Chapter Sixteen

1911

Laurie was hanging on to Viola by a handful of frilly material, his other hand on the handrail. He wasn’t sure how he could get out of this one. Let go of Viola and she would fall down the stairs, let go of the handrail and they would both overbalance and fall down the stairs.

‘Evie — could you help, please?’ He shouted for her over his shoulder. Oddly, he felt Viola stiffen under his hand, but he couldn’t wonder why right at this moment.

‘I’m fine. I don’t need any help!’ Viola muttered. She began to wriggle, trying to get herself into a better position . . .

But then . . . a ripping sound, a gasp, and the sound of a body bouncing down the stairs and landing in a heap on the floor. Laurie was left grasping a piece of cloth as he watched in horror as the crumpled form of Viola Arthur lay motionless at the bottom of the Grand Staircase.

‘Viola!’ he yelled and raced down the stairs towards her, jumping the last two or three.

‘Oh, God !’ Elsie was running towards them from the door of the morning room, quickly pursued by Pearl and Holly.

‘Viola!’ Pearl’s face was white as she threw herself down next to her sister and touched her shoulder.

Medora howled. ‘Oh, nooooo! She’s like the duchess. She’s dead! Dead on Halloween, at the bottom of our staircase! She’ll haunt Pencradoc forever! But she won’t haunt the rose garden, she’ll haunt here !’

‘Don’t be so stupid .’ Isolde pushed her overly-dramatic younger sister out of the way and knelt down beside Viola, on the opposite side to Pearl. She leaned down and checked her breathing, checked her pulse. ‘Rose died on the Tower staircase and not at Halloween, and Viola isn’t dead ,’ she continued. Then, in a softer voice, ‘Viola. Vi — can you hear me?’

Laurie, by this time, was there as well, kneeling beside her.

‘Shall I get Sam?’ asked Clara.

‘No — no. Keep the rest of the boys out of this for now,’ said Holly, looking concerned. ‘We don’t need everyone crowding around her. They’re in the smoking room now anyway — they’ll not even know this has happened.’

The girls took the hint and moved back a couple of steps. Laurie touched Viola’s cheek. It was cold, but he could see her chest moving up and down, so he knew, thank God, that Isolde was right and Viola was breathing. There was also blood on her face from a nasty scrape where she must have caught her chin and forehead on the way down.

‘We need to move her if we can,’ he said shortly, frowning as he said it, because oddly he couldn’t let anyone see how upset he was. She was an annoying American girl he’d crossed swords with on a couple of occasions under less-than-ideal circumstances, but the idea of her not being there anymore was awful. It was hard seeing her so helpless — it wasn’t what he was used to. ‘We need to get her somewhere more comfortable than the floor.’

Suddenly, there was a little moan from Viola and he leaned over, moving her hair from her face, gently lifting the strands that were stuck to the blood from the scrapes. Her eyes flickered open and for a moment fixed on his. He hadn’t realised how green they were before and they looked almost otherworldly right now, with the candlelight from the hallway flickering in them.

‘What happened? Why are you so close ?’ Viola asked.

‘You slipped on the stairs,’ said Laurie, as his heart hardened a little more, as was usual when he was near Viola. He sat back on his heels. If she didn’t want him close , he wouldn’t get close. Well. It was good to see some things hadn’t changed , he thought ironically.

‘Can you move everything?’ asked Pearl gently, ignoring the atmosphere that had started to fizz and bubble between Laurie and Viola.

Viola turned her attention to her sister and wiggled her fingers and toes. ‘Yes. Everything seems to be working,’ she said, and then tried to sit up, blinking like a baby owl. She rubbed the side of her face and looked a little shocked when her hand came away with blood.

‘See, Medora. I said she was alive.’ Isolde produced a lace handkerchief from somewhere and efficiently handed it to Viola. However, in a rare display of emotion, she leaned across, put her arms around Viola and hugged her. ‘Medora was worried you’d die on Halloween and haunt Pencradoc for ever.’

