Haunting Violet

  “Girls who drown don’t bruise like that, surely.” Her mouth trembled. “She must want us to find her murderer.”

  I lifted my head. “Us?”

  “Of course, us. Did you really think I’d just sit here and let you go on with this alone? Especially since she was a childhood friend? Honestly, Violet.” She sounded thoroughly disgusted.

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d had few friends. We moved frequently and had too many secrets. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Where do we start?”

  “I wish I knew.” I ran my hand through my hair, which my dunking had tangled hopelessly. “I can’t very well tell Tabitha. She hates me as it is.”

  “She really does.”

  I made a face. “Thanks for that.”

  She patted my arm. “It’s only because you made her feel vulnerable and she hates that above all else. Oh, and she’s accustomed to being the prettiest girl in the room—and you’re prettier than she is.”

  “She’s a lady, an earl’s daughter.”

  “That might be, but she’s terribly vexing.”

  “True.” I twisted my hair into a rope and squeezed it until it wasn’t dripping down the back of my collar anymore. “I forgot to tell you. I think I found our Mr. T-r-a last night. Mr. Travis is the man with the silver cravat pin who was at the pond just now.”

  “And you waited all this time to mention it?” She gaped at me, then shoved my shoulder.

  “I did just get pulled into a pond by a dead girl,” I muttered. “And possibly proposed to. And nearly crushed under an urn. I’ve been rather busy.”

  “Oh, very well,” she grumbled. She paused. “Wait. An urn?” she asked quizzically.

  I told her about the urn and Mr. Travis.

  We got to our feet, shivering in our damp dresses. The sun might be warm on our shoulders but it was definitely time to put on something dry. We made our way back over the hills and across the tidy lawns with their perfectly groomed weeping willows.

  “You know what we have to do, don’t you?” Elizabeth asked finally, with an eager grin.

  I instantly felt trepidation.

  And excitement.

  “What’s that?”

  “We are going to have to snoop.” She rubbed her hands together. “Finally, my mother’s training will be put to good use. Never mind finding an eligible bachelor, I mean to find a murderer.”

  CHAPTER 10

  I had the library to myself. Elizabeth went off to gather gossip in a more conventional manner. Mother was still abed and likely wouldn’t rise until the afternoon. Champagne always did that to her—mostly because she was rarely presented with the opportunity to drink it and so she overdid it every time.

  I wandered through the huge room with its towering walls of books. There were so many to choose from. It was better than chocolate cream biscuits, better than Xavier’s kiss—and nearly as good as Colin’s. I pressed a hand to my nervous stomach at the thought. I could scarcely believe it had happened, even now. I would have liked to have dwelled on it a little more, but it was rather dwarfed by the sharper reality of ghosts and spirit-boards and murderers.

  I made a small pile of books on a scrolled table and kicked off my shoes, tucking my feet under me. The sun slanted through the windows, pooling on the leather chairs. I skimmed thick vellum pages, drinking in the smell of parchment and sunlight. The windows were thrown wide open and the breeze brought in a waft of roses. How lucky Elizabeth was to have spent so much time here. I envied her that, almost as much as I envied the simplicity of her life and her family. Her mother might be dreadfully overbearing at times, but I didn’t even know who my own father was: lord, butcher, candlestick maker. Elizabeth’s father bought her gowns and satin ribbons and Arabian horses.

  I turned back to the balm of poetry and prose. It wouldn’t do any good to sulk about it. My mother was my mother; I couldn’t very well stroll down to the shops and purchase myself a new one. And I was lucky to have Colin to stand between us.

  I picked up a copy of Alice in Wonderland, the spine barely creased. It was my very favorite novel but I hadn’t yet been able to buy my own copy. I had just about enough saved up, tucked away in one of my boots at the back of my closet. Some of the older ladies who came to Mother’s séances would press a coin into my hand when I helped them with their canes or brought them tea. Lord Jasper sneaked me shillings on a regular basis, always when Mother was otherwise occupied. She might have expected me to buy lace fichus with it or potatoes for supper. I suppose I ought to have shared it. Instead I saved every shilling for books. There was a copy of Jane Eyre next to Alice in Wonderland, which I couldn’t help picking up, returning to it like an old friend.

