Chapter 26
Cyril really did not know what to expect once Trent had left them and Violet had entered her cottage to change.
She’d returned shortly, wearing a deep-blue pinstripe walking skirt and fetching cropped jacket over another of her lacy white shirtwaists.
He’d noted she was fond of those. This time she’d pinned a golden winged scarab with opal and abalone inlay on the lapel of her bolero.
Her buff-colored gloves met her sleeves at the elbows, and he couldn’t help thinking of the velvet-soft skin beneath those gloves.
He offered her his arm, but she took his hand with a smirk, and now he escorted her across the front of the school to the lawn off the arcaded west terrace, breathing in her glorious scent as she moved.
As they walked, Violet peppered him with questions about his father, how his mother was doing, and Ruby, and whether they’d spent much time at Janes House, and what did he think of the Panhard Q motorcars, and had they really all fit? Oh, and by the way, she was still giving him the school.
He rolled his eyes.
Violet slowed as they approached the group waiting for them on the lawn, though she still allowed him to pull her along.
Hugh Whittemore glanced at their joined hands, and Cy felt her tug away, but he tightened his grip and she yielded.
He gave her the same smirk she’d given him minutes ago.
Hugh’s glare wiped it from his face though.
“Welcome,” Andrew Wooding said from the center of the group. “We’ve been waiting for both of you to join us.”
“What is this?” Violet asked, glancing from face to face.
Her friends Miss Janes, Miss Wooding, and Ruby were there, along with Andrew, Spencer Hayes, Cy’s brother Oscar, Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore, Mrs. Penhurst, and Mrs. Cole. All were waiting and watching with varying degrees of delight on their faces—or consternation, if you included Mr. Whittemore.
“Shall we get on with it, then?” the man asked.
Mrs. Whittemore set her hand upon her husband’s arm. “Remember, dear, we are only spectators.”
Cy’s brother George then walked up from the direction of the lake, brushing his hands together. “All set,” he said.
“All set for what?” Violet asked and looked to Cyril when no one answered.
Cy shrugged. “From this point forward, you know as much as I do. Or more. They’re your friends, after all.”
Miss Wooding stepped forward and clasped her hands neatly in front of her. “I hope after today, you will consider us your friends as well, Mr. Burke. Or Cyril. May I call you Cyril?”
Andrew sighed and covered his mouth. Mr. Whittemore looked to the sky above, and his wife bit back a grin.
“You may,” Cy said with a nod.
“Splendid. Please, call me Lydia. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll begin the contest.”
Cy and Violet halted. “Contest?”
Lydia turned back to them. “Yes. A contest. It has been brought to the attention of the games committee—”
“Games committee?”
“Yes, games committee, that while Miss Violet Whittemore has forfeited her right to govern this school, it was also made clear that Mr. Cyril Burke would rather eat nettles than concede to that forfeit. Therefore, the games committee has stepped in as a third party to settle the matter once and for all and without further ado. Via a contest.”
A smattering of half-enthusiastic applause made the round. Florrie’s applause, however, was wholly enthusiastic.
Lydia held her hands out. “Thank you, thank you. Now, if you’ll all follow me, we may begin.”
Violet turned to Cy, her eyes wide as the crowd moved toward the lake. “What do you suppose?”
“I’ve no idea.”
She shook her head. “I admit I might have asked them for help.”
“As did my father.”
“What?” She scoffed but smiled.
He pulled her after the group on the move. “Heaven help us. We seem to be at their mercy.”
She snorted. “Games committee,” she mumbled under her breath.
Y
After a short walk, Lydia paused, and the group spilled around her, forming a circle. “Here we are,” she said.
Violet took in the display before her. A large circle about seven feet across lay drawn in the dirt with chalk. In its very center lay a smaller circle with two dozen marbles scattered within its boundaries.
Florrie clapped her hands. “Well done, Georgie.”
George blushed. Oscar nudged his brother sideways.
Violet ignored them as she calculated the reasons she and Cyril would be brought here. She looked to her parents, then to her Wendy-birds. Then a dreaded shudder moved through her when both Ruby and Andrew stepped forward, each holding out a small muslin drawstring bag.
“Violet and Cyril,” Lydia continued, “receive your taws.”
Cyril reached for the bag in Andrew’s hand, and Violet held her breath.
“Ahem.” Ruby drew her attention, and Violet took the bag she offered.
In tandem, Cyril and Violet tugged open the drawstrings and dropped a marble taw into their hands.
Violet stared, her cheeks warming. “You—but I—We—”
“I know,” Ruby said quietly, compassion in her gaze. “Trust us.”
