Page 57 of Too Wanton to Wed
An hour passed. Then another.
Violet’s nerves frayed. This was not like Mrs. Tumsen. This was not like any of the staff at Waldegrave Abbey. Which could only mean that the promised company had in fact arrived, and the servants—sufficient in quantity to keep up the abbey, but bare bones with regard to guests—were currently overwhelmed with preparing meals and heating water for baths and attending to carriages and had not a moment to spare. If they were racing about as frantically as Violet imagined, they weren’t ignoring her at all. More likely, they were all so busy that no one had even been within earshot of the bell when it had rung. Or so many had sounded at once that it had been impossible to discern which summons came from where.
Which meant what? She could not stay locked in her bedchamber until the cabal came to a close. And yet she certainly could not risk showing her face before the guests, despite having promised Mr. Waldegrave to do precisely that.
Lily! Lily was the answer.
The sanctuary was the one place in the entire abbey guaranteed to remain undiscovered by prying eyes, whilst also ensured of being brought fresh food and water throughout. Violet hurried across her room and yanked the mantle from her bed. Folded, it would make a serviceable enough pallet to sleep upon. She’d certainly made do with less. She tossed a nightrail and a few dresses in the center and tied the whole with the rope from the curtain dressing. There. Perfect.
At this hour, she could only assume that Lily had already eaten, but Violet could wait no longer. The only solution was to slip into the kitchen, toss as many provisions as she could into her satchel, and then keep Lily company until every guest had left and the danger of discovery had passed.
Carefully, Violet unlocked her door and waited. No footsteps sounded. Nothing moved. She creaked the door ajar and listened. Silence. She took a deep breath and stepped into the open corridor.
Without a candle to guide her way, the passage was black and thick as India ink. She would have to rely on memory alone... which, after a lifetime of having survived on her wits, was fortunately still the one thing she could count on.
As she made her way through the tunnels toward the pantry, she began to draw comfort from the unending darkness. After all, the guests must necessarily besomewhere, and as long as she stayed hidden betwixt unlit corridors, she was likely to remain undetected.
Sconces flourished and noises grew louder as she drew closer to the kitchens. Clinking, clanking, shouted commands and the scent of smoked fish increased the sense of culinary chaos. From the sound of it, all the guests were sequestered in the furthest outbuilding. The distance helped facilitate their privacy—and hers—but complicated logistics for the kitchen. The cook staff and scullery maids tripping over each other served as its own distraction, enabling Violet to slip in and slip out without raised brows or unanswerable questions.
Almost.
As she was retying the cord about her satchel, she caught sight of a strange boy in an unfamiliar livery staring from the bustle across the room. Just as their gazes clashed, he turned and dashed down the corridor.
She hesitated only briefly, then gave chase.
She caught up with the boy just as he neared one of the servants’ exits. She tossed her satchel to the floor and leapt into his path, spinning them both until she had him pinned, wide-eyed, against the wall.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Why are you spying on me?”
“I—I deliver ice,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I saw ye taking bread and cheese.”
“I wasn’t stealing!” She loosened her hold in relief. “Ilivehere.”
“And youeat?” the boy asked in awe.
“Of course I eat. What kind of question is that?”
“I mean... ” The boy’s voice wobbled from high to low, and he flushed. “I mean, you live here, and you’re not dressed as a servant, and you eat.”
Violet stared at him.
“Real food,” he added helpfully.
She released him and rubbed at her arms as if his evident madness might spread on contact. “What the devil are you on about?”
“The facts. I’m from Shrewsbury, mum, and I ain’t ever seen your face. All the schoolboys know about Waldegrave Abbey. We know old man Waldegrave’s a vampire and that everyone who lives here and don’t go into the sun is bound to be one, too.”
Violet nearly choked. She wasn’t sure if she was more horrified that an attractive man at most five years her senior had just been referred to as “old man Waldegrave” or that part of the neighboring town believed him a dangerous bloodsucking monster.
“Stuff and nonsense,” she answered, once she’d found her voice. “Vampires do not exist.”
The boy’s skyrocketing eyebrows indicated he was less than convinced.
“Banbury tales.” Violet stepped back from the boy and crossed to the servants’ exit, which had been temporarily propped open for his delivery. “Watch this.” She tugged the door open fully. Sunshine spilled in, warming her skin and half-blinding her in the process. A brisk wind filled the corridor, lifting her curls from her neck and ruffling her skirt. The scent of summer flowers blended oddly with the scent of smoked fish, but she hoped it at least proved her point. “See? I eat bread. I like the sun. I’m not a vampire.”
The boy’s thin hand latched about her wrist, his voice urgent. “Then you’re in danger. Come with me, mum. Get out whilst you can. For if you don’t, you’ll soon be a vampire yourself... or his next meal.”
She let the door close. “I am not in danger—”
