Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Ormdale
It was a quarter of an hour until dinner, and Una was thoroughly ready.
After spending the rest of the day showing Mr Anderson the menagerie, she had bathed, dressed in her shell pink dinner dress trimmed with lace, and threaded a ribbon through the airy puffs in which she had arranged her hair.
She knew it made her appear young and defenceless, but the day had been an exacting one, and she longed to allow herself to be soft and fragile.
It might prove to be a miscalculation; she still had the family dinner to get through, when everyone’s simple joy at Violet’s homecoming would be on full display.
Violet. She found herself wondering if her sister needed help getting into the mulberry-coloured dinner dress Una had left on the bed for her.
She had an idea it might pinch Violet in the upper arms, which Una had noticed were surprisingly muscular.
And Violet never had any idea what to do with her hair—if she even had any hairpins to do it with.
Taking a handful of her own from the dressing table, Una slipped quietly down the stairs with Oolong at her heels. Sure enough, from the hallway she could hear sounds of unmistakable frustration emanating from Gwen’s old room.
Una bit her lip. It wasn’t her problem, after all. But neither had the quetzalcoatl been her sister’s problem that morning, and yet Violet had stood by her and chosen to make it hers.
Una pushed open the carelessly unlatched door.
Violet was in front of the mirror, making spasmodic attempts to reach her own head in elbow-length sleeves that prevented any such movement. She looked like a puppet being jerked about on snarled strings.
“Stop,” Una ordered.
Violet stopped.
Una tucked the hairpins into the corner of her mouth, marched up to her sister, and began to separate Violet’s hair into six equal strands. Thank goodness she had brushed it, at least! That was half the work done already. Una glanced at the clock—they could still make it to dinner in time.
To her surprise, Una could feel Violet relax, her breathing slowing down. She had forgotten that Violet liked her hair to be touched.
Violet said softly, as if she had read her thoughts, “You always did say nice things about my hair—you, and Gwydion, too.”
Panicked, Una’s eyes flicked to Violet’s in the mirror, then back to her hair.
“Did you ever hear from him, after I left?” Violet persisted.
Una shook her head, grateful that the pins in her mouth gave her an excuse not to speak on the subject. Gwydion was the very last thing in the world she wanted brought up with her sister.
Violet let out a wistful breath. “He must have been furious with me.”
Una felt her eyebrows jump upward.
“I was furious, too,” Violet reflected. “But it’s hard to be furious for more than two years. Believe me, I tried.”
Their eyes met in the mirror.
It isn’t hard for me, Una thought. She had found it distressingly easy to go on being angry at Violet, and her sister didn’t even seem to realise it.
A wicked smile curved Violet’s lips. “You don’t know how close I came to just…lopping it all off,” she whispered.
Una froze in horror at the thought. Violet with long hair was bad enough—Violet crop-headed would be a new stage on the broad road to ruin.
Violet burst out laughing, pointing at Una in the mirror. “The memory of that look! Let’s just say…it kept me out of all sorts of trouble. When I wasn’t quite sure about something, I’d imagine that look, and it would stop me dead.”
Recovering, Una plucked a pin out of her mouth and fixed the first plait firmly over Violet’s head. Then she took the rest of the pins out of her mouth.
“So there wasn’t anyone else looking out for you, all that time?” Una asked, keeping her voice light while she pinned up the other plait. Somehow, she’d never imagined Violet being alone. People tended to like Violet, maddening as she was.
“Not very often,” Violet admitted.
The pain in Una’s chest surprised her. The idea of Violet being lonely and friendless—it hurt.
“Well, was it worth all that effort?” asked Violet, stepping back and spinning round.
Violet did, in fact, look lovely, in that careless, dashing, ripe-hued way that contrasted so startlingly with Una’s watercolour shades.
“I’m glad you didn’t crop your hair,” Una said. “It’s so thick and glossy, not like my thistledown. And I’ll let the tucks out of that dress for you later. It won’t take much.”
Violet was looking at her oddly. Too late, Una realised she had opened the door between them a little too wide. She turned to leave before Violet could walk through it.