In Violet’s hand lay a white marble with lapis-blue speckles. And what was even more horrifying, Cyril held a very familiar pink quartz marble in his.
Cyril wrinkled his brow at the marble in her palm. “Is that … mine?”
Violet snatched her hand closed. “It can’t be. I’m the only one who knows where I’ve been keeping yours.”
His brows raised suggestively. “Kept it in a special place, have you?”
Violet opened her mouth in retort, but Lydia interrupted. “The who and how of both marbles’ appearance is insignificant.”
“Hear, hear!”
Violet turned. “Mama!”
Mama had the gall to look innocent.
Lydia continued. “What matters is that each marble now acts as your taw. As you use your taw to knock a marble out of the inner circle and into the outer ring, you accrue a point and take the marble. Each success earns you another turn from where your taw lies, until you fail. Then play passes on to your opponent. Play will continue as such until no marbles remain in the circle. However, the first player to then knock their opponent’s taw out of the inner circle will win five extra points to his or her final tally.
” She paused, Violet assumed, for dramatic effect.
“The winner shall choose who is to become headmaster or headmistress of Locke Hill School for Exceptional Young Ladies.”
“What?” she and Cyril both exclaimed.
“Please submit all complaints in writing. Players, ready yourselves.”
Andrew patted Cyril on the arm. “Good luck, old chum.”
Cyril nodded, quite numbly.
“Miss Whittemore?” Andrew said.
“Yes?” Violet felt very much like she’d been flipped upside down very fast. That is, lightheaded and a bit queasy.
“Show him what’s what.”
His words broke through her shock. She gave a succinct nod. “Count on it.”
As the group gave them encouraging words, wagered amongst themselves, and made space for the two players, Cyril crouched down. “We just had to share our little story of ringtaw with them at the fair.”
“More fool we,” she responded, eyeing the angles of certain possible shots. She had to win. There was no way she was going to allow Cyril to give up a role he was born to play, just because he was an absolute gentleman.
“Where were you keeping my marble all these years?” he muttered as he stood next to her once more.
She swallowed. “Must you ask?”
“I must.”
She walked around to the other side of the ring to consider another angle. He strode the opposite direction and ended up back at her side.
“Very well. If you must know, I kept it in my violin case.”
He stepped back and stared, his eyes rounding softly.
“In the rosin box,” she said.
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. Though she’d been quite unaware all these years of his violin play, he, and much of society, knew how often Violet Whittemore drew up her bow.
“You thought of me,” he said softly, “every time you played?”
“I thought of you,” she whispered.
His gaze narrowed, and his smile grew. “I’m going to win this game.”
She mirrored his expression, removing her gloves. “Not if I have anything to do with it.” She shoved her gloves into her skirt pocket.
At that moment, Lydia, clearly in charge, motioned to Spencer, who put his thumb and forefinger to his lips and gave a sharp whistle. Everyone quieted.
“Ready, players?” Lydia asked.
Cyril and Violet nodded.
Lydia smiled. “Players, commence!”
Violet looked to Cyril, who motioned to the rings. “Ladies first.”
“I shall not argue.”
“How novel.” He threw her a wicked side-glance, unsettling her pulse more than her ego.
After a deep breath, Violet crouched down. She carefully took aim and shot her taw.
A sound of disappointment was interrupted by a cheer as an unintended mark rolled into the outer ring after being struck broadside.
Violet stood, clearing her throat. “I meant to do that.”
Cyril conceded with a nod. Insufferable man.
She retrieved her won marble and dropped it into her little bag, then studied the taw’s new position. It had been years since she’d played this game. Her only encouragement was that it had likely been years since Cyril had played as well.
She chose a marble close to the boundary line but a bit farther away than some. If she could just give it a good bump, it would roll out of bounds. Violet crouched, wishing she’d worn breeches, and knuckled down with her taw. “Have at thee,” she whispered.
Clack.
She grinned up at Cyril. This might not be so ridiculous after all.
Y
Cy knelt in the dirt, rolling his pink taw in his fingers. He’d removed his coat a couple of turns ago, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. Violet had shed her bolero and now paced next to him as she awaited her next turn.
“Will you please stop pacing like that?” he asked with a sigh.
“Oh, is it distracting you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She continued pacing.
He muttered words under his breath.
“Beg pardon?” she goaded, leaning forward.
Spencer chuckled and Oscar coughed.
He leaned toward her so they were nearly cheek to cheek. “I said, ‘Everything about you is distracting me.’”