Beginning - Book Three

one

I wake to the sound of running water. The room is just as dark as it was before I closed my eyes. For just a moment, I wonder whether I truly slept at all, if it is still the small hours. I swing my legs from beneath the heavy duvet and shudder when my feet touch the cold floor. I almost trip on my open suitcase, which lies forgotten beside the bed frame with an indent in the contents where my nightdress once lay. That side door sits ajar and the tiniest slice of light spills into the bedroom. Yesterday's dress has been displayed up on a wire hanger, hooked onto a ledge of the wardrobe. My jacket perches on a golden coat hook which is nailed to the back of the door, and my shoes sit neatly beside the chest of drawers.

Tentatively, I walk towards the curtains - the hems of which crumple over the floor due to their length. It takes a fair bit of effort to heave them open due to their immense weight, which I cannot say I was expecting. Once they are flung aside, my eyes squint as the daylight floods the room. Blinking in an attempt to banish the effects of the brightness, I look out of the window and see a dusting of frost across the pruned grass. A morning mist hangs above the trees in the distance, and a forest-green automobile glides down the road beyond the iron gate.

"Good morning, darling."

A tall woman stands in the doorway to the bathroom. Marguerite wears navy trousers and a blouse with frills at the collar. Her lips have been painted a rosy shade of red and her hair formed into neat waves which curl at her shoulders. Behind her, a shining tap channels water into an immaculate bathtub.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. Thank you." I stumble on my words, somewhat astonished at her sudden arrival.

"It's Violet, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful." She speaks calmly, a voice like velvet. "I thought you might be in need of a nice warm bath. I'll ask Catherine to keep your breakfast warm for you."

"Oh - um - thank you."

She smiles at me, clasps her hands at her middle and strides from the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Suddenly, I feel very alone. This room must be double, even triple the size of my bedroom at the old house. The thought causes a tiny pang of sadness within me as I journey to the open door, almost taking a tumble on a doorstep I had not previously noticed, annihilating one of my toes in the process.

The water is comfortingly warm, wrapping around my pale skin as I sink myself beneath the surface. As much as I tried to pin my hair out of the way, a few strands have fallen free and dangle into the steaming liquid. The ends turn from their usual tone of rust to an unfamiliar dark brown, like the bark of a spruce tree, when I pull them from the water. Rather like Enoch's curls. It's his birthday, I think to myself as I allow my head to roll over the lip of the bathtub. I'm still drowning in my fatigue despite the rest I've had, and find myself fighting to stay awake and not slip beneath the water's surface.

My mind begins to wander - what became of those men in the old house? Would they be long clear of the vicinity before the cloud of smoke wove it's way into the sky? Maybe they never made it back out of the door. Either way, it will take them a while to find us again, and at least we are all together. Emma and Jake will probably be happier to be under Miss Peregrine's protection once more. Ultimately, the more of us there are, the safer we'll be.

Trying desperately not to slip on the slick tiles, I clamber out of the bathtub after a fairly long time of soaking myself into a sense of tranquility - letting the previous evening's events melt into the swirling water and watching them get sucked away with the soap suds. Wrapping a fluffy towel around myself, I re-enter the bedroom: somebody has made the bed and drawn the other set of curtains during my absence. With a content smile on my lips, I shuffle towards my open suitcase and awkwardly attempt to lift it atop the bed linen with my free hand. Much of the contents spill out as a result - my jewellery box, one of the baby-doll heels, a rogue cardigan which I had forgotten I had packed and a framed photograph, lying face down. Two others remain, however I choose to examine the one which sits patiently on the duvet - drawn to it, one might say.

Closing my fingers around the velvet stand at the rear of the frame, I lift it and turn it over in my palms - the light from the window shines onto the glass and obscures the image for a moment. Upon adjusting the angle, I see two greyed, smiling faces looking back at me. A girl, a bow resting within her curls, and a boy sitting beside her. They perch on an all-too-familiar bench. Her left hand rests on the wood between them; his on the plank behind them. One another's grasp so close, yet with so far between.

A longing erupts inside me. A longing for his touch, his protection, even the husk in his voice. With haste, I struggle into my spare frock and throw the loose cardigan over my shoulders, before stumbling from the bedroom with a sudden burst of want.

"Hugh!" I spy the boy sauntering along the corridor, heading towards me. "Where's Enoch's bedroom?"

"Down the other end, second to last door on the left." I see him begin to gnaw on the inside of his cheek. "Probably in a foul mood, though. He kept most of us up half the night."

"Why? What was he doing?"

"Screaming in his sleep. Screaming bloody murder." Hugh scratches the inside of his ear, as if he can still hear the shrieks now. "Miss Peregrine stayed with him for a while-"

I do not hear the remainder of his explanation - I am walking as fast as I can to the second from last door on the left hand side.