The Violet Hour (16 page)

Back to the isle.

* * *

Three days later

Silas turns to face Plimpton, giving him a rare audience. The conductor squirms under his scrutinizing gaze.

“So you are telling me, Plimpton, Miss Teagarden reads the score once, and plays it from memory?”

“Yes, sir. She can play
all
the parts, from one look. She plays every instrument.”

“Balderdash,” Jonesy says. His face is still and smooth but I recognize the terror in his eyes.

“Jones, have you ever seen such ability? You are close with Miss Teagarden?” I add, trying to dissuade the greedy glint in Silas’s gaze.

“She is a gifted cellist, yes. But this ability you claim…” Jones hedges.

“I have witnessed it with my own eyes!” Plimpton is red-faced and sweating as he blots it with his handkerchief, his own piggy-terrified-eyes never leaving Silas.

“Calm yourself, Jakob. I believe you. But I shall have to see for myself. This makes Miss Teagarden even more valuable. Indispensable, even.” Silas paces, rubbing his hands, undoubtedly seeing the coins spin out from her cello as was Rumplestiltskin’s spun gold.

Jones and I exchange a significant glance. A single muscle twitches beneath his eye.

“Bring her to me,” Silas commands.

“She is ill,” Jonesy spits, too fast.

Silas’s eyebrows disappear beneath his blue-black hair. “Well, then I shall fetch a physician. I must see this for myself.” He turns to me. “LeFroy, is your new symphony and accompanying celestial star-show complete?”

I thrust the papers into his hand.

His eyes scan the music, and he flips it to Plimpton. “Copy this, and distribute it—it’s your new production. One week.”

Plimpton dabs his head once again, his mutton sideburns quivering. “Yes, sir.” He lumbers from the study.

“I shall send for the doctor,” Silas says, turning to leave the room.

Jones and I follow without needing a word. This is all my doing. My gut clenches with guilt and a fierce protective surge lights in my chest.

I must get Allegra away from here. This instant.

* * *

I am dreaming. Of sharkskin. The leviathan swims past me, rubbing against my wrists. I am drowning in a swirl of white magnolias descending to the sea bottom. My heart goes apoplectic and then surges crazily.

My eyes flutter open as my heart has scrambled up my throat to beat in my mouth.
Where am I?

I blink, befuddled, trying to recall the past day’s events.

Brighton insisted I stay here on the isle, to monitor any new abilities that might transpire after my bath with the Elementi. So that he might offer counsel, having been through it himself.

Sarah is aghast, but I vowed her to silence. It has been risky, getting back to the isle after orchestra practice without being noticed by Silas. It is Sunday. No practice today.

Rough scratching on my wrists. I blink and blink, trying to clear the bleary film which seems to coat my eyes and finally manage to wrench them wide.

It was not sharkskin in my dream. The orange tabby cat—its scaly tongue licks the inside of my wrist. The feline
glows
in the dim room. And it is naught from the moonlight. It is brighter, more vibrant; as if the morning sun shines upon its fur. My breath intakes. I hold my arm aloft, flexing my fingers before my face.

A slight glow erupts and twinkles upon my normally-sallow skin. Like Mother-of-Pearl.

“What am I?”

The Elementi heals, improves…but is mankind meant to possess it?

I take in deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

I stare out the window. More rain, more lightning.

The fireflies flit into my room through a slit in the window-sill and quickly wrap around both wrists. I freeze, holding both hands up, slowly rotating them back and forth in disbelief. They blink on and off in a pattern. Communicating once again.

Brighton said, anything that ingested the element would be changed, its normal abilities enhanced. My eyes flick between the tabby and the fireflies. A prickle of unease sets in my chest. These creatures mean me no harm, and they warned me. Warned me to stay away.

I must relearn Morse code.

I ease back down into my coverlets, placing my arms crossed on my chest, afraid of hurting them and equally afraid of
why
they are about my wrists.

Waves of panic shudder through my limbs. My breath hitches hard as I squeeze my eyes closed, fighting the panic.

I hear a door open and my muscles go rigid. “Who’s. Who is there?” My eyes fly open.

The footsteps falter behind the door. It creaks open to reveal the crooked man.
Barty,
is the name Brighton had called him.

The whites of his eyes, contrasted against his black skin make him more daunting, more dream-like.

I flip my legs to the bed’s edge and shake my hands—resulting in a blinding white exodus from my wrists as the fireflies disperse.

“Please don’t get up, mam. You might hurt yourself. Master Brighton says you are not yet well.”

His speech is perfect. My eyes trail over him; his spine is bent, his right leg drags. His neck crooked to one side as if in a permanent shrug. But
something
is different from my first glance, weeks ago through the windows.

I swallow. “I am Allegra.”

He smiles and all apprehension leaks from my muscles, leaving me weak.

“I know who you are. I am Bartholomew.”

“Are you Mr. LeFroy’s servant?”

His eyebrows knit tight. “No, mam. Mr. LeFroy, does not believe in servants. I earn my wages and stay of my own accord.
Somebody
has to look after the crazy fool.”

My mind whirls through recent headline: Harper’s Bazaar has run articles about Abraham Lincoln and his views of slavery. In the back rooms of Charleston, one word is whispered
: secession
. The battle over humans. It sickens me. If
I
am ever free, I will fight so they shall be also.

Brighton appears behind him and claps Bartholomew on the back. His face is taut and guarded, as if he fights an underlying worry.

“Bartholomew, I need a word with Miss Allegra—but don’t go far—I need to speak to you as well.”

“You are an abolitionist.”

His face is placid, evaluating my reaction. “Yes, its blasphemy here. Don’t say it too loud or I may find myself strung from a tree.”

