Haunting Violet (23 page)

“Dog? What dog?”

Mr. Rochester growled and leaped onto her ankle, sinking his teeth in. She didn't even glance down.

“He's a spirit dog,” I told her. Part of me wondered why I didn't keep my mouth shut. The rest of me couldn't muster the energy to care. “
I
, unlike you, can see into the spirit world,” I declared hotly, pushing into my room and slamming the door behind me. I crawled into my bed, still dressed, my eye and lip throbbing. Mr. Rochester curled up against my side, and we were both asleep within minutes.

CHAPTER 19

I
had never noticed before how
sharp
sunlight could be.

It was like little spears and arrows shooting into my bruised eye. I groaned and buried my head under my pillow.

“Marjie,” I muttered. “Could you close the curtains?”

The light remained persistent.

“Marjie,” I moaned, lifting my head gingerly. Surely I'd just come to bed. It couldn't be time to get up yet.

My mother stood at the side of my bed in a lavender day dress. She was smiling. I didn't trust it one bit.

“Up you get, Violet,” she said pleasantly. She pointed to the tray on the table. It held a pot of tea and some kind of juice. “Drink. It will help.”

Not a word of apology about what she'd done to me the day before. She must see the bruises. I could certainly feel them. “I just want to sleep.”

“Too much to do, I'm afraid. Up you get.”

I frowned. “What do we have to do? We're social pariahs. I could sleep all week and no one would notice.”

“Not anymore, my girl.” She pulled the covers away briskly. “Wash up and wear something pretty, perhaps the striped dress. I've just had Mrs. Bradley for a call.”

“Mrs. Bradley?” I echoed peevishly. “Whyever for? She's the most dedicated of all the gossipmongers.”

“Precisely. We have good news and it needs to travel quickly to all the right ears.”

I was having a hard time following her reasoning. Besides, I was more interested in finding out where Mr. Rochester had gone. Although, that was certainly one good thing about spirit dogs: they didn't leave messes on the carpet.

“Keep up, old girl,” she said, clapping her hands. “I have lost my gifts, lamentably, in a tragic and abrupt manner; but as a mother I am so very gratified to know it was for a good cause: the awakening of my own daughter's psychical talents.”

I shot straight up, headache be damned. “What? What?”

“It's perfect, darling. It will wash the scandal clean away.”

“B-but …!” I sputtered, horrified. “I don't
want
to be a medium.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I'm hardly asking for much. You hate to lie and now you don't have to. You truly have the gift and you're going to use it. You owe me, Violet,” she added. “I've fed and clothed you for sixteen years. Now it's time for you to do your part.” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Enough of this foolishness, now.”

She left me sitting on the rumpled bed, stunned.

The day went by in a sort of haze. Mother whisked me out of the house before my stomach had settled or I'd even had a chance to see Colin. Once out, she dragged me back and forth over the busiest streets, looking at bonnets and ribbons, stopping for ices, and once even to browse a bookshop because she thought she saw someone of quality go inside. By the time my feet ached almost as much as my eye, which was carefully concealed with rice powder, I realized there was no clear purpose to our running around other than to attract attention. Seeing as no one tossed overripe onions at us or crossed the street to avoid our company, the rumors of Mother's talents defecting to her only daughter had already run the general circuit. Every time I tried to hide behind some portly gentleman or some woman's unfortunate hat, Mother pulled me out again, as unrelenting as the tide bringing flotsam to the shore.

We even stopped at Mr. Hudson's studio on Holloway Road, where she parted with her precious money to purchase a photograph of me. Mr. Hudson was known for using scientific techniques in his photography to show the spirit world.

I sighed with ill-disguised annoyance and relief when we turned onto a familiar corner, filled with smartly painted row houses. We were so close to home now, I would have tripped an old woman with a cane if she'd stood in the way of the first available chair. In fact, I nearly flattened Marjorie when I burst through our freshly washed front door.

“Tea,” I croaked. “For the love of God, Marjie, tea.”

Colin wasn't around; he was tending to the errands that actually required running. The furniture in the drawing room had all been set to rights, and the few figurines and accents left in the rest of the house had been pillaged for its decoration. I wasn't halfway through my cup when Mother stared pointedly at it.

“Come along, Violet. Don't dawdle.”

I cradled my cup possessively. “I haven't finished.”

“I'll have Marjorie bring you up a tray. You must change.”

I really didn't like the sound of that. “Whatever for?” I asked suspiciously.

“We have guests coming for a sitting. You have to be at your best, dear girl. Everything rides on this.”

“What?” I stood so quickly the tea sloshed over the rim and onto my hem. “You can't be serious.”

“Of course I am. It's up to you now to reverse our fortune.”

“But I don't know anything about being a medium! I didn't even believe in ghosts until last week.” Mr. Rochester appeared to nudge my ankle comfortingly. His backside was lodged in the couch, only half-materialized.

Mother eyed me curiously. “So you really do have the gift then. That will make everything easier, to be sure.”

I rubbed at my face. “Mother, please.”

Her mouth hardened. “None of your dramatics now. Save it for this evening. Go on upstairs and get ready. It won't do to be late—you haven't the following or the presence.”

I went upstairs only because I didn't want to be in the same room as her and there was really nowhere else to go to escape. I dragged my feet the entire way, knowing the sullen sound would echo. I still felt dizzy and bone-tired, too much so to have any energy left for a proper rebellion. I would just have to do the best I could for tonight and think of an alternative tomorrow.

