Haunting Violet
Page 48
I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“I’ll be careful,” I promised.
CHAPTER 14
The next afternoon, Elizabeth was occupied with her mother, so I went for a walk in the gardens to avoid my own mother. The main séance was the following evening, with more guests traveling to sit with us. The strain made Mother sharper than usual; even Marjorie was hiding from her, pretending to mend the hem of my gown, which I knew for a fact didn’t need mending at all. Most of the other guests had gone to the village to shop or were playing games in the billiards room. Even the library was occupied, but it wouldn’t have made a very good hiding spot anyway, as Mother would have looked for me there first. The flagstone paths were scattered with rose petals, leading between flower beds and winding into an oak grove. There were ladybugs and honeybees and a waddling hedgehog.
And Mr. Travis.
I halted abruptly. He was sitting on a marble bench, smoking a cheroot and looking morose. I swallowed and turned slowly on my heel, hoping to duck back around the bend in the path before he saw me.
No such luck.
“Miss Willoughby?”
Perhaps I could pretend I hadn’t heard him. I didn’t turn my head, only kept walking, quickening my pace. I heard him rise from the bench.
“Miss Willoughby!”
I was walking so fast now that it was more of a run. I should probably stay behind and see what information I might get from him about Rowena, but he made me uncomfortable. I would much rather duck back into the house and risk Mother’s mood.
I was panting when he caught up to me. He grabbed my shoulder and I squeaked, not expecting such a rude greeting. We were hidden from the house by a screen of thick rosebushes.
“Release me, sir.” I tried to shake myself free, glowering. He only moved his grip from my shoulder to my elbow. A small sputter of fear mixed with my indignation. “Mr. Travis!”
“I only wish a word, Miss Willoughby.” He was intense enough that I squirmed. I wished he wouldn’t stare like that.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“You might have been seriously hurt when that chandelier fell,” he remarked darkly. “And the urn.”
The comment was polite enough, but somehow it felt like a threat. My hands went cold.
“Don’t you think so?” he pressed when I didn’t say anything. His fingers were tight, digging into my skin through the thin silk.
“I really must return to the house.”
“You’re in danger, Miss Willoughby, don’t you see it? What do you know?”
“I’m sure I can’t think what you mean.”
“Tell me!” he barked. I jerked backward. My heart stammered under my corset. I was beginning to feel real fear, even with the sunlight and the pretty roses and the house so close. I thought of Rowena’s furious face in the pond when I’d brought up the matter of Mr. Travis.
“You’re not safe here,” he insisted, his eyes flaring. He was near enough that I could smell the smoke of his cheroot on his jacket and see the smudges of fatigue under his eyes. He still wouldn’t let me go, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I kicked him in the shin as hard as I could.
His hold loosened for a moment when he cursed and instinctively grabbed for his aching leg. I whirled and ran all the way back to the house as if I were being chased by wild dogs.
That night I waited for Colin in the parlor after everyone had retired to their beds. We had preparations to make for the séance. It felt different this time, to be alone in a dark room with no one to interrupt us. It was ridiculous that I’d brushed my hair carefully and threaded a new ribbon through the neckline of my mended dressing gown. He’d have laughed if he’d known.
I wasn’t imagining it; there was definitely something different burning in the air between us. It was the same happy expectation as I got Christmas morning, knowing there would be an orange to eat and extra pudding. Only better.
Although I did find it rather annoying that my fingers were trembling. I was not going to become one of those girls.
Especially since he was late.
I might as well get on with it while I waited. I got down on my knees under the table with my basket. I replaced the paper packet and added a small vial of perfume, tucking it neatly in the cross of the wooden legs. I popped off the stopper and then secured the bottle with a piece of string. I measured the distance to each chair. I had to be able to reach it from anywhere I might be asked to sit. There were no guarantees that I would get the same seat as last time, and one couldn’t plan a successful séance without preparing for any eventuality, even down to truly being able to see ghosts.
I was still tucked under the table, my bottom sticking straight out in a rather undignified way, when the door creaked open.
“Violet?”
I jerked up, hit my elbow, and scrambled to catch the chair before it clattered to the floor and woke the other guests. My arm tingled painfully. “Bloody hell,” I said, rubbing the bruise. I crawled out and sat on the rug, frowning. Colin’s hair was as mussed as mine now was and his shirt was untucked. “What on earth happened to you?”
“I had to dig through the henhouse for feathers.” He made a face. “Not an entirely pleasant occupation.”
I wrinkled my nose in sympathy, romantic daydreams fleeing under the scent of poultry. “I should think not. Did you get enough?”
“Aye, Marjorie’s got a full basket of white feathers and another of red rose petals.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promised.
