Haunting Violet
Page 39
“But … you don’t believe in spirit gifts.”
“I don’t believe in your mother’s spirit gifts.”
I made a face. “Fair enough.”
“Me own mam saw things,” he said, looking at the fire as if she might be there behind it. “And they always came true. She didn’t say anything about spirits. She just called it the Second Sight. Said it was hereditary and dangerous sometimes, if you didn’t take care.”
“Do you have it? Do you see things?”
He shook his head.
“Colin.” If he thought I was going to be fobbed off with a vague reply, the day’s events had clearly addled his wits. He had to know I had no intention of letting this lie.
“She told me about a girl with violet eyes,” he said quietly, rising to his feet.
I looked up at him, startled. “She did?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “I should go.” He stalked toward the door, opening it slightly to make sure the hallway was deserted. His hair was still damp, tousled. I couldn’t help but remember the weight of his body pressing me into the grass.
“Colin?” I said quietly.
“I have to go.” He didn’t turn around.
The door closed behind him.
CHAPTER 12
The next day, Elizabeth leaped out at me from behind a wall of ferns on my way to the library.
I only shrieked a little.
She grinned at me. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” I asked suspiciously.
She tugged on my arm. “Come on.”
We sped through the drawing room, pausing for a quick curtsy to Lady Lucinda and another woman I didn’t recognize. We were out the back doors and into the garden before they even finished a return greeting. We ran across the lawns and through the fields, clambering over the fences. The sun was out again, shining on the last of the raindrops clinging to leaf and grass. A startled rabbit dove under a hedgerow.
“Where are we off to? Back to the pond?” I asked, lifting my hem clear of a mud puddle. “Is that wise?” I could still feel the cold push of the spirit trying to enter my chest.
“We’re going to Whitestone Manor.”
“Aren’t you forbidden to go there?”
“I can’t worry about that. There’s something going on and I mean to find out what it is. You could have drowned yesterday.”
“What are we going to do once we get there? I can’t imagine Tabitha will be overjoyed to see me,” I pointed out.
We climbed over another fence, this one with a few wooden steps on either side, which made it much easier. Corsets were not conducive to wriggling.
“No, she’d probably have you thrown out.”
“Thank you,” I said dryly. “That’s very helpful.”
She just laughed. The field was dotted with fat cows, all placidly munching away. There was easily a thousand acres of orchards and farmland. No wonder Tabitha’s uncle was so concerned about fortune hunters marrying her for her wealth.
“We’re going in through the back where no one will see us. Old Mrs. Moon is still the housekeeper, and she’s always been kind to me. Maybe we can get some information from her.”
The house was as big as Rosefield, made of pale stones that gleamed like pearls. The windows shone brightly, like dozens of eyes watching our progress. All the flowers in the gardens were white as well: roses, foxglove, dahlias. It was lovely, like a fairy tale. We followed a wide dirt path around to the servant’s entrance. Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind overly, even though ladies never used the back doors. She just smiled as if we were being naughty. The servants curtsied as we passed or tugged their caps. I felt awkward, as if I were intruding. I was more like them than I was like Elizabeth. Three years ago I would have been curtsying to her in the same manner. Oblivious, Elizabeth just sailed right through the kitchen.
“Wentworth has a French cook,” she whispered. “He always made the most delicious sauces. Better even than Uncle Jasper’s chef.”
The cook was standing behind a huge wooden table, slicing a leg of meat. A kitchen girl handed him brightly polished utensils off a white napkin. Something delicious-smelling bubbled in a pot on the stove. In the scullery on the far side, two maids washed a pile of dishes in a deep sink. Their hair was damp, arms red and chapped. I looked away. One false move and I might end up here, as Mother was so fond of telling me.
We passed through to the still room. Elizabeth stood in the doorway smiling widely until Mrs. Moon looked up from the flowers she was crystallizing. There were violet and rose and marigold petals, all coated with sugar. She wiped her hands before bustling over. She looked just like her name, round and cheerful with white hair carefully curled and pinned under a white ruffled bonnet. She smelled like candy and tea.
“Bless me, child, we haven’t seen you here since … well, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Oh, I’ve missed you!” Elizabeth hugged her briefly.
“And look at you, all grown up. Don’t you look smart in that pretty dress.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m all over sugar, mind yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t care a fig about that,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, we’re covered in mud as it is.”
Mrs. Moon smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “So you are. And who’s this then?”
“Violet Willoughby, this is Mrs. Moon. She makes the best berry tarts in all of England.”
