Haunting Violet

by Alyxandra Harvey

  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.”

  “Flatterer. Come on, then, I expect you’re thirsty.”

  We followed her into the housekeeper’s parlor, where there was a hearth with a single easy chair in front of it and several baskets of knitting. The cupboards on the opposite wall were packed floor to ceiling with the manor preserves, jams, spices, and sugar. She lowered herself carefully into a chair at the small table, motioning for us to do the same. A maid hurried in with a tray of tea and berry tarts.

  Elizabeth all but fell on the tarts. She ate with a little moan of delight before she recollected herself to why we were here in the first place.

  “Tell me, then, have you been keeping out of mischief?” Mrs. Moon asked.

  Elizabeth smiled breezily, licking a bit of raspberry off her lip. “Of course.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  We drank our tea with fresh milk and ate tarts. It wasn’t until she’d reached the bottom of her cup that Elizabeth remarked on anything other than the weather and fond memories of Mrs. Moon chasing her and Rowena out of the kitchen with a broom when they accidentally turned over a pot of bubbling jam. At the mention of Rowena’s name, Mrs. Moon sighed. “Poor lamb.”

  “I still miss her,” Elizabeth said quietly.

  Mrs. Moon patted her hand. “Of course you do, dear.”

  “I still don’t understand how she drowned. She swam quite well.”

  Mrs. Moon looked away. “A dreadful accident,” was all she said.

  Elizabeth leaned forward, rattling her empty cup. “But it doesn’t make sense, Moony.” Which I gathered was their childhood nickname for the housekeeper.

  “Tragedies never make sense. Have some more tea.”

  She poured the rest of the pot out and pushed more tarts toward us. Chewing wasn’t going to stop Elizabeth from asking questions though. She just took smaller bites and swallowed quicker. “Do you remember that day? When Rowena drowned?”

  “ ’Course I do. She’d had another row with her beau and couldn’t sleep. Tabitha was sulking because her father sent word that he’d stay in India for the foreseeable future. Miss Donovan was here too, though the girls were too distracted for lessons, it was that hot out.”

  “Was there no one … strange about?”

  Mrs. Moon frowned. “What do ye mean, strange? Sir Wentworth had guests and even your own Lord Jasper’s house was full to the brim with summer visitors. It’s always like that in the summer.”

  “But no one … sinister?”

  “Hmph. Don’t go getting wild ideas in your head, Lizzie. You always were one for storytelling. Rowena had an accident. I expect she was tired or else suffered a cramp of some kind. The doctor said it would have been peaceful-like.” Mrs. Moon touched a napkin to her lips. She stood up with a warm but firm smile. “Shall I go see if Miss Tabitha is at home?”

  “But we came to see you,” Elizabeth said.

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “And not even a hello for your old childhood friend?”

  “I’ve seen Tabitha all week at Uncle Jasper’s,” she muttered. “And she’s cross as two cats.”

  “Well, I expect she’s just tired.”

  Elizabeth gave a long-suffering sigh as she dragged herself into a standing position. “Very well, if we must.”

  “It’s what ladies do.” She said it very decisively. “Now, come along.”

  We followed obediently behind her, making faces. The last thing I wanted to do was visit with Tabitha. The rooms were huge, every surface polished and dusted. The drapes were heavy velvet, but here in the country, they were pulled back to let in the sunlight. There was no danger of the city’s coal fog smearing every nook and cranny with soot. We were left in a sunny parlor, vases of orchids and gladioli sharing their heavy scents.

  “So both Caroline and Peter were here,” I whispered. “And they have a secret between them—I heard them in the garden one night.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Really? But he’s a gentleman. And she’s too dull to have secrets.”

  A few moments later the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Tabitha stopped in the doorway, wearing a beautiful yellow dress with a white underskirt. She looked exceedingly tired.

  “What are you two doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I came to eat Moony’s tarts,” Elizabeth said, lounging back with a hand on her stomach. She groaned. “And I ate too many.”

  “You never did know when to stop,” Tabitha said, but not meanly. She sat down on the edge of a scrolled chair, as if she wasn’t sure if she was going to bolt. She eyed me with distrust. I just smiled as inoffensively as I could. I’d been dealing with Mother’s temper all these years; I wasn’t going to be cowed by a debutante, no matter what her family connections might be. There were crystal vases everywhere, overflowing with roses and irises and larkspur. Elizabeth stifled a sneeze.

  “Why all the flowers?” she asked.

  Tabitha lifted her chin haughtily. “They’re from my admirers.” There were enough of them to stock a flower shop twice over. She looked over them proudly. “Almost every eligible bachelor at Rosefield has sent some, even Fitzwilliam.” I wondered briefly if Xavier sent any but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of peeking. “There are even some from London, though I haven’t been in over a year and I’m not even officially out yet.” She preened like a cat.

  “Your uncle must have had a fit of nerves,” Elizabeth snorted.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “Should we visit with him?” Elizabeth asked, still rubbing her too-full belly.

