“Violet!” His cane scattered glass shards. “Are you hurt?” He took me from Sir Wentworth’s grasp, eyeing me carefully, as a grandfather might. Colin came next, face pale.
“Oh, Violet!” Elizabeth gasped.
Goose bumps pebbled my bare arms above my gloves and over the back of my neck. Rowena dissipated like smoke. I met Mr. Travis’s dark, serious gaze and knew he was remembering the urn nearly falling on me. I was starting to be suspicious at his presence at both events. I might have wondered at it some more but I was distracted by the pounding of my pulse in my ears and the fact that my heart seemed to have lodged itself firmly in my throat.
“Thank you, Sir Wentworth,” I said, my voice scratchy.
“Violet! My darling!” My mother clutched Xavier’s arm, dragging him toward me. Her eyes were too bright and I knew there’d been more than tea in her cup. She only realized something was happening when attention veered away from her. “We were so worried.” She patted Xavier’s shoulder. “You look faint. Perhaps Mr. Trethewey might lend you his arm.”
“I’m not faint.” She glared at me, then shot Xavier a sidelong glance. I knew what I was meant to do. I should have put a hand to my pale brow and crumpled delicately into Xavier’s arms. I just didn’t have it in me.
“Pardon me,” I murmured before fleeing upstairs.
Because not only had we taken tea with a murderer, but it was also becoming a distinct possibility that someone was trying to warn me away—or kill me altogether.
That night Colin came to my room. It was scandalous to allow him inside but I didn’t care. And his face was so grim, I doubt he would have left anyway. He could be intractable when he chose to be.
“You have to go back to London,” he blurted out, his gaze flicking away from my nightdress. “And don’t stand there.”
I blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “What? Why?” I cast a glance behind me, half afraid there was a ghost looming. There was only a candle flickering.
“The light’s behind you. I can see your legs through your gown.”
“So?”
“It’s distracting.” Something about the way he said it, through his clenched teeth, made me smile. He narrowed his eyes. “Stop that.”
I stepped away with exaggerated primness, still grinning. “Did you just come here to tell me not to stand by the candle?”
“ ’Course not.” His Irish brogue thickened and I knew he was truly upset. “We have to leave. Now.”
“Whyever for?”
He stared at me. “Did you miss the part where a chandelier nearly fell on your head, you daft girl?”
“But it didn’t. I’m fine.”
“For now. We’ve made someone nervous. That was a bleedin’ warning, Violet.”
“Which can mean only one thing.”
“That you’re in terrible danger?”
“No,” I replied, sitting on the settee at the end of the bed. “That we’re getting close to some kind of answer.”
“And the closer you get, the more danger you’ll be in,” Colin pointed out.
“But we can’t stop now. Rowena deserves justice, doesn’t she? And what if I’m the only one who can help her?”
“I don’t much care about her. I care about you.”
I felt warm all over when he said that, as if we were sitting in a field in full sunlight. “I can’t leave, Colin.”
“I reckoned you’d say that.” He jerked his hand through his hair. “Mind you don’t forget to carry salt. And you remember that punch I taught you?” I nodded. “Don’t tuck your thumb in or you’ll break it.”
“I don’t think punching ghosts works terribly well.”
“And I don’t think a ghost loosened that chandelier. Or pushed the urn over.”
“I suppose not.” I pulled the spirit-board out of the armoire. Elizabeth had left it behind for me to experiment with but I hadn’t had a chance. “We could investigate the spirit world while we’re at it, though,” I suggested. “Just to be thorough.”
“What the devil’s that?”
“A spirit-board,” I explained. “Elizabeth and I have already used it to speak to Rowena.” I sat on the carpet and placed the planchette in the center of the board, a lock of my hair falling over my arm. Colin reached out to brush it away, holding it between his fingers for a long, silent moment, as if it were something precious. I slid him a glance out of the corner of my eye. He was very close and very serious. I thought he might kiss me again. He sat back and cleared his throat before I could consider kissing him.
“How does it work?” he asked hoarsely, his brogue so thick he sounded as if he were speaking Gaelic.
“You put your fingertips on this piece here and then ask a question. A spirit answers by spelling out words.”
His hands brushed mine. His skin was warm, sending tingles up my arm. I concentrated on the board. It was ridiculous to get all swoony just because Colin was sitting next to me in the half darkness.
“Spirits,” I whispered. For some reason my throat felt hot. “Spirits, speak to us.”
We waited, barely breathing. The planchette stayed still.
“I don’t think it’s working. We must be doing it arseways.”
“Give it a minute,” I chastised him. “Spirits, we listen,” I announced again. “Spirits, speak! Join us here!”
The planchette trembled, like a butterfly pinned to a board. Colin sucked in a breath, cursing. I raised an eyebrow in his direction, as cheekily as I could.
“Yeah, all right,” he muttered.
The planchette didn’t point to any letters, however; instead, it spun in place. We snatched our hands away but it continued to whirl, abandoning any attempt to spell out messages. It moved so quickly it lifted into the air, then stopped abruptly and landed with a thud, denting the board.
