Haunting Violet (28 page)

“I can do this,” I told myself.

“I wouldn't advise it.”

Sir Wentworth poked his chubby face out to look at me. In the crook of his arm he held Caroline; in his other hand, a knife. She wilted. Rowena wailed, trying to insert herself between them. The air in the room was frigid. My heart pounded in my ears.

“I suggest you come back inside, Violet, unless you'd like Miss Donovan here to meet a rather messy end.”

He'd kill her anyway, eventually. She knew too much. But I wouldn't be the catalyst.

I inched back along the ledge to the window. The walls behind them began to drip with water. No one noticed. When I was within arms' reach, he shoved Caroline and yanked me inside.

“Where's Mr. Travis?” I demanded.

“Bleeding on my best rug.”

Tabitha looked confused. “My heart's racing.”

Her uncle ignored her. “The talented Miss Willoughby,” he said to me. Gone was the cheerful, portly man who'd snuck Elizabeth extra Christmas pudding. There was something disturbing to his smile. “You would have caused me far less trouble if you'd been more like your mother. I did try to warn you.”

“You did?” I blinked. “The urn.” I understood suddenly. “The chandelier. It was you.”

“That blasted Travis boy interfered. I ought to have killed him too, but Jasper kept him busy with lectures and séances. I hope you showed him proper gratitude.”

Actually, I'd considered it likely he was a murderer.

“But
you
were the one to save me from the chandelier.”

“Too many damned witnesses. And it kept you from wondering about me, didn't it?”

“And you've been drugging Tabitha,” I said, horrified. “Why?”

“She's been getting agitated. Wants to go to London, wants to get married and leave me a pauper. Not a spot of gratitude on the girl. Haven't I taken care of her? And then she asked about that damned ring.”

Rowena loomed over her uncle suddenly, until he shivered in the chill.

“You really did kill Rowena.”

His gaze snapped onto me. “Clever girl. Too clever, by half.”

I lifted my chin stubbornly. “She's here now.”

He jerked, looking over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed.

“She will always be with you,” I added, trying to disconcert him. “She will never leave you alone.”

“Shut up!” He kicked out at me, looking grim, wild. Water was beginning to pool on the carpet. “Never mind.” His smile was pleasant again and all the worse for it.

“You can't keep us here.” My hip caught the edge of the desk, bruising painfully.

“Of course I can. A letter will be sent to Lord Jasper expressing your sincere apologies, but you simply had to return to London and your mother. No one will know you've disappeared; no one will think to look for you until it's far, far too late.”

He was wrong.

Colin would know.

I made a dash toward the door, but his hand was a vice around my upper arm. A lamp tumbled to the ground. Caroline squeaked.

“Tsk, Miss Willoughby. I'm only offering you a chance to rest. A little laudanum,” he said pleasantly. “Won't hurt a bit. You might even enjoy it.” I fought harder. “Drink it, Miss Willoughby. It would be easier on you if you slept. I can't have you carrying tales, and I have to think what to do next.”

“No.” I pressed my lips fiercely together but he was stronger than I was. He forced the laudanum into me, pressed his hand over my mouth and nose until I couldn't hold my breath anymore. A trickle went down my throat. The taste of the opium tincture was sweet and strong and medicinal. It was familiar. It was the same taste in Rowena's mouth the night she drowned. My knees wobbled like jellied pudding. I took advantage of it and collapsed onto the rug. I rolled my head down, spitting out most of the laudanum so it soaked into the carpet. Enough had made it into my system that I felt floaty and odd, but I wasn't likely to die as Sir Wentworth wanted.

Everything was too bright, too watery. I felt rather cheerful even as my thoughts went foggy, slippery. I struggled to turn my head.

“Don't fight it,” Wentworth said. “You'll only do yourself a harm.”

“Rowena,” I mumbled. “She's behind you.”

“What are you playing at?” Wentworth roared. But I could see the hairs on his arms lifting. I met his uncertain glare.

“She's everywhere,” I whispered.

The surface of the mirror rippled like water, showing Rowena's cold face. Water began to drip from the curtains and run in rivulets across the floor. Sir Wentworth leaped away from it as if it were acid. It felt cool on my cheeks. When one of the pipes cracked loudly inside the walls, more water flooded into the room. I swallowed as much of the water as I could, knowing I'd need to flush the laudanum out.

