Chapter 6
Violet and Cece shushed each other as they hid around the corner near Pearl’s bedroom.
Once everyone had been reassured that Violet was well enough and being taken care of, they had all retired to their rooms until dinner, the shock of another incident involving their friend casting a severe damper on the jovial mood.
Williams knocked on Pearl’s door. She was a surprisingly good co-conspirator. She did not cast her eyes towards the whispering young women who watched her actions but stood straight and tall and ready to fulfill her duty.
Pearl opened the door, or she must have, because its frame now blocked the view so that the two women could only listen while seeing nothing.
“Yes?” said Pearl, an edge of surprise in her voice. “Did Miss Hughes send you?”
“No, miss. But I thought to bring you this.” Violet assumed Williams now held out the tray with the small cake on it.
“A cake?” said Pearl. “That is very thoughtful, but I did not ask for refreshment.”
“Cook—that is, Mrs. Cartwright—sent it for Miss Hughes,” said Williams, “to cheer her up after the difficult morning she has had. But I’m pretty sure it has almonds in it.
And Miss Hughes is allergic to almonds. Not enough to do great harm.
But she already has a rash on her wrists and neck.
She does not need to have hives all over.
I did not have the heart to tell Mrs. Cartwright that she had forgotten such an important detail.
She meant well. So, I thought, instead of the cake going to waste, you might enjoy it. ”
“I see. Well, we certainly don’t want Mrs. Cartwright to feel bad. Nor should you take a chance when poor Miss Hughes already suffers so. I will take the cake off your hands. And I will leave the tray outside Miss Hughes’ room so that no one knows you brought it to me.”
“Thank you, miss. That is very kind.”
The door closed and Williams reappeared in the sights of the two inquisitive women. She walked down the corridor to join them.
“That was nicely done,” whispered Violet.
“I can almost hear the cogs of Pearl’s mind begin to spin,” Cece remarked. “Now we shall wait and see how soon she makes her way to the kitchen to spin her web of deceit.”
“Mrs. Cartwright keeps her finished cakes and pies in the pantry,” said Williams. “It will be easier to sneak in there while the maids are busy preparing meals in the kitchen under Mrs. Cartwright’s supervision.”
“How will we watch her movements without drawing attention to ourselves?” Violet wondered.
“Oh, I have already spoken with Mrs. Cartwright,” Cece said with an air of superiority.
“That is one of the advantages of having a scheming mind.” She grinned at her friend.
“Mrs. Cartwright is going to make it really easy for Pearl to perform her dastardly deed. Then, at dinner, Pearl will see you are eating a slice with almonds in it and expect some kind of reaction, which she can blame on Mrs. Cartwright’s supposed forgetfulness.
But we shall teach her a lesson she won’t soon forget. ”
“What are you ladies doing?”
Victor’s voice made all three women jump.
They spun around, poor Williams looking as though she had seen a ghost. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quickly and all but fled down the stairs.
“We’re doing what women do best, Cousin,” Cece said coyly. “Talking.”
“Huddled on the landing?”
“Women are mysterious creatures, Vic. One cannot expect a man to understand.”
“Well, could this man please borrow Violet awhile? Unless you have more huddling to do.”
“She’s all yours,” said Cece smugly and immediately left the two to themselves.
Violet could not look at Victor. She was certain he had been about to kiss her at the ruins when she had fled back to the house. What must he think of her? How could he know that she would have savored that kiss when, instead, she had run from him, pell-mell?
Violet had a terrible suspicion that there may even have been an attempt at a proposal which she had quite disregarded in her haste to be rid of the dress. She owed him an apology at the very least. But how to bring up such a delicate subject?
Fortunately, Victor had similar thoughts on his mind.
“Shall we adjourn to the library?” he asked. “What I have to say is best said in private.”
Violet nodded and followed him downstairs. The library’s bookish smell set her at ease. It was her favorite room in the house—something Victor knew, and which was, no doubt, the reason he had chosen it for their conversation.
“Violet,” he began at once. “I would like to apologize for my presumption earlier. I misread the closeness between us. I acted impulsively and fear I have hurt our friendship. Please say you will forgive me.”
“Oh,” said Violet, all other words having escaped her as disappointment deflated her hopes. “Of course.”
“Then our friendship is intact?”
