Haunting Violet

by Alyxandra Harvey

  “Have a care, Miss Willoughby,” he murmured, his silver cravat pin gleaming. I stumbled back out of his hold, trembling. I recognized the cravat pin from the gardens.

  Several footmen raced toward us. “What happened? Are you hurt, miss?”

  I shook my head, trying to find my voice. “The urn fell.”

  “You ought to be more careful,” the man with the pin said to me in a way that made me think he was actually saying something else. In the shadows of the hallway, he looked gaunt. His suit may as well have hung on a scarecrow. He finally looked at one of the footmen. “This urn ought to be better secured. Lord Jasper will need to be informed. One would assume he doesn’t plan to have his guests flattened.” His gaze swung back to me. “Do you wish for us to summon your mother?”

  “No!” I could just imagine her response should she be taken away from her admirers. “I’m perfectly well, thank you. My friend is waiting for me.” I swallowed, my heart still racing inside my chest. My corset felt tighter than usual. Even though he made me uncomfortable with his staring, he had saved me from injury. I curtsied. He bowed and left.

  I stopped the footman. “Who was that man?” I asked him.

  “Mr. Travis, miss. Right kind fellow he is too, but tormented. Paces the halls all night and doesn’t sleep.”

  Mr. Travis.

  I must have gone pale because the footman peered at me nervously. “Are you ill, miss?”

  “No, just the shock, I expect.” I gave him a wobbly smile before fleeing into the safety of the ballroom. Inside the doors, Xavier stopped me before I could find Elizabeth and tell her I had found our Mr. Tra—, though I was no nearer to knowing what that actually meant. He was clearly up to something; men didn’t lurk about gardens in the middle of the night or pace endlessly for the good of their health. And he stared a lot.

  But he had saved me just now.

  “Good evening, Miss Willoughby.” Xavier smelled of soap and cologne. He was safe, polite, and unlikely to push an urn on me. I felt my pulse return to normal.

  “Miss Willoughby, would you do me the honor of this dance?” he asked as the strains of a waltz fell like soft rain around us. I took his arm and he led me out onto the dance floor. The evening might yet regain some of its luster. Xavier held me close enough that I could feel his breath on my hair. His hand was warm on my waist. I could forget about everything else and let him spin me in circles, the other dancers a blur of colors around us. It was like being caught in a kaleidoscope.

  “I’ve never seen you more beautiful,” he said. He held me like I was delicate, made of porcelain and lace. I was neither of those things but I smiled nonetheless.

  “Thank you.”

  We danced until I felt flushed and nearly dizzy. When the music faded, Xavier bowed again and I curtsied. “Miss Willoughby, if I might be so bold as to ask you to accompany me into the gardens? The moon is quite lovely on the roses, or so I hear.”

  I smiled, placing my hand on his forearm. Everyone knew couples stole away into the gardens at a ball to kiss. I widened my eyes at Elizabeth as we passed her. She muffled a giggle behind her glove. I hoped I wasn’t blushing.

  The evening was warm with a bright moon pouring light like milk onto the trees and the flowers. The white roses glowed. Fireflies darted between the oak trees in the grove, barely visible. Couples meandered over the lawn, and a handful of gentlemen smoked cheroots and laughed in the corner of the veranda. Xavier and I walked along the flagstone path, and I trailed my fingers over the flowers, releasing the scent of petals and perfume.

  “I think you must know, Miss Willoughby, that I admire you greatly.” I looked away, blushing for certain this time. “I hope you feel the same way I do.” He stopped and turned so that he was standing in front of me. His hair gleamed in the pale light. “When we return to the city, I should like to speak to your mother.”

  My breath caught. He could only mean one thing by talking to my mother—he meant to offer marriage. Marriage to me, barely sixteen and not even out yet. My heart was beating erratically. Part of me was thrilled and flattered and eager to be out of my mother’s house. Another part of me was nervous and scared. What would happen if he ever found out about mother’s “gifts,” and my part of the deception? Would he ever forgive me? Would his parents and his friends snub me? And what would Colin say when he heard? Would he ever stop sneering when he said Xavier’s name? Or was he even now giggling with the dairy maid?