“What is this?” He was furious, but scared too.

In every window, every gleaming surface—water jug, silver spoon, silver sequins on a cushion—Rowena's face appeared. Winter filled the room. Where there wasn't cold wind, there was water; cold rain slicked down the wall, puddled at our feet, beat against the windows. The sweet, cloying scent of white lilies was everywhere, touching everything. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if my dress had turned to ice.

Tabitha sat up.“Rowena?” she asked tentatively, hopefully.

Her uncle stumbled back. “This is a trick.”

Rowena's hope chest opened and folded letters whipped out, slapping him in the face. The edges cut into his skin, drawing blood. He batted at them frantically. Saliva foamed at the corners of his mouth. Cold wind pushed at him also, until he tripped over his own feet in his haste to get out of the room. Rowena drifted through the door, chasing him with a ghostly laugh like shattering glass.

He still managed to turn the key in the lock with a loud
click
, like a pistol.

CHAPTER 24

O
ne year earlier

Rowena was certain her uncle had stolen the letter from inside her pillowcase. She wasn't safe. And neither was Mr. Travis. She had to get away, had to warn Tabitha, maybe convince her to come along. She waited until it was long past midnight before creeping out of her bedroom. She'd have to get her belongings in the carriage and have Reece waiting before she woke Tabitha.

“Rowena, there you are.”

Her uncle was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, stepping out of the shadows before she even saw him there. He took her wrist, hard enough to bruise. “We need to talk.”

He yanked her into his study. “You've been keeping secrets.”

Her mouth was dry. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I found your father's letter. You mean to elope with a poor tailor's son. I can't think what my brother means by allowing you this madness.”

“I …”

He smiled. “There's no need to fret. I only wish you'd come to me about it instead of sneaking around.”

“You … do?”

“Of course. You're my niece. I only want what's best for you.”

“I love him, Uncle Reginald.”

“I'm sure you do. You're full young to marry, child.”

She tilted her chin mutinously. “It's what we want.”

“I see.” He handed her a crystal glass of sweet wine. “A toast, then.”

She didn't want to drink. She wanted to find Reece and find a vicar to marry them. But her uncle had always looked after her and Tabitha; it would be rude to turn away a gesture of reconciliation, even if her nerves suddenly felt like embroidery floss, tangled and frayed.

She drank the horrible, cloying wine. It clung to her tongue like syrup. She made a face.

Her uncle smiled. His bulk had always been cheerful. Now it was menacing. “Shall we take a turn around the garden? You look a little pale.”

She blinked, perplexed. “What?”

“Come, we'll go now.” He took her arm tightly, maneuvering her out through the door leading outside. The moon was a pale curve of light, nearly blue through the haze of clouds. She stared at it for a moment. It was so pretty.

She blinked again, lifted a hand to her head.“What's happening to me?”

The crickets sounded like little violins in the hedges. They made her giggle.

“Let's walk, shall we?” Her uncle was all hard politeness as he dragged her out beyond the yew hedges and the stand of birch trees. The lawns gave way to green fields. Rain pattered softly over them. The water was silvery, falling oddly, as if it were moving through molasses instead of air. Then the raindrops went sharp, like needles. She recoiled.

“What have you done to me? Is it poison?”

“Certainly not, that would be far too messy. It's only laudanum, my dear. You were overset.”

She froze, tried to stop from feeling as if the ground were undulating under her feet. “I didn't take any laudanum.” She was weaving back and forth and couldn't seem to stop herself. Over the drenched hills, the pond glimmered. “Did I?” She knew she should be terrified but she felt only floaty, sleepy. “The wine.”

He still hadn't released her arm. She felt the bruises lifting to the surface of her skin already. She might have struggled but it seemed like an awful lot of effort.

He gripped her chin, peered into her eyes. “Pupils are changing,” he said. “Good. Not long now.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm afraid you're about to have a tragic accident.” He shook his head sadly. “I wish you'd had better manners, Rowena. I hate to do this.”

She stumbled. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “But I'm your niece.”