“Wait!” Violet cried. “You said—before—that everything was easy for me. You said the rules are different for me. Well, you’re right.”
Una turned and stared at her. Violet seemed different suddenly—as if a layer had been peeled off.
“But I don’t think you know that I don’t play by the rules because—I can’t,” Violet said flatly.
“You know some people can’t read, or do sums, however hard they try?
It’s like that with me, but with—I don’t know!
—just being. Those old governesses did their best to teach me, and Aunt Emily, too.
“ Violet began to pace. “I watch you talk to people, and you seem to just know what to say, and what to do, and what people mean, even when they don’t say it outright, and how to say things back without actually saying them! The thing is, people think I’m doing it on purpose—breaking the rules—and most of the time, I’m not!
I just don’t realise the fence is there until I’ve already jumped it.
And then everyone’s gaping at me. I used to think it was just Ormdale.
That if I left, I’d find someplace without rules, where people wouldn’t gape at me so. ”
“And did you?” Una asked.
Violet laughed. “I just found more rules—different ones. And people get hurt when you break them. And then they pretend it’s all right when it isn’t. Thank you, by the way.”
Una blinked in confusion. “Whatever for?”
“For shouting at me yesterday. For not pretending.”
Una closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “I was trying to be rude, Violet.”
“And a good job you did of it! I was proud of you.”
Una crossed her arms, but Violet kept going, oblivious.
“If there’s one thing I didn’t miss about Ormdale, it’s the way we all try to be so nice all the time!
“ Violet said, throwing her arms up. “Of course I understand it’s important…civilisation, and all that. Christianity, I suppose. But sometimes I’m not nice.
” Violet shook her head. “And I’m no good at pretending. Not like you.”
“Are you saying I’m a fraud, Violet?” Una asked.
“Criminy, no! But…it’s easy for you, isn’t it? The niceness, and getting everything right?” Violet looked at her, suddenly doubtful. “Or isn’t it?”
Una sat down on the bed.
“Not lately,” Una admitted. How could she keep her own door closed, when Violet had thrown hers wide open like that?
“But that’s only because I’m here,“ said Violet, “and I disrupt things.” Violet leaned on the bedpost. “I’ve worked out something finally, because I’m dense. You’re the one I hurt the most by leaving. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry, Una.”
And there it was. The apology.
It isn’t enough, thought Una.
How could it be? But it might be a start, if Una didn’t end it.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever hurt someone the way I’ve hurt you,” Violet said miserably.
But I’ve wanted to, Una thought suddenly.
“I think the rules help some of us not to hurt people,” Una whispered, adjusting the position of the bowl of primroses on the night table. “I think that’s the idea behind them—or the best of them, anyway.”
Violet thought about this. “Are you worried that I’m going to hurt you again? I think I would be.”
Una bowed her head, because she was worried about that.
Violet stood up straight. “Give me yours, Una.”
“Mine?” asked Una. “My what?”
“Your rules. For not hurting you.”
Una stared at her again. She couldn’t possibly imagine everything Violet might do to hurt her. It was an unfathomable task. But she might address the things she had already done.
Una took a deep breath. “Well. First of all, when you’ve had enough of us, don’t leave like you did last time.
Not in the middle of the night, without goodbyes or explanations—with all of us holding a birthday party for someone who’s not there—someone who could be dead in a ditch or halfway to Brazil. Or both.”
“Right, then,” Violet said. “No disappearing. Anything else?”
Una smoothed the coverlet. “Yes. Don’t stab any pillows. It took me ages to clean up the feathers; I kept finding them for days in my hair and underthings.”
Violet grinned. “I forgot that about you—that you make me laugh when I’m miserable.”
“I forgot that about you, too,” Una said.
“Forgot what?” asked Violet.
“That you can laugh when you’re miserable.”
“One of my few talents!” said Violet.
Una stood and shook out her lacy overskirt. “If we go now, we’ll be one minute late for dinner. And that’s quite late enough.”