A cold wind crackled, fluttering the candlelight. Our breaths turned white, mingling. The spirit of an old woman coalesced over the board, the hem of her tattered gown leaving frost on the carpet. She smiled at me, most of her teeth missing. Then she crouched down to peer into Colin’s face. She wore a towering wig, the kind that was fashionable a hundred years ago. White rats crawled through the curls and moth-eaten ribbons. Hoarfrost clung to Colin’s boots.
“Colin, be careful!”
Too late.
The old woman whirled around him, kicking up a cold wind that had my teeth chattering. She crouched behind Colin, then pushed at him until her knobby hands poked out of his chest. He went so pale he was faintly blue. He clutched at his chest though I knew he couldn’t see the ghostly hands. He shook harshly, fighting the possession. He was strong and clever.
But he was losing.
“Stop it!” I leaped forward. She just clicked her teeth at me. Snow drifted from the ceiling. “Oi!” I hollered, abandoning all of my elocution and diction lessons in a fit of rage. I yanked Colin forward by his shirt and then fished the salt he’d warned me to carry out of my pocket. I dumped some on his head and threw the rest in the old woman’s face. He shook some of it onto his hand and licked it. Once he’d swallowed the salt, the old woman screeched and vanished, rats and all.
Colin gasped for air, his chest moving violently as he knelt on the floor. His hair fell into his eyes.
“You should carry salt in your pockets too,” I said shakily. He took my hand before I could step back and pressed his lips to the backs of my fingers.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I had the urge to kneel down in front of him so we’d be eye to eye, mouth to mouth.
Before I could move, a sound outside the door broke the moment.
Colin dove under the bed. I whirled, making sure I was blocking the spirit-board. The door opened suddenly.
“Violet, what are you doing?” my mother demanded, glancing around suspiciously.
“Practicing for the séance,” I answered blithely.
“Well, do be quiet,” she snapped before marching back to her bedroom. I crossed the carpet
to shut the door properly.
Colin poked his head out from under the bed. He was disheveled, in a faded linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Even now, with all the strange new energy between us, he felt like home.
He got to his feet and flipped his hair back. “You’re not safe in this house.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d narrowly escaped great injury in Lord Jasper’s house twice now, and the spirit-board did belong to him. Colin was right. Something wasn’t quite right. I wanted to ask Elizabeth about it, but I knew she’d never think anything but the best of her uncle.
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.”
“Good. I’ve the darning needle in my boot already. At least I won’t have to hobble around with the bellows again.” I looked up at him. “Do you think she’ll stop after this? For a little while?”
His mouth turned. “What do you think?”
I sighed. “No, of course she won’t.” The lease on our house expired this summer. If no more money came in, we’d be destitute. Worse yet, mediums were expected to accept gifts, not actual coin, if they didn’t wish to be labeled professional. “I hate this, Colin.”
“I know.”
“You, at least, aren’t actually related to her.” Maybe these medium gifts were penance for all the lies I’d told.
He shrugged one shoulder, looked away. “It’s not so bad, not really.”
“Why do you stay?” I asked quietly. “Is it because your mother mentioned me?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that,” he muttered.
“What did she say, Colin?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Colin?”
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “She spoke of a girl with violet eyes. That’s all.”
“Do you still miss her?”
“Aye.” He came closer.
“Is that why you stay? To honor her memory? Even though my mother is horrid?”
His eyes locked onto mine. “I stay for you, Violet.”
I suddenly felt warm all over. “For me?”
He nodded once. “I can’t leave you to her. She’d eat you alive.” He crouched in front of me. “You should get away from her, Violet. There’s better for you out there.”
I could smell the rose petals on his hands. “The only way I can get away is if I marry.”
“Trethewey,” he said grimly.
“Not necessarily,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable. “Maybe.”
“You don’t love him.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“But I don’t have options, Colin, not like you do,” I snapped defensively. “I’m a woman, in case you’ve forgotten. My options are the stews or the seamstress; Mother always said no wife would hire me as a governess.” Though I still harbored the belief that I could make it happen. Somehow. “So that leaves one other option: marriage. And Xavier’s a good man.” I wasn’t sure whom I was trying to convince, or why I felt so wretched. All I knew was that the moment was ruined, like good lace unrolled to reveal moth-eaten tears.
“He’s hardly a man. He’ll never understand you,” he said fiercely. “Do you think he’ll smile and hold your hand the next time a ghost tries to corner you at supper?”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
“Then he won’t know you.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?” There were tears burning behind my lids. I refused to let them fall. My breath hitched as I lifted my chin stubbornly.
He reached down for my hand and pulled me to my feet. I was suddenly standing very close to him. His blue eyes were nearly silver in the gloom of the dark parlor. I could see the tanned glimpse of skin under his collar. His throat moved rhythmically when he swallowed.
And just as I was beginning to wonder if he was going to kiss me he released me abruptly.
“We should get some sleep,” he said gruffly.
I nodded mutely. We didn’t speak again, parting ways in the hall.
When I reached my room, there were pink rose petals scattered across my pillow. I got under the blankets and lay down, inhaling their delicate scent.
I wasn’t sure if they made me feel better or worse.
Mother was drinking sherry out of a teacup painted with fat peonies. Her hair was perfectly swept up, her dress black silk, her gloves black lace. Jet beads dripped from her throat.
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