The fireflies flit about the room, and he ignores them.

I huff, and stare directly at the swarm, hovering near the window.

He opens the armoire to extract a steamer trunk and begins whipping clothes pell-mell inside it.

“Going somewhere?” My face grows hotter with every flung garment. Could he be leaving me? Sweep me off my feet, save my life and leave me?

“Yes, and so are you.”

“Brighton—I cannot leave—I—”

He turns to stare, his face rigid. “Your
father’s soldiers
are sniffing everywhere. Literally. I saw them with dogs today in Charleston. And now, Silas has learned you have a particular talent for memorizing music—is it true?”

“Why, yes. I always could. But now—one glimpse and it all appears in my mind. And every instrument. However did he know?”

“Plimpton must have been watching you the other night in the tent, and now he’s told Silas. He has deemed you indispensable. Which means he will do anything,
anything
to keep you here.” His face is taut and his mouth pulled in a grimace.

“Silas is very dangerous. I fear for your safety.” He bends to pick up black boots. “And your chastity.”

I stand and my head swoons. I collapse back down.

He sighs. “Blasted element. We must go. Barty!”

* * *

The dingy rises and falls on the white wave tips, cutting toward the mainland. I keep my eyes on the horizon, my queasiness still present and accounted for in my belly.

Nausea. My mother was very ill with me when pregnant. A longing stirs; I shall never have a child. Not while I am under the constant threat of my father’s yoke.

A yearning tickles as I regard Brighton’s broad shoulders, his beautiful black curls. I wish. I would wish for a child with him.

Brighton stares up at the lightning and his lips move, driving away my never-possibles.

“Are you counting the flashes?”

His eyes stay steadfastly fixed upon the sky. “Yes. And how quickly the thunder arrives after the flash.”

My anxiety and hope burn a hole in my chest and I blurt, “I have so many questions. The cats, the fireflies—why do they cling to me now?”

His eyes tighten. “I will explain, Allegra. I owe you that, but there isn’t time now.”

“And. And those books?” My guilt seizes my tongue and the words spill out. “I’m so sorry. I took the books. I read them. I don’t understand half of what I read—but it seems bad. Like a sort of black magic.”

He laughs bitterly and his voice rises, his eyes violent. “It is
science
. Not magic. However to some, it might seem to be one and the same.” His eyes cast to the heavens. “Its
origin
may be celestial, however.”

We reach the dock and mercifully, no one is there.

“I must return to my bungalow. Please?”

“What? Out of the question! Silas was fetching a physician; it will only be hours till they discover you are missing.”

“Sarah shall be frantic. My cello, I can’t leave it. Sarah isn’t like me—she’ll be terrified alone.”

“I will send word to Jones. Perhaps this will accelerate his plans.”

He grabs my arm, hauling me up the path that winds along the water toward the dock-proper. His grasp is iron in his fear. “Ow!”

He quickly releases me as fear dawns on his face. “I am so sorry, my darling. When I am…distressed, I forget myself and the strength.”

He gently grasps my other hand but continues at the break-neck pace.

“What plans?” I prompt him. Then comprehension dawns. “He is going to ask Sarah for her hand?” Tears fill my eyes.

How utterly wonderful. My lady’s maid—her own lady.

“Yes, Jones shall not let any harm come to Sarah.”

I nod, slightly relieved and look up to see white sails billowing against the hard wind. “Where are we going—?”

“Mister LeFroy!” A huge black man bellows down from the schooner, grinning like a school-boy. “Oh laws it is
so good
to see your face! Let me look at you!” Brighton’s returning smile is bright as his fireworks. “Toby! I am so pleased you came!”

A brigade of black men, young and old, crowd the deck, struggling for a glance to see us. “Who is
this?
”

I blush furiously.

Brighton takes my hand, helping me traverse the gang-plank. “
This
is Miss Allegra Teagarden. And we need to hide her.”

Toby shakes his head. “Oh, sir. What have you gone and done now?”

Brighton helps me step down, eyeing the big many wryly. “Nothing you wouldn’t do.”

He gives a mischievous grin. “I reckon.”

“Hurry. Allegra, come away from the rail.”

Men come to clap him on the back, one by one, till he’s grasped every hand, embraced every set of open arms. And his smile. Never did I see
that smile
all the while he was in Charleston’s Fancy.

This was someone else entirely.
As if he were home.

I think of his cottage. The most expensive items in it were the science pieces.

The telescopes, the Bunsen Burners, the microscope.

Otherwise he lived like a pauper; a slave, like me, to Silas.

“How on earth did you afford to charter this schooner?”

He turns, evaluating my face.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it,” I prompt.

Toby stares, his dark eyes confused. “Miss. This is
Mr. LeFroy’s
schooner.”

“Technically—it’s my fathers. We never finished the transference papers.”

The man’s eyes roll. “Your father. Things have been dreadful-awful with you gone. He ain’t never there—your step-mother, she just crazy—and your brother—”

“Hides in Charleston at his office.”

Toby nods. “Did you find what you came for?”

“Yes. And no. I haven’t finished yet.”

Toby shakes his head and turns back to the bow.

I’m speechless. “You…aren’t poor?”

“No, but it is highly reassuring you would take me with nothing.” He smiles. “Will you think less of me?”

I laugh out loud. “Why on earth are you holed up on a floating rock, under the boot heel of such a slimy man?”

“Silas owns the isle. It has something I need.”

“Related to the books. Related to the Elementi?”

“Yes.”

The ponds. It is something with the ponds.

Brighton heads to the front of the ship until Charleston is no longer visible on the horizon. I busy myself, staring out at the waves. At the birds bobbing on the waves and the occasional dolphin beneath the surface.