light it seemed positively medieval. Collins saw us, grinned, and raised a hand.
“Where is your mistress?” I asked.
“She went upstairs to her room.”
“You should not have left her alone—Mr. Holmes told you she was not to be left alone.”
Collins’ grin weakened. “But I didn’t leave her alone. Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy went with her.”
I stared dumbly at him; dread caught in my throat. “
“The Lovejoys’re back from London. They... Sir?”
I ran up the stone stairs and heard Michelle behind me. “Henry—wait.
I took a deep breath and slowed down. “When will you find some sensible shoes that work?”
“My feet are too big.”
“Your feet are perfect. I admire them greatly. They are among the parts of you I most treasure.”
Her hand slipped down to mine. “Oh, don’t talk that way—not now, you silly fool.” We had come to the door. “They would not harm her, Henry. I am sure of it.”
I wrapped loudly at the door. “Violet?
The door swung inward, and Lovejoy gave me his most polished smile. If this was only a role, he had it down to perfection. “Good afternoon, Dr. Vernier, Dr. Doudet Vernier. How good to see you both again. The country air obviously suits you. Do come in.”
We stepped into the bedroom. Violet had removed her coat and hat. She sat in a chair by the window. Mrs. Lovejoy stood nearby, a figure in black—her face pale and severe as ever, her dark hair parted down the middle.
“I am quite weary,” Violet said, “but I need to discuss some household matters with Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy. They are finally up from London. The rest of the staff will be joining us soon. Is anything the matter?”
I said nothing, but my expression must have been grim.
“Nothing.” Michelle smiled. “I only wanted to check to see how you felt.”
Violet’s mocking smile returned. “I feel embarrassed, and you look tired, Michelle. If you wish to nap, I shall see that no one disturbs you. Lovejoy?”
He gave a nod. “I shall pass along the word, madam.”
I did not move. “Sherlock said you were not to be left alone.”
Violet laughed. “I am not alone.”
I licked my lips, uncertain how to proceed. Luckily, Collins appeared at just that moment. “Is anything wrong, sir? You looked as if...”
“No, nothing is wrong. Would you stay with Mrs. Wheelwright until Mr. Holmes returns?”
Collins’ grin returned. “Surely.”
Lovejoy nodded. “And I shall see that no one disturbs you both. You also look fatigued, Dr. Vernier.”
Michelle and I walked down the hallway to our own room. I removed my coat and dropped it over a chair. “Lock the door,” I said.
“Are you sure, Henry? It seems...”
“Lock it.”
She did and turned to face me. “It seems wrong somehow.”
“Wrong?”
I kissed her. Never had I loved or desired her more, and I could tell that she felt the same way. Her large strong fingers sank into my back, and she seemed to melt into me. Finally, I drew away from her and kissed her throat, tugging her collar downward with my fingers.
“Oh, Henry—I do love you so.”
“Why did you say it seems wrong?”
“Because of Violet—because of what she said.”
I kissed her again. “It is not wrong. I want to show that she is... mistaken. A nightmare is only a dream. It is to show that life can be beautiful—that you are beautiful—and that I love you more than anything in the world.”
Her skin was red from the sun and wind, and her face had a warm glow. She drew me to her, and all her strength seemed to flow into that all-consuming embrace. For a time I forgot about Violet, Donald, the Lovejoys, and Sherlock Holmes.
Later, we dressed for dinner. I folded over my cuff and put in the stud. The bureau mirror was not flattering. My hair was a tousled mess, and I appeared haggard. I did my other cuff and picked up the hairbrush.
“Would you fasten me up, Henry?”
Michelle turned her back to me. Her gown was yellow satin, and, regretfully, hid her arms and shoulders. I could not blame her, given the cold hall. I began to fasten the tiny hooks. When I was about six inches from the top, I kissed her bare skin. “It seems a shame to fasten you all up.”
She laughed. “It is curious. You never seem to tire of me.”
“That would be correct.” I finished with the last hook. “Is it not better having your husband fasten you up than a maid?”
“Oh, yes. Far better.”
I tightened my bow tie, arranging it before the mirror, and then brushed my hair. Michelle put on her earrings and then helped me into my black tailcoat. She kissed me quickly.
“Was it not better having your wife help you with your coat than a valet?”
I laughed. “You are much prettier than any valet.” I unlocked the door. “I must confess that I am not looking forward to dinner.”
She slipped her hand about my arm. “Neither am I. It was nice to be alone with you.”
“It is not yet five, but I suppose we should be sociable.”
We walked down the hallway to the stairs. The house had no gas lighting, and the hallway was already almost pitch black. “It grows dark so early,” Michelle said. “Oh, I wish we had not even had to get up.”
“I must confess that I am ravenous. For food. Perhaps there will be some appetizers.”
The great hall had been fitted with a crystal chandelier, a glaring anachronism that did not provide much light. It also had to be raised and lowered by a rope so the candles could be lit. A fire crackled in the enormous fireplace and lamps were lit on the dinner table; but the massive chamber still seemed mostly dark, the light feeble and flickering, with black shadows everywhere.
Before the fireplace in his formal attire, Holmes stood smoking a cigarette. He smiled languidly at us, tossing the cigarette butt into the flames. “Did you see that it has begun to snow? Only a few scattered flakes thus far, but I’ll wager we have several inches by morning.”
“Let’s go and see,” Michelle said, “just to a window.”
I glanced at Holmes, but he did not seem inclined to venture from the fire. Michelle and I stepped through a doorway to a small room, which had ancient, mullioned windows, the thick wavery glass panes set in lead cames. We were up a story, and all we could see was the cold gray sky, a few large white flakes drifting slowly downward. The wind was faint—a low, constant sigh.
Michelle drew closer to me. “It looks so cold. I am glad we are indoors.”
“This room is even colder than the hall. You can feel the chill coming from the glass. It will soon be dark out there.”
We were only too glad to rejoin Holmes by the fire. The bricks within the six-foot enclosure were blackened with soot, and a huge log sat on the grate. The tile floor, of course, was clean; no doubt a maid scrubbed at it on her knees early every morning, long before the lord of the manor stirred.
“It seems to me,” I said, “that a deer or an ox should be roasting there.”
We heard footsteps on the stairs and turned. Violet approached through the shadows, her black hair done up elegantly; diamonds at her throat and ears; her dress a vision of white, cream, and lace. It was difficult to believe this could be the person who had told us her life was a perpetual nightmare, but when she came closer I could see the tension about her mouth and eyes. All the same, she was very beautiful. The dress had sleeves that ballooned out at the shoulder and tapered at the elbow; it emphasized her slender waist and hips. Behind her, ever vigilant, was Collins.