  I lost myself for the better part of an hour in the red room at Thornfield Hall with the taciturn and handsome Mr. Rochester. Xavier wasn’t a bit like him. I just knew he didn’t have any secrets. He wouldn’t snap at me and tease me, but he’d never dress up like an old gypsy woman for entertainment either. I didn’t know why I was comparing the two. Or why I was perfectly able to picture Colin with a treasure chest of secrets.

  Jane was just fleeing the church in her best dress with the news of Mr. Rochester’s dead wife when Elizabeth cleared her throat, her shadow falling over me.

  I jerked, yelping loudly. Startled, Elizabeth yelped right back, louder.

  “Why are we screaming?” she shouted, clutching her heart.

  We paused, stared at each other, and then burst out laughing. As always, tucking my nose into a book made me completely oblivious to my surroundings. I would have made a terrible spy in the army—the first person to hand me a novel would have been able to shoot my head clean off without me noticing. Elizabeth dropped down into a chair and blew a stray curl out of her eye.

  “I’ve talked to every old biddy here and drank enough tea to widen the Thames,” she muttered. “I know every gouty foot, bunion, and putrid throat intimately. And that half the people here are dreadfully tired,” she mimicked, slumping in a way we’d never have dared if either of our mothers had been in the vicinity. “But I know precious little about Rowena’s tragic demise.”

  I put my novel down reluctantly. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing but the story everyone already knows, that she drowned last autumn. There were lots of sighs and ‘oh dear’s’ but nothing useful. What’s become of good, proper gossip? I’m heartily ashamed of the whole dull lot of them. Even the bits about her father were the same complaints about gambling and creditors.”

  “And Mr. Travis?”

  “Nothing we didn’t already know. Neither my mother nor any of her friends will deign to talk to him, and they’re quite put out that Lord Jasper would invite him at all. So I still can’t think where I might have seen him before now.”

  “Blast.”

  “They feel the same about Xavier, I’m sorry to say, but he’s rich enough that they’ll pretend otherwise. And you’re so beautiful, they think him quite lucky.” I could just imagine what they would think of me if they knew the truth.

  I rose and went to the shelves by the window. I couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Maybe these will help?” I said, bringing a tower of them over to the big round table.

  “It’s too fine a day for reading,” she groaned.

  “There’s no such thing,” I said decisively.

  “You’re the bluestocking, always with your nose in a book,” she said, sighing dramatically. “Besides, reading gives me a headache.”

  I arched an eyebrow and pushed a pile of pamphlets toward her. “Read.”

  “Mother says I shouldn’t act too intelligent or no man will have me.”

  I snorted.

  She leaned her chin in her hands and grinned. “Perhaps I won’t marry then. Instead, you and I shall live as spinsters in a cottage by the sea. We’ll burn our corsets, eat chocolate noon and night, and grow fat as hedgehogs.”

  “Sounds lovely. But I’d rather have books than chocolate.”

  “Criminal
,” she declared. “Would you rather books over pineapple, even?”

  “Even that.”

  We read for a couple of hours, discovering more about spirits than we’d previously thought possible: that sometimes they took over the body and wrote on slates—and the medium had no control over what was being written, that flowers appeared out of the air, that they blew cold winds (without the help of bellows), that women were more susceptible to their powers and better suited to lead séances, that spirit messages were to be followed exactly, and that illness often predated the development of Spiritualist gifts. We read until even I was cross-eyed but felt no less confused. Finally Elizabeth slammed her book shut in a puff of agitated dust motes.

  “No more!” she exclaimed. “My head is full and if I develop wrinkles around my eyes, Mother will kill me. And you, I suspect. She is convinced that is why my cousin Mary has never married. Even though it’s far more likely that it’s because Mary is always cross and eats too many onions.” She leaped to her feet. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “But we need to do more research.”

  “We’ll go back to the pond, see what we can find. That’s research.”

