Page 44 of Mirrors of the Past

Laurie was aghast. He’d forgotten how much Evie was influenced by those awful novels Elsie said she enjoyed. Also, she had Lily Valentine as a mother, so obviously she had a dramatic bent . . .

‘I’m quite all right, thank you.’ Viola’s answer was stiff. ‘If I need a doctor, I’m sure I can make my way to one, without relying on Laurie.’

Laurie felt himself flush. Because of course that was exactly what he would have done had the situation demanded. It wouldn’t have been the action of a romantic hero. It would have been the rational response to a medical situation.

However, as Laurie plucked self-consciously at the lace cuffs on his billowing, tattered, Byron-or-Shelley-esque shirt, he knew in his heart that his soul was more poetic than practical, and he would never have heard the end of it from his sisters. Ugh. He still had hold of that lace from her frock as well!

Evie persisted. ‘But wouldn’t Laurie have looked quite the part of the romantic hero?’

‘I don’t want Laurie to play the part of a romantic hero!’ Viola growled the words, but her cheeks flushed bright red. ‘Even though he looks like one—’ She bit her lip, clearly stopping herself saying any more.

‘I wouldn’t do it anyway. Not for you. But it might be worth getting a doctor,’ he said stiffly. ‘I believe you were out cold for a minute or two. Or maybe, because you were actually silent for once, and not arguing with me, I only thought you were out cold . . .’

‘Just one thing.’ Elsie’s voice interjected. She sounded amused. ‘We probably will get a doctor out, just to check you over, darling. But tell me, when you were walking up those stairs, declaiming your delightful poem — what did you see in the mirror? Or should I say, who did you see in the mirror?’

‘Nobody,’ said Viola, her face turning bright red again. ‘I saw nothing and nobody. I simply caught my foot on my frock and fell.’

Elsie turned to Holly and raised her eyebrows. ‘Quite,’ she said, and folded her arms triumphantly across her stomach. ‘Actually, on that note, vile sibling, I invite you to have your photograph taken for posterity.’ Elsie bowed at Laurie and swept out an arc with her arm, indicating that he should go into that hellish room Elsie had commandeered and have his hideous photograph taken at that awful makeshift studio she’d been daubing things on earlier.

Ugh.

‘I don’t think—’

Elsie held her fingers up to his lips. ‘Hush, hush, hush,’ she said in that irritating way she had. ‘Marigold is too small to remember much about this, so the photographs are for her. Please tell me you won’t let your niece down, Laurie.’

‘Blackmailer,’ he said.

But, actually, it was a bloody good excuse to leave that carnage behind on the staircase. He just had one thing to do first. ‘Here, take your bloody lace. It’s no good to me.’ He thrust his hand out and Viola’s eyes widened, before she snatched the scrap of fabric from him.

He did not wait for a response.

And thus it was, he stalked into the drawing room and walked towards the hideous studio.

Anything to get away from her.

And this time he didn’t mean Elsie.

* * *

There had been no ill effects from her tumble on the staircase at the Halloween party. A doctor had been called, but it had been one of the staff who’d gone to fetch him, and not Laurie dashing through the moonlit night on horseback, with his costume on.

It would have been dreadfully romantic in some ways and Viola briefly allowed herself to daydream about it in her weaker moments. Then she shook herself out of it, because why would she will herself to be so damned incapacitated that Laurie — or anyone for that matter — would have to go get a doctor by galloping across Bodmin Moor at night?

And on Halloween night, at that. The tales the guests at the party had told, of will-o’-the-wisps, and the “pobel vean” — or the little people — and old Jan Tregeagle at Dozmary Pool, meant that anyone out riding wildly that night would be risking their own life, never mind anyone else’s.

Which was also utterly romantic that someone would do that for you, but not something she would allow herself to dwell on . . .

It was bad enough that she’d seen Laurie in that mirror — that was what had startled her. What with Marigold talking about “luh for Unca Laurie” and his face looming up on the mirror, it was not a surprise then that she’d caught her foot in her gown. However, the bunch of lace that had been torn off the frock and eventually handed unceremoniously back to her was proof that he had actually tried to save her, and not just stood back and watched her roll down those damned stairs.

She had, of course, considered expressing how cross she’d been that he had ruined her dress; but on balance had thought that might be a step too far, even for her.

But the main thing she thought about, when she thought about that evening, was waking up at the bottom of the stairs and having his face right above her, and those dark eyes and that furrowed brow showing exactly how much he had been worried. It was an expression he had been quick to hide, but she’d seen it, sure enough.

And in her confused state, she’d wondered what it would be like to wake up each morning with those dark eyes looking at you and the expression in them being one of love and — no, not adoration, of course not that — but something deeper. Something that told you, that above all, above everything else, you were soulmates and wherever you went in life — and beyond, perhaps — you would always, always come back to one another . . .

And then, a week or so after the Halloween party, she got the message from Elsie, which threw everything else into disarray.

The bruises on the side of her face had begun to fade, the scrapes had healed up and she was no longer stiff and achy where she’d bumped herself on the stairs, so she was feeling much more chipper than she had done for the first couple of days.