The Countess Conspiracy
Page 53
“I’m being tutored in Greek. Chromosome means colored body.”
Violet frowned, considering this. That sense of unease came back; this time, even though she gave it a solid shove, it wouldn’t retreat.
Slowly, she raised her head from the photograph she was contemplating.
It was…morning. How had it come to be morning? She didn’t recall sleeping. She didn’t recall anything but a blur of film negatives and glass slides. Her fingers were dyed a deep blue; the early sunlight reflected off piles of silver spoons right across from her.
Just beyond the silverware, watching with an earnest expression, sat Frederica Marshall. She was the one who had just spoken.
For one moment, Violet was filled with in uncomprehending confusion. Oh, God. What had she done?
“What are you doing, Violet?” asked a voice from behind her. She whirled in her seat. Robert and Oliver stood in the doorway. Robert’s hair was still damp; he held a cup of something steaming and hot, something that set her stomach growling.
“Oooh.” Alice staggered to her feet. “Good heavens. Look at the time. I’m too old to stay awake the entire night. I haven’t done that since I was twenty-two.”
“Violet?” Robert pressed.
Violet blinked. There was nothing to do but brazen it out. “Didn’t you know?” she said breezily. “One of the great unsolved questions in biology is that of how traits are passed from parent to child. There have been many theories.”
Robert shook his head blankly.
“Now Alice and Sebastian and I have our own theory.” Violet frowned. “Or—I mean—Professor Bollingall and Sebastian. I don’t know who I mean. In any event, we believe that traits are passed from child to parent through these.” She tapped her finger against the photograph on the table. “Chromosomes. We correlated Sebastian’s chart of attempted violet crosses with the number of thingy-blobbies observed in the cells of these species—”
“Yes, that’s enough explanation on that front.” Robert took a sip of his coffee. “I am still besieged with questions. Questions such as: Why are you doing this now?”
“I could hardly have done it any earlier.” Violet frowned. “I didn’t get the idea until just last night, when Jane started talking about aniline blue right while I was staring at Alice’s photographs of cellular division. And then—”
“No, no.” Oliver came and sat down next to Violet. “Violet. Good God. That’s not what he means. We just want to know.” He swallowed. “Why have you never told us you were one of the world’s foremost scientists?”
Her world stopped. The thing she hadn’t wanted to think about slipped back into her consciousness. Years of carefully creeping about—and she’d thrown away all her hard-earned secrecy in one selfish toss. Everyone here must know by now.
“I…” She licked her lips. “It’s that…”
If the truth came out, she’d never be received in polite society. Lily would cut her entirely. Her mother would… Violet couldn’t even think of what her mother would do.
And yet she wasn’t afraid. Maybe she was too tired for fear. Maybe she was too excited. She should have been shaking. Usually, a recital of the horrors to come would be enough to scare her, to remind Violet that she needed to keep quiet and keep her head down.
But today…
Jane had joined her husband in the room. She was staring at Violet, too. All those eyes, all focused on her.
Why wasn’t Violet afraid?
“Good God,” Violet heard herself say disdainfully. “Why would any of you want to know?”
She couldn’t wait for the answer, couldn’t watch her friends flinch from her, now that they knew the truth. She felt visible, picked out in vibrant colors, when she’d only ever wanted to hide away.
She stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have to—I have to—”
God, what did she have to do?
“Sleep,” she said. “Change.” Hide. She touched Alice’s shoulder. “I’ll call on you when we’ve both had a chance to rest.”
Nose in the air. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t let them see how much you care.
Those were her mother’s rules, and even though her mother would hate to see them used under these circumstances, she was grateful to have them. Her mother had taught Violet how to be reviled, how to pretend that nothing mattered. It came so easily to her—that haughty brush past Oliver and Robert.
But then Jane stepped forward.
“Violet,” she said softly. “We want to know because we love you.”
Violet stared at her friend for a moment in unblinking befuddlement. Her words didn’t make sense. Didn’t Jane realize what Violet had just disclosed? What she’d done? Who she was?
Jane set a sympathetic hand on Violet’s arm. Violet didn’t understand sympathy. She couldn’t make sense of any of this. She felt hollow inside. Hollow and utterly brittle.
“I’m going.” She turned and fled.
“No,” she heard Sebastian saying. “Let her go. She needs a little time to figure out how she feels.”
But he was wrong. Violet knew how she felt already: Empty. Utterly empty.
VIOLET FELT EMPTY when she escaped into Sebastian’s study. She was totally devoid of all proper feelings.
It felt good to be in a familiar place—here, at his desk, where they’d gone over paper after paper together. The clock made a comfortable sound, its steady ticks slowing her heart. The books smelled of Sebastian.
She sat in her usual chair and put her elbows on his desk.
God, what a mess. Two people could keep a secret. Even the addition of Alice could have been hidden—she and her husband clearly had their own set of secrets, and they’d have been motivated to join the charade.
But the idea had sprung into Violet’s head and she’d charged straight on with it, paying no attention to the fact that Oliver, Robert, Jane, Minnie, and Free—Free for God’s sake, Frederica Marshall was practically unknown to her—were all present. What had she been thinking?
“I wasn’t thinking,” she snapped aloud. “That was the problem.”
But as soon as she said the words, she knew them for the lie that they were.
She had thought. For a split second, when she’d glanced at the sketches in the paper and had that inkling of an idea, she had thought.
