“What woman?” He gave her a blank look.
“You didn’t see her?” she asked.
“Where?”
“At the end of the corridor. I… Never mind.” She gave him a polite smile, which was all the encouragement he needed.
“Don’t worry. Your eyes are likely playing tricks on you. Especially in an old house like this—it’s a wonder there aren’t ghosts roaming the halls.”
Her eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe her. Her hands began to curl into fists, and she stopped. What if he was right? She’dnever entertained the possibility that ghosts might exist. But what if they did?
He chatted with her as they approached her door. “Well, here we are.” He looked at her invitingly.
“Yes, thank you.” Opening the door, she stepped inside. “Good day.” She quickly shut the door in his face.
There was a small snort of laughter and his footfalls retreated. She leaned against the door with a sigh. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? The woman had stared at her. Her stern look had chilled her blood. Maybe Mr. Ludlow had just happened to be looking elsewhere at the time. That must have been it.
Violet surveyed her room. It was a charming room, with blue-and-white wallpaper, shelves in the closet, and a small table that would serve as a writing desk and vanity space, which currently held a washbasin filled with water. It was a pretty room, with a small, narrow bed made up with a pillow and a white quilt and coverlet. A framed picture of painted silks hung on the wall. The desk faced a window that would let in the natural light, or it would when it wasn’t pouring with rain outside.
The sky had turned from a light, misty grey to dark charcoal, and as Violet peered through the windowpanes, angry rainclouds hung overhead. The rain pattered outside, tap-tapping at the window.
Violet unpinned her sodden purple hat and set it on the floor. It was dripping wet, and she looked at the sorry state of it. She must have looked a fright when she’d first arrived.
There on the table was a small looking glass. She held it up and peered at her reflection, which was a sorry state indeed. A speck of mud had hit her left cheek, and she wiped it away with a damp glove. Tendrils of her blonde hair were plastered to herface, and she took a clean towel from the bed and wiped her face and hair dry.
Once she’d peeled off her traveling dress and hung up her coat, she changed into a fetching evening dress of light pink and purple, with a slim skirt and lavender sash, around the waist of a comfortable purple dress with a round bodice. With her hair dried and newly arranged in a bun, but with wispy tendrils to hang by her ears, she thought she looked presentable enough.
She went downstairs and met the others of her party in the main drawing room. The room was large but comfortable, with rich, deep sofas and wide, cushioned chairs, whilst a grand fireplace had a fire burning merrily inside. She nodded to the lady present, a well-dressed woman in an expensive-looking blue dress and expertly arranged hairstyle, along with Mr. Ludlow and Mr. Fairbanks, and crossed the room to the fire, holding her hands to it for warmth.
A quick bit of movement caught her eye. She turned and part of the bookshelf began to slide open. She grabbed a poker and brandished it in the air. “Oh, my lord.”
The lady screamed, and the gentlemen fell over each other.
The wall opened to reveal…
“Miss Eagle. Whatever are you doing?” Mr. Fairbanks asked.
Miss Eagle practically bounced into the room, giggling on the arm of Uncle Edwin. “Hello, everyone. So sorry if I gave you all a fright. I knew this place from when I was a child and thought I recognized the sliding wall panel that opened to a secret passage. I met dear Mr. Griffin and thought we would surprise everyone with a grand entrance. Sorry.” She grinned at Violet and fingered the locket around her neck. “I don’t think a poker is necessary.”
The ladies uttered little laughs, and Violet turned pink as she returned the poker to its proper place. Mr. Fairbanks came to her side. “Quick thinking. You held that thing like a rapier. Have you ever fenced before?”
“No. Are you offering lessons?”
He laughed his warm, rich laugh and winked at her.
Mr. Ludlow brushed himself down as Uncle Edward began introductions.
“You all know me. This is my niece, Miss Violet Thorn,” said Violet’s uncle as he introduced the men. He nodded to the older woman in the room. “Violet, this is Mrs. Margaret Hemlock.”
“What a singular name you have.” Mrs. Hemlock smirked and gave Mr. Fairbanks a coy smile.
The ladies curtsied to one another. Violet took in Mrs. Hemlock’s rich, brunette hair with strands of silver, the thickening of her middle, and sunspots on her cheek. She didn’t care for Mrs. Hemlock’s slightly amused tone at her name or the way she looked at Mr. Fairbanks. It was almost predatory.
“And you,” said Violet. “Like the poisonous plant?”
“I should ask you if you cut deeply, considering your surname,” the woman said, her eyes steely. She was a feisty brunette with a temper, no doubt due to her unfortunate surname.
“Ladies, please. We are here for one reason,” Mr. Fairbanks said. “To cheer our good friend Mr. Griffin for his party.”