The poor man looked so distraught that Violet could but nod and say, “Perfectly.”
Victor exhaled deeply. “I confess my relief is immense. I promise I shall not speak of such matters to you again.”
“Oh.” Violet berated herself for being unable to find a more suitable response. She was going to lose him! Think, Violet, think! “Er… I was terribly itchy.”
“Pardon?”
“At the ruins. The dress… from Pearl… it made me itch.”
“Oh. Yes. I noticed you were scratching at your wrists several times.”
“It became unbearable. A rash was forming.” She folded back her shawl for him to see.
Victor’s eyes grew large, and his manner switched at once to one of grave concern. “That looks profoundly uncomfortable. Have they given you some chamomile to offer relief?”
“Yes, and it has definitely helped. But when you were speaking to me at the ruins… I’m afraid I was… distracted. Certainly not myself. I could hardly think for the overwhelming desire to be shod of that dress.”
In spite of the seriousness of the conversation, a smile twitched at the corner of Victor’s mouth.
“Because of the itching, Victor!” she scolded, though the return of their comfortable manner lifted a weight from her mind.
“And now?” he asked. “Are you distracted now?”
Every single nerve in Violet’s body stood to attention. “Not at all,” she said, holding her breath.
“Might I be permitted to speak plainly then, as I did before?”
“You may.”
Victor shifted his weight as if to prepare himself for what must be said. “Ahem. You know, Violet, we have always been excellent friends.”
“We certainly have.”
“And if I was to marry, I would value qualities like yours in a wife.”
Violet’s cheerful answers fell away abruptly as she readied herself for what was to come. Victor had actually used the words “marry” and “wife” in short succession! This was it!
“I would hope,” Victor continued, “being such excellent friends, that you might find my qualities worthy of merit also.”
Violet nodded silently.
“I am grateful that this is the case.” Without the mysterious atmosphere of the Medieval ruins to aid him, Victor seemed to have ground to a halt.
“And our families are good friends…” Violet coaxed him gently.
He lit up at the reminder. “Ah, yes! That is so true! We are almost like family already. Er…”
“We rarely argue,” she pointed out as his efforts of the morning began to surface in her memory.
“Indeed, that is something to be grateful for…”
Victor’s hesitation started to eat at Violet’s patience. “What shall we do with all these reassuring facts?” she said with some exasperation.
His head jerked up as if he had just remembered a salient point. “Why, we should marry, of course!”
Violet sighed. It was not the romantic proposal she had anticipated, nor did he reach down now to cup her chin in his hand as before. The hoped-for kiss eluded them. Instead, an awkward silence filled the void.
Before either of them could mend the situation, a head popped round the door.
“Hullo, you two,” said Bart. “Fancy a game of charades? The rest of us are tired of sitting about. We need some shenanigans to brighten the day. And a good laugh wouldn’t hurt either. What do you say? Will you join us?”
“Certainly,” said Victor, no doubt realizing the moment had been fumbled once again and he was helpless, at present, to mend it. “Are you coming, Violet?”
Violet wanted to cry. How was it possible that she had been proposed to twice in one day and yet remained unengaged?
She didn’t want to play silly charades. She wanted Victor to kiss her!
On the mouth. With her in his arms. And ask her to marry him properly so that she could say “yes.” Then their friends would have plenty to smile and talk about.
Everyone, that is, except Pearl. If only she could tell Pearl the rivalry was over. That she no longer stood a chance. That there was no need to go to such extreme lengths to try and keep Violet from Victor’s company.
“Is Pearl playing with us?” she asked suddenly.
“I’m not sure where my sister is,” answered Bartholomew. “She may be taking a brief nap. I tried knocking on her door, but there was no answer.”
Violet pictured Pearl furiously occupied in the pantry, watching over her shoulder to see if anyone was walking past. If Pearl was willing to go that far, her conscience unbothered at making Violet sick just to gain one more opportunity to win Victor over, then she must be exposed.
She was not the friend she had once been.
“I will join you,” she said at last.
“Excellent,” Bart answered. “Cece and Donovan are already waiting for us. Although Cece was oddly agitated that I should be fetching you.” He shook his head. “Women are a constant mystery to me.”
Violet pictured Pearl slipping slivers of almond into a cake to subdue her rival, and declared, “Bart, you don’t know the half of it.”