Haunting Violet (13 page)

“Leave it alone, girls. Or I'll send you both straight back to London.”

CHAPTER 11

W
e stared at each other as Lord Jasper stalked out of the conservatory and back to the house. We followed at a slower pace, crossing the lawn toward the gardening shed. Birds sang from the hedgerows. A grasshopper bumped off my knee, disoriented.

Elizabeth linked her arm through mine, shivering. “I've never seen him like that,” she murmured. “He's hiding something.”

“Something definitely isn't right.” I chewed on my lower lip. “Perhaps this is more dangerous than we thought. Perhaps you oughtn't try it with me?”

“
Pfft
,” she exclaimed. Well, it was more of a rush of breath than an exclamation, but it conveyed her meaning clearly enough.

“We'll have to be careful,” I said, taking out the little hardbound book from my pocket. It might not look like much, but the leather was worn, the spine loose from many readings. Someone had clearly read it more than once.

“Careful about what?” a voice called out suspiciously. I froze, stifling a groan. I knew that voice all too well, and the tone. I knew before looking that Colin had his eyes narrowed.

“Nothing,” I said pointedly.

Colin was behind the shed, leaning back against a tree. Frederic sat on a stone nearby, resting his arms on his knees, a flask in his hand. Another young man near their age stood nearby, smirking.

“Rowena's old beau,” Elizabeth hissed at me. “Peter Burlington, eldest son of the Earl of Berkeley. Beastly temper when he doesn't get his way.”

Peter was handsome, smoldering. But I didn't like the way he looked at me, as if I were an iced scone fresh from the oven.

“And Rowena loved him?”

“Hardly. Oh, she liked him well enough, but it was their fathers who were well and truly enamored of each other and the connections they'd make marrying their children off to each other. Even her uncle approved, but only because there was still Tabitha at home, wanting several Seasons to meet eligible young men and show off her gowns. He only has access to the Wentworth fortune while he's their guardian.”

Frederic straightened, took a large swallow, and handed the flask to Colin, whom he wouldn't even have noticed anywhere else but was certainly happy enough to while away the hours with at a country party. He stood and executed a sloppy bow. “Ladies.” He grinned unrepentantly. “What are you whispering about?”

Elizabeth straightened immediately, combing the curls off her face. “Frederic.” She sniffed once. “Are you drinking Madeira?” she asked, aghast, neatly changing the subject. “At this hour?” It was barely noon and they were clearly already foxed.

He shrugged as Colin took a gulp and passed the flask back.

“Bloody little else to do around here,” Peter drawled.

I knew that drawl.

I'd heard it in the garden coaxing Caroline for a kiss.

One mystery solved, several more presented. Why was Mr. Travis spying on them? And what did an earl's son and a governess have to whisper about in the dead of night? Did Caroline know something about Rowena's demise that she wasn't telling anyone? Or did Peter, who apparently had a beastly temper? I'd have to ask Elizabeth, but for the moment I'd lost her to Frederic's questionable charms.

“You hate Madeira,” she said to him.

He blinked at her. “How do you know that?”

She shrugged, blushing. “Are you enjoying your stay?”

Peter laughed. “He'd be enjoying it more if Tabitha's uncle hadn't just booted him off the estate.”

Elizabeth's smile slipped. “You went to see Tabitha? Why?”

Frederic shrugged. “She's pretty, rich, and bored.”

“Like you,” I muttered under my breath.

“Wentworth wouldn't hear of it though,” Peter added.

“He booted us both off, if you'll recall,” Frederic felt compelled to say. “He didn't exactly ask you into the library for a glass of port, old boy.”

Colin straightened away from the oak as the two boys bickered. “Pretty Violet,” he said. “What are you up to?”

I tried not to blush as well. It wouldn't do for both Elizabeth and me to giggle and tumble like lovesick puppies. Besides, it certainly didn't matter a whit to me if Colin thought I was pretty. Really.

I scowled.

“Solemn little flower,” he said, too softly for the others to hear. He reached out and traced the lines on my brow. I had to swallow, my throat inexplicably dry. I thought for one wild moment that he was going to lean over and kiss me, right there in front of everyone.

Xavier was about to propose. He was the one I ought to be kissing.

Still, Colin was close enough that I could smell the sweet wine on his breath. And then, just as I wondered how much closer we were going to get, he reached out and snagged the book from my hand, quick as a spring storm. I made a grab for it, but too late. “Damn it, Colin.”

He clucked his tongue. “Such language for a young lady.”

“I am about to kick you in the shin.”

He ignored me, reading the book's title. I lifted my chin. I had no reason to feel embarrassed or vulnerable. So there.

“What are you up to?” he asked me quietly.

I flashed him a brief and patently insincere smile, which basically amounted to me baring my teeth like a wild dog. I snatched the book back. “Nothing,” I declared with false dignity. I stuck my nose up in the air for good measure as I grabbed Elizabeth's hand. “We are taking a turn about the gardens.”

He took a step toward me. “Violet.”

I hurried away. I did
not
like how my breath was suddenly hot in my chest.

“He's very handsome,” Elizabeth whispered. “I never noticed. Even with the accent.”

I didn't reply.

“You two bicker like brother and sister.”

“He's not my brother,” I snapped.

She didn't say anything else as we rushed across the cropped grass. By the time we reached the pond, we were out of breath. And now that we were here, with the instruction book in my hand, I felt a little silly. “Perhaps this isn't such a good idea.”

“It's our
only
idea, Vi.”

“True.” I skimmed the pages one more time before tucking the book away again. I pushed my hair off my face. I shifted from foot to foot.

I felt like an idiot.

Elizabeth grinned. “Have you got fleas?”