“I don’t believe in your mother’s spirit gifts.”
I made a face. “Fair enough.”
“Me own mam saw things,” he said, looking at the fire as if she might be there behind it. “And they always came true. She didn’t say anything about spirits. She just called it the Second Sight. Said it was hereditary and dangerous sometimes, if you didn’t take care.”
“Do you have it? Do you see things?”
He shook his head.
“Colin.” If he thought I was going to be fobbed off with a vague reply, the day’s events had clearly addled his wits. He had to know I had no intention of letting this lie.
“She told me about a girl with violet eyes,” he said quietly, rising to his feet.
I looked up at him, startled. “She did?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “I should go.” He stalked toward the door, opening it slightly to make sure the hallway was deserted. His hair was still damp, tousled. I couldn’t help but remember the weight of his body pressing me into the grass.
“Colin?” I said quietly.
“I have to go.” He didn’t turn around.
The door closed behind him.
CHAPTER 12
The next day, Elizabeth leaped out at me from behind a wall of ferns on my way to the library.
I only shrieked a little.
She grinned at me. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” I asked suspiciously.
She tugged on my arm. “Come on.”
We sped through the drawing room, pausing for a quick curtsy to Lady Lucinda and another woman I didn’t recognize. We were out the back doors and into the garden before they even finished a return greeting. We ran across the lawns and through the fields, clambering over the fences. The sun was out again, shining on the last of the raindrops clinging to leaf and grass. A startled rabbit dove under a hedgerow.
“Where are we off to? Back to the pond?” I asked, lifting my hem clear of a mud puddle. “Is that wise?” I could still feel the cold push of the spirit trying to enter my chest.
“We’re going to Whitestone Manor.”
“Aren’t you forbidden to go there?”
“I can’t worry about that. There’s something going on and I mean to find out what it is. You could have drowned yesterday.”
“What are we going to do once we get there? I can’t imagine Tabitha will be overjoyed to see me,” I pointed out.
We climbed over another fence, this one with a few wooden steps on either side, which made it much easier. Corsets were not conducive to wriggling.
“No, she’d probably have you thrown out.”
“Thank you,” I said dryly. “That’s very helpful.”
She just laughed. The field was dotted with fat cows, all placidly munching away. There was easily a thousand acres of orchards and farmland. No wonder Tabitha’s uncle was so concerned about fortune hunters marrying her for her wealth.
“We’re going in through the back where no one will see us. Old Mrs. Moon is still the housekeeper, and she’s always been kind to me. Maybe we can get some information from her.”
The house was as big as Rosefield, made of pale stones that gleamed like pearls. The windows shone brightly, like dozens of eyes watching our progress. All the flowers in the gardens were white as well: roses, foxglove, dahlias. It was lovely, like a fairy tale. We followed a wide dirt path around to the servant’s entrance. Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind overly, even though ladies never used the back doors. She just smiled as if we were being naughty. The servants curtsied as we passed or tugged their caps. I felt awkward, as if I were intruding. I was more like them than I was like Elizabeth. Three years ago I would have been curtsying to her in the same manner. Oblivious, Elizabeth just sailed right through the kitchen.
“Wentworth has a French cook,” she whispered. “He always made the most delicious sauces. Better even than Uncle Jasper’s chef.”
The cook was standing behind a huge wooden table, slicing a leg of meat. A kitchen girl handed him brightly polished utensils off a white napkin. Something delicious-smelling bubbled in a pot on the stove. In the scullery on the far side, two maids washed a pile of dishes in a deep sink. Their hair was damp, arms red and chapped. I looked away. One false move and I might end up here, as Mother was so fond of telling me.
We passed through to the still room. Elizabeth stood in the doorway smiling widely until Mrs. Moon looked up from the flowers she was crystallizing. There were violet and rose and marigold petals, all coated with sugar. She wiped her hands before bustling over. She looked just like her name, round and cheerful with white hair carefully curled and pinned under a white ruffled bonnet. She smelled like candy and tea.
“Bless me, child, we haven’t seen you here since … well, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Oh, I’ve missed you!” Elizabeth hugged her briefly.
“And look at you, all grown up. Don’t you look smart in that pretty dress.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m all over sugar, mind yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t care a fig about that,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, we’re covered in mud as it is.”
Mrs. Moon smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “So you are. And who’s this then?”
“Violet Willoughby, this is Mrs. Moon. She makes the best berry tarts in all of England.”