‘Why was I . . . ? Oh. Oh !’ Viola had clearly remembered something about her exploits. ‘The mirror. I was walking backwards up the stairs, wasn’t I?’

‘Why on earth would anyone do that?’ Now the danger was past, Laurie could not see the logic in that at all.

‘Did the mirror break?’ asked Viola, apparently looking around for it and ignoring the question. She did flush a dark pink, though, as if the answer was not going to be looked upon favourably by him. ‘That’s seven years bad luck and I sure don’t need that!’ A touch of her usual sparkiness was back, Laurie noticed.

‘It’s to see who you would marry, isn’t it?’ Evie came downstairs fully and smiled at Viola. ‘Don’t worry, the mirror looks fine. I’m Evelyn Griffiths.’ She held her hand out to Viola. ‘But I always get called Evie. I’m sorry if we startled you.’

‘Evie. Right.’ Viola looked stunned. ‘ You’re Evie.’ It was almost as if she was fitting a puzzle together in her head.

‘I am. That was a beautiful poem you were saying. My mother was an actress and I can imagine her saying it too, on stage. My brothers are already here, but Laurie collected me from the station because I had a piano examination.’ Viola’s eyes flicked up to Evie’s bright-red hair and another piece of the puzzle seemed to click into place. Viola’s cheeks reddened again. ‘So my parents put me on the train in London,’ Evie continued blithely, ‘and Laurie met me at the station here so I wouldn’t have to travel alone.’

‘Oh.’ Viola blinked. ‘Yes. Quite. Um — nice to meet you, then, Evie.’

Evie kept hold of the hand Viola offered in return and gently helped her to her feet. ‘Do you feel a little swimmy?’ asked Evie. ‘Or are you all right? I think you bumped your head a little. Laurie was going to carry you to a sofa or something — quite romantic.’ Evie smiled as Viola looked horrified. ‘Perhaps he might have fled on a horse to get the doctor to you after that. He saved you, you know. You would have plummeted to your death had he not been so quick to react. He was a true hero. You — bounced — rather than — plummeted . So that’s very good, actually.’

Laurie was aghast. He’d forgotten how much Evie was influenced by those awful novels Elsie said she enjoyed. Also, she had Lily Valentine as a mother, so obviously she had a dramatic bent . . .

‘I’m quite all right, thank you.’ Viola’s answer was stiff. ‘If I need a doctor, I’m sure I can make my way to one, without relying on Laurie.’

Laurie felt himself flush. Because of course that was exactly what he would have done had the situation demanded. It wouldn’t have been the action of a romantic hero. It would have been the rational response to a medical situation.

However, as Laurie plucked self-consciously at the lace cuffs on his billowing, tattered, Byron-or-Shelley-esque shirt, he knew in his heart that his soul was more poetic than practical, and he would never have heard the end of it from his sisters. Ugh. He still had hold of that lace from her frock as well!

Evie persisted. ‘But wouldn’t Laurie have looked quite the part of the romantic hero?’

‘I don’t want Laurie to play the part of a romantic hero!’ Viola growled the words, but her cheeks flushed bright red. ‘Even though he looks like one—’ She bit her lip, clearly stopping herself saying any more.

‘I wouldn’t do it anyway. Not for you. But it might be worth getting a doctor,’ he said stiffly. ‘I believe you were out cold for a minute or two. Or maybe, because you were actually silent for once, and not arguing with me, I only thought you were out cold . . .’

‘Just one thing.’ Elsie’s voice interjected. She sounded amused. ‘We probably will get a doctor out, just to check you over, darling. But tell me, when you were walking up those stairs, declaiming your delightful poem — what did you see in the mirror? Or should I say, who did you see in the mirror?’

‘Nobody,’ said Viola, her face turning bright red again. ‘I saw nothing and nobody. I simply caught my foot on my frock and fell.’

Elsie turned to Holly and raised her eyebrows. ‘ Quite ,’ she said, and folded her arms triumphantly across her stomach. ‘Actually, on that note, vile sibling, I invite you to have your photograph taken for posterity.’ Elsie bowed at Laurie and swept out an arc with her arm, indicating that he should go into that hellish room Elsie had commandeered and have his hideous photograph taken at that awful makeshift studio she’d been daubing things on earlier.