I wrinkled my nose at her and stopped fidgeting. “Fine. Here we go.”

I rolled my neck back and forth to loosen the muscles.

“
Vi
.”

“All right,” I muttered. I tried to calm the blood rushing in my ears, tried not to remember the feel of ghostly eyes turned my way at the ball. Part of me hoped this wouldn't work at all. I'd spent so long fighting to be nothing like my mother that the irony of having actual medium talents hardly sat well.

“Sp—” I had to stop and clear my throat. “Spirits, I invite you.” Elizabeth motioned for me to keep going when I hesitated again. “Rowena Wentworth, we call you to speak to us. Rowena!”

A breeze ruffled across the surface. The grasses billowed, tangling. The mud at the bottom loosened, thickening the water. The sun shone brightly over us, indifferent.

“Rowena!”

The pond went dark, as if it were full of storm clouds. The water was the color of hyacinth and lilac blossoms, the reflection of my face blurring and changing. The eyes I looked into were no longer my own, my violet-blue went brown as chestnuts, my dark hair unraveled from its knot, like daffodils around the pale throat.

Rowena floated peacefully in the pond.

“Rowena, why do you keep coming to me?”

She pointed to her throat. Her lips moved but no sound emerged. I'd heard all of those other ghostly voices, but I'd yet to hear hers, though I assumed it was the same as Tabitha's, if less caustic.

“Can't you speak?” I asked.

She shook her head. There were lilies in her hair again.

“Because you drowned? Or were strangled?”

A nod.

“And you won't rest until your murderer is found?”

She nodded again. This was work for a constable or a private detective, not the two of us.

“Do you know who did this to you?”

Her face changed, turning angry and fierce. Clouds gathered, rushing toward us, like spilled ink. It was growing colder and colder. Elizabeth and I took a step closer to each other. My palms were damp.

Rowena rose so that she was drifting on her toes, leaving trails in the water. She turned once, her arms out as if she was dancing a waltz. She mimed a laugh, drinking from a teacup, fluttering her eyelashes, flirting. Then she pointed behind us to Rosefield Manor. I gaped at her, not liking where this was going. “Your murderer is at the party?”

She nodded. I was beginning to hate that nod.

We'd been waltzing and eating tea cakes with a murderer.

I shivered as the clouds released a spatter of cold rain and a burst of icy wind. “Was it Peter?” I asked. “Or Mr. Travis perhaps?”

She looked angrier still.

“Was it Mr. Travis?” I repeated. Ice pellets stung us through the unnatural wind. My heart stuttered. The rain fell harder, like little arrows. The water churned. We stumbled back, away from the edge.

“We should go back!” Elizabeth yelled over the sound of the storm. Rowena looked terrified. Her mouth opened on a silent shriek, her eyes like stars burning. There was a sound such as I'd never heard before. She appeared to be struggling, fighting, cursing.

And then she was gone.

We stood for a long moment, startled and quiet. Fear opened inside me like a dark, sticky mouth full of teeth as a new face formed under the pond. It was someone I didn't recognize.

He reared up out of the water, coming straight at me. His expression was wild, hungry, savage. He wore the torn remnants of a frock coat, smeared with blood. His hair was pale and disheveled, his cheeks gaunt and sharp as knives. There was a gash on the side of his head and more blood in his hair.

The storm raged on around us, unappeased. The rain added weight to my gown as if lead had been sewn into the hem. The steel ribs of my corset iced. I could see right through him, could make out the grass and the pond and lightning on the hill behind him, and, even more distressing, I could feel him too. He was cold, colder than anything I'd ever felt, clutching and clawing at me.

I heard Elizabeth screaming, and still his voice was worse—icy and dark. “Revenge,” he murmured, almost as if he was singing a lullaby to himself. It lifted every hair on the back of my neck and along my arms; it was every bit as terrifying as his attempt to take me over. “Revenge, at long last.”

I batted him away but made no contact. I was starting to feel as if my veins were frozen rivers. My breath was a white cloud, drifting away. I was weak, dizzy, as if he was pulling me straight out of my body, as if he were either going to toss me out altogether or, worse, trap me inside while he took control. Already, my hand lifted of its own accord. And if he succeeded, I would be worse than dead. I knew this for a fact, even if I didn't know how to stop of it.

“No!” I thought I screamed it, but it came out more like a gurgle. My eyes rolled back in my head. I swung my fists as if he had a corporeal body with eyes I could blacken, but I slipped on the wet grass and crashed into Elizabeth. We toppled to the ground. It was enough to dislodge the angry ghost.

“Oi!” Colin launched himself at us. The collar of his coat was near my nose, already stiffening with frost, as my dress had. I gasped for air. “What the bleedin' hell was that?” he demanded. The rain continued to fall, but it was softer, warmer.

I just shook my head, letting the heat of his body chase the last of the shivers away. He smelled of smoke and wine and blackberries. I wanted to curl up into him like a kitten.

“Oh, Violet,” Elizabeth whispered.

Colin jerked slightly, as if he'd forgotten she was there. He sat up and then put his arm behind me when I struggled to do the same. When I stood up, my knees were soggy, weak. I felt as if I'd swum in the ocean for days without rest. Everything hurt. I limped away from the pond, wanting only a warm fire and buckets of hot tea. Colin cursed, stalked over to me, and then swept me up into his arms. I could tell Elizabeth, despite her recent fright, thought it all very romantic. I just scowled up at him.

“I can walk,” I said. My voice was decidedly rusty.

He didn't even glance at me. “Shut up.”

I opened my mouth to argue but something in his face stopped me, and anyway, I hardly had the energy. He shook his head.

“I knew you were up to no good,” he muttered.