As I stepped up into the carriage, it lurched forward without warning. I hit the door frame, grabbing for support. Colin swore, and leaped forward toward the horses but they were already pulling away. The coachman was still inside the pub. Colin grabbed the edge of the step and pulled himself up, struggling to climb onto the seat.
The door swung on its hinges, hitting me hard on the hip. The carriage bumped and creaked. Tabitha’s hand closed around my wrist and she yanked. We fell together onto the seat in a tumble of curses and petticoats. The door slammed, open and shut, open and shut. It was loud and jarring, the wind howling in between the staccato bursts.
I crawled across the floor, reaching out to try and grab the handle. Tabitha kept hold of my ankles. “What are you doing?” she hollered. “Are you mad?”
“I need to see if Colin is hurt!” I yelled back. For all I knew he was lying somewhere in the road, having been thrown clear off the seat. Carriage accidents were common as cats. Everyone knew of someone who’d died horribly, crushed under a wheel or thrown upside down in a river, drowning before help could arrive. Panicked horses were a force to be reckoned with, especially when there were two of them, strong as oxen.
The carriage continued to rattle violently along. The door slammed into my hand. I cursed with enough creativity that Tabitha goggled at me. With bruised fingers, I managed to grip the edge of the window and yank the door shut. It latched and the sudden quieting of the rifle-shot banging was deafening.
I pulled myself up, hooking one foot under the seat and leaning out slowly. The wind tore my hair out of its pins and stung my eyes. The horses were running full out, their manes streaming and tangling in the wind. Pedestrians leaped out of the way. Shopkeepers rushed to their windows to see what the fuss was about. A dog barked, straining on a leash, dragging some poor girl behind him.
But at least Colin was safe on the seat, legs spread wide as he used his entire body to pull down on the reins. It wasn’t enough. The horses just kept running.
I leaned farther out, judging the distance between the door and the roof.
“Violet, don’t you dare!” Colin shouted, knowing what I intended to do.
As if proving his point, the back wheel slammed into a rut and shattered. The carriage jerked to the side. I was thrown back inside. I nearly bit off my tongue when I landed. Pain exploded in my elbow and my knee. I could hear Colin shouting in Gaelic and the grinding of the remaining wheels. The tilted view out the window went from shops to the stately oak trees leading out of the village.
And then the carriage came to a slow, sliding, sickening stop.
It took an eternity, the momentum pressing us painfully against the side. We could only hold on tight and pray. Wood paneling splintered, grinding against a tree. Branches dragged angry fingers across the carriage until it teetered like a top and finally fell with a resounding crash against a giant oak.
Tabitha opened her eyes. I released a long, jagged breath. A leafy branch jabbed the space between us.
But we were unharmed.
“You can see spirits,” Tabitha said, her voice squeaky. “Are we dead?”
I laughed, startled. I’d had no idea she had a sense of humor. Especially not while trapped in her own torn gown and hanging awkwardly off a seat. “No, I don’t think we are.”
I scrabbled to the door, now broken right off its hinges. My legs hung over the side and I had to drop down carefully. The carriage creaked. Tabitha flew out behind me, considerably less careful.
I darted to the front. “Colin!”
He looked down at me, breathing hard. His arm muscles strained against his shirt. His hair was a wild mess, like a thundercloud over the summer–sky blue of his eyes. The horses tossed their heads, sweat steaming off their heaving sides.
He dropped the reins, which were coated in ice. His fingers were white with cold.
“What the bleedin’ hell was that?”
I wasn’t sure what woke me that night, but when I opened my eyes I yelped so loudly I hurt my throat.
I wasn’t alone.
Moonlight fell through the transparent bodies of a crowd of spirits, all standing around my bed. They ranged in age and clothing from a little boy in an old-fashioned cravat to an old woman in a pearl-encrusted gown dating back at least two centuries. They floated there, painted in all the blues, grays, and whites of a winter storm. There were a lot of them.
And they were all staring at me.