Ugh.

‘I don’t think—’

Elsie held her fingers up to his lips. ‘Hush, hush, hush,’ she said in that irritating way she had. ‘Marigold is too small to remember much about this, so the photographs are for her. Please tell me you won’t let your niece down, Laurie.’

‘Blackmailer,’ he said.

But, actually, it was a bloody good excuse to leave that carnage behind on the staircase. He just had one thing to do first. ‘Here, take your bloody lace. It’s no good to me.’ He thrust his hand out and Viola’s eyes widened, before she snatched the scrap of fabric from him.

He did not wait for a response.

And thus it was, he stalked into the drawing room and walked towards the hideous studio.

Anything to get away from her.

And this time he didn’t mean Elsie.

* * *

There had been no ill effects from her tumble on the staircase at the Halloween party. A doctor had been called, but it had been one of the staff who’d gone to fetch him, and not Laurie dashing through the moonlit night on horseback, with his costume on.

It would have been dreadfully romantic in some ways and Viola briefly allowed herself to daydream about it in her weaker moments. Then she shook herself out of it, because why would she will herself to be so damned incapacitated that Laurie — or anyone for that matter — would have to go get a doctor by galloping across Bodmin Moor at night?

And on Halloween night, at that. The tales the guests at the party had told, of will-o’-the-wisps, and the “pobel vean” — or the little people — and old Jan Tregeagle at Dozmary Pool, meant that anyone out riding wildly that night would be risking their own life, never mind anyone else’s.

Which was also utterly romantic that someone would do that for you, but not something she would allow herself to dwell on . . .

It was bad enough that she’d seen Laurie in that mirror — that was what had startled her. What with Marigold talking about “luh for Unca Laurie” and his face looming up on the mirror, it was not a surprise then that she’d caught her foot in her gown. However, the bunch of lace that had been torn off the frock and eventually handed unceremoniously back to her was proof that he had actually tried to save her, and not just stood back and watched her roll down those damned stairs.

She had, of course, considered expressing how cross she’d been that he had ruined her dress; but on balance had thought that might be a step too far, even for her.

But the main thing she thought about, when she thought about that evening, was waking up at the bottom of the stairs and having his face right above her, and those dark eyes and that furrowed brow showing exactly how much he had been worried. It was an expression he had been quick to hide, but she’d seen it, sure enough.

And in her confused state, she’d wondered what it would be like to wake up each morning with those dark eyes looking at you and the expression in them being one of love and — no, not adoration, of course not that — but something deeper. Something that told you, that above all, above everything else, you were soulmates and wherever you went in life — and beyond, perhaps — you would always, always come back to one another . . .

And then, a week or so after the Halloween party, she got the message from Elsie, which threw everything else into disarray.

The bruises on the side of her face had begun to fade, the scrapes had healed up and she was no longer stiff and achy where she’d bumped herself on the stairs, so she was feeling much more chipper than she had done for the first couple of days.

And Evie! Evie was just a child , for goodness’ sake. What on earth had predisposed her, Viola, to dislike the girl before she’d even met her?

It was, of course, because she’d thought Laurie was her beau. Nothing could be further from the truth — and Evie had actually turned out to be lovely.

Viola had had a divine letter from Evie, hoping she was well and recommending some “delightful romantic novels, should she want to read and recuperate”. Holly had smiled when Viola had shared that, and said Noel’s younger sister, Marion, was similarly entranced by “delightful romantic novels” and they would probably get on well.

But the last thing Viola had wanted to do for too long was rest and recuperate. She had too much to do! Most definitely, she’d had some lovely messages and gifts from the guests at the party, and had stayed, at Pearl’s insistence, with her at Elton Lacy for a few days, so, Pearl had said, ‘That you can be thoroughly spoiled because Sam just will not do that.’

