“What? What?”

“Did you just pull my hair?”

“No, why would I?”

“Well, someone did!” My palms were damp. I wiped them on my skirt. The air went cold.

“Stay close to me.” We were shoulder to shoulder, turning to peer at our surroundings even though we couldn't see. “I can't find the damn matchsticks.”

“Maybe we should just leave,” I suggested. “We could find a lantern and come back.”

“Good idea.”

The gate to the mausoleum slammed shut, the clang reverberating through my bones. I yelped, so startled I hit my elbow on the stone wall. Colin cursed and felt for my hand. The air went from cold to frigid until the tip of my nose went numb.

“What the hell was that?” Colin demanded.

I tried to swallow, my throat dry. “A spirit?”

“Can you see him?”

“No, but it's so cold. That often happens.” My teeth chattered together. “Though this is extreme.” I inched closer to him. “The door's not far. Let's make a run for it.”

A hand shoved my shoulder, sending me sprawling. The cold seared through my clothes. I fell hard, bruising my knee. Colin tried to catch me but only managed to trip and fall to the ground with me. The cold wind pressed us uncomfortably against the stones. It was hard to move.

“Stop it!” I yelled to the ghost, scrabbling for the salt I had sprinkled earlier. I flung it into the air. The gate rattled on its hinges.

“Got one,” Colin whispered, striking a matchstick. Ordinarily, the warm glow would have been a comfort.

If it hadn't revealed the open shrieking mouth of a man's ghostly face an inch from my own.

I tried to scream so fast I choked. I scrabbled backward, kicking out even though I knew it was useless. Colin lifted his fists even though that was equally useless and he couldn't see who he was fighting anyway. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, it hurt.

Then the spirit eased back just as abruptly as it had attacked. “Oh, a pretty girl.”

“What?” I croaked.

“I do beg your pardon.”

“You bloody well should.” I hit my chest, trying to ease the pressure.

Colin looked around wildly. “Where is he? Who is it? Show yourself, you bloody coward!”

The old man in Elizabethan hose grinned. His pointed beard and white teeth gave him a rakish air. I sat up, feeling utterly discombobulated.

“It's all right, Colin. I think.”

“I'm weary of weeping women in veils,” the man told me. “So depressing. This is a nice change.”

“Which is why you pushed me over?”

He winced. “Terribly sorry about that but you were lurking rather suspiciously. And the only thing worse than a weeping woman is a Spiritualist. They just won't leave us alone, you know. Very rude.”

“Oh.” I didn't know what to say to that.

“Lord Rupert Wentworth at your service, my lady.” He executed a perfect court bow.

“I'm looking for Rowena Wentworth, actually,” I said.

“Pity that. Pretty girl too, but she didn't stay and haven't seen her here since.”

“Why's that?”

He shrugged. “Who's to know? We sometimes get lost or bored or refuse to leave our loved ones. I followed my wife around for a decade until she remarried. He was nice enough,” he confessed. “But a bit of a milksop. When they died, they went off to wherever it is we go off to. I prefer the view from here.”

“He says Rowena's never here,” I told Colin. I remembered the night in the parlor when Rowena wouldn't talk to me, only cling to her twin and then fling herself about wailing. “She's protecting Tabitha,” I murmured, feeling certain. “She flashed once in the mirror, but she won't leave her sister again. Which means the murderer is still at Rosefield.”

Sir Wentworth leaned closer. “How about a kiss?”

I recoiled. “I don't think so.”

“Pity.” He drifted away.

“Mind the bloke behind the tree,” he tossed over his shoulder.

I went cold all over. My breath caught.

Colin frowned. “What now?”

I pressed as close as I could against him, breathing my words more than speaking them. “Someone's watching us from the cedar tree.”

I felt his muscles tighten. “Hell.”

He blew the match out and we eased back onto the path. Colin tugged my wrist and then we were running between the stones, the fog swirling around us. “Faster,” he urged.

“Wait!” A man's voice called from behind us.

We ran faster. My lungs burned. It was difficult to ignore the hands grabbing at me as we passed by, cold and thin. I was shivering, my teeth chattering violently by the time we reached the iron fence. Colin all but threw me at it. Footsteps pounded behind us. Colin landed next to me on the sidewalk and we broke into a run again, dodging carriages that seemed to jump out of the fog as we darted across the street and lost ourselves in the maze of London streets. My heart hammered. Now that we were safe, I realized I'd recognized that voice.

Mr. Travis.