You can’t do this. You had better wait.
Violet frowned, considering this. That sense of unease came back; this time, even though she gave it a solid shove, it wouldn’t retreat.
Slowly, she raised her head from the photograph she was contemplating.
It was…morning. How had it come to be morning? She didn’t recall sleeping. She didn’t recall anything but a blur of film negatives and glass slides. Her fingers were dyed a deep blue; the early sunlight reflected off piles of silver spoons right across from her.
Just beyond the silverware, watching with an earnest expression, sat Frederica Marshall. She was the one who had just spoken.
For one moment, Violet was filled with in uncomprehending confusion. Oh, God. What had she done?
“What are you doing, Violet?” asked a voice from behind her. She whirled in her seat. Robert and Oliver stood in the doorway. Robert’s hair was still damp; he held a cup of something steaming and hot, something that set her stomach growling.
“Oooh.” Alice staggered to her feet. “Good heavens. Look at the time. I’m too old to stay awake the entire night. I haven’t done that since I was twenty-two.”
“Violet?” Robert pressed.
Violet blinked. There was nothing to do but brazen it out. “Didn’t you know?” she said breezily. “One of the great unsolved questions in biology is that of how traits are passed from parent to child. There have been many theories.”
Robert shook his head blankly.
“Now Alice and Sebastian and I have our own theory.” Violet frowned. “Or—I mean—Professor Bollingall and Sebastian. I don’t know who I mean. In any event, we believe that traits are passed from child to parent through these.” She tapped her finger against the photograph on the table. “Chromosomes. We correlated Sebastian’s chart of attempted violet crosses with the number of thingy-blobbies observed in the cells of these species—”
“Yes, that’s enough explanation on that front.” Robert took a sip of his coffee. “I am still besieged with questions. Questions such as: Why are you doing this now?”
“I could hardly have done it any earlier.” Violet frowned. “I didn’t get the idea until just last night, when Jane started talking about aniline blue right while I was staring at Alice’s photographs of cellular division. And then—”
“No, no.” Oliver came and sat down next to Violet. “Violet. Good God. That’s not what he means. We just want to know.” He swallowed. “Why have you never told us you were one of the world’s foremost scientists?”
Her world stopped. The thing she hadn’t wanted to think about slipped back into her consciousness. Years of carefully creeping about—and she’d thrown away all her hard-earned secrecy in one selfish toss. Everyone here must know by now.
“I…” She licked her lips. “It’s that…”
If the truth came out, she’d never be received in polite society. Lily would cut her entirely. Her mother would… Violet couldn’t even think of what her mother would do.
And yet she wasn’t afraid. Maybe she was too tired for fear. Maybe she was too excited. She should have been shaking. Usually, a recital of the horrors to come would be enough to scare her, to remind Violet that she needed to keep quiet and keep her head down.
But today…
Jane had joined her husband in the room. She was staring at Violet, too. All those eyes, all focused on her.
Why wasn’t Violet afraid?
“Good God,” Violet heard herself say disdainfully. “Why would any of you want to know?”
She couldn’t wait for the answer, couldn’t watch her friends flinch from her, now that they knew the truth. She felt visible, picked out in vibrant colors, when she’d only ever wanted to hide away.
She stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have to—I have to—”
God, what did she have to do?
“Sleep,” she said. “Change.” Hide. She touched Alice’s shoulder. “I’ll call on you when we’ve both had a chance to rest.”
Nose in the air. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t let them see how much you care.
Those were her mother’s rules, and even though her mother would hate to see them used under these circumstances, she was grateful to have them. Her mother had taught Violet how to be reviled, how to pretend that nothing mattered. It came so easily to her—that haughty brush past Oliver and Robert.
But then Jane stepped forward.
“Violet,” she said softly. “We want to know because we love you.”
Violet stared at her friend for a moment in unblinking befuddlement. Her words didn’t make sense. Didn’t Jane realize what Violet had just disclosed? What she’d done? Who she was?
Jane set a sympathetic hand on Violet’s arm. Violet didn’t understand sympathy. She couldn’t make sense of any of this. She felt hollow inside. Hollow and utterly brittle.
“I’m going.” She turned and fled.
“No,” she heard Sebastian saying. “Let her go. She needs a little time to figure out how she feels.”
But he was wrong. Violet knew how she felt already: Empty. Utterly empty.
VIOLET FELT EMPTY when she escaped into Sebastian’s study. She was totally devoid of all proper feelings.
It felt good to be in a familiar place—here, at his desk, where they’d gone over paper after paper together. The clock made a comfortable sound, its steady ticks slowing her heart. The books smelled of Sebastian.
She sat in her usual chair and put her elbows on his desk.
God, what a mess. Two people could keep a secret. Even the addition of Alice could have been hidden—she and her husband clearly had their own set of secrets, and they’d have been motivated to join the charade.
But the idea had sprung into Violet’s head and she’d charged straight on with it, paying no attention to the fact that Oliver, Robert, Jane, Minnie, and Free—Free for God’s sake, Frederica Marshall was practically unknown to her—were all present. What had she been thinking?
“I wasn’t thinking,” she snapped aloud. “That was the problem.”
But as soon as she said the words, she knew them for the lie that they were.
She had thought. For a split second, when she’d glanced at the sketches in the paper and had that inkling of an idea, she had thought.
You can’t do this. You had better wait.