  “No, he’s in a dreadful temper. He lost at cards and then saw all the flowers. And father sent word that—” She glanced at me. “Well, never mind. He’s in a temper.”

  “Just as well. I don’t think I can move.”

  “Are you enjoying your stay in the country?” Tabitha asked me stiffly.

  “Yes, thank you.” I nodded.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Polite parlor conversation always made me feel itchy. Colin and Frederic, though of different classes, were allowed to sneak off and drink Madeira behind the shed. No one expected them to smile and sit politely. I suddenly envied them and their choices. I wanted to stroll through Vauxhall Gardens and visit the gaming hells and the opium dens. I wanted to walk in Hyde Park without a maid, or ride too fast in a carriage down St. James Street. I suddenly wanted it all.

  And I was going to start by throwing off the pretty shackles of drawing room chatter. It was probably a bad idea. I wasn’t sure why I did it, but I co
uldn’t seem to help myself. I leaned forward.

  “Tabitha, your sister wants us to find her murderer.”

  Not precisely how I’d meant to begin.

  “Not this again,” Tabitha snapped, turning to Elizabeth, who had sat up from her lounging as if a stray spark from the grate had set her skirts on fire. “Why did you bring your lunatic friend with you if you can’t control her?”

  “Tabitha, please just listen to her,” she pleaded.

  “I’ve already told you, I’m not a Spiritualist. I don’t believe in ghosts.” She whirled toward me. “Is she here right now?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “How convenient.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. Actually, I’m not entirely certain how it works,” I admitted.

  “It doesn’t work at all,” she said. “And my sister wasn’t murdered. She drowned.”

  “You know as well as I do that your sister was far too good a swimmer to drown in a little pond.” Elizabeth scoffed.

  Tabitha narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t think so before you met her.” By which I gathered she meant me.

  “Perhaps that’s true. But it’s only because she made me think, not just blindly accept what I was being told. And you can’t deny people have been acting queer about it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She was trying to sound uninterested but it was too late. I’d caught the flicker in her eye. I just wasn’t entirely certain as to how to decipher it.

  “Perhaps I’m wrong then,” I said. “I hope so. I only know that she’s trying to tell me something, and that she’s trying to protect you.”

  “From what?” I didn’t think she knew she was chewing anxiously on her lower lip.

  “I’m not sure. But she won’t rest. Not until we find out what happened to her.”

  “She drowned. She was tired.”

  “Do you really believe that?” I asked softly.

  She leaped to her feet and paced to the window. “I have to.” It was the most honest thing I’d heard her say. Although I didn’t like her much, I could at least admire her for that alone.

  “Can you remember who was here that week?” I asked. “We have to start somewhere.”

  “Start what?”

  “Our investigation,” Elizabeth replied, eyes shining.

  “I think you’re both daft,” Tabitha said.

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. But try to remember which guests were here anyway.”

  Tabitha sighed, as if she were greatly put upon.

  “We didn’t spend much time with the guests. We were still in the schoolroom, you’ll recall. Caroline was here, of course, and Peter was courting Rowena, though she was sweet on someone else. She only paid him any attention because they’ve been betrothed since we were seven years old.”

  “She was sweet on someone?” Elizabeth caught the scent of gossip as a hound caught the scent of deer in the woods. She would have put her nose to the ground if she’d thought it would help. “Who was she flirting with? She never told me a thing!”

  “I still don’t know,” Tabitha admitted. “She wouldn’t tell me either. Anyway, no one ever spoke up afterward, or seemed more overset than the others at the funeral.”

  Elizabeth nodded, clearly trying to remember. “I was at Highgate Cemetery for the London service,” she said quietly. “I don’t remember any young man in particular either.” She tapped her fingers on her knee. “That’s going to bother me now.”

  I nudged her. “Focus.”

  “Right, sorry. Who else was here, Tabitha?”

  “I’m not sure. I think your cousin Frederic was at Rosefield with his sisters and both your aunts. Uncle’s town friends came down, but I don’t remember their names. Lords Winterbourne, Underhall, and Fitzwilliam as well, of course. They always come to a good party.” I recognized them from Rosefield. They spent most of their time gambling and hunting.

  “Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth sighed. “He’s utterly divine, isn’t he?”

  He was rather handsome, with dark hair and a proud profile. He winked at all the debutantes to make them giggle. And he’d taken his coat off during the croquet game.

  “Rowena thought so too,” Tabitha said. “I think he’s far too old.”

  “And Mr. Travis?” I asked casually.

  She frowned. “Who?”

  “He’s one of the Spiritualists visiting Rosefield,” Elizabeth explained. “Very tall and rather thin? From the village?”

  Tabitha shrugged. “I don’t know him. Hardly sounds worth an introduction.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes at me. “Is that all?” she pressed Tabitha.

  “Yes. We were busy reading Greek myths and Caroline was an absolute bear about letting us out to mingle with the adults.”

