Haunting Violet (16 page)

When Tabitha moved slightly, Rowena appeared behind her like a pale, damp shadow. I swallowed. Goose bumps scattered across my arms.

Elizabeth followed my gaze. “Don't worry, she doesn't care a fig about Xavier. She only wants to vex you.”

“It's not that,” I whispered. “Rowena.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth whispered back. “That's good, isn't it? We need her.” She pulled her shawl over her shoulders. “It's rather chilly all of a sudden.”

“Try and make it seem as if we're deep in conversation,” I told her. “And tell me if I go cross-eyed.”

“Where's the fun in that?”

“Rowena,” I intoned, hoping Tabitha didn't think I was staring at her and decide to create some sort of fuss over it. And wouldn't that just complete my day. Rowena glanced at me and nodded her head but remained exactly where she was.

How was I supposed to have a conversation with her all the way over there?

Mr. Travis leaned forward, staring at me even more forcefully than usual. I hoped I hadn't spoken too loudly. He'd think I was mad. And it was no way to stay undetected in my efforts.

“Mr. Travis is still staring,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

“Do you think he heard you?” Elizabeth asked.

“I don't know. Laugh loudly.”

She laughed.

“Rowena,” I repeated sternly, under the cover of Elizabeth's chortles.

Xavier moved away after a short bow to Tabitha. Rowena ignored me.

The bloody dead girl sopping into the carpet
ignored
me.

“Oh, I don't think so,” I muttered peevishly. “You're the reason we're in this mess in the first place.”

I cleared my throat warningly. “Rowena Wentworth, you blasted girl, is your murderer in this room?”

She nodded but remained where she was, her eyes keeping track of all of the guests and their movements.

“Show us.”

She didn't so much as float an inch away from her position. I'm sure it was very touching that she missed her sister, even if that sister was horrid, but she could be a little more inclined to help us.

“You're going to have to
move
,” I muttered.

Xavier looked bemused. I hadn't noticed that he'd come over and was now standing right in front of us.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

Elizabeth's giggle was perfectly genuine this time.

“Oh. Uh …” I couldn't think of a single word that rhymed with “move,” which might explain how he'd clearly misheard what I'd just hissed at him.

“I was sitting on her sash, Mr. Trethewey,” Elizabeth lied cheerfully. “She was just asking me to move. And how do you do this evening?”

“Very well, thank you.” He bowed to each of us. “I wonder if you might care for a glass of lemonade, Miss Willoughby.”

“Yes, thanks.” I stood and took his offered arm even though what I really wanted to do was march over to the recalcitrant ghost and shove salt up her nose. Instead I followed Xavier to the table at the back of the room, where the silver punch bowl and glass cups waited. My mother watched us triumphantly. I tried not to glance at Colin to see what he was doing. I probably didn't want to know anyway.

Xavier and I made polite chitchat about the weather. He was very handsome and attentive, his blond hair glinting in the light of several oil lamps. It wasn't his fault he was rather bland. I nearly clapped a hand to my mouth. Clearly, this ghost business was pickling my brain. I should be grateful and flattered that he paid me compliments and might possibly wish to marry me.

And I
was
grateful.
And
flattered.

Truly.

I smiled more brightly at him, determined not to be a goose. He smiled back. His gloved hand brushed mine as he handed me a cup.

“You are beautiful as always, Violet,” he murmured. His parents smiled at us from where they sat sipping wine. There. Every single one of us was smiling.

It was all very pleasant, even if my cheeks were starting to hurt.

And then Rowena left her post without warning.

She really was becoming quite a bother. She'd had all that time to acknowledge my presence and instead waited until I was comfortably secluded with Xavier, who was telling me a charming story about his aunt's poodle. It was a story he'd already told me, but still, that was hardly the point.

Rowena hovered over me until I shivered. Xavier led me to a chair, thinking he'd been keeping me standing in a draft. I tried to ignore her.

“In a moment,” I mumbled out of the side of my mouth.

She pressed against me in a most uncomfortable manner. A transparent white lily bobbed into my face, narrowly missing my eye. I felt cold, damp; even my bones wondered why winter had come so suddenly. I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. The room tilted suddenly and I was caught in another vision. I wished Rowena had another way of sharing information with me. One that was clearer.

