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Seething inside, Max managed to ask, calmly, “What else did she tell you?”
“That not a single person went to Violet’s funeral because my sister was a witch with a soul as black as night and everybody was afraid her sin might rub off onto them.” Her voice broke. “I don’t think Violet was a witch. We didn’t see many people, living at Grandmama’s, but everyone thought Violet was beautiful. And kind.”
“I’d describe your sister like that, too.”
“You would?” Emily’s head jerked up and she cupped her face. She looked suddenly beautiful and very much like Violet when she was animated like this. “You knew her?”
Max nodded, cautiously, unsure of how much to reveal. The weather was worsening by the minute, and he could hardly keep the child talking while they were both catching their deaths from cold. Torn, he glanced at the road beyond which led to London. He should be returning soon, but he w
as duty-bound to deliver this child safely to her grandmother first.
Yet, he was duty-bound to tell her the truth.
And then what?
Field her cries and whimpers when she begged to see Violet, her beloved sister, and he refused?
If he had had the time, he surely would have taken her.
But he didn’t have time. And what could he do for Emily, besides whip up her agitation when he was in no position to do anything to actually help?
She was looking at him expectantly. As if she were too afraid to speak and break a spell.
Steeling himself, he said, “But first I must take you home.”
“To Grandmama?”
To his surprise, Emily laughed, albeit with a short bark of bitterness that seemed at odds with her sweet pretty face. A face that resembled Violet’s—painfully—with her large blue eyes and heart-shaped chin.
He nodded, but she leaned back against the bench, gripping the lintel of the gate as if he might try to forcibly make her do her bidding.
“Grandmama will not take kindly to receiving me or visitors,” she said, “until the angry mood has passed. I’ll go back when it’s safe.”
“But the storm—”
He was now having to shout to be heard above it.
Still, the child shook her head. “I’m safer here than with Grandmama,” Emily shouted back. She pulled up the sleeve of her dress and to Max’s horror, he saw a deep gash at least three inches long weeping fresh blood along her forearm.
“What happened?” he gasped, feeling suddenly very unsteady on his feet.
“Grandmama flew at me with a knife. It went in a bit, but I got away in time.” Her white teeth flashed and she actually smiled. “Luckily, I managed to get the knife away from her before I ran.” She reached down by her side, and in a flash of light, Max saw illuminated the long, sharp blade she brandished for him to see.
He was galvanised by horror, shock, and the feeling that if he didn’t act right this very moment on what, in fact, his conscience had been dictating for some time, he could never live with himself.
And in the very immediate thought to follow, he realised how very happy such a revelation made him feel.
“You’re a very brave girl, Emily,” he said, giving her a considering look that made her beam with pleasure. “Do you think you’d be brave enough to hunt lions in Africa?
Chapter 15
So, this was her new home. It was elegant indeed, and Violet should have been overjoyed to have swapped the insalubrious surroundings of her Soho residence for the leafy charm of St John’s Wood.
A month ago, she would have been, but as she gazed from the fresh chintz curtains blowing the crisp air through the partly open windows, her heart was like a stone lodged in her chest.
Yet, she could not behave with anything that suggested other than the greatest joy and gratitude when Lord Bainbridge visited her later in the day.
He might not be charismatic, handsome, or even terribly charming, but it was purely through his generosity that Violet’s future had taken a marginal turn for the better.
