She sat at the table without waiting for an invitation.
Her mother sat reading, that paper masking her face. As if she already knew what Violet was going to say. After a few minutes, she slowly laid the pages down.
“Violet.” She spoke her daughter’s name as if she were tasting something unsavory. “What are you doing here? Why are you looking at me like that?”
No point lying now. No point obfuscating, as the rules demanded. “Because you are going to be most unhappy with me.”
White eyebrows rose. “I am, am I?” She made a great show of folding the paper. “Well. Don’t just sit there like a lump. Tell me what I’m supposed to be so upset about.”
“It’s…” Violet took a deep breath. “It’s about that thing we talked about earlier. That old scandal.”
“That little thing?” Her mother’s words sounded careless, but her hand twitched, fluttering the newspaper like a fan. “Good heavens, Violet. There’s no need to talk about that little thing. I thought we were in agreement on that score.”
“Unfortunately, Mama…” Violet trailed off. She couldn’t look her mother in the eye. She couldn’t. “Unfortunately, Mama, there is. You see, that scandal is about to become very public.”
“No, it isn’t.” Her mother’s voice sounded curiously flat. “It will not. Just tell me who will be bringing out this news, and I will quash him.” Her mother’s hands shook. “With all my considerable power.”
Violet’s throat was dry as chalk. She licked her lips but her tongue imparted no moisture. She’d always been the disappointing daughter. Lily had children. She had the lovely marriage. Lily was pretty and warm and open. Lily never had to pretend.
Now Violet was going to make herself even more hated.
“It’s me,” she finally managed to croak.
Her mother’s eyes grew wide. She let out a shaky breath. Her mouth slid open, her eyes wide and haunted. “You?” Her voice trembled, and suddenly, she sounded as old as she looked. “You’re going to tell everyone? But Violet…why?”
“Because I’m tired of living a lie.”
“That’s no reason,” her mother snapped. “Are you tired of living, too? Lily wouldn’t have understood, but I thought that you would.”
“Tired of living?” Violet shook her head. “I know that there have been threats associated with the whole business, but I don’t judge them to be serious. I will have to make some alterations to my life, and I don’t know if Lily will ever forgive me, but—”
“Oh, you’ll have to make some alterations to your life.” Her mother huffed. “And you’re worried about Lily of all people? I weep for your alterations. I weep for your sister. But you two are not the ones who would hang for murder.”
Violet froze. Her eyes widened, and she placed her hands flat on the table, her mind reeling. “Really, Mama,” she managed to get out. “Are you threatening to kill me because you think hyperbole is a useful tool at a time like this, or do you wish to flout the proprieties?”
Her mother didn’t explode in anger as Violet had expected. Instead, she frowned in contemplation. Her eyebrows drew down and she peered at Violet, as if seeing her for the first time. She sniffed the air, like a cat testing her reception, and tilted her head. After a very long time, she leaned in. “Violet,” she whispered, “do you mean to tell me that you are not talking about…ahem, you know. That thing. That thing we discussed earlier? You know, that particular event relating to you that took place in 1862?”
Violet nodded. “Of course. Although referring to it as an event… I suppose it might be confusing if you haven’t witnessed it from the start. It started in 1862, but it has been going on ever since.”
“Oh dear.” Her mother leaned back in her chair. She looked relieved, of all things. She let out a deep breath. “Then…never mind. What I just said? Forget it. I didn’t say a thing. Perhaps you need to tell me the other aspects of, ah, this thing that I haven’t witnessed from the start. Perhaps that will change my mind.”
Violet fixed her mother with her sternest gaze. “Mother.”
“Yes, dear?”
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Do you mean to tell me that all along we’ve been talking about different scandals?”
“Of course I know,” her mother said scornfully. “I’m your mother. And once you tell me all the details, I shall know even more.” She lifted her eyes to Violet’s face. “It’s about…about… Well, you know.”
Good heavens. Her mother wasn’t omniscient after all. Violet wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. And here she’d thought she could make a simple announcement and walk out while her mother sputtered in indignation.
There would be no preserving her dignity now.
“Perhaps,” her mother said thoughtfully, “you might share a few particulars just to be sure we are both agreed.”
Violet snorted. “Well, do stop me when I tread into familiar territory.”
Her mother smiled ruefully, and somehow, that made it better. As if this game they played, the one where her mother pretended to know and Violet pretended she knew, would make everything right between them.
That old hope rose up: She might not hate you.
Violet quashed it ruthlessly. She couldn’t bear to have it taken from her again.
Violet drew a deep breath. “It’s about Sebastian Malheur.”
“Are you actually having an affair with him?” her mother said. “Because that’s not so bad. In fact, I’d imagine he’s fairly good at what he does.”
Violet felt her face burn.
“Although if it’s been going on since 1862…” She paused. “Since before your husband, ah, passed away, Violet? Really? That seems unlike you.”
“A lady always lies about her love life,” Violet heard herself quote smoothly, even though she knew the flush on her cheeks wasn’t helping. “If it’s bad, sharing it will expose her to gossip. If it’s good, talk will only occasion jealousy.”
