Confession was good for the soul, so it was said, and though Violet was glad not to bear the weight of her silence any longer,it didn’t relieve her from the guilt of her actions. It was done and over with, and there was no turning back the clocks no matter how much she wished for it. Experience was a stern taskmistress.
Violet’s feet trudged along the lane, and she focused on putting one before the other, her gaze fixed on the ground as she watched each passing pebble and rut. No doubt with time the pain would ease. She couldn’t expect such a terrible burden to be lifted in only three days, but she wondered if it would ever fully leave her. Thoughts of Dr. Vaughn plagued her dreams, making it impossible to rest. His phantom followed her about the day, reminding her of all the kindness he’d bestowed. And so, she trudged along, her eyelids struggling to remain open.
Droplets struck her nose and cheeks, and Violet glanced up at the sodden sky. Thick clouds stretched above, blocking the sky and enough of the sun that it felt more like dusk than afternoon, and several more raindrops struck her face.
With a groan, Violet looked for a place to set the basket and bag so she might drape her shawl over them, but she couldn’t do so without them ending up muddy. There was nothing to be done about it. Pulling her arms closer, she hunched over her bundles, wincing as bottles clinked together. The basket and bag were packed well enough that the glass would be protected, but it would serve her right for something to break or upend and ruin her work.
The droplets gathered into a proper torrent, and in a trice, her clothes were soaked through. As she was still unable to afford a replacement for her soiled cloak, the shawl was the best covering she owned, yet the thin fabric did little to protect anything from the onslaught. Scurrying as best she could whilst still protecting the basket and bag, Violet hurried along the lane, pausing only when she spied Dr. Vaughn’s front door.
Clinging to the bundles, she stared at it. Was he home? At this time of day, it was highly unlikely, and the sinking in her stomach testified that she felt something, though she couldn’t say if it was disappointment or relief. How could she both longand loathe to see him? But her feet felt no confusion, for the minute she passed through the gate, they tiptoed along the path, silently darting to the door without drawing attention.
Violet set the basket and valise on the doorstep. Great vines crawled up the sides of the cottage, providing a bit of shelter from the rain, but she pulled a large square of waxed paper from her pocket and draped it over the bag, tucking the edges beneath the bottom. The straw stuffed between the bottles in the basket was bound to make a bit of a sodden mess, but the vials were naturally protected from the rain, and anything else was wrapped firmly in waxed paper as well; they should be safe. She hoped.
Turning, she slipped away as quickly and quietly as she’d come, not slowing until she was certain she was out of sight. Despite having her arms free now, the walk home was just as difficult as before. The bleakness of her situation had been an ever-present companion since Dr. Vaughn’s arrival, and for all that Violet had considered the situation from many different positions before, she hadn’t anticipated that matters could grow worse.
Her family’s position was still threatened, and all Violet had succeeded in doing during the past weeks was hurt a good man.
With her gaze fixed on the ground once more and her attention drifting through all that had occurred and that which was yet to come, Violet’s feet moved of their own accord, pulling her through town. Draping her shawl over her head, she hid her face from the world—though there was little point, as she was the only one out and about in the downpour.
When she arrived home once more, Violet threw open the door and cast off her sodden shawl. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, and she knew she ought to feel it, but the shivers seemed like they belonged to someone else.
“There you are, miss,” said Peggy, who watched her with wide eyes. “My, you are soaked to the bone, but you have a visitor.”
Violet’s muscles clenched, her breath catching as she wondered—and hoped—who it was.
“Mrs. Finch is here to see you.”
Violet’s lungs collapsed, her muscles relaxing, though once more, she didn’t know whether the sentiment seizing control of her body was good or bad. No, she hadn’t truly expected it to be Dr. Vaughn, and having any sort of visitor was not welcome at present, but she couldn’t deny her disappointment on both counts. Despite having just done her utmost to avoid the gentleman.
“Tell her I am unwell,” whispered Violet. “I must go and change before I catch my death—”
“I thought you believed one cannot grow ill from being wet and cold,” said Felicity, appearing in the doorway. But even as the lady frowned at her friend, a snap of shock drew her brows upward as she studied Violet. “You are sopping! Peggy, please fetch her a blanket.”
With a bob, the maid scurried away.
“I should change my dress—” began Violet.
“You are going to join me in the parlor this very minute and stop avoiding me,” said Felicity with a frown, pointing to the room behind her with a militant glare.
“I saw you at church on Sunday, and we spoke at the concert not long before that,” said Violet. “That is hardly avoiding you.”
But Felicity ignored her, striding into the parlor and sitting on the sofa with the confidence and bearing as though it were her domain. With Violet’s own will so worn from exhaustion and guilt, she was unable to withstand the command and took the seat opposite. A fire burned happily, and a pot of tisane steeped on the table with an array of cakes on a platter beside it. Despite these being some of her favorite treats, Violet’s stomach soured at the sight.
“You look terrible,” said Felicity with a frown.
“Then I look the same as I always do,” replied Violet in a tone she’d meant to be dry but held an unmistakable bitter edge to it.
“Why were you tromping about in the rain?” she asked.
Violet shifted her skirts, straightening them, though the wet fabric clung to her skin. “Dr. Vaughn left his medical bag, so I was delivering it and some additional medicines.”
“Attempting to bribe your way out of the mess you’ve made?” Felicity’s tone was flat, her eyes narrowing on Violet. “I admit I was upset when I discovered Lewis’s deception, but what you’ve done is so much worse. What were you thinking—”
“I wanted to save my family,” said Violet, her voice rising of its own accord. “Everything I did was to save them.”
“Do not use them as an excuse—”
The parlor door opened, and Peggy stepped inside with the blanket to drape it over Violet’s lap, though she didn’t feel the chill anymore. The young woman adjusted the plates and treats a touch, and the two ladies watched in heavy silence. Giving a bob, Peggy left the way she came, and though Felicity’s mouth opened the moment the parlor door shut behind the maid, Violet spoke first.
