Haunting Violet (26 page)

By the time I reached the parlor, Caroline and the Wentworths had gone home, pleading exhaustion. Peter disappeared into the empty ballroom with a bottle of brandy. Lord Jasper nodded at me proudly.

Elizabeth rushed over to the doorway to walk with me to the table. “Oh, Violet, can you believe it?”

“What I can't believe,” I grumbled, rubbing my wrists, “is that you left me there, alone, with
Peter.
”

She rolled her eyes. “He always finds the pretty girls.”

“Somehow, I don't think he had seduction on his mind.”

When I told her what had happened, she bristled. “So he must be involved somehow. It's becoming more and more of a mess, isn't it? I hardly know what to think anymore. Tabitha looked so dreadful, as if she was going to swoon, that they've gone home.” She raised her eyebrows knowingly. “And Caroline smelled like week-old trout.”

We grinned at each other.

“Do we really think she could have murdered Rowena?” I asked, sobering. “Doesn't Peter seem a more likely suspect now?” Not that we had evidence of any kind, of course.

Elizabeth shrugged. “She's cross enough.”

“But why?” I wondered. “And what about Mr. Travis? And is Tabitha in danger? Would Caroline hurt her?”

“Not with her uncle in residence,” Elizabeth said, sounding sure. “He's very solicitous of her needs.”

I tried not to show my frustration in case the rest of the guests looked at us and wondered what we were whispering about. “We need more information.” I paused. “I have an idea. Risky though.”

“My favorite kind.”

“Peter is in the ballroom, you say?”

“And looks to stay there for quite some time.”

We waited until everyone had retired for the night, then we waited a little longer, until we were certain they were all asleep. We crept back downstairs to spy on Peter. He was slumped on the floor, snoring. The bottle at his hand was nearly empty. We crept back upstairs.

“You're certain this is his room?” I whispered.

Elizabeth nodded. “Go on.”

“Make sure you keep a sharp eye out,” I muttered, easing the door open so it wouldn't creak. “I don't want to be clapped in irons for snooping.”

She waved that away. “Uncle Jasper would never do that.”

“Peter might.”

“Oh. Right.”

Peter's guest quarters were palatial, with burgundy paper and a mahogany washstand and armoire. It was dark except for the circle of light shed by my single candle. I went straight to the desk and shuffled through the papers there: a bill from his tailor, a glass of old sherry, an unsigned letter from a lover. Nothing whatsoever to implicate him. I even rifled through his shirts and checked under his cravats. I was half-buried in the armoire when Elizabeth stuck her head in.

“Violet,” she whispered. “He's coming.”

I pushed myself out so quickly, the cupboard wobbled.

“He's on the stairs,” she added, horrified. Peter's steps were unsteady and loud. We didn't have time to get back to our respective rooms. I blew out the candle.

The steps came closer.

I grabbed her hand and yanked her into the opposite room. We huddled, straining to hear. Neither of us dared to breathe, listening for the sound of his door closing.

What we heard instead was snoring.

We both froze.

“Oh no,” Elizabeth mouthed. I could see her clearly in the moonlight falling through the windows. There was another snore. We looked over, half-afraid of what we were going to see.

It was only Frederic, sprawled on his back, chest bare. Elizabeth's eyes widened so comically I nearly laughed out loud. She clapped her hand over my mouth to stop me. I had to do the same to muffle her giggles. We stared at each other, nearly choking on nervous laughter.

I nodded my head sternly toward the door. We had to get out of here.

She shook her head and took a step closer to Frederic. I knew that look on her face.

Slipping away before I could stop her, she crept over to the side of his bed. I motioned to her frantically. If she leaned over to kiss him, I would kill her. She did lean over a little, but not enough to actually touch him.

And then he shifted, eyes opening slightly, before closing again on another snore.

Elizabeth hurled herself toward the door and we escaped in a flurry of muffled giggles.

CHAPTER 22

I
'd loved Rosefield before, but I loved it even more now. It was a safe haven, surrounded by roses and filled with books. I knew by some instinct that Lord Jasper was trustworthy; I'd been mistaken before to suspect him. I could finally begin to imagine myself as a real person, not simply a pawn in Mother's endless quest for riches and prestige. Everything felt bigger—the room I slept in, the small trunk with my few dresses, the very air. There was finally a measure of space not taken up by her uncertain temper.

And perhaps I wouldn't have chosen the life of a medium, but I couldn't deny that it was thrilling. Everything seemed to be falling into place for me, except for one thing—I missed Colin.

It would be awful to have to leave this place and return to the yellow coal fog of London and the harrowing maze of Mother's moods, but at least Colin would be there. Even as she dragged me about to public halls to make money off my newfound talent, he, at least, would be there. It might be almost bearable. I'd stopped thinking of him as the irritating boy who prowled our house with his big feet and arrogant smirk. Now he was the one I might finally escape with; he was handsome and strong and he understood me. It was an intoxicating combination. I pressed a hand to my warm cheek.

