Violet - Book Two

two

A warmth curls itself around my shoulder. A force follows, and a gentle shaking ensues. My eyelids peel open in response and are met by the morning sunlight, which is still bright even though it's been muffled by the curtains. I arch my back slightly and roll my body over to see the source of the shoulder-shaking. Miss Peregrine sits on the edge of my mattress, her clawed hand slides from my shoulder and retreats into her skirted lap.

"Good morning, Violet." She smiles and tilts her sharp face to the left slightly.

I grunt indecipherably in response and stretch my limbs out to such a degree, I feel as if I'd elongated afterwards.

"Breakfast has started, best you be up before all the bacon is snatched." She pushes herself to stand and pulls her pipe from her pocket. Taking a puff, the headmistress begins to stride towards the door, her boots tap against the wood as she exits. Her talon-like fingers curl around the doorknob and pull it towards her; strings of smoke flow behind her whilst she glides away.

With a groan, I force myself to sit up in bed. After a couple of blinks, my vision clears and I take a look out the window. The day is comparable to one in July - outer Pembleton is doused in golden sunlight. I swing my legs out from underneath the sheet and have one last, liberating stretch upwards before dragging my body into a stand. Yawning, I slump through my bedroom door and sleepily make for the stairs. Already, I can hear the buzz of chatter flowing from the dining room.

My entrance through the archway is lethargic to say the least - the same cannot be said for the majority of the children, who radiate joy this morning. Fiona, sitting at the right of Miss Peregrine's chair, wears her hair down this morning, however her smile is unchanged from it's bright and beautiful state. At fourteen, she is beginning to tower over many of the younger ones - both in stance as well as maturity. Horace sits beside her in a set of black silk pyjamas, out-dressing everyone in the nightwear department. He has become quite the man, suddenly standing tall above Olive and I in the group photograph which hangs above the fireplace.

I shuffle around the table and slouch into my seat between Bronwyn and one half of the Twins. A fried egg sits on my plate, and a platter in the centre of the table holds a few remaining bacon rashers and a single slice of toast.

"Nice of you to show up." A voice says, and I feel a kick from beneath the table.

"I overslept, don't act like you never have Millard." I reply, reaching for the toast.

"I'm only joking Violet, but I never oversleep." I can almost feel him smirk at me from his seemingly empty seat opposite me. Of course, he cannot be wearing anything for I would have already seen him.

Miss Peregrine suddenly appears from the side door, holding a selection of envelopes in her right hand. She shuffles through them as she lowers herself into the chair at the head of the table.

"We have another letter from Jacob and Emma, children." The headmistress' words are met with sounds of intrigue rippling from all directions.

Emma and Jacob set off into the world in the Spring, just after Emma turned nineteen. According to Miss Peregrine, they are heading towards a village in Cornwall, where Jake has somewhat distant family. They often send letters back here.

"Dear all," Miss Peregrine starts, holding the newly-opened letter up to eye level. "I hope you are all well. We certainly are: Jake's aunt has assured us that a little cottage beside the sea will be well within our price range once we begin working. You really must come and visit one day, once we are all settled." I hear Claire clap her hands together in excitement, however I carry on looking up at the reader. "On another note, the village is overjoyed to hear of the country's victory, is it the same in Pembleton? The place is littered with long tables with seemingly the population in its entirety sitting on mismatched chairs up and down the streets. Although, it is lovely to watch everyone coming together to celebrate. Write soon, all my love, Emma."

The end is met by a thin applause, Miss Peregrine folds the paper back up and places it on the table. Then she pulls her timepiece from the pocket of her waistcoat and looks at the face for a second, before snapping it shut and slipping it back into its place. I watch on as she sits bolt upright, fingernails drumming on the table. The sides of her pursed mouth curl into the tiniest of smirks, and her beady eyes flit in my direction.

"Violet, I think you should go and check the door." She says, her tone perhaps a tad quieter than usual.

"But we've had the post today, Miss Peregrine." I protest, a little puzzled at her motive.

"Yes, but I would like you to go and check the porch." She reaches into her waistcoat and pulls out her watch, checking it once more. "Now, Violet." She snaps, sending me scurrying towards the front door.

Bare footed and still in my pyjamas, I slow my pace once I reach the approach to the entrance. As always, the door is unlocked, in case of a quick exit, and I gently push it away so it swings open. I look down and check the floor of the front step - nothing.

I shake my head in disbelief, utterly bamboozled at what the headmistress wants me to do... then I hear the front gate creak on its hinges. I look up and watch as a figure, dressed all in khaki and carrying an enormous backpack, shuffles beneath the arch in the brick wall, and begins to make their way up the path. At first, I do not recognise the person in our garden, and I go to run back into the house in order to alert the headmistress.

"Violet!"

The voice stops me. It is low and thick with accent. I let a gasp escape my lips, and my eyes widen in surprise. The person calls again, and I turn back around to face them. He is over halfway along the path now, and his backpack has been dropped roughly three meters behind. Overcome with emotion, I feel hot tears brewing on my waterline - a couple roll down my cheeks. The figure's dark curls fall close to his eyes, which are somehow even darker and have become even more dreamy. His arms are outstretched laterally, silently inviting me to throw myself at him.

"You goin' to give us a cuddle or not?" He shouts up to me, a grin plastered over his porcelain cheeks.