“All the more regrettable.” He hauled her to her feet when she would have collapsed. “You thought you'd leave me destitute, did you? Thought you could elope without me knowing about it?”

The euphoria was fading. She felt only exhausted and strange, as if she had little control over her own limbs. She struggled weakly. “Uncle Reginald,” she begged thinly. “Please.”

“You did this to yourself,” he said sternly. “If you think I'm going to let you marry some tradesman and take this all away from me, you're stupid.”

Reese. The thought of his serious face made her struggle like a scalded cat with a mouthful of pepper. She fought so violently her uncle cursed, unable to restrain her. His hands came around her throat. She clawed at him, choking. He applied more pressure, strangling her slowly until her vision went black.

When she fainted, he shifted her unwieldy weight, carrying her to the edge of the pond. The water was soft and dark as he slid her unresponsive body under its surface.

She opened her eyes only once, barely, before the water claimed her.

CHAPTER 25

I
lifted my head groggily. Nausea rolled in my stomach and my mouth felt like a frog pond. I groaned, my head aching abysmally when I tried to sit up.

“Violet!” Caroline exclaimed. “Oh, thank God, I thought he'd killed you.”

“He meant to.” The room spun a little. I held my head between my hands to anchor everything to its proper place. “I hate that man.”

Rowena floated briefly over me. She lifted her hand off my forehead. Her eyes burned. She'd used the effects of the laudanum to show me what her uncle had done to her, what she feared he would do to Tabitha.

I fumbled for the glass of water on the nightstand and forced myself to drain it. “Has he been back?”

Caroline shook his head. “He's mad.”

I nodded, then wished I hadn't when both my head and stomach protested. “We need help.” I managed to push myself to my feet even though I felt about as steady as a newborn colt. I wobbled. “But first I need a chamber pot.” Caroline pointed to the painted silk screen in the corner and I shuffled toward it.

“I can't leave Tabitha,” Caroline said again when I reemerged, bladder empty and feeling marginally less like I was made entirely of spider webs. “And she's even worse off than you.”

“Then I'll have to go,” I said. “Help me block the door. This time, I mean to get out.”

We pushed the heavy armoire in front of the door, then added the desk and settee for good measure. I felt as if I'd moved the whole of Stonehenge by the time we were done. I felt dreadful. But Wentworth wouldn't get in again to use either Tabitha or Caroline against me. I sincerely hoped Mr. Travis wasn't dead. Sweat dampened my chemise. I had to force myself to keep moving, and it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I offered up a silent apology to Mrs. Gordon and her sister, wondering if they'd felt this ill after each of our visits. Then I drained a cup of cold tea left on the cart for fortification.

Caroline bit her lip, watching me swing out onto the ledge again. I gripped the stone tightly enough to have my palms cramping.

“Violet, you don't look well enough. Perhaps you should wait.”

“Can't.” I grunted, cheek mashed to the wall as I tried to stand up without falling backward. The stone was cold. My left foot slipped. I swallowed a scream, clutching at the wall.

Caroline gasped. “Be careful.”

I didn't reply, concentrating fully on shuffling along the last few feet to the balcony balustrade. Whitestone Manor was dark below me, but across the hills I could see the lights flickering at Rosefield and hear the music drifting out of the open windows. It seemed impossibly far, with the pond gleaming in the center.

I mustn't think about that. There was only right now, only the railing of the balcony under my hand, only my knee bending as I pulled myself over, only the ragged tightness of my breath as I collapsed for a moment, waiting for my head to stop spinning.

I'd made it this far, I'd make it farther still.

There was a trellis on the other side of the balcony. I leaned on it briefly to test its strength, before abandoning the security of the balcony. The roses tickled my nose and the thorns pricked into my skin. I lowered myself slowly, so slowly, my arm muscles quivering with the effort it took to hold up my body. I'd never been so deliriously happy to feel the ground beneath my feet. I glanced up, nodding at Caroline. She nodded back, pale as the moon at the sill.

I crouched behind the yew hedges, catching my breath. Behind the glass of the main parlor, an oil lamp burned. Wentworth's shadow moved across the papered walls. He was heading back upstairs.

