Page 50 of These Violet Delights
“What should be and what is are rarely the same, my dear. The whispers have become shouts, and the noise has reached Pressmore. Your aunt no longer believes I’m fit company for her family and can no longer offer me a place to stay and teach.”
“But there must be something we can do!” Violet turned to stare at her sisters, who shared her look of despairing outrage. “I won’t let you be chased off like this.”
Cristabel smiled down at her, calm, and patted the top of her hand. “What sort of artist would I be if I maintained a spotless reputation, mm? You should see what my detractors put in the papers! They were vocal after my most recent withdrawalfrom the Royal Society. No, no. Your aunt has been generous, and I can embarrass her no longer. This will pass, as all things eventually do, and one day I will return to this place. I fear I have grown fond of it.” Cristabel cleared her throat, pulling away from Violet and trundling toward the door. Winny and Maggie scattered, but not before they had been seen. Pausing in the front hall, she quarter-swiveled toward Violet. “If you remember one thing from our acquaintance, let it be this: never turn away from art, Violet. Your expression is more vital than you know. Ah. I hope you don’t mind that I packed some of your studies to take with me…” She trailed off, and Violet did not protest, for she would have no paintings of any merit if Cristabel had not guided her. “For I have grown fond of you, too.”
Here was a woman who could not be persuaded. Violet knew her mind was made up. She smirked and helped Cristabel to the door. “As much as it pains you to say so.”
“Indeed. You know how I loathe self-indulgent sentiment.” Cristabel took one last look around the small cottage, seeing it, as she did everything, with assessing, fresh eyes. Sweeping up Violet’s hands in hers, she squeezed. “Ah, and now that I can no longer offer my commission as a prize at Miss Richmond’s benefit, I suggested you as my replacement. Farewell.”
“I…”
Violet gawked at the door, her jaw to the floor.
“How awful!” Winny and Maggie reappeared, Winny wringing her hands. “I knew Mr. Danforth was a blight on his profession, but to cost Miss Bilbury her position at Pressmore? Oh, but I truly do not like him at all.”
“You can hate him,” Maggie told her with a snort. “We all do.”
“That is such a frightful word. I try not to hate anybody.”
“But if anybody deserves it, it’s him,” Violet muttered. “Poor Cristabel. All those ghastly rumors in the village, I thought it would come to nothing.”
“Cristabel has chosen an unusual life for herself. It makes her an easy target,” said Maggie, rubbing Winny’s shoulder. “I should know.”
Violet puffed out her cheeks. “And Aunt Mildred should know better. If one is to be rich and respected, then one should have a backbone stronger than an earthworm and learn to…I don’t know, stand up for what is right.”
Maggie detached from them and went to sit near the fire, her mouth a firm line of frustration. “The way she stood up for Ann when she was accused of misbehavior? The way she stood up for me? Come now, Violet, acts of courage have never been Aunt Mildred’s forte, and worms do not have bones.”
“And now I shall have to fulfill the commission auctioned at Ann’s benefit, which is a disaster waiting to happen! Who will want to pay anything for my work? Cristabel’s paintings fetch a lofty price in reputable circles, and I am…” Violet clamped her eyes shut and rubbed her face. “Chalk and cheese, that’s what it is.”
“Chin up, Violet! Ann will make the punch so strong nobody will remember what they bid on anything. Besides, it is all to help the Florizel, so nobody can be cross with you if your painting is an utter failure.” Maggie laughed at her from the sofa.
“Which it won’t be!” Winny assured them both, offering Maggie her sternest pout. “Cristabel clearly believes in your skill, dear, and so do I.”
“Ugh!” Violet tossed up her hands and stormed away, nowhere in particular at first, and then toward her and Winny’s shared bedroom. “That is easy for you to say, Maggie!” she shouted as she went. “You’re brilliant!”
There was hardly any time to prepare; Christmas was nearly upon them! How could she be expected to take on this responsibility with so little warning? Violet hurled herself onto her bed and shrieked into a pillow, which summoned their mother. Mrs. Arden was a once-soft woman hardened by life’s unfairness. Losing Mr. Arden had changed all their lives, but hers the most, for theirs had been a strong, abiding love, and after he was gone, Mrs. Arden almost didn’t seem to know how to continue living. She was gaining strength again now that they were all together at Beadle, but Violet wasn’t naïve enough to think they would ever really get her back.
Her mother rubbed her back. It didn’t help.
“There now, my darling, what will make it better?”
Violet kept her face stuffed into the pillow. What would make it better? She huffed out a wretched sound.
“It isn’t the benefit, is it?”
Stifled, Violet shook her head. Tears were gathering, pressurized behind her tightly closed eyes. Cristabel was gone. Emilia had grown sullen and distant. Maggie had her novels and her husband. And what did Violet have of her own? So little.Solittle. Just her mind, she decided, and the gifted paints, brushes, and easel, which more and more she suspected had come from Mr. Kerr.
Mr. Kerr.
Damn him. Damn him! How could he touch her hand and gesture at courtship and then leave?
Heaving in a huge breath, she lifted her head just enough to hover it above the pillow. “Last week Aunt Mildred said I shouldn’t even bother going to London next summer; the Burtons don’t want me in their house, and none of the bachelors will take interest either. She said if I promise to be polite, shewill try to find me a nice farmer to marry!Maybe a nice farmer will have youwere her words.”
“My sister is always saying such things. It’s never bothered you before.”
Violet let her head fall back down.
And why would he lower himself to have me?