I might have sat there a little longer, immersed in thoughts of Colin, but the press of spirits was in the room. There was that subtle shift in temperature and pressure that I was beginning to recognize. There was the smell of strong Turkish coffee and the sound of footsteps on the rug. But there was no one else in the library, just me, curled in a leather chair. I squinted, caught a flash of mist in the shape of a dress with silver-netted panniers. As usual, that one glimpse made all the other glimpses easier to see.

And quite suddenly it was rather crowded in the empty library.

The woman with the wide dress had a heart-shaped patch on her cheek covering a smallpox scar. She gave a ribald laugh as she floated to the top of the bookshelf and pulled down a book I felt certain I wasn't allowed to see. She drank coffee from a crystal cup.

Behind her, a young boy with dirt on his face grinned at me.

A cat attacked the motes of dust hanging in a beam of sunlight. I had no idea if he was a real cat or a ghostly cat.

“I thought I might find you here,” Lord Jasper said from the doorway where he'd been watching me swat away invisible people. Perfect.

“It's so peaceful here,” I said, hastily lowering my hand.
Even with all the dead people
.

“You know about your third eye now, from the reading I gave you?” He leaned against his cane.

I nodded.

“Picture it now then, and see it closing, as if it were asleep. That way, you'll only see the spirits when you choose to open the eye.”

“But what about the ones I want to see?” I was thinking of Mr. Rochester. I'd miss his furry, clever little face.

“You can half-shut the eye, as if it were drowsy.”

I tried it. Immediately, the shadows receded a little. It felt itchy still, as if a headache loomed, but it was better than the alternative. I beamed at him. “Thank you!”

“It will take some time to master properly, of course.”

“Lord Jasper?” I asked when he turned to go.

“Yes, my dear?”

“You have psychical talents too, don't you?”

“I did.” He paused and smiled sadly at me over his shoulder. “A long time ago.”

Tea was served in the main parlor for the guests. Lord Jasper's sister Lucinda sniffed at me when I dared pass her chair. She turned her head, giving me the cut direct. She clearly didn't approve of my return. Her friends followed her lead, sticking their noses in the air. I went to hide in a chair by the door, behind a cabinet of curiosities.

Everyone else was talking about the farewell ball tonight, which would be even more grand than the one last week. Instead of wishing I could waltz with Colin under the ruby-glassed oil lamps, I was wondering how I was going to solve Rowena's murder if I had to go back to London permanently. She refused to leave Tabitha's side, and Tabitha was keeping to her room, according to Elizabeth.

“You look disgruntled. Have a scone.” Elizabeth sat next to me, offering her plate. “Cook puts candied rose petals in them. It's tastier than it sounds.”

“We're running out of time,” I said, taking the bite she offered me. Her mother glared at us sourly from the other side of the room, rising to her feet.

“Uh-oh.” Elizabeth sighed. She crammed the rest of the scone in her mouth in a huge, unladylike bite. “Mother doesn't approve of me eating sweets,” she mumbled though the crumbs.

I felt certain that wasn't the only thing Elizabeth's mother disapproved of.

“Elizabeth,” Lady Ashford said, pointedly ignoring me. “Come along.”

Elizabeth blinked. “But I'm not finished with my tea.”

“All the same. This is not appropriate.”

“I've just finished,” she grumbled, brushing crumbs off the front of her silk dress.

“You know very well that's not what I mean. Don't cause a scene.” She gripped Elizabeth's elbow and hauled her to her feet, despite her admonitions about causing a scene. Nearby chatter paused. I swallowed hard, hoping I wasn't flushing red with anger and mortification. Elizabeth looked like an apoplectic radish.

“Mother!”

“Now, Elizabeth Anne.”

She shot me an apologetic glance before letting herself be dragged away. I drank the rest of my tea to give myself something to do while I willed everyone to stop sneaking glances my way. I felt like an animal in one of the cages at the zoological gardens, being gawked at. They wanted me to talk about the dead, wanted me to weep at being snubbed, wanted me to provide as much scandal as my mother had accidentally afforded them.

I just wanted to hide in my room with a book.

But I couldn't do that until I'd solve Rowena's bloody problem.

Mr. Travis stood by the buffet table, holding a raspberry tart. His eyes were shadowed again, his thin shoulders stooped.

I might not be an earl's legitimate daughter, I might not have had tutors and governesses and riding lessons, but I had talents of my own that had nothing to do with spirit visions.

And it was time I put them to good use.

I meandered slowly toward the buffet table. I took a plate and piled it with thin slices of ham, cucumber salad, and sugar-dusted blackberries that I had no intention of eating. I stopped next to Mr. Travis, who turned toward me. I leaned to get a honey-glazed pastry, deliberately out of my reach.