  Tabitha wavered in front of me, but only for a moment. Then Rowena was there, streaming water and lily petals. Her hand was pale and fluttered up to her neck. On her left hand, the gold ring with the tiny pearls that I’d found in the mud. The one Tabitha had grabbed from me. The one she was wearing right now.

  “Rowena’s ring,” I murmured questioningly. Tabitha curled her finger into the palm of her opposite hand, as if to hide it.

  “I said as much,” she answered defensively. “So?”

  “Tabitha,” I said gently. “What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing. She wouldn’t tell me who gave it to her, and she wouldn’t take it off.” She looked as if she might say something else, but Caroline rushed in, flustered.

  “There you are,” she said. “I wondered where you’d gone off to.”

  Tabitha clamped her lips together. “I’ve hardly run away,” she said, annoyed. “You needn’t hover like a henmother. I’m perfectly capable of being alone for an hour.”

  Caroline murmured placatingly and sat on a settee in the corner. Tabitha looked away, her entire posture changing. Whatever she might have been getting ready to tell us wasn’t going to be revealed now. Not with her governess watching her every movement. Tabitha stiffened, as if her corset had just been tightened.

  “Thank you for visiting,” she said. “But I’m feeling a little off.”

  “Perhaps you ought to lie down,” Caroline suggested softly.

  “No, I’ll go for a walk in the garden.” She was pale. She pulled a tin of lozenges out of her pocket and slipped one under her tongue.

  Elizabeth frowned. “Are those laudanum candies? Why are you taking those?”

  “I have black headaches,” she answered tersely. She walked away without another word. I tried to ignore the hazy presence of several ghost-maids, winking in and out of sight by the window, all staring at me beseechingly.

  I didn’t like the way Caroline watched us go, her expression determined and even more pinched than usual.

  CHAPTER 13

  None of our subtle espionage had done us much good. Even our more deliberate questioning hadn’t revealed anything particularly helpful. At this rate, I’d be an old lady in my rocking chair with Rowena still flitting about me like an annoying gnat. The image alone was enough to keep me awake for hours.

  I finally gave up and decided to go downstairs to the library. I went as quietly as I could, bringing a candle with me so I wouldn’t stumble into any furniture and wake the household. I was being so careful, I knew instantly that the creak of floorboards wasn’t the result of my own footsteps. I froze. Another creak. I had no idea if it was a ghostly footstep or a more mundane human step. Either way, I had no wish to be discovered.

  I blew out my candle and slipped into the shadows caused by a tall mahogany armoire and a cluster of ferns at the top of the stairs. I held my breath and waited. The creaking became louder and finally a figure came around the corner.

  Mr. Travis.

  He looked positively dreadful. His eyes were red as if he’d been drinking, but he seemed perfectly sober. Weeping might have caused such redness, but I didn’t know what he could have to weep about. His slouch was more pronounced, as if it was
a struggle to hold his posture. I frowned as he passed by me and went down the stairs. I debated fetching Elizabeth but there was no time. I eased out of the corner to follow him. He was clearly up to no good.

  Mr. Travis passed the parlor without pausing. I raced from the shadowy safety of fern to fern to clock. I avoided the urns altogether. I hadn’t thought he was moving very quickly but I lost sight of him around the corner past the library. The ballroom was an empty cavern. Frustrated, I turned on my heel, wondering how I was going to find him now.

  I’d lost him entirely until I heard a murmur of voices from the men’s private smoking room. The door was closed. I knelt silently in front of it, pressing my eye to the keyhole. I could see the flicker of a small fire in the grate and oil lamps on the tables. Lord Jasper puffed on an ebony pipe, reclining in his chair.

  “Can’t sleep again, old chap?” he asked Mr. Travis.

  Mr. Travis ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m afraid not.”

  “You look awful,” Peter slurred cheerfully. “Come and play at cards. I could use some more pocket money, if you’ve got any to lose. Ran clear through all my monthly allowance already.”

  Mr. Travis joined them at the polished table, passing around a decanter of port and playing cards. I wouldn’t get a better opportunity to suss out their secrets. I made a special point to seek out Lords Fitzwilliam, Winterbourne, and Underhall. Winterbourne was the only one of them not playing. Sir Wentworth’s face was flushed, whether from sitting so near the fire or too much port, I couldn’t tell. Frederic and Peter were definitely suffering the effects of too much port. If they swayed into each other any closer, Frederic would be sitting in Peter’s lap. I entertained the notion of going to fetch Elizabeth but decided against it. At the sight of Frederic’s undone cravat and open collar she’d squeal and we’d be found out for sure.

  “Is that wise, Sir Wentworth?” Lord Underhall said mildly. “You’ve already lost your favorite horse.”

  Tabitha’s uncle drained his glass and set it down forcefully enough that the glass stem snapped. He wiped his hand on his pants. “Bah, I’ll win yet. Mark my words.”