Haunting Violet
Page 71
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“Eh?” Sir Wentworth mumbled. “Deuced cold in here, Jasper.”
Tabitha stared intently into the shadows. Mr. Travis looked hopeful, almost painfully so.
“A trick?” Caroline asked, her voice breaking.
White lilies tumbled down from the dark ceiling, petals scattering like snow. I couldn’t help but smirk at the collective gasp. Ha, I thought uncharitably. If I’d been ten years old again I’d have stuck my tongue out at Caroline. At sixteen, I ought to be above such behavior.
I wasn’t.
“Rowena,” I whispered. It wasn’t easy to concentrate as deeply as I needed to on that spot on my brow. I was getting the vague pressure of a headache. The room tilted and I was pulled backward through time, wind tangling my hair, stars blurring.
I landed in Rowena’s body. She was holding a letter again, the same one I’d dug through ghostly ashes to retrieve. It wasn’t burned now, merely worn at the edges from being handled. I was being transported into memories out of order and somehow I’d have to link them together, like beads on a necklace. For now I could only watch, could only feel emotions that weren’t my own, trapped in Rowena’s recollections.
She read the letter for what felt like the hundredth time. I knew without conscious deduction that the handwriting belonged to her father and had been sent all the way from India. There was another written on solicitor’s letterhead from a London office.
I, Lord Wentworth, Earl of Whitestone and Dainsborough, grant my permission to my eldest daughter, Rowena Wentworth, to marry as she chooses. Her betrothal to Peter Burlington, of the Berkeley estate, has been rescinded and his family has been compensated accordingly, as per my solicitor’s instructions, enclosed herein.
Attached was a personal note to Rowena:
Cease and desist, daughter. I have had dozens of your letters, as have all my acquaintances. You’ve had your way. Be happy now, little one.
Rowena was only fifteen years old. She needed a parent’s or guardian’s permission to marry. Since her father had already secured her a future husband, she was clearly determined to elope with someone else entirely. It was the only reason neither Tabitha nor her uncle knew about the letter. She kept it hidden inside her pillowcase, with a pile of other letters in a different handwriting. She touched them reverently before hearing a noise in the hall and tucking the coverlet back into place with a sharp tug. It was only Caroline come to tell her Peter was waiting downstairs with a scowl. She’d promised him a tray of tea and lemon biscuits to soothe his temper while he waited for Rowena to finish getting dressed.
The room turned liquid, the colors bleeding and smearing like watercolors. My stomach dropped suddenly, as if I were falling. And then I was back in the same bedchamber, still in Rowena’s body, only it was nighttime now. A single candle burned on a chair by the bed. There was a packed suitcase underneath and somehow I knew I’d be leaving soon. Wearing Rowena’s favorite nightdress, I reached for the letters, to read them one more time before going to sleep.
The letters were gone!
And I was back in my body so abruptly, I jerked as if I’d been touched by lightning. I hit my head on the wood paneling of the cabinet and muffled a curse. The sitters turned their heads toward me, filled with curiosity. Caroline looked smug, as if I’d been caught trying to pull a trick or escape my bindings.
Cross, I snapped an order at Rowena in a quiet undertone.
“Rowena, is your murderer here?”
The lilies shivered as the table rocked back and forth. The flames from the lamps shot taller, dancing madly.
“Show me.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the next spirit gift.
A dead trout landed with a marked splat on the table. There was the stink of fish. Sir Wentworth wrinkled his nose as it flopped in front of him before shooting across the wooden surface, skidding in a trail of murky pond water before it landed in Caroline’s lap.
“Get it off me!” she shrieked, leaping back and brushing at her damp skirt.
Apparently this particular spirit gift was corporeal. Elizabeth turned slightly and even in my shadowy cabinet I could tell she was gaping at me. The candlelight continued to coalesce until there was a flash of a young girl’s face with blond hair, quick as a falling star.
“Rowena!” Tabitha called out, stricken. Poppies rained over her head.
Nothing touched Peter, not fish nor flower. He sat, looking bored. Mr. Travis was similarly untouched.
My third eye felt like a garden gate, shutting with a snap under a brisk wind. The force of it reverberated through my entire body. There was silence as the frost melted and the table stilled. Fish and lilies and poppies were thick in the air.
Then the quiet broke like a cup dropped on flagstones. It shattered into excited murmurs, shouts, and the scraping of chairs shoved backward.
“Tea is served in the parlor,” Lord Jasper announced. “If you’ll join me? We’ll give Miss Willoughby a chance to rest. Mr. Burlington, as you’re nearest, if you would unbind her and then join us?”
The guests chattered loudly among themselves as they retired to the more formal dining room for cakes. There was a long, quiet moment.
The last person I wanted to be alone with right now was Peter.
I tested the silk thread at my wrists but it was surprisingly strong and I only managed to irritate my skin. I rose slowly and carefully to my feet. It would be just like me to take a tumble now when I didn’t have the use of my hands to break my fall. I was going to have to use my teeth to pull the curtains aside. I was leaning over, baring my teeth, when the thick curtain was yanked aside.
