Brenda Joyce Read Online Free Page B

lived on top of the world, that she could see out forever, to China if need be.
    But even Violette knew that was an impossibility. However, from where she stood, she could see a good ten kilometers. A few miles in the distance the ground was more elevated, and atop that hill there appeared to be a pile of stone; but it wasn’t stone or rocks—it was Harding Hall, the country seat of the earldom.
    And the Hardings were in residence. Sir Thomas was calling on them that noon—to introduce his bride.
    Swallowing, Violette entered the druggist’s, trying to tamp down her nervousness. She was terrified of facing the earl and the countess. She might look like a lady, but Violette was always aware of the truth, and thus far it did not seem that she had fooled anyone. She was no longer hungry, not ever, but often, like now, she had a sickness deep in the pit of her belly. If these villagers disliked her so, she could imagine the reaction of Lord and Lady Harding.
    Yet she was also curious. She and Ralph had driven the victoria past Harding Hall many times, when Sir Thomas was abed, as he so often was; they had gazed at the sprawling palace, wondering what it might be like to live in such a place, or even to visit within those beige stone walls.
    Violette shoved her thoughts aside, aware that she was perspiring, a part of her hoping that something would happen to postpone the visit. It was dim within the druggist’s. Standing at the counter was Harold Keepson, clad in his white jacket and horn-rimmed spectacles; next to him was the rector’s wife. Both Harold Keepson and Lillith Stayne ceased conversation the moment she entered the shop. They turned simultaneously to look at Violette. Her cheeks burned more violently now, especially as Missus Stayne made no effort to disguise the fact that she was looking Violette up and down with sheer dislike and utter condescension.
    Her chin lifted another fraction. Violette had the feeling that
she had committed some monstrous mistake, but for the life of her, she did not know what that mistake could possibly be—other than entering the ranks of a society which wished so fervently to exclude her. “G’day, Mister Keepson. G’day, Missus Stayne.”
    Lillith winced. “Good day, Lady Goodwin.” Most of the villagers had trouble pronouncing the word “lady” whenever it preceded Goodwin. “My, what an interesting dress.”
    Violette glanced down at the big, beautiful roses she dearly loved on the flounced hem of her favorite dress, then fingered the roses on her bodice. “Thank yew. Mister Keepson, do yew got rat poison fer me?”
    Keepson nodded, staring at her through his thick lenses. “Do you have a problem with rats, Lady Goodwin?” His tone was kinder than Lillith Stayne’s had been. But Violette had already figured out that the men in the village were much nicer than the women—some of them, in fact, wanted to be too nice. She wasn’t a fool.
    She shook her head and gave a small smile. “Infortunately, we do. Cook asked me to bring the poison ’ome.”
    Missus Stayne wore a frozen smile. “I’ll be right back,” Keepson said, as the shop door opened, its bell tinkling. “Just how much rat poison do you need?”
    “I ain’t really sure. Mebbe enough to kill off four or five?” Violette’s hands were trembling. Joanna Feldstone had just entered the store.
    Keepson disappeared into the storeroom. Violette was never sure whether Joanna would acknowledge her presence or treat her like a piece of furniture, so she nodded quickly, glancing at the older woman out of the corner of her eye. Lady Feldstone was old enough to be Violette’s mother. She was a big, buxom woman with an ever-present glare.
    She turned her back on Violette. “I didn’t know there were rats at Goodwin Manor. My father never had rats before, not once in his entire life, I should know. I say, I cannot understand what is happening over there these days!”
    Violette clenched her fists. She didn’t