“Here you go, dear,” Mrs. Duckworth said, putting two slices on her plate. Without waiting for the rest of the family to be served, or helping herself to the potatoes, beans, and rolls set in heaping bowls on the table, Violet dug in. She barely used her utensils as she shoveled the meat into her mouth.
“You must have been hungry,” Gertrude trilled as she stood up to help Luke cut his meat. Luke, perhaps taking a cue from Violet, was forgoing his knife in favor of stabbing his slice of meat with his fork.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Violet said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. Her gaze was still on the meat. A silence hung in the room.
“Just the brisk country air,” Gertrude repeated, an edge to her voice. I knew that the Abbotts could sense something was wrong, but they couldn’t put their fingers on it. I desperately wanted them to like her, and for Violet to find the same type of peace on the farm that I’d found. But of course, Violet felt confused and famished. Damon or not, maybe it would have been better if she’d died surrounded by the marquee lights of the West End.
“Have you always lived in London, dear?” Gertrude asked, obviously giving Violet the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m originally from Ireland,” Violet said, her mouth full of food. Luke and Oliver were watching her with fascination.
“Ireland.” George cleared his throat. “I thought your relations were from Italy, Stefan.”
“They were on my father’s side. There’s some Irish blood on my mother’s side,” I lied. If Damon could reinvent himself as a count or a duke, I could invent some Irish relatives.
“Ah,” George said, slicing into his own meat. “Well, in any case, it’s lovely to have you here, Violet. Consider our house your house.”
“You’re too kind,” Violet murmured, her eyes frantically darting around the table, desperately looking for something to satiate her hunger. Even though there was nothing that could.
Just then, Emma pulled timidly on the sleeve of Violet’s dress.
Violet glanced down, her wary expression changing into a wide smile. “Why, hello there, little dear,” Violet said gently.
“Hi,” Emma said, immediately putting her thumb in her mouth and looking away.
“Now, Emma, can you properly introduce yourself to Miss Violet?”
I watched Emma nervously. I was still wary of the way Oliver had stared at Violet. Was something apparent about Violet to the children that wasn’t to their parents?
“I’m Emma,” she said solemnly, before sticking her thumb back in her mouth.
Violet smiled, suddenly looking much stronger than she had before.
“Hello, Emma. I’m Violet. And you’re very pretty. When I first saw you, do you know what I thought?”
“No.” Emma shook her head.
“I thought, that girl must be a fairy princess. There’s no way she could be a human. She’s far too lovely. Are you a princess?” Violet asked.
Without saying anything, Emma clambered up on Violet’s lap. Violet bounced her up and down on her knee.
“I think you found a new friend,” Gertrude said, clearly charmed by Emma’s worship of Violet.
“I think I have, too, and I’m most thankful for it,” Violet said, her eyes shining. “I have a sister about her age back home; her name is Clare. I miss her very much. And then of course I have another sister, Cora. She’s in London,” Violet said, her eyes taking on a longing expression.
“It must be hard to be so far away. What brought you to London?” George asked. Emma’s fondness had broken any ice, and now the Abbotts were behaving as if Violet was just one more slightly older member of their brood.
“Well, I thought I’d be an actress,” Violet admitted.
“Well, you still can. You’re how old? Seventeen?” Gertrude asked as she patted the corner of her mouth with her white linen napkin.
Violet nodded. “Yes, I suppose I could be,” she said, sighing. Through the entire conversation, she’d been eating ravenously, almost faster than Mrs. Duckworth could refill her plate. Luke and Oliver were watching in admiration, clearly in awe of her appetite. After all, they’d often tried to have eating competitions in the past, only to be admonished by Mrs. Duckworth with a sharp rap to their knuckles.
“Well, Stefan, your family is lovely, just like I’d imagine. It’s as my husband said, family truly is the most important thing in life,” Gertrude said, her intelligent blue eyes shining.
“I agree,” I said thickly.
Violet finally put down her fork and slumped over, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes were glassy and her face was ghostly white.