Chapter 17
Violet had not been able to sleep after her conversation with Lillian and the revelation of the diary.
She had devoured the book, reading it from cover to cover and then beginning again.
This time she had consumed it more slowly, looking for any clues that she could find as to the identity of her father.
Finally, she had put the book aside, her head spinning.
The clues were there, she was sure of it, but she needed time for the information to filter through her consciousness for her to begin to make sense of it.
With sleep unforthcoming, she lay staring at her bedroom ceiling, mind whirling.
Then had come the sound of something hard clattering against the glass of her window.
Startled, she had sat up, looking toward the window screened from her view by the thick curtains.
It had sounded like a handful of gravel, as though someone had thrown it against the window.
Or perhaps a speeding carriage had thrown it from the road with its wheels. Except I heard no carriage. No wheels and no horse hooves.
Moving to the window, she had at first peeked, then flung the curtains wide and stared down.
Alexander stood there, looking up at her.
For a moment she had stared at him, dumbfounded.
Then, realizing that others in the house might have heard the noise and might, at that very moment, be moving to their own bedroom windows to investigate, she gestured to the side of the house.
I will meet him in the garden. I hope he remembers my garden lodge. It is well-screened from the house. None will see or hear us there.
It had not been difficult to avoid detection within the house as she walked in stockinged feet along the hallways, almost silently.
The house was sleeping and so were the household staff.
There was no-one to see her steal through the kitchen, collecting a bottle of wine from the collection brought up from the cellar for her Aunt and Uncle’s supper the following evening.
She also took a glass. The keys to the house’s back door hung in a cupboard in the office of the butler.
That door was unlocked and she had soon let herself out of the house’s rear door and was walking through the garden.
Though the path twisted and turned, she knew it well and had no difficulty following it in the dark.
A sound from ahead brought her up short though.
The sound of booted feet against the wooden boards of the lodge’s floor.
A cough and then the sound of a body shifting, cloth moving against cloth.
There was someone inside the lodge. Invisible clouds parted at that moment to reveal the bright, white disk of the moon.
It lit her surroundings in stark monochrome.
Harsh white light and sharp-edged shadow.
It was then that she saw Alexander through a chink in the branches of a tree.
The first stirrings of fear left her to be replaced by a tension of a different kind.
She stepped from behind the screen of branches and approached.
Alexander’s head came up but she could not see his eyes as he sat within shadow. That it was him, she had no doubt. The silhouette was a man, powerfully built and with a mane of long hair.
“Alexander!” She gasped, stepping in front of the doorway.
A shaft of moonlight illuminated her and she was suddenly aware of her semi-nakedness.
The dressing gown that covered her from head to foot was thick, hiding the lines of her figure.
But beneath she wore a much closer nightgown.
It was cotton but it clung to her hips and bosom in a way that would reveal their shape perfectly to an observer. The dressing gown felt a flimsy cover.
“Violet,” Alexander said, getting to his feet.
He seemed to stagger, steadying himself with an arm against the wall. Violet moved into the lodge without thinking.
“Are you quite well?” she asked, concerned for his health.
Perhaps his reason for being here in the middle of the night was that he suffered in the grips of a fevered delirium. The answer came to her as she got closer. The smell of ale and brandy reached her and she stopped dead.
“I see that you are not, but it is a situation entirely of your own making,” she said, flatly. “Might I ask why you are here?”
“I couldnae stay away, lassie,” Alexander said calmly.
Violet did not have much experience with drunkenness but she believed it made one slur one’s words. Alexander spoke with lucidity and control. He stepped closer, still supporting himself with a hand to the wall.
“You can barely stand as a result of drink,” Violet said accusingly.
“Aye, and the worst of it was done with two members of your House of Lords, trying to bribe them with drink to do the decent thing with their votes!” Alexander said, harshly.
“As it is, I must vote for some bill soon to be proposed which will help rich men keep more of their wealth. In return, they will vote to free children from slavery. And move up their goddamned political ladder at the same time! I’m sick of it! ”
There was angst in his voice, underlying the anger.
Violet felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew little of the political sphere in which he existed, but supposed it was probably not all that different to the murky currents she swam in as a member of the Ton.
It could be exhausting, constantly maneuvering, and concealing one’s true feelings and thoughts.
“I see,” Violet said, taking a seat and placing the bottle and single glass on the table in the center of the room. “Sit down before you fall down,” she told Alexander.
He sat next to her, reaching the seat with a thump. He was close enough that his arm touched hers. The smell of old alcohol and tobacco was strong. Violet wrinkled her nose at it.
“It certainly is a dirty business. If the smell it leaves behind is any indicator.”
“Does it offend, My Lady?” Alexander asked, a trace of humor in his voice.
“It does. But there is little you can do about it, short of taking a bath.”
“I saw a stream running through this garden the first time I was here,” Alexander noted.
Violet turned her head to look at him, wondering if he was joking with her but his face was too much in shadow for her to tell. She decided to call his bluff.
“That would be a good start,” she said.
“Very well. Point me in the right direction,” Alexander said, lurching to his feet.
Violet laughed, catching hold of his hand, and pulling him back down beside her. She held onto his hand even while he was sitting. His fingers entwined with hers. The intimacy was thrilling, and at the same time, comforting. She felt safe with him holding her hand.
Is that because I instinctively trust him? Or because he makes me feel safe from anyone else. He is certainly strong. A physical presence that is undeniable.
“What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Throwing stones at my window and carrying on like a rogue,” Violet asked.
Alexander sighed. He ran a hand through his long hair.
“I’m sorry, lass. This is not…appropriate behavior. I just felt this overpowering need to be near you. Someone who is pure and innocent. Untainted. Everything and everyone else in this city is just that…tainted.”
“You feel cynical because of the lengths you’re having to go to for your Bill?” Violet asked.
“That’s one way of putting it. I’m sorry, lass. Away to yer bed. I’ll not trouble you again.”
He sounded despondent now. Tired and heartsick. Her own heart went out to him, forgetting the fact that he had come to her in the most ungodly hour.
And if we are discovered together, or seen by anyone who tells of it, it will produce a scandal that will be talked about for months. And will destroy my reputation in a heartbeat. Not to mention that of my family.
She knew that she should insist that he leave but could not ask him to do so. The urge to be near him was strong. The urge to look after him while he was in this somewhat helpless condition was even stronger.
“Nonsense. But, you could do with sobering up. And, we have already discussed a bath. You can find both in the servant’s quarters. I will brew some coffee and you will bathe in the servant’s washroom. Come along.”
She heard a chuckle as she rose and he moved to follow her. Then a curse and a thud. When she turned, she saw him rubbing his head where he had walked into the lintel of the doorframe, forgetting to stoop in order to step through.
“Take my hand or we will never make it,” she said with a giggle.
Again, he took her hand and together they walked through the night-time garden.