She’s been weeping all day and won’t speak to anyone. But she finally asked for you and couldn’t be convinced to leave it until morning.” She looked determined and ready to haul me bodily away, even though her lips trembled. “It was today, you know.”
“What was today?”
“Rowena!” she burst out. “She drowned last year on this day, didn’t you know?”
A shiver went through me. “I didn’t know that.” I looked at Mr. Travis. He nodded.
“You must come with me!” Caroline insisted.
I paused, focusing on my third eye, lifting the lid slowly. Rowena hovered anxiously behind Caroline, throat bruised, expression pleading. She wanted me to follow.
I could think of a hundred things I’d rather do than follow a possible murderess and the ghost of her victim.
Rowena, however, was insistent.
“I don’t know what you think I can do,” I said as we hurried across the lawns.
“I don’t know either, but if she wants you there, I mean to bring you to her.”
“Miss Willoughby, wait!” Mr. Travis chased after us. “You can’t go to Whitestone. It isn’t safe.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
We raced over the dark hills until my lungs burned. The pond was still but the white lilies on its banks seemed etched in silver. We didn’t speak again until we reached the manor house, and then it was only Caroline panting, “This way.” The house was full of shadows, lit only with the odd oil lamp in the wide hallways.
“What does her uncle have to say?” I whispered, following Caroline up the stairs.
“He’s been drinking all day.”
Up the dark stairs, Tabitha’s door was painted with pink roses.
And it was locked.
Caroline frowned, trying the handle again. “Dearest, you must open the door.”
Tabitha didn’t reply but we could hear muffled sobs.
“Tabitha, please,” Caroline begged, clearly concerned. A cold draft skirted around our ankles but I couldn’t see Rowena anywhere. I wasn’t certain what to think of that. Clearly, as distraught as Tabitha might be, there was a greater danger Rowena was protecting her from, or she’d have been hovering by her twin.
Caroline tried the door again, to no avail. I wondered if it was meant to keep her out specifically. I put a little space between us.
“Why has she locked you out?” I asked.
Caroline was shoving her shoulder against the door.“I told you,” she panted, pushing harder. “She’s upset.”
“Is she afraid of you?”
Caroline paused. “What? Whyever for?”
“You tell me.”
She was looking at me as if I were mad. “Miss Willoughby, what exactly are you implying?”
I ignored her, speaking through the wooden door. “Tabitha, it’s Violet.” I knocked softly. No response. “Are you hurt?”
I couldn’t very well stand about a dark house all night, especially not next to a woman I had reason to know was hiding something. I remembered what Elizabeth had said about hairpins and locks. I pulled one of the pins from my hair and dropped to my knees. I slid the pin into the lock and pressed my ear to the brass plate securing the handle to the door. I jiggled the pin, listening carefully for a click. It took longer than I’d expected, but eventually I heard a satisfying snick.
Caroline pushed past me before I could stop her. Tabitha was huddled in the corner, her straggling hair sticking to her damp cheeks. She didn’t flinch away from her governess. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.
“Tabitha,” I said softly. I had no idea what I was expected to do. Tabitha didn’t even like me. She was clutching the pearl ring I had found in the pond the day she’d threatened to set the dogs on us.
“I didn’t want to believe you,” she croaked. She’d clearly been sobbing for hours; her voice was raspy, her eyes swollen. Her pulse was fluttering frantically under the thin china of her skin.
“It’s my fault,” Caroline wept into her hands.
“I knew it.” My temper flared.
Tabitha blinked wretchedly. “Caro, what are you saying?”
“We knew it was wrong, but we couldn’t help ourselves.”
“Peter?” I asked. “Tabitha, come away.”
Caroline nodded miserably. “I love him,” she said. “I never meant for it to happen. You don’t choose these things.”
I gaped at her. “You do choose whether or not you drown some poor girl in a pond, you daft cow.”
“What?” She looked confused.
“You and Peter killed Rowena! The trout landed on you!”
She had the gall to look insulted. “I most certainly did not!”
Now I was the one who was confused. “You didn’t?”
“No!”
“Then what’s your fault exactly?”
“Peter. We had an affair.”
Tabitha sat up a little straighter. “You? And Peter? And what about the fish?”
