But Oliver continued to stare at her, not moving a muscle. His face subtly changed from a sense of wonder to hesitation. Could he somehow sense her new nature? Back in Virginia, our horses would always become uneasy when Katherine was in their midst. But could the same apply to children?
“Is she going hunting with us?” Oliver asked, not taking his eyes off Violet.
“No, I’m sorry, she can’t,” I said briefly, hoping he wouldn’t push for an explanation.
“Can you at least come to dinner? We’ve missed you, Stefan!”
“Yes. Why don’t you run up and let Mrs. Duckworth know that Violet and I are here? We’ll see you soon.” Oliver nodded, but didn’t move.
“Go on!” I urged. I hadn’t wanted the Abbotts to meet Violet. I’d wanted her to die in peace. But I didn’t want to arouse suspicion, and now we’d have to attend dinner and pretend that everything was in order. Already, Violet’s skin had taken on a ghastly pallor, a clear indication that death was working its way through her body. Who knew how much worse she’d be in an hour? Time was of the essence, and I felt terrible that I was making her spend her last few hours living a lie.
“Yes, Stefan,” Oliver said, trudging out the door and up the stone walk to the house.
“We have to go to dinner,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s okay,” Violet said. She looked drawn and overwhelmed, and guilt twisted in my stomach. Maybe she’d find some small comfort at the farmhouse. At least I could hope.
“I’m going to tell them that you’re my second cousin,” I explained as I led her up the winding path toward the large brick manor house. “We met in London and I invited you to the country for a few days. Does that sound okay?”
Violet nodded. She was still licking her lips and I couldn’t help but notice how large her pupils were becoming. She was well into the transition, cresting to the peak where her very being was fighting to survive in any way possible, even if that meant drinking blood.
“Stefan!” George bellowed as we entered the foyer. It was clear Oliver had relayed my message, and he’d been expecting us. George’s paunch was straining against his waistcoat, and his face was redder than ever. “You’re here in time for dinner. And I was worried you’d be so caught up by the city that you’d never come back to the country. But I see you came home! And with company!” he added, his gaze flicking curiously toward Violet.
“Sir,” I said quickly, my stomach twisting on the word home. “I invited my cousin, Violet, to explore our town. I am sorry for the short notice.”
“I heard so much about this place and I felt I had to come,” Violet said, playing her part like the actress she was. She curtseyed prettily.
“Cousin Violet,” George murmured. “Enchanted, my darling,” he said, bowing slightly at her.
The three of us walked into the parlor. I could smell a roast being prepared in the kitchen, and I loved how familiar and simple my surroundings seemed. Luke and Oliver were on the floor, playing a game of dominos, Emma was rocking a doll in her arms, and Gertrude was working on her needlepoint, an exquisitely crafted flower scene. Nothing had changed here, and yet, for me, everything had.
“How was London?” George boomed, catching my eye as he crossed over to the drink cart in the corner and poured a dark amber liquid into two glasses.
“It was fine,” I said shortly. “Loud.”
“I can imagine. And where did you stay? With your relations, the—”
“Burnses,” Violet said quickly. “I’m Violet Burns.” I watched her. Were her eyes too bright, her face too pale? I couldn’t tell.
“He wasn’t too much trouble, was he?” George teased.
I grimaced internally. They had no idea that trouble followed me everywhere. “No, he was lovely,” Violet said finally, as if she’d been coached.
A fond smile crossed George’s face. “Our Stefan has that effect on people. And I’m so happy you have relations nearby. A man shouldn’t have to fend for himself in the world,” he said, catching my eye as he raised his glass in the air. “To family,” he said, tipping it toward me.
“To family,” I murmured, nursing my own drink. A silence fell in the room and I was all too relieved when Mrs. Duckworth came into the parlor to announce that the roast was ready.
Violet licked her lips as she stood up and smoothed her skirts. She’d been doing it obsessively, and my heart went out to her. I knew that she was experiencing her first pangs of real, soul-crushing hunger that couldn’t be quenched with any mortal meal.
“Violet, darling, sit here,” Gertrude said, guiding Violet to a seat next to her at the large cherrywood table. “You look half-starved, which is understandable. I’m sure the food they serve on those trains is appalling!” She clucked sympathetically.
“I’m sorry,” Violet said distantly. “I don’t feel very well.”
“Well, have a bite to eat, and then if you need to have a lie down, go ahead and do it. A good meal, some country air, and you
’ll be good as new,” Gertrude said in her loving, maternal way.
We settled, and I watched as Mrs. Duckworth cut the roast. A trickle of blood oozed from the meat with each cut, and I saw Violet lean forward, her blue eyes shining.