A woman finally stepped forward, breaking the frozen tableau. She crowded so close to the bed that my breath frosted. Her smile was sad and gentle. Her silhouette was ragged, as if whatever mist and ectoplasm that made her visible was weakening. I smelled lavender water and earth, the way it smelled when it was dark and moist with spring. It was familiar, but I couldn’t think why.
“Who are you?” I asked through chattering teeth. “Are you the one trying to hurt Jasper?”
Ice fell from the woman as if she were an iceberg crumbling in an arctic sea. The spirits behind her opened their mouths, dark yawning caves of silence as they struggled to speak. Rage and fury and fear rippled through the air.
I was in no mood to be terrorized.
I swung my legs out of bed, my bare toes curling when they came in contact with the frigid floor.
The ghosts vanished.
Pain flared in the spot between my eyes. I rubbed it, scowling. “Of course,” I muttered, taking deep breaths until my heart stopped feeling like a housefly battering at a window-pane. “Never a straight answer.”
I put on a dressing gown and stuffed my bare feet into my boots. I knew I wasn’t going to be going back to sleep anytime soon. There was a mystery here, nibbling on the edge of discovery, like insects in a tree. The harder I tried to find them, the faster they scurried away. I lit a candle and padded softly through the sitting room I shared with Tabitha and out into the hallway.
The manor house was quiet. Even the housemaids were asleep somewhere in the attic and tucked into the kitchen. I ought to speak with Lord Jasper in the morning. He needed to know that not only was I regaining excruciatingly slow control of my abilities, but he also seemed to be embroiled in some sort of plot.
I went straight to the library out of long habit. Books were always a comfort, and the Rosefield library was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I set my candle carefully on a table and then trailed my fingertips over the leather bindings. I smelled lavender again and tensed.
I turned on my heel, scouring the shadows for spirits. The moon fell on wooden shelves, bell jars encasing orchids, framed paintings, the silver candlesticks on the mantle, and the green chairs set in front. The scent of lavender grew cloying for a moment, sticking to the back of my tongue.
Now I knew why the woman had smelled familiar.
The first time I’d stepped into this library, I’d known Lady Jasper used to sit in her green chair every night and drink lavender tea. It had proven to Lord Jasper that my gift was authentic, long before I understood what was happening to me.
The ghost was Lord Jasper’s dead wife.
And she wasn’t pleased.
I was still wondering what it all meant when a face appeared at the window. I threw a book at it, barely registering the dark hair and pale eyes.
Colin leaned forward to lift the window open. “Why do girls keep throwing things at my head?”
“You scared me half to death, Colin Lennox,” I returned. I rushed forward to lift the dented book, smoothing out the bent pages as if they were the bruised wings of a bird. “And look what you made me do!” I put the book down carefully, still muttering. “What if that had been Jane Eyre?”
Accustomed to my strange talk of books as if they were living creatures, Colin didn’t comment. He only held out his hand to lead me out of the library. “I have to show you something.” It was then I noticed that the night air had the acrid bite of smoke. The lines of Colin’s face were stark, his jaw tight. “Something’s happening.” His eyes were solemn.
Nerves flared like embers in my belly as I knotted my nightdress between my knees and threw a bare leg over the window-sill. Colin’s eyes reflected with something else, but he didn’t say anything. He only led me hastily around the side of the manor and over the flagstones.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Fine,” he replied. “Though I’m beginning to wonder what I’ve done to make horses so cross.”
We went around the garden wall that protected the kitchen herbs from various animals and into a more decorative wilderness. It had none of the methodical preciseness of the paths and groomed hedges in the formal garden. This was a small, beautiful secret, carefully tended. I’d never seen it before. It was thick with hollyhocks, lupine, delicate monkshood, and lilac, and peony bushes which must be especially beautiful in spring. It must smell heavenly in this little garden when it didn’t smell like burning flowers. Lavender stalks grew tall as my knees, waving tiny purple blossoms.
All of which were on fire.