At least that explained why Peter had been so rough with me the night of the séance. He’d been protecting his lover, no doubt afraid I knew more than I should.
“We knew it was wrong.” Caroline sniffled. “He was engaged to Rowena and I’m just a governess. But she broke off the engagement … and then she drowned, and I swore to myself I’d take the best care of Tabitha that I possibly could.”
“I don’t understand,” I said finally. “If you didn’t kill her, who did?”
“Kill her? It was an accident.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“It’s not safe here,” Mr. Travis said urgently. “We have to leave, all of us. Right now.”
Tabitha blinked. “What’s he doing here?”
“We have to go,” Mr. Travis said again. He turned to me. “Rowena threw the dead trout at her uncle. It slid toward Caroline—maybe Rowena was taking a poke at her because of Peter—but it started in front of Sir Wentworth.”
Bollocks.
He was right.
Tabitha began weeping again. “She was in love.” She rocked backward and forward, as if she were still in the cradle, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands clutched tightly together. I could see where the ring made a dent in her skin. “You seemed so certain,” she sobbed at me. “So I went through her things. I hadn’t been able to, until today. I just couldn’t bear it. She was my best friend.” She sobbed harder, her words incoherent.
“Tabitha,” I leaned over her, shook her shoulder. “Tabitha, you have to focus.” I tried to find the balance between stern and compassionate.
“I went through her hope chest.” She hiccupped. She was still pressed against the wooden chest. Rowena’s name was painted across the front, with little daisies. “I found love letters.” She pushed a bundle of paper toward me. I glanced at Mr. Travis. His fingers twitched as if he longed to grab them from her.
“I’ve been trying to pretend everything is normal, but it’s not. Uncle’s been drinking more and he won’t even consider letting me go to London. I’ve been cooped up in the country for months. I don’t think he’ll ever let me get married; he wouldn’t even let Frederic and Peter visit. He got so mad. And today he’s … different.” She showed us the ring again. “It was Rowena’s favorite.”
“I gave it to her,” Mr. Travis murmured.
“I asked my uncle for it after the funeral. He said she was wearing it when they buried her.”
“So he lied to you about it.”
“Yes. And when I asked him about it this morning, he got so angry. I’ve never seen him like that. I didn’t know what else to do, so I locked myself in here and had Caroline fetch you. I was so scared he’d …” She stopped, gagging on more tears. “And I’m so tired.” She blinked at me, smiling foolishly. Caroline and I frowned at each other.
“Is she ill?” I asked.
Caroline shook her head. Tabitha giggled, then burst into tears again. I crouched in front of her. “Tabitha, look at me.” She looked up obediently. Her pupils were constricted, her skin clammy. “She’s taken laudanum,” I said grimly. I’d seen Mrs. Gordon and Miss Harington in a similar state often enough.
Caroline didn’t look shocked. “She takes laudanum for her nerves. Her uncle’s been giving it to her for a couple of weeks now, because of her sister. She’s distraught. Not surprising, this time of year.”
“Or else he’s keeping her biddable.” I stood up, suddenly unable to be still. I hadn’t suspected him at all. He was Rowena’s uncle and a lord of the realm. There must be some mistake. Mr. Travis must be wrong to suspect him, as I’d been wrong to suspect Mr. Travis. I started to pace, stopped to peer out the window. The gardens were dark and quiet. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Caroline replied, bewildered. “He’s always been jovial enough, likes his wine and his cards, has black moods certainly, but nothing unusual for a gentleman. He’s overprotective of Tabitha, but that’s to be expected. He’s already lost one niece, after all, and he is their guardian.”
“He wants the money,” Mr. Travis said quietly. “Rowena wondered if he was the one who found her letter to her father. We were going to elope. I went off to secure us a hackney in town, one that wouldn’t be recognized. I shouldn’t have left her alone. She wanted to tell Tabitha so she wouldn’t worry. I should have stayed with her.”
“He’s a second son,” I added slowly, “with no land to inherit and money only from the Whitestone estates, which, evidently, is very wealthy.” I couldn’t credit that an uncle would kill his own niece, but I didn’t seem to be able to reach any other conclusion, not now. “We have to get out of here.” I shook Tabitha lightly but she was limp and distracted. “We have to get the opium out of her. Get some water.”