I put on my second-best dress. Marjorie ran up to knock on my door, panting and wide-eyed. “Please, miss.”

I gave a rather dramatic sigh before scowling crossly. “Oh, very well.”

It was worse than I'd feared. The parlor was crowded wall to wall with gossipmongers, eager for a scandal. Mrs. Bradley sat in the rose brocade with her dreadful poodle on her wide lap. Mrs. Grey and Miss Wilmington whispered together over tea. The rest were assorted scandal-seekers whose names I didn't know. I looked for Lord Jasper but he wasn't in attendance, which wasn't terribly surprisingly. Lord Marshall was there, however, sitting with one boot crossed over his knee and making calf eyes at Mother that I longed to poke right out of his well-bred head.

Colin stood at his usual position by the door, and I knew he could decipher my thoughts exactly. He was the same old Colin—sardonic, perceptive, honest—but somehow it was all different. I felt safe with him, as always, and yet dangerous too. Alive. But I didn't have the leisure to enjoy the feeling. Mother nodded to me as I entered.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my daughter, Violet,” she announced. There were murmurs and glasses lifted to curious eyes. I tried not to squirm. I hated being the center of all that attention. I just wanted to go back up to my room, especially when Mrs. Grey sucked in a breath at the bruise flowered over my eye and cheek. The rice powder wasn't thick enough to hold up against my nervous perspiration.

“My word!”

“The gifting of such psychical talents can be quite sudden,” Mother explained smoothly. “Often the medium becomes very ill. Poor Violet fainted and struck her eye on the table.” She smiled. “Shall we prepare? I know my daughter is eager to read for you all.” I'd barely moved from the doorway. My feet itched to take me somewhere else, anywhere else. “I am, of course, sorry that I cannot sit for you as well. It's been a most trying and sudden loss, and I am only comforted that my own talents were sacrificed to improve my daughter's.”

What rot.

I didn't know what was worse, her bald-faced lies or the way everyone seemed to lap them up, like an alley cat with a bowl of fresh cream. It was a disgrace all around and I was right in the middle of it. I'd have to find some way to contact the spirit world if I was to salvage any part of this wretched night. It was an effort to produce a smile that didn't resemble the painful grimace of a landed trout. Lord Marshall fawned over Mother's hand, helping her to her seat. He nodded at my approach.

“Miss St.—Miss Willoughby—we are equally eager to admire your demonstration.”

Colin stiffened. I paused, startled. Miss St. Clair. An obvious flattery for my mother's sake. I wasn't entirely sure about the propriety concerning the illegitimate children of the peerage, of which surely there were legions. There were so many lies unraveling and secrets, it was like walking through a murky pond—you never knew if the next step would take you to the steady bottom or give way entirely.

And I really didn't want to do this.

But I could only stand there lost in thought for so long. I sat down without a word. The rest of the gentlemen followed suit, the other ladies having already made themselves comfortable. Mother led everyone through the usual prayers while my mind tumbled over everything Elizabeth and I had read at Rosefield. Surely I'd learned enough there to get through this with at least a small degree of dignity.

We held hands and the lights were lowered, though not nearly as much as we'd lowered them before Mother's unfortunate discovery. There were no tricks planned tonight, no clever plots, though I supposed most of the modifications were still attached to the table. Mother would never leave this all to chance, or to me. Still, I vowed I wouldn't use them. The spirits would just have to cooperate.

I shut my eyes, mostly because I couldn't bear the scrutiny. Although some of these people were truly curious to contact a dead family member, most just wanted to be part of the kind of scandal that ended with Mother in her undergarments. They wanted me to fail because it would make a better story.

Damned if I'd oblige.

“We welcome our beloved dead.” Determined, I lifted my eyelids and searched the room. The feather in Mrs. Thompson's white curls bounced in a draft. Mr. Hunt's whiskers quivered. Lord Marshall sat entirely too near to Mother; his knee must surely be pressed against hers. The candle flickered. Someone cleared their throat. The poodle whined, bored.

No spirits.

They'd been hounding me all week; the least they could do was show themselves when they were needed. It was just rude otherwise. “Spirits,” I snapped. “I said you are welcome here.” Colin coughed once. “As long as you mean us no ill,” I amended, remembering the surge of the angry spirit at the Whitestone Manor pond. The guests exchanged knowing glances.
Now
, I thought.
I am in earnest. Show yourselves.

Mother shifted and I knew she was preparing for a dramatic tilting of the table. Before she could follow through, there was the scent of vinegar and peppermint, a most repulsive combination. And then a man appeared, or most of one, in a faded gray suit and wispy face. A woman sniffed.

“Grandfather,” she said.

He looked pleased.

“He always had that dreadful smell.”

Now he looked thunderous and vanished, but not before one of the woman's hairpins flung away from her head, landing with a clatter on the table. There was a swell of excited whispers. Mother sat back proudly.

A woman appeared next, floating near the fireplace. She had no aroma and no voice. It occurred to me that this would be a much simpler matter if I could see and hear them at the same time, instead of this blind game where I never knew what to expect. Could one write a strongly worded letter to the deceased requiring their full cooperation? I was willing to try. This was too much of a puzzle, and I was too nervous with such an audience.

“The lady is wearing an old-fashioned dress, with petticoats and a lace shawl,” I described. “She wears gloves and her eyes are very dark. There's a locket on a long gold chain.”

“Lady Schofield!” Mrs. Grey exclaimed. “I've missed her so. We were the best of friends when we were girls.”