Her mother sniffed demurely.
“In any event, my love life is not the point. Do you know the work Sebastian has presented?”
“I’m not familiar with it, but from what little I’ve heard it seems sound.” Her mother shrugged. “It makes a lot of people angry, but then, many true things have that effect.”
“Well.” Violet took a deep breath. “It’s not his work. It’s mine.”
Silence. Utter silence.
“I wrote the very first piece on snapdragons in 1862,” Violet said. “On the color of them, why there could be no pink snapdragon that bred true. I tried to have it published in my own name, but they wouldn’t even read it. So we had Sebastian submit it, and the next thing we knew…” Violet waved a hand suggestively. “…We were knee-deep in a secret partnership. I did the work. He presented it.”
Her mother was staring at her, a blank look on her face. “I should have paid more attention to his work,” she said slowly. “I didn’t realize he—you—had written about pink snapdragons, of all things.” She swallowed and touched her hair. “If I had known that, I would have realized earlier.”
“But he’s grown weary of it. He doesn’t like living a lie, and truthfully, neither do I. I thought for a while that I could give it up, but I’ve just discovered something. Something new, something so important that I’m bursting to tell everyone. I want to do it.” Her hands were trembling. “I know that when the news gets out—when people understand that I’ve been the one behind this all—it will utterly destroy my reputation. I’ve written papers that discuss intercourse and sexual organs in plants and animals. It is going to cause the most extraordinary to-do. I know I’m being terribly selfish. I know that I’m risking the family’s good name. I know that…” She paused and caught her breath. “I know you may never speak to me again, Mama, but this is mine and I want to be heard. I don’t care what you say or how you threaten. I want my work back.”
She hadn’t known until she spoke how much she wanted it. How much it meant t
o her.
“I want my name on it,” she said. “I want people to know it’s me. I’ve been disappearing. Over the last years, I haven’t had any voice at all. I want this.”
Her mother raised her hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wide. Violet had never seen her mother struck speechless before. It would take her a few moments for her to comprehend everything, but once she did…
Well, Violet had heard her admonitions long enough. She knew exactly what her mother was going to say. They’d be set against one another.
“Violet,” her mother finally said. “Violet, I had no idea.”
Violet bowed her head, unable to watch any longer. “I’m sorry. I ought to have told you before.”
“Indeed. You ought to have done so immediately.” Her mother tapped her fingers on the table, not saying anything more. “If you had told me right away,” her mother finally said, “we would have done something about that first paper.”
Violet raised her head. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to interfere. I wanted the information out, and if you were to squelch it—”
“Good God, Violet.” Her mother’s eyes widened in amazement. “Why would I do that?”
“I…” Violet paused, suddenly unsure of her entire world. “I don’t know?”
“No, clearly you don’t. My daughter just told me that she is the foremost expert on inheritance in the British Empire. Do you think I want to keep that quiet?”
Oh, God. It was too much. All that she’d never let herself hope for, and then more. Violet felt her eyes sting.
“I want everyone to know. I want to rub their noses in it—every woman who’s expressed sympathy because I hadn’t any sons, because I had nobody to accomplish anything. I want them all to know that my daughter is more clever than all of their offspring put together.”
Violet felt on the verge of tears. Still, she found herself laughing at that—a giggle that felt like pure relief.
“We protect what is ours,” her mother said fiercely. “And this—this is yours. You’re going to take it back.”
“Yes, Mama,” she said.
“We’ll figure out the best way to proceed. I have ideas.” She frowned. “I admit, it won’t do much for your social reputation—but, bah, who cares about a thing like that? Lily, I suppose.”
“She has reasons, you know.”
Her mother waved this off. “She has no sense of priorities. What is the point of having a perfect reputation if it means you can’t claim something like this? This is going to be a production. We’ll have to involve others to make this come out as best we can. You’re friendly with the Duchess of Clermont. She seems like a good person. Will she stand by you?”
“Yes,” Violet said, her mind whirling. “She’s already involved. We have a plan, in fact.”
“When is your talk?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
Her mother’s eyes widened at this, but she didn’t scold.
“You’ll all be going up to Cambridge tomorrow, then?”
Violet nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Then we have no time to fritter away on useless conversation. Come along, now.” Her mother stood.
Violet felt as if her world had turned upside down—as if she’d opened a cupboard expecting bare shelves, and been showered with all of her favorite foods.
But there was one last thing, one little thing that niggled at the edges of Violet’s mind. She reached out and took hold of her mother’s sleeve. “Wait one moment.”
“There isn’t a moment to waste. We must—”
Violet yanked, and her mother fell silent.
“Wait, please,” Violet said. “There’s another scandal.”
“No, there isn’t,” her mother contradicted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There is another scandal, one relating to me. Something that happened in 1862.”
Her mother’s face became suddenly impassive. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But Violet suddenly did. I will hang for murder, her mother had said. It disgusts me. I have nightmares.