  I wanted to wipe my damp palms on my skirt but I knew it would leave streaks on the silk. I should be ecstatic. And it wasn’t as if I had other options. We couldn’t carry on deceiving widows forever.

  And a declaration of love in a moonlit garden was what all girls dreamed of, wasn’t it? I was just giddy with nerves was all, and tired. Between screeching ghosts and falling urns, it was no wonder I was having difficulty catching up. And besides, Mother would no doubt push for a long engagement. She would want to enjoy all of the benefits of a society nuptial while she could. I would have plenty of time to accustom myself.

  Xavier must have misread my silence. He pressed my hand to his mouth. “Violet, if I may call you that?”

  I nodded. If we were going to be married, I suppose I ought to allow him permission to use my first name.

  “Violet, you are so lovely. I know we will suit. I just know it.”

  He leaned down and kissed me then, pressing his mouth against mine. His hands cupped my shoulders, holding me upright as if he thought I might swoon. His lips were soft, warm. He pulled me closer as music from the ballroom coiled around us like mist, all harps and weeping violins.

  And I wished I was the kind of girl to be swept away into the moment.

  CHAPTER 9

  I woke early the next morning again. It was becoming a very bad habit.

  Luckily Elizabeth was the only one in the breakfast room. She ducked teasingly when I took a piece of toasted bread and reached for the jam pot. I stuck out my tongue at her. It was so much more pleasant without the adults about or girls who sat up straight and smiled demurely even when they were alone. Elizabeth yawned hugely. I was exhausted too. I should have been still abed, cozy under the counterpane. We chewed between more yawns.

  The sun was glistening on the last of the dewdrops when we decided to go for a walk over the hills. It was warm already and the birds sang cheerfully from the hedgerows. We left behind the roses and the hydrangea and the oak trees, cutting through the green fields.

  “I can’t believe he kissed you!” Elizabeth exclaimed once we were carefully out of earshot. We were the only ones for miles it seemed, the house sitting sleepily on the hill behind us. It made me want to tear off my petticoats and run until my legs burned or spin in circles until I fell down.

  “I know.” I could still feel his hands on my neck, smell the smoke and leaf of him.

  “It’s so romantic. And he’s handsome. Not as handsome as Frederic,” Elizabeth said as we walked arm in arm. “But still a very good-looking young man, don’t you think? And his family’s quite rich.”

  Xavier. She’d been talking about Xavier, not Colin.

  “Quite handsome,” I agreed. Xavier really was handsome in his navy frock coat and gold pocket watch.

  “Do you really think he’s going to propose?”

  My stomach tingled, not unpleasantly. “Maybe. Why else would he want to speak to my mother?”

  Elizabeth squealed and hugged me. Then she jumped up and down. Laughing, I jumped up and down with her, seeing as she was still holding on to me.

  “Oh, what will you wear? Will you carry flowers?” I wasn’t going to tell her we couldn’t afford a new dress. I’d just have to wear my best gown and hope not too many people noticed I’d worn it before. “You’d look lovely with orange blossoms in your hair.”

  “I think lilacs would be nice,” I said, letting myself get distracted with the details. We would have a wedding breakfast with lemon cake sprinkled with sugared violets. Mother would wear white, like a proper
Spiritualist, instead of her customary black. Elizabeth would be my bridesmaid.

  “A spring wedding then. Perfect.” She sighed again, her whole body heaving with emotion. “I wish I were engaged.”

  “I’m not engaged!”

  “Not yet, Mrs. Trethewey.” She giggled. I would be Mrs. Xavier Trethewey. I’d always found it a little curious that I should go by a man’s first name. Violet Trethewey. I giggled too. I felt as if there were champagne bubbles in my throat.

