Freedom. And yet she still felt empty. It wasn’t her freedom she was worried about, she realized slowly. It was Lily’s. The moon was not the sun and the colors of the garden were dulled by shadow, but would that make the panorama any less magical to a little girl who yearned to greet the world at large, if only for a stolen moment? Mr. Waldegrave meant well, but it was wrong to imprison a child.
Dewdrops glinted like diamonds atop the endless green of shrubbery and blades of grass. The abbey was perhaps too remote to discern the rustle of the River Severn as it rushed toward the Ironbridge Gorge, but the night held plenty of other delights. Nocturnal creatures prowling the garden for their supper, the creak of a branch supporting a nest high overhead, the call of an owl somewhere far in the distance.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp, clean air.Thiswas what Lily needed. Violet was sure of it.
Tucking her fingers into the warmth of her pockets, she picked her way toward a stone path. While she was out, she might as well take a turn about the abbey, and imagine the view as Lily might see it.
When she reached the rear of the abbey, a muffled metallic snip pulled her up short. Violet scanned the tree line, the garden, the shadows between the buildings. She clapped a hand to her chest in relief.
Foxes were not the only nocturnal animals taking advantage of the moonlight. There, on bended knee among the roses, was Mr. Waldegrave.
She hesitated. If she continued her circuit about the abbey, she was bound to disrupt his solitude. Perhaps he preferred to be alone with the night, caring for his roses by the light of the moon. Her heart reached out to him. As a man who suffered sunsickness, this was the only time hecouldtend his garden. She doubted he would be pleased by her interruption. Their conversation in the catacombs had not gone well at all. Perhaps she should turn around and tuck herself back into bed. Perhaps—
“If you’re going to stand there staring at me all night, you might as well come closer and have a clearer view.”
She started guiltily.
He had not looked up, not before nor during his speech, but he had known she was there all along. She shook her head at her own foolishness. She hadn’t expected anyone else to be about at this hour of the night, so she supposed she had not been treading particularly silently. And now that she had been caught, he was right—she might as well join him.
As she neared, she glimpsed the rectangular white stones she’d fallen upon that very first day. These roses were more than mere jewels of his garden, then. They marked his wife’s grave. Did he fetch fresh roses for his daughter in order to bring her some beauty? Or did he frequent the roses so often because he was still mourning the loss of his long-dead wife?
“Good evening, Miss Smythe,” he said as she reached his side. His focus remained on the flowers, but his scissors ceased their rhythmic shearing.
“It is a good evening,” she agreed, seating herself on the dewy grass beside him, the soft blades crunching pleasantly beneath her. “The moon is beautiful tonight. Very nearly full, I daresay.”
At this, he looked over at her with a wistful half-smile. “I’m afraid you’re a day late, Miss Smythe. It was full last night, and beautiful indeed.”
“I did miss it, then.” She took a deep breath before her courage fled with the wind. “You know who else missed it?”
His face hardened as he turned away. “That topic is closed.”
“Not for me, and not for Lily,” Violet pushed on. “She could use some beauty in her life. We all could. Look at you, for example.”
“At me? What have I to do with anything, other than being the one person who wants to keep her safe?”
“You’re outside,” she explained simply. “You are here to keep her safe. And asyou’renot affected by the light of the moon, there’s nothing to fear.”
“Nothing to fear?” he repeated with a disbelieving chuckle. “Miss Smythe, there is far more to fear than moonlight. What if my daughter runs away, as she’s done every other time I’ve brought her out? There are gates, but… what if she doesn’t run away, but someoneseesher, suspects something afoot?”
“Who would be out here at this time of night?”
“You yourself arrived without warning or premeditation. All it takes is one person, Miss Smythe. Once the secret is out, there will be no more safe haven for Lily.”
“But you took her out once to look at the stars!”
“And I learned my lesson at my daughter’s expense. I no longer take foolish risks.”
“Even if someone catches sight of a girl and her father out admiring the stars, they would have no reason to suspect Lily’s condition. Shewouldbe safe. She—”
“As I recall, you punctuated your arrival by tripping over my daughter’s false gravestone, did you not? Everyone who has heard of the Waldegraves is also quite aware that I do not have a daughter with whom I might admire the stars. To see me with a child in hand would inherently put Lily at risk. Perhaps they would think, ‘Who is this young girl with Alistair Waldegrave? He has no daughter—we must rescue the girl at once!’ Or worse, ‘Look, the daughter is not dead after all. What could be so monstrous about the child that necessitates her being kept secret?’”
Violet’s fingers clenched. “Lily is not monstrous.”
He tossed his shears aside impatiently. “I know that, and you know that. But until recently, not even all my staff were in agreement on that score, so what makes you think suspicious neighbors would be any more accepting? Even the scientists and physicians I’ve consulted want to do exhaustive tests in their laboratories. They want to expose sensitive skin to direct sunlight just to document the results. That’s why they all must believe I—”
“That’s why they must believe you’ve lost your daughter,” she finished softly. “I do understand your position. I’m just not certain that keeping her imprisoned is the only option. Here’s an idea. If someoneshouldchance upon us, why don’t we say that she is my daughter? No one in Shropshire knows me, and—”
“Lily,” he interrupted, his eyes distant, “is not your daughter. She is the image of her mother, as anyone who knew her would see at a glance. And, no. I will not allow her to be taken from me. Not by superstitious neighbors nor by laboratory-dwelling scientists. I appreciate your concern for her artistic soul, butmyconcern is for her health and safety, which must come first. There is nothing to discuss, Miss Smythe. The topic is closed.”
