“Your Grace!” the housekeeper screeched at the same time. “Your Grace! Help! Someone help us!”
Violet’s heart was in her throat. She wanted to scream again, but she was paralyzed with fear. She was hanging by just the strength of her arms and fingers, which were beginning to cramp. They were all that were keeping her from falling hard to the floor below. And it was so far. Far enough to break an ankle, or a leg, or worse…
Her fingers dug into the wooden frame even harder, but her hands were sweaty, and she could feel them slipping.
“Help! Help!” Rosalie shouted, her voice joining the housekeeper’s.
There was a loud sound of footsteps hurrying in their direction, and Violet squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to fall, but she didn’t want to see it. The ground was so far away.
What had she been thinking, climbing to the top of the ladder?! In trying to prove her competence to her husband, she had endangered her own life.
A door banged open at the end of the hallway, and then indistinguishable male shouts filled the echoey hall.
“Help her!” she heard the housekeeper shout. “She’s going to fall!”
Rosalie was crying. A man was shouting. Violet’s hands were slipping.
Now, only her fingertips were holding on, and it was taking every ounce of her strength to keep them there. Her whole body was throbbing with pain. She kicked out her legs to keep herself from falling. She had to let go. She had to?—
And then hands grabbed her legs. Hands and arms held her, taking some of her weight, making it easier for her to re-grip the frame, to keep from tumbling down.
“I’ve got you,” a male voice said, surprisingly soft and soothing. It was James.
A shock went through her. She had been sure that it was a footman who’d come to her rescue. But it was James. It was her husband.
“I’ve got you,” he repeated. “You can let go now.”
“I can’t!” she whimpered. “I’ll fall backward, take you down with me.”
“You won’t,” he said, his voice strong and reassuring. “I’m strong enough to hold you upright, even when you let go. Then I’ll slowly put you down. All right? You’ll be all right.”
“I can’t,” she whined, her panic rising. “I’m s-scared.”
Even in her fear and pain, it occurred to Violet that she had never said those words out loud before. It felt good to admit it.
Maybe Rosalie is right. I don’t talk about my emotions enough.
“I know you’re scared,” James murmured. “But I won’t let you get hurt. I promise.”
And at last, Violet let go.
For a long moment, she swayed, her legs firmly in James’s grasp, but her torso, arms, and head were still suspended in the air. But James was right—his grip was strong, and he had her. And even as she swayed, she knew he would never let go.
Slowly, he began to put her down, until, at last, she was safely back on solid ground, his arms still wrapped around her. For a whole minute, they both stood there, her leaning back against him, him holding her tightly. Her head was nestled in his neck, and she could feel his soft, warm breath tickling her ear.
Finally, he released her, and she turned around to face the room.
Seconds later, her sister had plowed into her.
“Oh, Vi, you’re all right!” Rosalie cried, hugging her tightly. “I was so scared!”
When Rosalie released her, the housekeeper also came forward and wrung her hand, her face as white as a sheet. “It’s good to see you back on solid ground, Your Grace.”
“What were you doing up there?” James interrupted them.
Violet turned back around to face him. His tone was furious, and his face was contorted with rage. Even his fists were clenched at his sides. She was taken aback. The last time she had seen him this incensed was when he saw the roses cut at the stem.
“I was re-hanging the portraits,” she explained. “One of the footmen hung them wrong.”
