Haunting Violet
Page 33
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“Oh, Vi, how thrilling. What does your mother say? Surely she went through something similar when she received her gifts?”
“She must never know.” I stared at her. “Promise me.”
She blinked and then nodded slowly. “All right. But then what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I groaned, flopping down onto my back and scattering buttercup petals. “I really don’t. But I have to do something. She’s getting more persistent.” I hesitated. “When I see her she has bruises around her neck and wrists.”
“No!” She sucked in a startled breath. “She really was murdered.”
I’d been avoiding that particular part of the conundrum as carefully as I would have avoided a hornet. “You said she drowned,” I reminded her, even though I didn’t believe that for a moment.
“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.
“She must never know.” I stared at her. “Promise me.”
She blinked and then nodded slowly. “All right. But then what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I groaned, flopping down onto my back and scattering buttercup petals. “I really don’t. But I have to do something. She’s getting more persistent.” I hesitated. “When I see her she has bruises around her neck and wrists.”
“No!” She sucked in a startled breath. “She really was murdered.”
I’d been avoiding that particular part of the conundrum as carefully as I would have avoided a hornet. “You said she drowned,” I reminded her, even though I didn’t believe that for a moment.
“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.