Caroline rushed over with the jug of water from the washstand. I held it up to Tabitha’s lips. She swallowed a couple of times and then pushed it away peevishly.
“Tabitha, you have to drink more.”
“Don’t want to.”
“You have to. We have to flush the drugs out of your system.” I forced her to drink some more, even though half of it dribbled down her chin.
“I don’t understand,” Caroline said, wringing her hands. “What are you two talking about?”
I glanced at her. “Wentworth murdered Rowena because she was going to elope. He knew she didn’t want to marry Peter and would have waited as long as possible to marry, so he wasn’t worried about the betrothal. An elopement is another matter.”
Tabitha started crying again, so abruptly and wildly I feared she’d make herself more ill. She was green under her pallor.
“She needs to keep drinking,” I instructed, handing her the jug and going to the window. I pulled it open, peering out. The ground seemed very far away. “We can’t wait for Tabitha to get better,” I said grimly. “We have to go right now, before he realizes we know.” Mr. Travis and I tried to get Tabitha to her feet but she went limp, curling into herself.
“Tabitha!”
No amount of shouting was going to help apparently. I didn’t know what else to do. We couldn’t very well escape if she was hysterical and drugged.
I slapped her across the face. Caroline shoved me aside. She stroked Tabitha’s arm and made soothing noises, all the while glaring at me. Tabitha, at the very least, had stopped crying. “Leave her be. This isn’t her fault.”
“I know it’s not her fault,” I said with very deliberate patience. “But we have to get out of here. Now.”
Tabitha pushed her hair off her face. “She’s right,” she said with a hiccup, shrugging off Caroline’s hovering.
I knew her lucidity might only last a moment, so I waved them over to where I was standing.
Caroline’s eyes widened. “The window? You can’t be serious.”
“We can’t risk going through the house. He might hear us.”
I had to admit it wasn’t my favorite idea, but it was the only one I had.
Mr. Travis’s hands fisted. “I’ll keep him distracted.”
Caroline looked at him in horror. “He’s twice your size. He’ll kill you.”
“As long as he does it slowly and gives you time to get out of here,” he said. “Rowena would want her sister to be safe.”
“I’m not sure—” There was no point in finishing my argument; he was already gone.
The breeze fluttered the curtains. I could see I was going to have to go first if I expected Caroline and Tabitha to follow me. But I couldn’t climb in my ball gown—it was far too restrictive. I wiggled out of it until I was in my corset, chemise, and pantaloons. Caroline stared at me as if I were mad.
I stuck my head out of the window. The stone ledge was narrow and long, running the length of the building. I might be able to follow it to the balcony, hop out over it, and then shimmy down the trellis on the other side.
Or I might just plummet to the flagstones below.
I took a deep breath to steel myself and stuck one leg over the sill, then the other. I pulled myself out, my grip white-knuckled. Another breeze ruffled the treetops, which were too close to eye level for comfort. An owl flew by on silent wings. I envied him. He wasn’t about to fall to his death.
“I can do this,” I told myself.
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
Sir Wentworth poked his chubby face out to look at me. In the crook of his arm he held Caroline; in his other hand, a knife. She wilted. Rowena wailed, trying to insert herself between them. The air in the room was frigid. My heart pounded in my ears.
“I suggest you come back inside, Violet, unless you’d like Miss Donovan here to meet a rather messy end.”
He’d kill her anyway, eventually. She knew too much. But I wouldn’t be the catalyst.
I inched back along the ledge to the window. The walls behind them began to drip with water. No one noticed. When I was within arms’ reach, he shoved Caroline and yanked me inside.
“Where’s Mr. Travis?” I demanded.
“Bleeding on my best rug.”
Tabitha looked confused. “My heart’s racing.”
Her uncle ignored her. “The talented Miss Willoughby,” he said to me. Gone was the cheerful, portly man who’d snuck Elizabeth extra Christmas pudding. There was something disturbing to his smile. “You would have caused me far less trouble if you’d been more like your mother. I did try to warn you.”
“You did?” I blinked. “The urn.” I understood suddenly. “The chandelier. It was you.”
