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.”
He laughed but there was no humor in it. “And you think that’s a good enough reason to enter into marriage? You’ve got it arse backward.”
“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.
I yawned and dropped into one of the chairs, reaching for the teapot.
“Violet,” she said. “Good. I need you both to work especially hard. This has to be our best performance yet.”
Colin glanced at me, his dark hair tumbling over his forehead. There was something intimate between us now, a secret shared—but one that didn’t feel heavy or deceitful. One that didn’t have anything to do with my mother or murder.
And I didn’t know why, but when our eyes met, I felt like blushing. Instead I stirred more sugar into my tea.
“I can’t have you getting missish on me. Violet, are you paying attention?”
“Yes, Maman.”
I could tell she was nervous. Her fingers trembled slightly and she was fidgeting. She hated fidgeters. Marjorie had long since abandoned us; she fidgeted something awful when Mother was in a mood, and it never ended well. I drank more tea. “Mother, do you believe in spirits?”
“Don’t be daft.”
“You don’t think some of the others really see and speak to ghosts?”
She glared at me. We weren’t ever supposed to speak of fraudulent séances. That’s how mistakes were made, how secrets were discovered. It didn’t matter how secure or private you thought the conversation might be, there might always be someone else listening; thus there were no conversations at all.
“No, I most certainly do not. Charlatans, the lot of them.”
“Oh.” Colin and I exchanged looks. I knew better than to ask, but some part of me had hoped she could help me with my newfound, ill-approved talent. Colin shook his head at me, nearly imperceptible. Unlike me, he knew better than to open his big mouth. I drank more tea to keep myself occupied. At this rate, I’d have to slosh my way into the drawing room. Mother scrutinized me for a long moment before nodding her head.
“You look very nice,” she said finally. “That dress is becoming on you.”
I was wearing a dress with periwinkle and black stripes. I’d sewn silk violets along the neckline to make it more current. She leaned forward and pinched my cheeks.
“Ouch!”
“You need a few roses, a little color to entice your Mr. Trethewey. We can’t let all our hard work slip away now.”
I’d forgotten all about him.
“I’m very proud of you, darling. He’s got deep pockets, and a handsome face. You could hardly ask for better.”
I squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. Colin’s gaze burned over me but I refused to look over. Mother watched us both. “He’ll ask for your hand once we’re in London,” she continued smugly. “He’s already asked to pay us a call, and his mother is all kindness to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
The sun was setting behind the hills. It was almost time for us to go downstairs.
“Colin, you go on ahead,” Mother told him. He stood and executed a very small bow but he aimed it mostly at me. When I rose to follow, Mother stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Don’t be a fool, Violet.”
I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“He’s a good boy but he’s no better than he should be. You’d be an idiot to toss Mr. Trethewey and his very respectable family for a penniless orphan.”
“I’m not tossing anybody,” I said hotly, jerking my arm away. “And Colin’s always done everything you’ve ever asked of him. How can you talk about him like that?”
“It’s the truth,” she said with a negligent shrug. “You can love him, Violet, but you can’t marry him. What would you eat? Mud? Ash? He has no prospects.”
“I don’t love Colin.” Did I? Surely not.
“Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?”
I shook my head sulkily. I wasn’t sure when marrying Colin had even become a possibility, or if it was one I would entertain, but I certainly didn’t like the implication that he wasn’t good enough. It made me feel decidedly cross and stubborn.
“Can we go now?”
She swept passed me toward the doorway.
“Remember,” she said, as usual. “No mistakes.”
The drawing room was quite crowded, the guests gossiping and chatting among themselves, sipping glasses of red wine or champagne. The gardens were dark and quiet behind the thick velvet curtains. There was no fire in the grate, but several oil lamps burned and a single candle sat on the mantel, as per my mother’s request. Colin was at his post by the door, watching carefully even though he appeared to everyone else to be staring at the wall like any good footman.
Lord Jasper came toward us, his cane thumping on the gleaming hardwood floor. He wore black tonight, as did most of the men, with a starched white shirt. “Mrs. Willoughby, we are all looking forward to a demonstration of your rare gifts.” He bowed. “And yours, Miss Willoughby, should you be so inclined.”
