Haunting Violet
Page 16
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I suppressed the violent shiver currently attacking my spine.
“But I overheard Uncle Jasper wondering aloud if it really was an accident, because who goes swimming in the middle of the night? He’s forbidden me to visit Whitestone Manor at all, but he won’t say anything else about it. And Tabitha is rarely allowed to leave the grounds. She hasn’t been in London since it happened.”
Ghosts were bad.
Mysterious ghosts were so much worse.
“What about her parents?” I asked.
“Her father was in India at the time and still hasn’t returned. He’s always been a bit of a rakehell, gambling and traveling all over the world. He’s already spent all of the twins’ dowry money, and most of the Wentworth fortune. That’s why he travels so much, to avoid the creditors. Some families won’t even receive them anymore, can you believe it?” she added in hushed, scandalized tones. “Whitestone Manor is all that’s left. Technically Rowena would have inherited it as she was three minutes older, but now it goes to Tabitha. She’s frightfully rich because of it, despite everything else.”
“What about their mother?”
“She died of consumption years ago, when we were barely in pigtails. Whitestone was in her family, which is why it goes to the girls, and their father couldn’t lose it on a roll of dice. Their uncle has taken care of them for ages now, but he’s become a little overprotective. He worries about fortune hunters. Tabitha’s been begging for a Season in town but so far to no avail. She’ll have to make do with a country coming-out ball, and it’s made her even more cross than usual.”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t know? Truly?”
I shook my head. “How could I?”
“And you really saw Rowena?” She sounded excited, curious, and a little afraid. “Perhaps you have the same gifts as your mother. How exciting, Violet!”
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” I insisted. “A one-time aberration. A reaction to the sun, maybe. Or bad marmalade.” I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, which was that I had seen a ghostly Rowena, but that wasn’t the real problem.
The real problem was that I didn’t actually believe in ghosts.
But they clearly believed in me.
I waited until everyone had retired to their rooms for an afternoon rest or were otherwise occupied in the stables. I needed to think. Mother was lying down with a cold rosewater compress over her eyes and was not to be disturbed.
I felt disturbed enough for us both.
I snuck around the back of the house, through the herb garden and into the door leading to the kitchen. I shouldn’t be back here, and I shouldn’t be using the servants’ door since I was pretending to be a lady. If Mother found out, she’d have a fit.
But I really needed the comforting chaos of the kitchen. I was the one who did the cooking and the baking at home, and I missed the smell of warm bread, the crackle of the hearth, and the dangling iron and copper utensils. Hopefully, Marjorie was taking this rare moment for a rest and wouldn’t be at the table. She was too timid and felt too indebted to my mother to keep secrets from her.
I felt the heat of the stoves in the doorway, blasting the scents of roasting meat and boiling plum puddings. Sugar and flour drifted in the air like snow. Lord Jasper’s French cook was a fantastically fat man with a walrus mustache. I liked him immediately, even though he was bellowing. There was a long wooden table set in the back corner. It looked like a lovely place to sit.
I didn’t even make it over the threshold.
“What are you doing?” Colin said from behind me. He pulled me back out of the warm kitchen. His eyes were the color of the sea in the sunlight.
“I just wanted some tea.” I scowled at him. “Don’t be such a fidget.”
He just shook his head. “Violet, you can’t sit in the kitchens. No polite lady would ever set foot down here. Servants domain, in’it?”
“I know,” I said glumly. “I might hate it at home but right now it seems so cozy. I can’t perch daintily on the edge of an uncomfortable chair and smile like a nitwit for the rest of the day, Colin. I’ll bite someone.”
“Savage.” He sounded more appreciative than condemning.
I bared my teeth. “Yes.”
He nudged me back. “Go on and hide in the herb gardens. There’s a stone bench on the other side of the rosemary topiary. I’ll bring you some tea.”
I beamed at him. “You are not annoying at all today.”
He just snorted.
In the garden, I picked my way around the thyme and sorrel and found the bench behind the rosemary. There was a small patch of grass under an apple tree, near the mint, that looked far more inviting. I was arranging myself so my corset bones didn’t poke me in the ribs when Colin found me. He had a brown ceramic pot and two earthenware mugs. He passed me one of the mugs and I cradled it gratefully.
“Finally, a real mug,” I approved, inhaling the lemon he’d added to my tea. We never got lemons at home; they were far too dear. And the delicate cups in the manor house were all fluted edges and gilt paint and I was constantly terrified I’d snap the handle right off.
“Your mother will fly into the boughs if you get grass stains on your skirt,” he remarked, sitting next to me. I just shrugged. He handed me a spoon.
“What’s this for?”
“Strawberry ice cream.” He pushed the ceramic crockery pot between us. “The dairy maid’s sweet on me, so she saved me the scrapings from the ice cream she made for your supper tonight.”