I couldn't let that happen. He needed Tabitha alive and reclusive so she wouldn't marry, but now Caroline knew too much. He'd kill her. Especially when he realized I'd escaped.

“Rowena,” I whispered. “You're the reason I'm in this bloody mess in the first place. Help me, damn you.”

The first rain drop hit me in the eye. I wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

As a sign, it was murky at best.

More rain fell, soaking into my hair, dragging down the hem of my skirts. But the cool damp on my neck had a bracing effect as well, chasing away the lingering traces of the laudanum haze.

I knew what I needed to do.

Even if I really, really, really didn't want to do it.

I straightened under the spears of lightning hurling out of the sky. I approached the window and stood there, hands presses against the glass. I waited until Wentworth saw me there, waited until he'd reached the doors, before I began to run in earnest, leading him away from Tabitha and Caroline and into the dark shadows of the fields.

I slipped through the muddy grass as rain pelted us from every direction. He followed me, his shirt stained with wine, his hair sticking up every which way.

“Come back here,” he hollered. “You've cursed me, you little witch. She won't leave me alone!”

I flew over the hills, my lungs burning. I stumbled but forced myself to keep running. I nearly wept with relief when I saw Rowena hovering over the pond's pebbled surface. Thunder growled around us. The wind shredded the lilies. Wentworth grabbed the lace fluttering on the hem of my pantelettes and I tumbled, landing hard. I was winded but still managed to kick out at him.

“Get off me!” I kicked harder, missed. The rain fell slower, pausing as it gathered and froze over the pond. Ice crackled over the water.

Wentworth spat out a mouthful of lily petals. “What the devil?”

There was pressure on my chest and then a searing flash of cold on my hands. Everything was rain and lilies.

I knew the exact moment he saw her, floating toward him. He blanched, even in the darkness of the sudden storm. “No, no.”

She came closer, pale as frog bellies and lily petals. She reached out to touch him and he flinched. Her hand went through him. Frustration sparked though her. She glided through the tall grass, paused above me before reclining as if she meant to lie down and sleep.

Using me as her bed.

My hands tingled, as if I'd held them in ice too long. I felt faraway, and my hand lifted and formed a fist, of its own accord. I tried to scowl but my face wouldn't cooperate. I tried to unclench my fingers, but they seemed to belong to someone else. My hair floated in the air around me, as if I were underwater,

“Uncle Reginald.” It wasn't my voice coming out of my mouth. My throat hurt.

“No.” He went the color of curdled milk.

I smiled. Or rather, Rowena used my face to smile. I fought the catharsis, feeling trapped and frightened. She was in my head, my bones, my blood.

“This is where you killed me.” She said it almost sweetly. “Do you remember?”

“Not possible.” He rubbed his eyes.

She turned my head and my hair, still drifting and matted with blood on one side. “You strangled me and watched me sink below the water.” Bruises turned purple on my wrists. I felt them on my throat. I wished she'd been this vocal a little earlier. “All because you wanted Whitestone.”

“I deserve Whitestone.” His teeth clattered together. Frost bloomed like creeping ivy over the grass, the flowers; even the crickets were now suddenly silent.

I was cast adrift in my own body. This was taking too long. I had nothing to steady me, to keep me tethered.
Don't let go
, Rowena said sharply in her own voice, in the floating darkness inside my head. I got to my feet. A confession here in the middle of a field wouldn't do any of us any good. I stumbled. Rowena would have drifted gracefully, but my movements felt clunky and jerky, as if we were fighting for the strings of a marionette.

She floated out of my body and back in, enticing Wentworth to follow. I tried not to throw up on my own feet. I forced myself to move, used the trees to pull myself toward the Rosefield gardens. The cold wind was nearly unbearable.

“You're not real, not real,” Wentworth mumbled even as he followed after me.

I ran faster.

The weeds gave way to manicured lawns and I nearly wept with relief. Not far now. I could smell the roses, see the glow of lamplight spilling out onto the terrace. The music was soft, happy.

Wentworth crashed through the hedges, swearing. I ran past a murmuring couple, startling them out of an embrace. The doors were open, letting in fresh air to cool the dancers.