I blushed to the roots of my hair, squirming awkwardly. Mother stared at me through narrowed eyes for a brief moment before smiling graciously at Lord Jasper. “The spirits are eager to join us,” she said.
“I am delighted to hear it.”
“Quite a crush, tonight,” Mother remarked, pleased.
“You are quite a sensation, my dear. Shall we have a seat?”
Mother nodded, taking his arm. “If I could have a quiet moment to open my senses?”
“Of course.”
Mother sat in a wide-backed chair at the round mahogany table in the center of the room. She looked like a queen, merely waiting for the courtiers to bend a knee to her. This quiet moment was part of the show; it showed her off to her best advantage, pale, beautiful, and unapproachable. Lord Marshall hovered nearby, his eyes smoldering as he drank from a glass of wine. I didn’t like him any more than I had before. Mr. Travis was staring, as always. This time he went back and forth between Tabitha and me. I turned slightly, not wanting to make eye contact. I was trying to find a way to keep an eye on him without making myself obtrusive when Elizabeth eased away from her mother and spoke quietly at my elbow.
“Do you think Rowena will come?”
I shrugged even though I knew the answer: most assuredly not. Or, if she did come, my mother wouldn’t notice. “How’s Tabitha? Mr. Travis is watching her, but she really doesn’t seem to know him.”
“He’s in trade, don’t forget. She won’t speak to him unless absolutely necessary. She only flirts with Xavier to needle you. Besides, she’s had a row with Caroline and she isn’t speaking to anybody now, not even her uncle.”
My stomach tilted nervously. This was worse than our usual small sittings, with the grieving widows and bored peers out for a thrill. There were so many more people here tonight; many had traveled all the way from London for the experience. And they were all watching and waiting for my mother to contact their beloved dead. My mother was pretending, but some of these people really were grieving. I felt awful, like a beetle about to be stepped on.
Conversations shifted and retreated as guests took their seats. Because of the size of the crowd, only a dozen or so had chairs to sit on. The rest stood in a semicircle by the fireplace. I already felt warm and stifled, the air heavy with perfumes and colognes and the sharp sweetness of brandy. There was a chair with a curtain pulled around it for Mother’s more spectacular spirit-conversations. It was well known that a medium’s gifts were best accessed in private.
Mother still had her eyes closed, breathing deeply. “My daughter will see to the lights.”
I made a circle of the room, extinguishing the gas lights. Thick twilight eased slowly into the room. When I reached the last light, I looked up into the face of the man standing near it, our faces the last features glowing in a dark corner.
It was like looking into a mirror.
There was no denying that the man in the black suit, with his dark, curly hair and wide mouth, was a relation. A very close relation. The pause lengthened as we stared, startled, at each other. Voices swelled in fevered whispers, rose and fell, as if we were at the seaside listening to the waves. There was a gasp, a titter.
I wasn’t sure what to do.
Mother opened her eyes and turned toward us. Her face went waxy. Her lips trembled. “You.” She hardly made a sound, but I could read the movement of her mouth.
“That’s not Mr. Willoughby,” someone murmured with the thrill of gossip. “That’s Nigel St. Clair, the Earl of Thornwood.”
The Earl of Thornwood from Wiltshire. Mother really had been seduced by a lord’s son in Wiltshire.
Because this man was clearly my father.
There was simply no arguing with the blue-violet eyes, the shape of his brows, the color of his hair. I felt as if my every limb was filled with air; I was light, floating, disoriented. Mother’s cultivated and genteel widowhood was crumbling, our entire livelihood was in very real danger of disintegrating. And I could only stand and gape, wondering if my father recognized me, if he realized what was happening. If he remembered my mother even a little bit.
His gaze flicked from Mother to me and back again. I knew the whispers were growing louder, edged with palpable shock, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to make out the words.
“Lord Thornwood,” Mother said.
“Mar—”
She cut him off with an abrupt turn and clap of her hands. “The spirits will not wait. Violet, the light.”
I hastily put it out even though I was reluctant to look at anyone else but this man, my father.
“Violet, sit.”
I shook my head to clear it and threw myself into a chair. I knew as well as she did that the only way we might salvage this affair was by truly bewildering the chattering audience with Mother’s powers.
The only other option was ruin and disgrace.