  “Perhaps he’ll take you to the opera,” she added as the damp grass soaked the bottoms of our day dresses. “And oh! Perhaps you’ll go to Italy for your wedding trip! I’ve always longed to see Rome. You could get heaps of new gowns made. You’ll be so fashionable. Though it would have been nice if we’d been able to have our come-out together.”

  “Elizabeth,” I said gently. “I’m not from the peerage. I wouldn’t have been making my curtsy to the queen and coming out, regardless.” That much we’d never tried to hide.

  “Oh.” She pouted. “Well, you still have to help me practice. How can we be expected to back out of the room with such a long train on our gowns? What if I fall over? What if I take the rest of the debutantes with me?”

  We looked at each other and giggled. I could picture it perfectly.

  We crested the last hill between us and the pond that glittered between Rosefield and Whitestone Manor. Fields full of fat sheep stretched out on either side. Valleys were dark crevices filled with oak trees and mushrooms. Closer to the pond, long grass waved, dotted with wild mint, buttercup, and lady’s-smock.

  And a man standing in the lilies.

  He was tall and thin, his shoulders bowed as if he were in pain. He shuddered violently, even from a distance.

  Mr. Travis.

  “What’s he doing there?” I asked Elizabeth.

  She shook her head, shielding her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. Perhaps he’s out for a walk?”

  “To the pond where a girl drowned?” I frowned, suspicious. “I don’t like it.”

  “He does look rather … odd.”

  We approached quietly, descending the hill and climbing back up the slow incline to the pond. By the time we reached it, Mr. Travis was gone. I saw him cross into the woods that led back to Rosefield.

  “Do we know why he’s here?” I asked as we stopped by the pond. “How did Lord Jasper come to know him?”

  “His family lives in the village, I hear. His father’s a tailor or haberdasher or some such thing. I think he’s the only Spiritualist in the lot though. I can’t think how Rowena would have known him, though I admit I thought at first that he might be familiar.”

  “How?”

  “I can’t rightly place my finger on it. Perhaps it’s only my imagination. Mother has always claimed reading so many penny dreadful stories is bad for the disposition. And he’s not peerage, so she won’t allow an introduction, even here.”

  Pale lilies nodded their heavy heads when the breeze rose around us briefly. The water was deep and dark. We stepped onto one of the large rocks on the bank, balancing carefully. All around us were hills crossed with low stone walls and Whitestone Manor glowing like the moon. I felt peaceful for the first time in days, despite Mr. Travis. I could spend all day here, watching the birds dive for water bugs, listening to the crickets, waiting for the odd brave bunny to hop out of hiding for a bite to eat.

  And then, of course, Rowena had to go and ruin it.

  If I could have found a finishing school for ghosts I would have forced her to attend. She might have been an earl’s daughter while she lived, but as a dead girl, she had ghastly manners. And I was going to tell her so, just as soon as I figured out how not to choke on my own terrified heart.

  The water trembled only faintly at first, and then, under the surface, the pebbles at the bottom of the pond became eyes, brown eyes watching me. Her pale face bobbed to the surface followed by her wrists, ringed with bruises.

  She reached up out of the water and tugged on my ankle. Hard. Since Elizabeth was looking down without any reaction, I knew she didn’t see anything but weeds. I, however, had felt the insistent touch of cold fingers, even through my boot. I hadn’t thought ghosts could be corporeal.

  It was not a comforting realization.

  I jerked back but she yanked hard enough that I stumbled, slipping off the rock. I waved my arms uselessly, like a hysterical windmill, screaming. My ankle felt as if it was wrapped in ice. Elizabeth shouted and grabbed for me. Instead of stopping my fall, she joined me, adding momentum. We tumbled headfirst into the cold water with a most unladylike splash. I flailed about, trying to remember which way was up.

  The sun faded, as if swallowed by storm clouds. There was no light to pierce the water and guide me to the surface. I felt sluggish, as if I was moving through honey. It was the same odd feeling I’d had at the picnic, only worse, much worse.

