Page 41 of These Violet Delights
“And no doubt they were eager for something innocent to believe.”
“Yes, and that.” Emilia’s cheeks darkened. “Last week the silly creature made it almost to Deppers Bridge. It took the driver’s boy half a day to find him.” There was a pause before she appeared caught by a different memory. “Monkshood,” she said quietly, mournfully, blinking at the passing rows of trees and hedges. “All that time gone, and he returned to me with poisonous flowers.” She shrugged helplessly, her voice yet softer. “Love’s spell has broken, and after there is just regret.”
Violet leaned toward her and gripped Emilia’s hand through the warmer. “If Freddie is really to blame for these fires, then I swear we will prove it and bring your heart peace. Though I…Well. Though I don’t knowhowexactly.”
“You will though, you will know! I’m sure of it.” Emilia’s countenance brightened. She slipped one hand out of the muff and clasped it over Violet’s. “You and your sisters were such a help during Ann’s wedding. Without your courage, your persistence, who knows what might have happened to us?”
The carriage made a severe right turn, paused as the gates of Pressmore were opened, and then continued up the drive. The gardens and hedge maze spread across the window like a thick, wet smear of green paint. Even with the change of the seasons, the estate somehow maintained its verdant alchemy, the red and gold in the overhanging trees making what green remained even livelier. Puck stood near the gap in the hedgemaze, watching them arrive with his usual glassy-eyed ambivalence, his mouth and teeth in constant, repetitive motion.
As Daniels helped them down onto the pebbles of the drive, Emilia stared at the goat and shrugged. “At least he is reliably silent. Daniels? Take Miss Arden’s supplies to the Sapphire Library, please. Miss Bilbury has preferred the light there this week.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
She waited until Daniels had walked back toward the carriage to collect Violet’s things to add, “You should have seen your aunt’s face when Mr. Kerr brought me back that night. I thought she would faint right across his boots. When she thanked him, every word was like the prick of a needle the way she flinched and fretted.” She grew solemn and thoughtful, still watching Puck chew his grass. “Do you think he can be trusted? Mr. Kerr, I mean. If he finds out I think Freddie set the fire, he could turn around and tell everyone what he saw at the hollow.”
Violet hadn’t considered that, which was strange, given how much she was meant to mistrust the Kerrs. He was protective of Freddie, that much she knew, but beyond that, she couldn’t predict how he would respond to any accusations. “I want to believe we can trust him.”
Emilia nudged her, suddenly close. “Is there something between you? At the hollow, you were almost…I don’t know the word for it—conspiratorial, perhaps, even friendly.”
“It’s not a bond I would have chosen, but our desires aligned in that moment,” said Violet, tensing.
“Yet to trust him? Despite what you’ve said about the disagreements between your families—”
“After he lost so much to a fire, he charged into the Florizelafter me, and all to save a cat. I couldn’t have done it without him. Maybe that isn’t proof of goodness, but it should count for something, don’t you think?”
They walked toward the house, Emilia slightly ahead of her. “After the way he urged Freddie to break my heart, I try my best not to think of him at all.”
Violet was too preoccupied with thoughts of the fire to become agitated. She felt as if she existed in two bodies now, one that must walk and talk as usual, and one that could only circle round and round Emilia’s accusation. As she spoke, she simultaneously walked through every moment of that fateful evening, trying to recall any small, seemingly insignificant detail that might lead to better understanding. Mr. Kerr might remember more. That would mean seeing him again, spending time with him. It ought to be a more unpleasant notion. Distracted, she murmured, “Even if I wanted such a thing, it would never happen. People might not whisper so much about me here, but the same cannot be said of London. I made a spectacle of myself there, and I am not sitting on the sort of dowry that makes impropriety a pardonable quirk.”
As soon as they stepped inside, Aunt Mildred and Ann were there to greet them. Elsewhere in the house, Lane could be heard negotiating frantically with a crying baby.
“Violet!” Aunt Mildred gasped as soon as Violet had removed her gloves. “Your hand! How awful, you look like a tradesman with all that scarring…”
“And here is my aunt, always ready to remind me of my deficiencies,” said Violet.
“I should have offered you my hand warmer,” Emilia said with a sigh.
Pleasantries were exchanged, each passing moment making Violet more impatient. How could they stand aroundsmiling and discussing the weather when Freddie Kerr might have attempted to burn them all alive in their beds? Ann embraced Violet, plainly relieved that Emilia had collected Violet so efficiently. Almost immediately, Violet was led to the Sapphire Library, a lavishly appointed room not far from the front hall. Miss Bilbury was already there, easel positioned to capture the blue-tinted light falling around a bowl of apples she had placed near the inlaid and mullioned windows. Daniels bustled in with an apology, bringing Violet’s new supplies and placing her easel a few feet to the right of Cristabel’s.
“Everyone at the cottage is convinced you’re to blame for this,” said Violet, gesturing toward the gifts, but Ann went to the cushioned bench near the apples and sat, shaking her head. She looked uncharacteristically haggard, no doubt torn from bed at an obscene hour by her ill child.
“Day and night we are consumed with caring for our little darling,” said Ann, reaching for an apple and then stopping herself as she remembered they were for painting and not for eating. “The Ann who would have had time for such generosities is gone now…” Her voice trailed off sadly. “I do miss her.”
Cristabel set down her brush with a grunt. “You’ve ruined the light, Mrs. Richmond.”
“Forget the light,” cried Emilia. “Violet’s mystery is far more interesting!”
Forget my mystery, I must return to the Florizel and have a look around.
“Then I will solve it, and you will go, and I can return to what matters most—painting,” said Cristabel, wiping her hands on her stained smock before approaching the new easel with a bulging, critical eye. Sometimes her abrupt manner was disagreeable, but now Violet was glad for it and hoped Cristabel would have it all solved in a blink so she could come upwith an excuse to leave and go to Cray Arches. Cristabel took up the package of paper Daniels had left on top of the handsome mahogany case. “Whatman’s wove paper,” said the painter, breathing out a soft sound of appreciation. “And in such quantity!” Then she knelt to inspect the mahogany case, running her fingers lightly over the engraved brass plaque on the front. “P.E. Paris and Sons,” she read. “I’ve seen their work before; they keep a storefront on Great Marlborough in London.”
“Then perhaps our mystery benefactor was recently in town,” Ann suggested. Wincing, she rubbed her temples and turned her head toward the light pouring in from the window behind her. “How Ilongto see town…”
“And these,” Cristabel began, picking up the leather tube filled with Violet’s studies, flicking off the cap and tapping the end until the papers came spiraling out.
“Hm?” Violet had been half listening, the rest of her at the Florizel, reliving the fire but gaining no clarity. “Oh, those are merely an experiment. I had to make do with whatever we had around the cottage; they shouldn’t be taken seriously.”
“Nonsense!” Reinvigorated, Ann popped up from the couch, stifling a yawn before going to peer over Cristabel’s shoulder. “Why, that’s Maggie at her desk! You’ve gotten the thoughtful crease along her brow just right. She always looks like that when she’s puzzling over a story.”