“But I overheard Uncle Jasper wondering aloud if it really was an accident, because who goes swimming in the middle of the night? He’s forbidden me to visit Whitestone Manor at all, but he won’t say anything else about it. And Tabitha is rarely allowed to leave the grounds. She hasn’t been in London since it happened.”
Ghosts were bad.
Mysterious ghosts were so much worse.
“What about her parents?” I asked.
“Her father was in India at the time and still hasn’t returned. He’s always been a bit of a rakehell, gambling and traveling all over the world. He’s already spent all of the twins’ dowry money, and most of the Wentworth fortune. That’s why he travels so much, to avoid the creditors. Some families won’t even receive them anymore, can you believe it?” she added in hushed, scandalized tones. “Whitestone Manor is all that’s left. Technically Rowena would have inherited it as she was three minutes older, but now it goes to Tabitha. She’s frightfully rich because of it, despite everything else.”
“What about their mother?”
“She died of consumption years ago, when we were barely in pigtails. Whitestone was in her family, which is why it goes to the girls, and their father couldn’t lose it on a roll of dice. Their uncle has taken care of them for ages now, but he’s become a little overprotective. He worries about fortune hunters. Tabitha’s been begging for a Season in town but so far to no avail. She’ll have to make do with a country coming-out ball, and it’s made her even more cross than usual.”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t know? Truly?”
I shook my head. “How could I?”
“And you really saw Rowena?” She sounded excited, curious, and a little afraid. “Perhaps you have the same gifts as your mother. How exciting, Violet!”
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” I insisted. “A one-time aberration. A reaction to the sun, maybe. Or bad marmalade.” I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, which was that I had seen a ghostly Rowena, but that wasn’t the real problem.
The real problem was that I didn’t actually believe in ghosts.
But they clearly believed in me.
I waited until everyone had retired to their rooms for an afternoon rest or were otherwise occupied in the stables. I needed to think. Mother was lying down with a cold rosewater compress over her eyes and was not to be disturbed.
I felt disturbed enough for us both.
I snuck around the back of the house, through the herb garden and into the door leading to the kitchen. I shouldn’t be back here, and I shouldn’t be using the servants’ door since I was pretending to be a lady. If Mother found out, she’d have a fit.
But I really needed the comforting chaos of the kitchen. I was the one who did the cooking and the baking at home, and I missed the smell of warm bread, the crackle of the hearth, and the dangling iron and copper utensils. Hopefully, Marjorie was taking this rare moment for a rest and wouldn’t be at the table. She was too timid and felt too indebted to my mother to keep secrets from her.
I felt the heat of the stoves in the doorway, blasting the scents of roasting meat and boiling plum puddings. Sugar and flour drifted in the air like snow. Lord Jasper’s French cook was a fantastically fat man with a walrus mustache. I liked him immediately, even though he was bellowing. There was a long wooden table set in the back corner. It looked like a lovely place to sit.
I didn’t even make it over the threshold.
“What are you doing?” Colin said from behind me. He pulled me back out of the warm kitchen. His eyes were the color of the sea in the sunlight.
“I just wanted some tea.” I scowled at him. “Don’t be such a fidget.”
He just shook his head. “Violet, you can’t sit in the kitchens. No polite lady would ever set foot down here. Servants domain, in’it?”
“I know,” I said glumly. “I might hate it at home but right now it seems so cozy. I can’t perch daintily on the edge of an uncomfortable chair and smile like a nitwit for the rest of the day, Colin. I’ll bite someone.”
“Savage.” He sounded more appreciative than condemning.
I bared my teeth. “Yes.”
He nudged me back. “Go on and hide in the herb gardens. There’s a stone bench on the other side of the rosemary topiary. I’ll bring you some tea.”
I beamed at him. “You are not annoying at all today.”
He just snorted.
In the garden, I picked my way around the thyme and sorrel and found the bench behind the rosemary. There was a small patch of grass under an apple tree, near the mint, that looked far more inviting. I was arranging myself so my corset bones didn’t poke me in the ribs when Colin found me. He had a brown ceramic pot and two earthenware mugs. He passed me one of the mugs and I cradled it gratefully.
“Finally, a real mug,” I approved, inhaling the lemon he’d added to my tea. We never got lemons at home; they were far too dear. And the delicate cups in the manor house were all fluted edges and gilt paint and I was constantly terrified I’d snap the handle right off.
“Your mother will fly into the boughs if you get grass stains on your skirt,” he remarked, sitting next to me. I just shrugged. He handed me a spoon.
“What’s this for?”
“Strawberry ice cream.” He pushed the ceramic crockery pot between us. “The dairy maid’s sweet on me, so she saved me the scrapings from the ice cream she made for your supper tonight.”