  The pond wasn’t this deep.

  I should have hit bottom by now, or bobbed back up, but I was caught floating in between. I tried to kick but I could barely move. Water filled my mouth and my nose and I wanted to cough but even that seemed like too much effort. There was a shadow on the edge of the pond, standing in the grass, the moon a sudden bright glow behind them. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but I felt as if I knew them. Or as if Rowena did. I was confused.

  And drowning.

  I struggled harder, my hair floating like seaweed as it escaped its pins. My dress was heavy, weighing me down. My corset felt like iron hands clasped too tightly around my waist. My wrists were bruised and my throat burned. I had an odd taste in my mouth, medicinal and cloying. Letters rained down to bob on the pond’s surface, catching fire when they landed.

  And then Elizabeth grabbed my shoulder and yanked me up, sputtering with laughter. Her hair was plastered on her neck and face.

  “You look like a drowned rat!” She splashed at me, grinning.

  I coughed up water, desperately hauling air into my starved lungs. I hadn’t been drowning. I’d only been under for a few seconds. Rowena had drowned.

  We already knew that. She needn’t have been so violent in her reminders. My teeth chattered as I pushed the panic down.

  Rowena drowned, I reminded myself. Not me.

  I wished I could laugh at our clumsy tumble into a summer pond, as Elizabeth was doing. Instead, I was frantically wondering if we were floating above a dead body, if something else was going to grab me. I couldn’t get out fast enough. I slipped and went under again, landing hard on my backside. I dug for a handhold in the thick mud, palms scraping pebbles and stones. Water filled my mouth. I resurfaced, sputtering, panicking despite myself.

  “Clumsy!” Elizabeth teased me, leaning back to use her feet to churn up the pond water.

  “What,” a voice asked with icy disdain, “are you two doing?”

  Elizabeth just laughed louder. Tabitha looked down her nose at us. A nervous giggle burst in my throat. I had to fight the urge to pull her into the pond with us. Somehow, I didn’t think it would improve her disposition. She looked elegant in her pale dress. We looked like startled cats and smelled like green water.

  “Tabitha, you managed to escape both your uncle and Caroline!” Elizabeth crowed as we climbed out, using the long grass for a handhold. It was a rather ungraceful affair all around. Something tumbled from the mud caked on my hands. It glittered dully until I dipped it to rinse off the worst of the grime. My boots squelched when I moved.

  “I found something,” I muttered, swallowing. It was a gold ring set with pearls in the shape of a daisy.

  Tabitha paled. “Give me that.” She grabbed at it so viciously her nails left thin red welts. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

  Elizabeth tilted her head. “Is it yours, Tabitha?”

  But I knew with sudden, certain clarity that it wasn’t hers at all. That ring had belonged to her sister. The white lilies shivered at her feet, etched in impossible light.

  “It was Rowe
na’s,” she whispered, mostly to herself. When she looked up, her gaze was hot, like a burning ember tossed right at me. “Get off my uncle’s property,” she said between her teeth, “before I set his hunting dogs on you.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised practically up to her hairline as Tabitha stormed away. “Well,” she huffed. “Really.” She sat back in the grass, letting the sun warm her face. “What was that all about?” she asked curiously. She looked at me pointedly.

  “What?” I asked, looking away.

  She rolled her eyes. “Violet, I’m not a featherbrain. I know there’s something else going on here that you’re not telling me. I saw the spirit-board message too, remember, and it isn’t very sporting of you to leave me out.”

  I bit my lip for a moment before deciding. And then I told her everything: seeing Rowena before I’d even met Tabitha, the voices in the breakfast room, the spirits at the ball, everything. Being a good friend, and more important, a girl from a Spiritualist family, Elizabeth believed me straightaway, and probably would have even before we’d used the spirit-board. I doubted my every word, but she just nodded.

  “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.