And made me less inclined to cast my accounts on someone's shoes.

The small comforts of the parlor faded.

I was being dragged through the grass outside Whitestone Manor in my nightdress. The white cotton material caught the moonlight and made me glow. I felt faint and disoriented, with that medicinal taste in my mouth again. Rowena's mouth. It was hard to remember that this wasn't happening to me. I wasn't being pulled toward the pond, didn't have shards of pain in my throat from being choked. I couldn't tell who had my wrists, who was even now shoving me under the water and holding me down. I couldn't see properly. Panic and whatever drink I'd been forced to swallow made me hazy. The cold water was soft. I tried to struggle, kicked futilely. My lungs ached.

I snapped back into my own body with a strangled gasp.

“Violet, are you quite well?” Xavier asked me, clearly concerned.

I sipped at my lemonade to calm my throat before speaking. My hands were trembling. “A stitch in my side,” I explained. “My corset must be too tight.”

He flushed and I remembered belatedly that ladies weren't supposed to mention their corsets. I followed his embarrassed gaze to the hem of my skirt, which was becoming damp, water unfolding like a blue rose. Rowena.

I smiled weakly. “Oh dear,” I mumbled. “I must have spilled some of my drink.”

I tried to keep my expression pleasant, even as Rowena flew through the room like a violent wind, scattering lily petals and water droplets as she went. Her mouth was stretched open, hideously wide as she keened. I could think of no other word for it. It was thunder and rain and ice shattering into a thousand sharp, angry pieces.

The soiree went on, as if everything were perfectly normal.

Tabitha accepted her shawl from a maid; Caroline stood just as straight-backed as she always did. Lord Jasper laughed at some jest, Wentworth ate another handful of macaroons. Mother flirted with a young man half her age and then turned to repeat the procedure with a man twice her age. Young girls giggled; young men continued to play cards at the tables under the window. A woman in white satin played Mozart at the piano without missing a note.

Water hammered at the windows. The fine hairs on my arms stood up, like soldiers at attention. I suppressed a shiver. I stuck my hand in my pocket and scattered salt as unobtrusively as possible on the ground by my chair.

“Strange,” Xavier murmured, and for a moment I thought he'd seen me. “I hadn't thought we'd get a storm tonight,” he continued to my great relief.

I kept my eyes on Rowena while trying to smile at Xavier. She circled the room over and over again, trying to catch my attention, clearly distraught. But she wouldn't stop or pause long enough to single anyone out. I was starting to feel dizzy and overstimulated.

“Are you sure you're well, Miss Willoughby?” Xavier asked solicitously.

Then in one sudden moment Rowena came apart like rain. There was a massive clap of thunder that rattled the windows. Several people jumped, spilling drinks. Rain hissed at the glass and shook the roses.

“I believe this storm is giving me a bit of a headache,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Perhaps I should say good night.”

“Good night, Miss Willoughby.” Xavier bowed over my hand. His hand was warm, soft under mine. Rowena followed me out into the foyer. I'd had enough of her theatrics for one night so I ignored her, gritting my teeth. I ought to have known that wouldn't work. She made a whirling of cold and blurred lights around me.

Lord Jasper was at the front door, shaking Lord Kearsley's hand. Xavier straightened and went to help his mother to the stairs. Mr. Travis stood in the doorway to the smoking room. Elizabeth and Colin waited impatiently for me by the potted ferns.

All too far away to be any help at all.

Even the shout from Mr. Travis and the sight of Colin fighting his way out of the fern fronds didn't quite make sense. Only Rowena's face coming at me so suddenly, shrieking soundlessly, had me staggering back a step.

That one step was just enough to get me out of the direct path of the heavy chandelier, dropping from its hook in the ceiling and scattering lit candles as it fell.

Sir Wentworth appeared out of nowhere, yanking me out of the way. The crystal drops of the chandelier shattered and skittered in pieces across the floor, like icicles falling from a tree in winter. A candle landed near my foot, extinguishing itself with a plume of dark smoke. The smell of burning wax filled the foyer. The other guests stood where they were, frozen and shocked. Lord Jasper was the first to break the moment.

“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.”