“We don’t want to keep you,” the surveyor said with a laugh. “Just have ourselves an hour or two. What do you say, Livingstone?” He reached for Emma. “I’ll take this one to your chambers, while you teach the feisty little instructor a few important lessons.”
Violet snatched up the closest weapons she could find and hurled them at his head, one after another. The bucket of turpentine did little more than drench the man in foul smelling liquid, but the full can of paint dropped him to the ground.
Had she killed him or knocked him temporarily unconscious? Violet’s heart banged wildly. There was no time to check.
The heir still had Emma by the wrist.
“She’s coming with me,” he snarled, and curled his free hand into a fist. “And you’re going to be sorry you dared touch a man above your station. I’m going to enjoy putting you in your place.”
Wrong. Violet wasn’t about to let him touch her—orhurt Emma.
Years of surviving by her wits alone had taught Violet never to hesitate. Often, the element of surprise was the only hope a girl had against men twice her size. Right now, the heir believed he had the upper hand. She had one chance to prove otherwise.
Violet leapt across the tiny space, arms outstretched to snatch Emma away.
“Bitch!” Livingstone reared one arm back, clearly intending to slam his overlarge fist directly into Violet’s face.
Emma was faster. Her tiny fingers grappled at the clutter scattered across the wooden desktop, knocking candles to the floor. In an instant, she swung backward, a tall paintbrush firmly in her grip. The handle found its home in the eye of the blackguard who had intended to abduct her.
With a choking scream, the heir slumped across the desk, the slender paintbrush protruding from his eye socket. The flames from the fallen candles ignited the spilled turpentine, roaring across the oil-painted canvases and up over the motionless men. Within a half second, the fire had eaten the curtains and engulfed the rafters above. The ravenous orange flames sped toward the fallen surveyor.
“Come,” Violet shouted, tugging at Emma’s icy hand. “We must go! Everything in here is violently flammable.”
Already the air was thick with greasy smoke and the stench of burning flesh.
Emma stumbled around the unnaturally still bodies, then promptly bent over and vomited. Violet’s stomach felt much the same, but there was no time for weakness, for conscience, for second-guessing.
“Come,” she repeated. The oils popped and the blackening rafters spit ash and fire as Violet dragged Emma across the tiny room with one arm around the girl’s waist. “We can’t stay here.”
No, Violet realized as a chill crept down her spine. It was much worse than that. She saved a child. But by leaving the men to die, she was also a murderess. There would be consequences.
Emma might be able to rejoin the other students with no one being the wiser, but half the school had witnessed Violet stalking toward her studio with murder in her eyes. She had made no attempt to conceal her animosity toward Mr. Percy Livingstone. And now there would be no hiding what she had done.
She’d lost her position, her dreams... and now her future.
Smoke searing her lungs, she hobbled out of the burning cottage. Everything she owned, everything she cared about, had been in that studio. Well, not quite everything. Pulling Emma further away from the blaze, Violet touched shaking fingers to her pocket to touch her final wages. She wished she’d hidden her precious savings anywhere but the back of a drawer in her now-charred art desk... but this would have to be enough money to get out of Lancashire. Immediately.
She had to flee. Find shelter, obviously, but more importantly: procure a barrister capable of saving her from criminal prosecution. She touched her neck and shuddered. She wouldnotgo to the gallows. Not for a blackguard like Percy Livingstone. She would find a way to clear her name and keep moving forward. She was a survivor.
If she ran faster than she’d ever run before, she just might make the morning coach before anyone realized she was missing. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but she had learned to make the most of any scrap Fate chose to leave her.
But first things first—Emma. The girl was young. Traumatized, but blameless. Violet would see to it. Not a soul would suspect Emma of anything. As for Violet... she could take care of herself.
“Listen, sweetheart.” She held Emma’s trembling hands and wished the girl would make eye contact, even for a second. “You did nothing wrong. This is not your fault.Istarted the violence.Iam to blame for their deaths. Not you.” Violet felt sick with guilt. If only she hadn’t invited Emma for a private lesson today of all days! “No one knows you were in the studio today, and no one needs to know.” She brushed ash from the girl’s sleeve. With the heir up in flames, the plans to convert the school into a madhouse should come to a stop—at least, for now. “Go to Headmistress Parker. You can trust her.”
Emma nodded miserably, shoulders shaking. Violet gathered her into her arms and held her for a long moment. She had to believe this was the right thing to do. It was the only choice. She could not stay, and she could not risk endangering Emma. Sending her to the headmistress was the best hope for keeping her safe.
“This isnotyour fault,” she repeated, giving the girl a fierce hug.
Emma pulled back and looked up, her eyes hollow. The girl suddenly looked far older than her fifteen years. Violet gave her another hug, viciously pleased that Mr. Percy Livingstone and his surveyor were dead. She wished shehadkilled them both herself. Closing down the school would have sent dozens of helpless young girls into the clutches of other evil men just like him.
“Get cleaned up,” she instructed Emma, “and remember: you did nothing wrong. You weren’t even here.Iwas, not you.” She touched the girl’s pale cheek. “You’ll be safe now.”
With a smile full of far more confidence than she felt, Violet gave her a last hug goodbye then took off running for the Lancashire coach stop. Little time remained, but she’d learned through years of practice how to run very, very fast.
Chapter 2
Not long after her coin petered out, so did Violet’s limbs.
