Haunting Violet
Page 13

“That chair is empty,” my mother said evenly.
I felt suddenly light-headed and foolish.
“But … the girl …” Surely a waterlogged girl with bracelets of bruises couldn’t be ignored like a wallflower. She stood out. And not just because of the smell.
I must be coming down with a touch of the ague.
Or suffering the effects of bad beef.
Surely that was it. I wasn’t sure which was preferable: hallucinations or illness or an actual psychical encounter.
I chose bad beef.
“A little girl?” Mrs. Hughes squeaked, interrupting my inner turmoil. She clutched at her damp handkerchief. “Oh, it’s my little Rose. Isn’t it, Mr. Hughes?” She turned pleadingly toward her husband.
In the time it took for me to glance at her and then back again, the chair was empty. Not even a water spot on the cushion remained. No one complained about the aroma of trout.
I didn’t know what to do. I had to resist the urge to look under the table linen to see if she was hiding there. It seemed like a fine plan, actually; perhaps she could make room for me. My corset stays began to feel too tight. Lord Jasper looked at me sharply. Elaine giggled. It was high-pitched, like a goose at market. Mrs. Trethewey stared at me.
“If Rose is here, we must begin straightaway,” Mother proclaimed. I sank into the chair, feeling a chill creep up the back of my neck.
Colin turned down the last light and we sat in shadows, the room quiet except for the ticking of the mantel clock and the wild runaway horse that was my heart. I clenched my fists and took a deep a breath. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if I fell into hysterics. I did consider a false swoon and a long recuperation in the privacy of my bedroom, but Mother would never allow me to disrupt the evening for the other sitters. And she was likely to tell them I was suffering from the traditional malady that heralded psychical gifts.
Thank you, but no.
I already felt suffocated by the attention. I didn’t know how Mother could love it the way she did. She sang the usual songs and I lowered my head to avoid the curious glances. Colin’s stare dug into my shoulders.
We joined hands. Mother’s palm was cool and firm. Mrs. Hughes, on my other side, had damp and trembling fingers. Mother began to sway slightly. I knew the exact choreography of the evening. The candle flickered once and extinguished, taking with it the last of the reliable lighting. No one remembered it had been down to the last of the melting wax or had seen Colin replace the long taper with the worn nub. The fire fell in on itself in a shower of sparks, accented with Borax powder, which we’d discovered burned with a very dramatic yellow-green. Elaine gave a small shriek, followed by another giggle.
Mother continued to sway. There was a sharp crack, followed by several more that were nearly drowned out in a flurry of whispers. No one saw Colin stretch his neck in the way that always caused a popping sound. I nudged the paper packet with the toe of my boot. Gravity did the rest.
The table moved once, twice.
There were gasps, excited murmurs.
“The spirits are indeed here,” Mother announced. “And they are eager to speak with us.”
I squeezed my knees together slowly.
“A cold wind, Mr. Hughes!” Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. “A cold wind around my ankles, do you feel it?”
There were murmurs of assent. Lord Jasper’s sister looked suspicious but intrigued. I tried not to ruffle up Mrs. Trethewey’s skirts.
“A greeting from Rose, Mrs. Hughes,” Mother explained. “Did you not take her to the seaside?” We’d overheard her say as much to a companion last week while we stopped for a pot of chocolate. We frequented all the popular spots to eavesdrop.
She sucked in a breath. “We did. She loved it.”
“And the wind off the water was cool, was it not?” As if the wind off the water was ever hot.
Mrs. Hughes nodded, too overcome to say anything else. Another squeeze and everyone’s ankles shivered. My leg muscles were beginning to ache. And I felt ridiculous.
“She would have me tell you that there is nothing to fear; she is quite happy where she is, and she has been eating sweets.”
“Licorice drops were her favorite.”
“Of course.”
“She had black curls, so sweet and always sticky with sugar when she ate licorice.”
I sniffed delicately. I could smell lilies again, sweet and thick, as if we were sitting by a sunlit pond. I was surprised when no one else mentioned it. It was quite strong; I could all but taste it. It was the sort of thing people generally reacted to immediately. I frowned.
Suddenly Elaine squealed, her hands twitching, as if by themselves. She stared at them, transfixed. “Mother!”
Mrs. Aberworthy looked delighted. “It’s the spirits!”
That happened frequently as well. Colin hypothesized that people sat so tensely, with their hands held so tightly together, that the muscles were bound to twitch.
Mother’s head rolled back and she went still and rigid. She seemed to melt back into herself, standing up with the grace of smoke lifting and curving. When she opened her eyes again, they seemed different. Her hair slipped loose from its pins and she held the curls back, smiling seductively.
“Mrs. Willoughby has left us,” Lord Jasper said. “Who is it who joins us?”
She fluttered her lashes. “I am Tallulah, a temple dancer from the deserts of Egypt.” The shawl slipped off her shoulders, leaving them bare.
Everyone watched her circle the table, as sinuous as Cleopatra might have been. I hated this part. It might unravel so easily and we would be exposed, reviled. I couldn’t look at the others, especially Xavier. And his parents. Who would encourage the courtship of a girl whose mother pranced about as if she were from some ancient harem?