And it had been nice, and Pearl had been right of course. Sam had found it amusing that she’d careered down the stairs because of a shock she’d received in an “amusing little mirror game” — once he’d realised she was fine, he wasn’t that heartless — so she’d enjoyed being waited on for a day or so at the Lacy and then, when she’d felt less fragile, had enjoyed spending time with her sister, out and about in the town and visiting Holly and baby Joe.

Elsie, Louis and Marigold had already returned to London, taking Evie and her brothers with them, but Medora and Isolde had met Pearl and Viola for tea and buns in Bodmin. They’d brought a big bottle of fizz from Elsie, a bunch of autumn flowers from the grounds of Pencradoc and Laurie’s “best wishes”, but Laurie himself hadn’t come.

Viola hadn’t known whether to be pleased about that or not, but she’d chosen to smile, because there would be none of that awkward “thank you for rescuing me” piffle.

Obviously she’d been grateful, but it had just seemed difficult to face him just then . . .

At one point, though, she’d looked up and out of the tearoom window, and had seen someone she’d been convinced was Laurie stalking along the street. The man had had his coat collar pulled up and his hat pulled down, and, really, his face hadn’t been visible, but Laurie had a certain gait when he walked — he strode, slightly hunched over, as if he was thinking deeply about something, and he walked fast . And this fellow had been doing exactly that.

Pearl had called her attention back to the conversation and the next time she’d looked, the man had disappeared.

But here she was, now back in London, and there was a card with her name on it on the mantelpiece when she walked into the house.

‘Obviously, I left it for you,’ said Sam, when he saw her picking it up curiously. ‘None of the exciting invitations are ever for me.’

She flashed a look at him, ready to dispute that fact, when she spotted the twinkle in his eyes.

‘Sure,’ she said mildly. ‘And you’ve never been invited to an exciting party back home in New York, have you.’ It was a flat sort of statement, rather than a question. They both knew the answer. The Arnolds, the Astors, the Vanderbilts, the Kings — the list went on. Half the people on the Social Register had invited Sam Arthur to their parties. He had probably kissed the other half of the people on that register at those very same parties.

‘Well, this one is definitely addressed to me, so I am opening it right now,’ she said, and slit the envelope open.

Inside the envelope was an invitation. And not just any invitation . . .

‘It’s from Elsie!’ Viola said. ‘It’s a wedding invitation! For her and Louis!’ She looked at Sam. ‘You were right. They really are not married!’

‘Yet,’ said Sam, with a shrug. ‘I wonder what’s brought that on? A marriage! Good Lord.’ He had the audacity to shudder.

Viola kept reading. ‘It’s for December twenty-second,’ she said. ‘So it’s pretty quick.’

‘Really.’ Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘Shotgun, anyone?’

‘Sam!’ Viola was cross. ‘A quick wedding does not mean she’s pregnant, for God’s sake!’

‘Doesn’t mean she’s not pregnant, either.’ There was no denying the logic, so Viola chose to ignore him. Her mind flitted to the last time she’d seen Elsie, at the Halloween party.

Ah.

Well, yes. She had been damned pale and listless . . .

Oh, whatever. It was Elsie’s life and Viola loved a good wedding, so . . .

‘I shall send my acceptance,’ she said, hunting for a pen.

‘So you’re going to be here in December, are you?’

Viola’s hand hovered over the desk, where she knew a fountain pen lurked in the drawer. ‘Guess so,’ she said, without looking at her brother.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Am I invited too?’

‘You are.’

‘Fine. Accept for me too, please.’

‘Will do. Oh. Hold on one moment . . .’ Viola pulled an extra piece of paper out of the envelope. She read it, then let out a delighted whoop. ‘Hey!’ she said. ‘I’m gonna be bridesmaid as well!’

‘You definitely need to stay then.’ Sam grinned at her.

‘Yup. Apparently she’s already got a design in mind for her dress and she’ll invite me over to see it when she’s had it made up.’

‘Exciting times,’ said Sam.

‘Very exciting.’

‘And definitely shotgun.’

‘Shut up, Sam.’