CHAPTER 14
The next afternoon, Elizabeth was occupied with her mother, so I went for a walk in the gardens to avoid my own mother. The main séance was the following evening, with more guests traveling to sit with us. The strain made Mother sharper than usual; even Marjorie was hiding from her, pretending to mend the hem of my gown, which I knew for a fact didn’t need mending at all. Most of the other guests had gone to the village to shop or were playing games in the billiards room. Even the library was occupied, but it wouldn’t have made a very good hiding spot anyway, as Mother would have looked for me there first. The flagstone paths were scattered with rose petals, leading between flower beds and winding into an oak grove. There were ladybugs and honeybees and a waddling hedgehog.
And Mr. Travis.
I halted abruptly. He was sitting on a marble bench, smoking a cheroot and looking morose. I swallowed and turned slowly on my heel, hoping to duck back around the bend in the path before he saw me.
No such luck.
“Miss Willoughby?”
Perhaps I could pretend I hadn’t heard him. I didn’t turn my head, only kept walking, quickening my pace. I heard him rise from the bench.
“Miss Willoughby!”
I was walking so fast now that it was more of a run. I should probably stay behind and see what information I might get from him about Rowena, but he made me uncomfortable. I would much rather duck back into the house and risk Mother’s mood.
I was panting when he caught up to me. He grabbed my shoulder and I squeaked, not expecting such a rude greeting. We were hidden from the house by a screen of thick rosebushes.
“Release me, sir.” I tried to shake myself free, glowering. He only moved his grip from my shoulder to my elbow. A small sputter of fear mixed with my indignation. “Mr. Travis!”
“I only wish a word, Miss Willoughby.” He was intense enough that I squirmed. I wished he wouldn’t stare like that.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“You might have been seriously hurt when that chandelier fell,” he remarked darkly. “And the urn.”
The comment was polite enough, but somehow it felt like a threat. My hands went cold.
“Don’t you think so?” he pressed when I didn’t say anything. His fingers were tight, digging into my skin through the thin silk.
“I really must return to the house.”
“You’re in danger, Miss Willoughby, don’t you see it? What do you know?”
“I’m sure I can’t think what you mean.”
“Tell me!” he barked. I jerked backward. My heart stammered under my corset. I was beginning to feel real fear, even with the sunlight and the pretty roses and the house so close. I thought of Rowena’s furious face in the pond when I’d brought up the matter of Mr. Travis.
“You’re not safe here,” he insisted, his eyes flaring. He was near enough that I could smell the smoke of his cheroot on his jacket and see the smudges of fatigue under his eyes. He still wouldn’t let me go, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I kicked him in the shin as hard as I could.
His hold loosened for a moment when he cursed and instinctively grabbed for his aching leg. I whirled and ran all the way back to the house as if I were being chased by wild dogs.
That night I waited for Colin in the parlor after everyone had retired to their beds. We had preparations to make for the séance. It felt different this time, to be alone in a dark room with no one to interrupt us. It was ridiculous that I’d brushed my hair carefully and threaded a new ribbon through the neckline of my mended dressing gown. He’d have laughed if he’d known.
I wasn’t imagining it; there was definitely something different burning in the air between us. It was the same happy expectation as I got Christmas morning, knowing there would be an orange to eat and extra pudding. Only better.
Although I did find it rather annoying that my fingers were trembling. I was not going to become one of those girls.
Especially since he was late.
I might as well get on with it while I waited. I got down on my knees under the table with my basket. I replaced the paper packet and added a small vial of perfume, tucking it neatly in the cross of the wooden legs. I popped off the stopper and then secured the bottle with a piece of string. I measured the distance to each chair. I had to be able to reach it from anywhere I might be asked to sit. There were no guarantees that I would get the same seat as last time, and one couldn’t plan a successful séance without preparing for any eventuality, even down to truly being able to see ghosts.
I was still tucked under the table, my bottom sticking straight out in a rather undignified way, when the door creaked open.
“Violet?”
I jerked up, hit my elbow, and scrambled to catch the chair before it clattered to the floor and woke the other guests. My arm tingled painfully. “Bloody hell,” I said, rubbing the bruise. I crawled out and sat on the rug, frowning. Colin’s hair was as mussed as mine now was and his shirt was untucked. “What on earth happened to you?”
“I had to dig through the henhouse for feathers.” He made a face. “Not an entirely pleasant occupation.”
I wrinkled my nose in sympathy, romantic daydreams fleeing under the scent of poultry. “I should think not. Did you get enough?”
“Aye, Marjorie’s got a full basket of white feathers and another of red rose petals.”