  “And probably a bad idea.” I stood up and smiled. “Let’s.”

  She grabbed my hand before I could change my mind.

  “We have to put the books away.” I laughed, tugging back.

  “One of the maids will do that. Come on.”

  I slipped a small book into my pocket. I hadn’t yet had a chance to finish the section on contacting spirits, and it seemed promising. It might be helpful. We stumbled out into the bright garden, blinking like baby owls.

  “Not that way,” Elizabeth hissed when I went to turn. “They’ll be taking tea outside and if I hear one more word about how bad the damp is for the bones, I swear I shall scream.”

  She ducked behind a yew bush carefully clipped within an inch of its life. It was shaped like a rabbit, if rabbits were rigid and perfect. Behind it was a narrow path that wound around the patio, hidden from view by several trellises dripping with more roses and morning glories. We passed the conservatory, with its small orange and lemon trees pressing glossy leaves against the glass. A shadow moved between them. I recognized the mane of white hair.

  “Uncle Jasper!” Elizabeth said triumphantly. “And he’s alone. Perfect.”

  “We shouldn’t disturb him.” I wasn’t sure why I felt so uncertain. And I was annoyed with Colin that his vague warnings were making me hesitate.

  “Don’t be a goose. How else are we to get information? This way we can ask him as many impertinent questions as we like. He never minds.”

  The glass house was warm and humid, all moist earth and fragrant blossoms. There was a bank of lilies and several shelves of roses in painted pots. Even in winter Rosefield would live up to its name. Clay pots big enough to hide a grown man inside cradled ficus trees, hibiscus, and pineapple plants. Lord Jasper walked up and down the narrow aisles, cane thumping rhythmically and large leaves brushing his shoulders.

  “Ah, girls!” he said, glancing at us though I had no idea how he might have known we were there. We hadn’t made any noise. “Good morning, then.”

  “Good morning, Uncle Jasper,” Elizabeth said, poking her finger into a pot. She grimaced at the dirt when it clung to her nail. I folded my hands at my waist and dropped a polite curtsy. I had a hard time meeting Lord Jasper’s gaze.

  “Are you enjoying your stay, Miss Violet?” he asked. “I can call you Violet, can’t I?”

  I nodded. “Of course, your lordship.”

  “Your mother’s sitting ought to be even more spectacular than our little country ball was last night.” He was looking at me carefully, shrewdly.

  I made a noncommittal sound as Elizabeth stroked the thick leaves of a peace lily.

  “Perhaps you and Violet might want to take the horses out?” Lord Jasper snipped off a few wilted fronds from a nearby fern.

  I’d never learned to ride, which was a necessary accomplishment for all young ladies of the peerage, but we couldn’t afford to keep a horse. I was getting tired of navigating the cramped alleys left to us by the lies, by the state of our finances, by everything, really. The guilt sat like spoiled milk in my mouth.

  “It’s very kind of you to offer, Lord Jasper,” I rushed in before Elizabeth, easily sidetracked, could accept. “But we’ve decided on a walk and I shouldn’t like to trouble your groom.” To be more precise, I had no wish to trouble him by landing in a heap at his feet.

  “Excellent. Perhaps you might ask Tabitha to join you?”

  Elizabeth slid me a knowing, triumphant glance. “But Tabitha is so vexing.” She pouted at her godfather.

  “She’s still grieving,” he reminded her. “You know how her family has suffered.”

  She nodded, twirling a rose in her hand until the petals drifted to the floor. They looked like blood on the white stones. “She may as well be a nun now.” She sighed, and there was real sadness in the sound. “I liked Rowena,” she added softly.

  Lord Jasper merely patted her hand.

  After a long silent moment she wrinkled her nose in frustration. “I was away with Maman then,” she tried again. “We went to Paris for the summer,” she explained for my benefit. “I never did hear any details.” Her brown eyes were utterly guileless and as innocent as a kitten’s. She might have tread the boards at Drury Lane with that kind of playacting. We abandoned eye contact when I had to swallow a nervous giggle and her lips twitched. I stared hard at an elegant pink orchid growing out of a round pot, fighting another untoward giggle. Elizabeth surreptitiously pinched me before turning to her godfather expectantly.