I fell into the ballroom. The guests froze, turning to stare. I knew I must look a fright, wet as a drowned rat and covered in mud, in my underwear. I was shaking from the effects of the storm and the laudanum and Rowena's possession. The strains of a pretty waltz faltered, then stopped. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them again, Colin was propping me up.

“What the devil?” he asked, looking terrified. I blinked at the shiny buttons on his coat. He'd stolen a footman's uniform to get around the party and watch Peter who, as it turned out, didn't need watching.

“Wentworth?” Lord Jasper came forward as the other man burst through the doors only seconds after me. The light hit the silver swan of Lord Jasper's cane. Wentworth looked as wild as I felt, all white eyes and tangled hair. He gave an odd, strangled laugh.

“Murderer,” I croaked loudly in that odd voice not my own. Everyone glanced at Wentworth, who straightened, anger giving him a bolstering jolt of courage. He hardly seemed to notice where we were, or else he was past caring.

“Had no choice, did I? Wanted to blackmail us. Your fault.” He sneered down at me. “Planning to elope with my tailor's son, of all people. Absurd! Think Reece Travis would have loved you after he'd gotten hold of your inheritance?”

“I loved him.” I was shivering violently, barely able to stand up. Colin steadied me. “And you murdered me for it.”

“I couldn't let you squander the last of the family money like my worthless brother,” he raged. “No one else gives a damn about this family, not him, not you. I took care of you and how were you going to repay me? By taking the last of the Wentworth land and giving it to a poor tailor. What would have become of me?” When Tabitha wanted her debut, he felt the same fears. If she married, he'd be destitute. But he knew two twin girls dying accidentally might raise questions, so he refused to take her to London and secretly fed her laudanum to keep her pliable.

“I wouldn't have made you leave Whitestone.”

He shook his head, stared harder at me. “This can't be real,” he slurred, as if his lips were numb. “This is a dream, just a dream.” He whirled, shouted at the orchestra. “Play, damn you! This is a ball, isn't it?”

The hushed silence was pockmarked with gasps and frantic mutterings. No one moved. Rowena was staying too long, nestling into my bones. I was beginning to wonder where she ended and I began. Her memories and my memories intertwined too closely together.

“She's cold.” Colin rubbed my hands between his. “Look at her eyes.”

Jasper cursed. I gathered by that, my eyes looked odd. “Spirit,” he said, leaning close to me. “Leave this girl.”

I shook my head, or Rowena did, I couldn't be sure.

“Leave her! I command it!”

Rowena ignored them. Someone shrieked.

“That's not her face!” I heard that same person slide tonelessly to the ground.

Colin took salt out of his pocket and forced it under my tongue. “Leave her be!”

Rowena recoiled from the taste of the salt.

“More,” I murmured.

Colin emptied his pocket. I swallowed thickly, mouth puckering. Rowena screamed. It was working but she was fighting it, desperate, wailing in my head. I shuddered, trying to escape the sound.

“Not until he confesses properly. They need to hear him say it.” Half the words were in my voice, half in Rowena's. I could feel the pond water closing over my head and I struggled violently, gasping for air. No, Rowena's head. I was in the ballroom.
The ballroom.
I hadn't drowned. I clung to the scent of beeswax candles and oil lamps and the potted orange trees.

Colin released me gently to the floor and then leaped up, plowing his fist into Wentworth's face. Blood dripped from his nose.

Rowena fell a little bit in love with Colin at that moment.

I recognized the feeling, even through the chaos.

“Confess, damn it!” Colin shouted. I crawled forward to where Wentworth had fallen.

I touched his arm, and white frostbite traveled up to his shoulder. “Say it!”

He moaned, spat blood. The frost nibbled at his chin, spread over his cheek. He shivered so violently, blood spattered over the floor. “I murdered my niece.” Shards of ice fell from his lips, which were blue as bruises. Ice clumped in his eyelashes. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

There were shocked gasps. Someone dropped a flute of champagne. The rain found its way indoors, pooling over the floors. Jasper leaned on his cane, his face hard and not entirely surprised.

Pain throbbed in my head. And then Rowena vanished so quickly, I crumpled at Lord Jasper's feet while the dancers gaped at us, still frozen in their best ball gowns. Before I passed out from exhaustion, I heard Lord Jasper's sister gasp.