Tabitha stared intently into the shadows. Mr. Travis looked hopeful, almost painfully so.
“A trick?” Caroline asked, her voice breaking.
White lilies tumbled down from the dark ceiling, petals scattering like snow. I couldn’t help but smirk at the collective gasp. Ha, I thought uncharitably. If I’d been ten years old again I’d have stuck my tongue out at Caroline. At sixteen, I ought to be above such behavior.
I wasn’t.
“Rowena,” I whispered. It wasn’t easy to concentrate as deeply as I needed to on that spot on my brow. I was getting the vague pressure of a headache. The room tilted and I was pulled backward through time, wind tangling my hair, stars blurring.
I landed in Rowena’s body. She was holding a letter again, the same one I’d dug through ghostly ashes to retrieve. It wasn’t burned now, merely worn at the edges from being handled. I was being transported into memories out of order and somehow I’d have to link them together, like beads on a necklace. For now I could only watch, could only feel emotions that weren’t my own, trapped in Rowena’s recollections.
She read the letter for what felt like the hundredth time. I knew without conscious deduction that the handwriting belonged to her father and had been sent all the way from India. There was another written on solicitor’s letterhead from a London office.
I, Lord Wentworth, Earl of Whitestone and Dainsborough, grant my permission to my eldest daughter, Rowena Wentworth, to marry as she chooses. Her betrothal to Peter Burlington, of the Berkeley estate, has been rescinded and his family has been compensated accordingly, as per my solicitor’s instructions, enclosed herein.
Attached was a personal note to Rowena:
Cease and desist, daughter. I have had dozens of your letters, as have all my acquaintances. You’ve had your way. Be happy now, little one.
Rowena was only fifteen years old. She needed a parent’s or guardian’s permission to marry. Since her father had already secured her a future husband, she was clearly determined to elope with someone else entirely. It was the only reason neither Tabitha nor her uncle knew about the letter. She kept it hidden inside her pillowcase, with a pile of other letters in a different handwriting. She touched them reverently before hearing a noise in the hall and tucking the coverlet back into place with a sharp tug. It was only Caroline come to tell her Peter was waiting downstairs with a scowl. She’d promised him a tray of tea and lemon biscuits to soothe his temper while he waited for Rowena to finish getting dressed.
The room turned liquid, the colors bleeding and smearing like watercolors. My stomach dropped suddenly, as if I were falling. And then I was back in the same bedchamber, still in Rowena’s body, only it was nighttime now. A single candle burned on a chair by the bed. There was a packed suitcase underneath and somehow I knew I’d be leaving soon. Wearing Rowena’s favorite nightdress, I reached for the letters, to read them one more time before going to sleep.
The letters were gone!
And I was back in my body so abruptly, I jerked as if I’d been touched by lightning. I hit my head on the wood paneling of the cabinet and muffled a curse. The sitters turned their heads toward me, filled with curiosity. Caroline looked smug, as if I’d been caught trying to pull a trick or escape my bindings.
Cross, I snapped an order at Rowena in a quiet undertone.
“Rowena, is your murderer here?”
The lilies shivered as the table rocked back and forth. The flames from the lamps shot taller, dancing madly.
“Show me.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the next spirit gift.
A dead trout landed with a marked splat on the table. There was the stink of fish. Sir Wentworth wrinkled his nose as it flopped in front of him before shooting across the wooden surface, skidding in a trail of murky pond water before it landed in Caroline’s lap.
“Get it off me!” she shrieked, leaping back and brushing at her damp skirt.
Apparently this particular spirit gift was corporeal. Elizabeth turned slightly and even in my shadowy cabinet I could tell she was gaping at me. The candlelight continued to coalesce until there was a flash of a young girl’s face with blond hair, quick as a falling star.
“Rowena!” Tabitha called out, stricken. Poppies rained over her head.
Nothing touched Peter, not fish nor flower. He sat, looking bored. Mr. Travis was similarly untouched.
My third eye felt like a garden gate, shutting with a snap under a brisk wind. The force of it reverberated through my entire body. There was silence as the frost melted and the table stilled. Fish and lilies and poppies were thick in the air.
Then the quiet broke like a cup dropped on flagstones. It shattered into excited murmurs, shouts, and the scraping of chairs shoved backward.
“Tea is served in the parlor,” Lord Jasper announced. “If you’ll join me? We’ll give Miss Willoughby a chance to rest. Mr. Burlington, as you’re nearest, if you would unbind her and then join us?”
The guests chattered loudly among themselves as they retired to the more formal dining room for cakes. There was a long, quiet moment.
The last person I wanted to be alone with right now was Peter.
I tested the silk thread at my wrists but it was surprisingly strong and I only managed to irritate my skin. I rose slowly and carefully to my feet. It would be just like me to take a tumble now when I didn’t have the use of my hands to break my fall. I was going to have to use my teeth to pull the curtains aside. I was leaning over, baring my teeth, when the thick curtain was yanked aside.