None of the other plants smoldered or sparked. They slumbered on, thinking peaceful summer-flower thoughts, while burning petals drifted past. “What were you doing out here so late?” I asked.
His ears went ruddy. “Never mind.”
I turned my head to stare at him. “Why? What were you doing, Colin?”
He gave a loud, disgruntled sigh. “I was going to pick you lavender,” he muttered.
I smiled, feeling warm as melted chocolate. “Really?”
“Yes. Until they caught fire.” He lifted his palm, where a red burn marked the spot under his fingers. It looked raw and painful. He just looked annoyed.
“Let me guess,” I said, nose wrinkling at the smell of the charred garden. “This was Lady Jasper’s garden?
“How did you know?”
“We’ve met,” I returned drily.
“Are you going to open it or not?” Tabitha asked the next morning. She was sitting on the sofa in our shared sitting room, surrounded with petits fours and piles of outdated ladies’ magazines. I sat in one of the softer chairs since I was covered in bruises from our argument with the carriage. She leaned forward eagerly when I pulled a small folded square out of a hidden pocket I’d stitched into my skirt back in London. I’d used it to hide various tricks of the trade for my mother’s fraudulent séances.
“What is it?” Tabitha asked. “Parchment?”
I rubbed my thumb over it. It was soft as satin. “It must be very old,” I murmured, feeling more than a twinge of guilt. It was one thing to steal for survival, another thing entirely to steal from an old lady. And a countess at that.
Tabitha made a sound of frustration. “Just open it.”
The paper had been folded over and around, like a miniature Christmas present. I unwrapped it very carefully so as not to damage it. Tabitha made another sound of impatience, like a wet cat. I ignored her.
The parchment revealed a silver coin, tarnished at the edges but worn to a shiny finish in the center, as if it had been rubbed by a thumb for years upon years. It was stamped with the image of a horse, rearing up on its back legs. There was nothing much to recommend it, except for its obvious age.
“That’s not even legal tender.” Tabitha frowned dismissively. “Why carry it about?”
“It’s a keepsake, likely. Or a good-luck charm.” I stroked the silver horse’s rustic mane, feeling doubly guilty. I’d have to find a way to sneak it back into her reticule the next time she visited Lord Jasper. I slipped it back into the safety of my secret pocket. “Hardly evidence that she means to do Lord Jasper harm.”
Tabitha reached for one of her magazines. “I am not convinced. But if there is some kind of scandal in her past, I mean to discover it. Olivia steele, Lady Ashburnham, has secrets. Same as anyone.”
“By reading the gossip columns?”
“By knowing how to read the gossip columns,” she corrected me. “It’s as much about knowing what isn’t being said.” She flipped through the pages with martial precision. “Ha! She moved away when she married at fifteen. That’s why I didn’t recognize her.”
“That’s hardly gossipmonger material.”
“Girls, am I given to understand that I am missing a carriage?” Lord Jasper asked from the doorway. We both jumped, exchanging glances. We had to wonder what he’d overheard, if anything.
“Lord Jasper!” Habit had me jumping to my feet to curtsy. Tabitha just sank back against the cushions.
“The horses went wild,” she said. “It was rather frightening.”
“Are either of you hurt?” he asked, concerned. “Mrs. Harris assures me you were fetched back in one piece, but I like to see for myself.”
We nodded. “We’re very sorry,” I said.
“For what?” Tabitha asked, perplexed. “Nearly getting killed?”
“For destroying a very fine carriage,” I pointed out. One worth more money than I was ever likely to see.
Lord Jasper waved that away. “Don’t be silly, Violet,” he said. “I’m just relieved that you’re both unharmed.” He shook his head. “I’ll have the stable master do a thorough inspection of the horses.”
His gaze fell on the open pages of Tabitha’s magazines. “Why are you reading an outdated magazine?” His face settled into stern lines. I swallowed. “And about the dowager countess?” he added sharply when he looked more closely at the articles.
Tabitha just blinked innocently. “I was looking at old dress patterns. For Violet.”