  “Uncle?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  She tilted her head. I could tell she was curious as to why Lord Jasper was suddenly being so evasive and absent-minded. It wasn’t like him at all—even I knew that. “How did Rowena die?” she pressed.

  “She drowned.”

  “But she knew how to swim,” she said. “We used to sneak out sometimes when it was too hot to do anything else.”

  He looked at her steadily. “Promise me you won’t go to the pond by yourself. Both of you. And stay away from Whitestone altogether. They’ve troubles enough.”

  We exchanged a brief glance. I tucked the little book farther into my pocket.

  “Unc—”

  “Promise me!” His cane smacked the ground for emphasis.

  We both nodded, even though I knew full well we were lying.

  “Good. Go on, now, girls. Enjoy the sunshine.”

  We turned to go but Elizabeth paused, turning back. “But what about the bruises around her throat?” she asked quietly.

  A heavy silence filled the room, making the air feel like molasses. I held my breath. Lord Jasper took two big steps toward us, his face stern. I had to fight not to scramble backward. He could be remarkably intimidating for an aging lord who spent his days at Spiritualist lectures and drinking port at his clubs.

  “Where did you hear about that?” he demanded.

  Elizabeth shrank a little. “N-nowhere. Really.”

  His pale gaze speared me. “Violet?”

  I just shook my head mutely. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t. His eyes narrowed. He all but barked at us.

  “Leave it alone, girls. Or I’ll send you both straight back to London.”

  CHAPTER 11

  We stared at each other as Lord Jasper stalked out of the conservatory and back to the house. We followed at a slower pace, crossing the lawn toward the gardening shed. Birds sang from the hedgerows. A grasshopper bumped off my knee, disoriented.

  Elizabeth linked her arm through mine, shivering. “I’ve never seen him like that,” she murmured. “He’s hiding something.”

  “Something definitely isn’t right.” I chewed on my lower lip. “Perhaps this is more dangerous than we thought. Perhaps you oughtn’t try it with me?”

  “Pfft,” she exclaimed. Well, it was more of a rus
h of breath than an exclamation, but it conveyed her meaning clearly enough.

  “We’ll have to be careful,” I said, taking out the little hardbound book from my pocket. It might not look like much, but the leather was worn, the spine loose from many readings. Someone had clearly read it more than once.

  “Careful about what?” a voice called out suspiciously. I froze, stifling a groan. I knew that voice all too well, and the tone. I knew before looking that Colin had his eyes narrowed.

  “Nothing,” I said pointedly.

  Colin was behind the shed, leaning back against a tree. Frederic sat on a stone nearby, resting his arms on his knees, a flask in his hand. Another young man near their age stood nearby, smirking.

  “Rowena’s old beau,” Elizabeth hissed at me. “Peter Burlington, eldest son of the Earl of Berkeley. Beastly temper when he doesn’t get his way.”

  Peter was handsome, smoldering. But I didn’t like the way he looked at me, as if I were an iced scone fresh from the oven.

  “And Rowena loved him?”

  “Hardly. Oh, she liked him well enough, but it was their fathers who were well and truly enamored of each other and the connections they’d make marrying their children off to each other. Even her uncle approved, but only because there was still Tabitha at home, wanting several Seasons to meet eligible young men and show off her gowns. He only has access to the Wentworth fortune while he’s their guardian.”

  Frederic straightened, took a large swallow, and handed the flask to Colin, whom he wouldn’t even have noticed anywhere else but was certainly happy enough to while away the hours with at a country party. He stood and executed a sloppy bow. “Ladies.” He grinned unrepentantly. “What are you whispering about?”

  Elizabeth straightened immediately, combing the curls off her face. “Frederic.” She sniffed once. “Are you drinking Madeira?” she asked, aghast, neatly changing the subject. “At this hour?” It was barely noon and they were clearly already foxed.