She scooted across on the seat, a plush, blue velvet, and sat closer to the opposite window. He called to the servant, “Are we waiting on anyone else?”
“Yes, just one.”
The first raindrops began to fall, hitting the panes of glass with gentle pats. They heard another carriage pull up, and out came a young woman in pink. That is to say, she had been given far too much say in her own fashion, Violet decided, as the lady wore a straw bonnet with a wide, pink ribbon, a light beige walking coat with a pink frock underneath, and a cloth pink reticule to boot. She looked like a boiled sweet. The newcomer traveled with a thin, sour-faced maidservant, who lugged two heavy traveling trunks across the road.
Mr. Fairbanks turned immediately to help, dashing out of the carriage to assist her. Once the new arrival’s trunks were fastened up on top of the carriage and they were all inside, he shut the door and the carriage was off at pace, rattling and jolting over the pebbles, rocks, and dusty road.
“Oh, I’m so glad I made it in time. Mama always tells me I take too much time getting ready and I almost missed the carriage, so I had to dash. Thank you ever so much,” the young woman in pink said to Mr. Fairbanks, fingering a locket around her neck.
“My pleasure.” He inclined his head. “As we are traveling to the same place, perhaps introductions are in order.”
“I am Miss Flora Eagle, and that is my maid, Hawkins,” the young woman said, her soft, blonde curls bouncing. She gave Mr. Fairbanks a sweet smile.
Violet disliked her immediately.
“This is Miss Violet Thorn, and I am Edward Fairbanks. How do you do?”
“Oh, jolly good, thank you,” Miss Eagle said. “Is your surname really Thorn? Like a rose with thorns? I hate thorns. They’re horrid, devilish things. Although violets don’t have thorns, so I suppose that’s all right.”
“Thank you,” Violet said sharply, her cheeks turning pink. As if her surname were socially acceptable because her namesake flower didn’t have thorns. She bristled and tapped her fingers in her lap.
“I’m sorry, I was only wondering,” Miss Eagle said in a huff. “There’s no reason to snap at me.”
“I didn’t mean to snap. I—”
“Don’t mind her. She’s of a prickly temperament due to her unfortunate surname,” Mr. Fairbanks said.
Miss Eagle giggled. Her smile at Violet was a mixture of saccharine sweetness with a hint of unfriendly humor.
Mr. Fairbanks breathed in through his nose. “What brings you to Mr. Griffin’s party?”
“Oh. Well.” Miss Eagle launched into a long explanation, about how she and Violet’s uncle had met at a dinner party and had talked about the supernatural—haunted houses, in particular. She’d mentioned a Gothic home she’d grown up in, in Hertfordshire. He’d been intrigued by the idea of such a place, and being as they were of such a like mind, loving to laugh and both being admirers of good cheer, she had accepted his invitation for a weekend house party after speaking with her parents, who had given their permission, provided her lady’s maid accompanied her. That was the gist of her explanation. However, it took Miss Eagle about ten minutes to relay that information. Miss Eagle’s servant did nothing but look out the window.
“So you grew up here, Miss Eagle?” Violet asked.
“Of a sort. My mother worked in the kitchens and so my sister and I were always here playing with the children andrunning around. The family never minded, as they were happy for the company. But I haven’t been here for years, so it will be a treat to see the old house now.” She cleared her throat. “My father was, uh, taken by my mother long ago. She was widowed young, you see, but then she married a man of business.”
The rain fell faster and heavier, with the skies quite grey. The trees stood black and scraggly along the sides of the road as if blunted by angry storms, whilst stiff pine trees stood at attention, like dark signals or harbingers of doom. She rather liked it. With any luck, they would have a dark and stormy night, like out of a Gothic novel by the daring Mrs. Radcliffe.
Violet shivered, despite being warmly wrapped up in her fine purple traveling dress, frock coat, and decent hat.
The carriage rolled down a rickety bridge that felt very weak underfoot. Having slowed to a crawl, the carriage weaved and rocked back and forth in the pouring rain, easing over the bridge a few feet at a time.
Miss Eagle peered out the window and gave a little cry. “If this bridge gives out, we’re done for!”
Violet looked out her own window. The rain had picked up and was so strong, the ground looked to be like muddy rivers and lakes. Indeed, if she didn’t know better, she could readily believe that the bridge they trundled over was the last semblance of human existence in a sea of mud and water. Rain now pounded the carriage roof and windows. Violet gave a shiver, pulling her cloak tighter around her. She felt rather sorry for the carriage driver and footman, to have to be out in this wet weather.
In its own good time and not a minute before, the carriage safely traversed the bridge and entered a courtyard of a grand manor house that looked as though it had been constructed back in Tudor times.
The outside was of dull, grey stone with multiple mini towers and facades out front, with turrets and short, square ramparts along the top. It was more of a folly, but definitely with shades of Renaissance about it. The grounds were green and well-tended, but in the rain, there was little to appreciate but the thought of getting inside.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the house, and a servant dashed out to meet them, throwing a set of doors open. Mr. Fairbanks braved the rain first and held a hand out to Miss Eagle, her quiet maid, and Violet, escorting them into the shaded portico, which offered little shelter from the weather.
Violet followed Miss Eagle into the house but then turned. Mr. Fairbanks was helping detach the traveling trunks and bags from the top, helping the servants. It was an unnecessary kindness. She decided she liked him the better for it and stepped inside.
Ancient floorboards creaked beneath their feet, and worn, thin rugs covered the floors. Inside, grand tables and chairs added richness to the main room. Tapestries hung on the walls and more than one impressive head of deer and antlers adorned the upper walls, with a pair of spears artistically hung across each other to meet over a fireplace.
“My lord. How Gothic. And those antlers… Ugh.” Miss Eagle shivered. “It makes me think of ghosts.”