She knew it, and once she knew it, she couldn’t unknow the truth. “Mother,” she said softly. “Mother, when my husband died…”
“It was an accident,” her mother snapped. “We must be going.”
“Yes, of course.” Violet gathered up her nerves. “But…you see, there was something I never told anyone at the time. You see, I had miscarried. I had miscarried a number of times.”
Her mother’s mouth pinched. “You say this as if it might be unknown to me, Violet. I know what a daughter of mine looks like when she is pregnant, and I’m capable of determining that when no baby comes, she no longer carries a child.”
“I see.” Violet swallowed, unsure how to proceed. “I suppose you knew that there was a point when my doctor told my husband that we needed to stop trying for a child because it could cost me my life.”
“Know it?” Her mother huffed. “I was the one who suggested he speak. The stupid man wasn’t going to say anything at all. Wanted to leave it in your hands. I was the one who told him that your life was at risk. Anyone could see it. You were getting weaker and weaker.”
“Ah,” Violet said. “And I suppose you might have noticed that…my husband did not want to stop.”
Her mother’s eyes glinted.
“After we had that warning, I had two more miscarriages. Had he not passed away, there would have been more.”
“Yes,” her mother said softly. “I knew that. Just as I knew that the last time you miscarried, you were in bed for three weeks. I thought I was going to lose you, Violet.”
Violet nodded, unable to speak.
Her mother looked away. “It’s hell being a mother. Not being able to do anything to save the ones you love more than anything in the world. A lady is supposed to protect her own, but how is she supposed to do that?”
Violet grappled for speech. “When my husband died, it seemed like such an unexpected gift. I felt awful for feeling that way—awful and selfish, as if I didn’t deserve to have my life back. I didn’t know…”
And here she’d thought that her mother’s references to hanging for murder were hyperbole.
“Come, Violet,” her mother said, patting her hand. “It was a terrible tragedy when your husband fell down the stairs. It would be unbelievably gauche for us to label that event providential. A lady always avoids the truth, when it happens to be gauche.”
“Mama.” Violet swallowed. “I…I…don’t know what to say.”
Her mother simply shrugged. “It’s the first rule. I protect what is mine.” She set her hand gently on Violet’s shoulder. “And you,” she whispered, “you’re mine.”
Chapter Twenty-two
MEET ME AT CASTEIN’S BOOKS on Euston Road. Your very own servant, Sebastian.
The note had been delivered to Violet’s hand at seven on the next morning. She was to deliver her talk that evening; she’d planned to practice in the morning, and then travel to Cambridge at noon with her mother and friends. But as soon as she saw those words, her heart began to beat in cold fear. She called for her cloak and carriage, and left the house immediately.
It was only when she was halfway there that it occurred to her to suspect foul play. Surely Lily wouldn’t try something foolish to prevent Violet from giving the lecture?
But no. That was Sebastian’s hand, his messy signature.
And your very own servant was part of their code—in this case, it meant come urgently. Lily would never have known to use that.
Indeed, Sebastian met her carriage at Castein’s.
“Good,” he said. “There’s not a moment to lose. Send your carriage away.”
She did. He threaded her hand through his arm and started walking down the street.
“We’re not going into Castein’s?”
“No. That was a subterfuge.”
Her heart thumped. So he did suspect foul play
. “Subterfuge from whom?”
He didn’t seem to hear her; he simply marched her down the pavement, ducking agilely through a rush of men who were exiting the train station ahead. He took her past a barber, a money-changer, a newsstand. King’s Cross Station was just down the street, and the streets were thick with traffic. Cabbies were trying to turn horses about, shouting imprecations at one another.
Undaunted, Sebastian guided her through a thicket of working men in bowler hats, all setting forth to start their days at the banks and counting-houses where they worked.
“Sebastian,” Violet repeated, “whom is this a subterfuge from?”
“No time,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ll explain later.” He guided her inside the station. The acrid smells of smoke and engine oil assailed her, but Sebastian didn’t pause. He led her around newsboys and sellers of pasties, over to a platform where train cars were slowly filling.
He let go of her arm and pulled out a pocket watch. He consulted this, and then the large clock face in the hall, squinting at the time with narrowed eyes.
“Sebastian, are we waiting for someone?”
“Yes.”
“Who?” She took a step closer to him. “What’s wrong? Should I be worried?”
“No, no,” he said absently. “Not yet.”
Not yet did not sound auspicious.
“Are you introducing me to someone? Your Professor Bollingall? Or—” The thought caught at her and she gasped. “Oh, God, Sebastian, if you’ve brought me to meet Charles Darwin in a train station, I will…I will…”
“Give me more credit than that.” Sebastian smiled at her. “You won’t be introduced to Mr. Darwin until tonight.”
Not comforting. But before she had a chance to begin to work up a good panic in response, the conductor blew his whistle and called out “All aboard!” The engine nearest them roared more loudly.
And—before Violet could quite understand what was happening—Sebastian picked her up by the waist and swung her onto the train.
“What! For God’s sake, Sebastian—”
He stepped aboard himself and slammed the door shut behind them.
The Countess Conspiracy Page 24