“Mm-hmm.” He sighed. “Girls, Lady Ashburnham deserves your respect and courtesy. She doesn’t deserve to be accosted in ribbon shops or investigated like a common criminal.”
“We know,” I replied, cringing slightly. “But there’s a reason for it.”
“I assumed as much,” he remarked with a gentle smile. “Out with it, Violet.”
“I’ve been seeing spirits again,” I confessed.
“As expected.”
“I’ve seen Lady Jasper,” I blurted out.
He leaned heavily on his cane. The silver swan head seemed to stare at me accusingly. “Have you now?”
I rubbed my damp palms on the upholstered arms of my chair. “Yes. And I’m worried that she’s jealous.”
“And I’m worried that Lady Ashburnham is just looking for a rich husband,” Tabitha added unhelpfully.
Lord Jasper pinched the bridge of his nose. “My sister warned me I was mad for taking in two girls,” he murmured. He had to be referring to Lady Lucinda Baxter. His other sister, Lady Octavia, who was traveling to stay with us as a chaperone, was far more sympathetic and amusing. Still, the air left my lungs. I felt as if I were underwater again, drowning as Tabitha’s sister had drowned. Tabitha could simply move back into the family’s manor house across the field. I had nowhere to go. Colin had nowhere to go.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
Lord Jasper raised his eyebrows. “You needn’t fret, Violet. I’m not casting you out.”
My throat felt too hot and tight to speak so I just nodded.
“Oh, girls,” he added sadly. “My wife would never begrudge me happiness.”
I thought of the way the ice had fallen off her like an angry avalanche, and Colin’s burn from the lavender.
I hoped he was right.
“I don’t like this,” Colin said to me the next morning as we passed between the gates of the cemetery. Birds sang from the treetops and the sun was bright on the hills.
“I know,” I said. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice. Or a thousand times.”
He slid me a dark glance. “Did you forget you were nearly stabbed with a shard of ice the last time we were here?”
“And Lord Jasper nearly fell off a horse and we broke his carriage.” I tucked my arm into his. “Remember when the worst thing we had to worry about was Old Betty’s boys?” She’d trained them to pick pockets in and around Covent Garden, which would have been fine except that we considered it our territory.
He snorted. “Justin
still curses your name.”
I rolled my eyes. “And his little sister says yours with that annoying giggle.”
He flashed me a grin. “Aye.”
I nudged him as we picked our way between the graves. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I’d made earlier and stomp about willy-nilly. We read the names off the headstones while I inspected the ground for signs of ice or spirit activity.
“Tabitha says Lady Jasper was buried here,” I reminded him. “So I suppose we look for the most posh stone.”
“I still say we should talk to Jasper again,” Colin muttered. “You haven’t fully recovered your abilities yet, and I can’t exactly punch a ghost if it comes to that.”
“I can’t ask him about his dead wife again,” I said. “You didn’t see his face. Anyway, he won’t believe us.”
“This is a mistake,” Colin maintained, frowning into the delicate, warm breeze that tousled his hair. “Can’t you feel it?”
I frowned, looking around more carefully. “I don’t see anything,” I said. “Or feel anything. Not yet.”
He shivered, rubbing a hand over his eyes roughly. “Never mind.” Before I could press him for more details he jerked his chin in the direction of the tall carved angel beside him. “Found it.”
It was fairly innocuous, as far as gravestones went. The angel was impressive but it wasn’t marble or gilt; it was carved from the same fieldstone as everything else. Roses and lavender grew at its base. The wings were detailed, gray stone feathers arching up and back. I hadn’t seen them that night I’d taken a tumble. They’d been lost in the darkness and the shadows of the oak and yew trees. But I saw them now.
Along with the trampled flowers where I’d fallen.
“She was the one who grabbed me,” I said softly.
“She grabbed you?” Colin echoed, stepping closer to me.
“You thought I tripped,” I said. “But I felt a hand close over my ankle.”
“Before everything turned to ice.”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Do you reckon she’s jealous?” Colin asked.