“That blasted Travis boy interfered. I ought to have killed him too, but Jasper kept him busy with lectures and séances. I hope you showed him proper gratitude.”
Actually, I’d considered it likely he was a murderer.
“But you were the one to save me from the chandelier.”
“Too many damned witnesses. And it kept you from wondering about me, didn’t it?”
“And you’ve been drugging Tabitha,” I said, horrified. “Why?”
“She’s been getting agitated. Wants to go to London, wants to get married and leave me a pauper. Not a spot of gratitude on the girl. Haven’t I taken care of her? And then she asked about that damned ring.”
Rowena loomed over her uncle suddenly, until he shivered in the chill.
“You really did kill Rowena.”
His gaze snapped onto me. “Clever girl. Too clever, by half.”
I lifted my chin stubbornly. “She’s here now.”
He jerked, looking over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed.
“She will always be with you,” I added, trying to disconcert him. “She will never leave you alone.”
“Shut up!” He kicked out at me, looking grim, wild. Water was beginning to pool on the carpet. “Never mind.” His smile was pleasant again and all the worse for it.
“You can’t keep us here.” My hip caught the edge of the desk, bruising painfully.
“Of course I can. A letter will be sent to Lord Jasper expressing your sincere apologies, but you simply had to return to London and your mother. No one will know you’ve disappeared; no one will think to look for you until it’s far, far too late.”
He was wrong.
Colin would know.
I made a dash toward the door, but his hand was a vice around my upper arm. A lamp tumbled to the ground. Caroline squeaked.
“Tsk, Miss Willoughby. I’m only offering you a chance to rest. A little laudanum,” he said pleasantly. “Won’t hurt a bit. You might even enjoy it.” I fought harder. “Drink it, Miss Willoughby. It would be easier on you if you slept. I can’t have you carrying tales, and I have to think what to do next.”
“No.” I pressed my lips fiercely together but he was stronger than I was. He forced the laudanum into me, pressed his hand over my mouth and nose until I couldn’t hold my breath anymore. A trickle went down my throat. The taste of the opium tincture was sweet and strong and medicinal. It was familiar. It was the same taste in Rowena’s mouth the night she drowned. My knees wobbled like jellied pudding. I took advantage of it and collapsed onto the rug. I rolled my head down, spitting out most of the laudanum so it soaked into the carpet. Enough had made it into my system that I felt floaty and odd, but I wasn’t likely to die as Sir Wentworth wanted.
Everything was too bright, too watery. I felt rather cheerful even as my thoughts went foggy, slippery. I struggled to turn my head.
“Don’t fight it,” Wentworth said. “You’ll only do yourself a harm.”
“Rowena,” I mumbled. “She’s behind you.”
“What are you playing at?” Wentworth roared. But I could see the hairs on his arms lifting. I met his uncertain glare.
“She’s everywhere,” I whispered.
The surface of the mirror rippled like water, showing Rowena’s cold face. Water began to drip from the curtains and run in rivulets across the floor. Sir Wentworth leaped away from it as if it were acid. It felt cool on my cheeks. When one of the pipes cracked loudly inside the walls, more water flooded into the room. I swallowed as much of the water as I could, knowing I’d need to flush the laudanum out.
“What is this?” He was furious, but scared too.
In every window, every gleaming surface—water jug, silver spoon, silver sequins on a cushion—Rowena’s face appeared. Winter filled the room. Where there wasn’t cold wind, there was water; cold rain slicked down the wall, puddled at our feet, beat against the windows. The sweet, cloying scent of white lilies was everywhere, touching everything. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if my dress had turned to ice.
Tabitha sat up.“Rowena?” she asked tentatively, hopefully.
Her uncle stumbled back. “This is a trick.”
Rowena’s hope chest opened and folded letters whipped out, slapping him in the face. The edges cut into his skin, drawing blood. He batted at them frantically. Saliva foamed at the corners of his mouth. Cold wind pushed at him also, until he tripped over his own feet in his haste to get out of the room. Rowena drifted through the door, chasing him with a ghostly laugh like shattering glass.
He still managed to turn the key in the lock with a loud click, like a pistol.