A little more humiliation wouldn't kill me.

I was already accounted a clumsy girl with no breeding; no one would think twice.

I had to remind myself of that before I tipped the plate of food onto Mr. Travis. Blackberries bounced off his arm. A slice of ham landed on his shoe. There were gasps and titters. Elizabeth's eyes were so round I had to look away in case I giggled.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” I exclaimed. The red in my cheeks was perfectly authentic. I grabbed for a napkin and patted his coat. The cream filling in the pastry smeared over his lapel. I fluttered and worried at him.

He never noticed when I slipped my hands into his coat pockets while I was making the stains worse with my napkin. The first pocket was empty, the second had a folded letter tucked inside. The wax seal gave under my nail.

I stole it.

Just in case. It might be nothing, a bill or a list of supplies for his mother. There was only one way to find out.

I tucked the letter under the flounces of my dress and hurried out of the parlor, still apologizing and blushing while a maidservant took Mr. Travis's coat for cleaning. He wouldn't find out the pocket was empty for a while yet. And if the letter wasn't important, I could leave it in the drawing room and he'd just think it had fallen out in the commotion.

I would have taken the stairs two at a time if my gown allowed it. Inside my room, I shut the door tightly and climbed onto the bed to unfold the letter. The handwriting was delicate, feminine, and the parchment smelled faintly of lily of the valley.

I tried to read it but was distracted by the boot sticking out from under my bed. It was black and scuffed—and I wasn't entirely sure if it was ghostly or human.

I only knew I wasn't alone.

And that anyone hiding under my bed wouldn't have honorable intentions.

I couldn't remember if I'd seen Peter taking tea with the others.

Edging off the bed slowly, I reached for the iron poker by the fireplace. I held it up against my shoulder like a carpet beater, as if I were about to whack dust from a parlor rug. I crept closer. The foot didn't move.

“That's it,” I muttered, swinging the poker down next to the foot. “Get the hell out of my room!” I added a vicious poke.

“Bollocks!” a voice roared from under the feather mattress.

A familiar voice.

Colin scrambled out, smudged with dust and scowling. “What the bleedin' hell are you—oh, Violet. It's you.”

“Of course it's me! Who else would it be? What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were one of the maids.”

“I meant here in Wiltshire,” I said, dropping the poker. My heart dropped back to its regular rhythm. “Scaring me half to death.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.” He touched my cheek briefly. “Didn't you miss me a little, love?”

“Maybe.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you miss me?”

“That's why I'm here, in'it?”

I admit it. I melted. This new Colin was entirely too charming for his own good. His thumb trailed under my ear and along the back of my neck. Even my knees shivered.

“And I was worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because you're chasing a murderer,” he returned drily. “I know you don't need to be molly-coddled but I can't help worrying about you. You get into trouble the way debutantes get into ball gowns.”

“I do not. Speaking of trouble, where on earth are you sleeping?”

“I'll find a spot in the stables. No one'll know.”

“But …” I frowned. It wasn't right. He should have a better bed than a hayloft. Especially since I was eating chocolates and sleeping under brocade bed curtains.

“Don't worry about me.” He waved off my concern. “I like horses better than the fancy anyway. Are
you
all right?”

“I'm fine,” I assured him, smiling. It was so good to see him. It had been only two days. I shouldn't be missing him yet. “The ladies are snubbing me. Lord Jasper's a little naive, isn't he?” I asked. “He thinks he can make everyone accept me. He has no idea what those women would do to me. On a more positive note, I threw a pastry at Mr. Travis today.”

“You really do have lamentable aim.”

I grinned cheekily. “But I can out-pickpocket you any day.”

“Let's not be hasty,” he snorted. “And is ‘pickpocket' even a verb?”

“Do you want to quibble or do you want to read what I found in Travis's pocket?”

“Let me see it.”

I held it out of his reach. “
I
haven't even read it yet. You can look over my shoulder.”

His smile was crooked. “Bossy.”

I unfolded the paper. It was soft from too much handling, as if it had been read every single day, like a favorite poem. But even I hadn't read
The
Lady of Shalott
enough to alter the paper it was printed on, and I knew it by heart.

Colin twitched his nose at the perfume. “Why do girls do that?”

“It's a love letter,” I explained.

“She must have spilled an entire bottle on it.”

“Shhh,” I said softly. “Listen,” I added and began to read.

Dearest Reece,

I know you think it improper, or at the very least imprudent, for us to write to one another, but I don't care. There are too many rules as it is and they would choke me if I let them. Between corsets and lessons and curtsies and etiquette, I am hardly myself, and that is how they want it. They would prefer we all dress and talk and think (or not think) alike, like paper dolls.