Worth

Chapter 6 (cont.)

Inside, Violet collapsed with gratitude. Outside, she tried to say goodnight to everyone in one cordial swoop. The genteel clatter of china being collected and emptied and chairs being swept aside rose behind her as she made her determined way upstairs. By quarter to twelve, she was in the sanctuary of her own room. By midnight, she was trying to air it out after Elizabeth had smoked two cigarettes back to back. Elizabeth said she was sorry for being so tired. Otherwise they might have stayed up and talked. Violet wasn't sure how disappointed she looked but she gave it the old college try.

Nearly two in the morning, the sky outside her window was a silky, solid black. Outside and inside noises meshed together in a steady purr of bugs and breathing, electrical whirring and sounds of a lake she still hadn't seen. What does one wear to a late night secret rendezvous with the high possibility of being discovered? How hard would jeans and a tank top be to explain if someone walked in on them? If someone walked in on them what?

Violet felt silly for stressing, but which one of her outfits was labelled "2:30 a.m. with James"? She was so tired and her bed was so comfortable. It was as though James was only irresistible when directly in his presence. Violet pulled her guest bathrobe over her pyjama bottoms and white tank with a half-forced will to test her theory.

At two-thirty-three, Violet carefully opened her door and crept silently down the hall and main staircase. There wasn't exactly room to hide underneath it, but she could stand against the wall to the right and be camouflaged in darkness. She waited and waited. The grandfather clock in the sitting room ticked on and though Violet could not see the time, she began to feel foolish for waiting or having agreed to meet James at all. Why, sweet little Violet was practically set on killing him when she heard some whispering coming from the dining room. Maybe it was the pantry. Maybe James had been caught. That would change everything. She decided to investigate. Her alibi would be thirst.

The whispering went further than the dining room. It was coming from the kitchen. She prepared to look sleepy and innocently startled, turned the corner and saw John, Elizabeth and Paul playing poker at a kitchen table.

"Hi," John said with a wide smile on his happy face.

"Couldn't sleep?" Elizabeth asked. "Me neither."

"Give me twenty bucks and I won't tell a soul," Paul said.

"Same to you," said Violet.

"Have a seat," John said. "Should I cut you in on the next one?"

"What if we get caught?"

"I'm not sure. Let's see. Rosie, think we'll get caught?"

With a cigarette in hand and a haze of smoke behind her, one of the acting servants poked her head around the corner of the doorway. "Well, I wouldn't want to implicate myself, and Fiona and Kyle are busy if you know what I mean, so unless Palm wants a glass of hot milk, I'd say you're safe."

"Philroy nabbed my brother in the hallway," Elizabeth said. "I don't know where he was going but I'm sure he's still stuck there. You know how Philroy likes to blab."

Violet's mind raced to pardon a condemned man. Her eyes then fell on a plate in front of John and became glued to the overly stuffed turkey sandwich he had made for himself. "Where did you get that?"

"Here, have half." He nudged his plate toward her. Her carnivorous stomach accepted gratefully.

"Have a napkin," Elizabeth twittered helpfully. She handed Violet a semi-sealed envelope, not a serviette. "Why is my brother making me pass you notes?"