“Mama,” Violet said for the third time. “I had hoped to have a—”
“Not now, Violet.” The Dowager Baroness Rotherham had a deep, guttural voice, one that could issue commands that made servants and daughters alike jump to do her bidding. “If I lose count, I’ll have to redo the whole row.”
“It’s important, Mama.”
Her mother continued knitting, unperturbed.
Violet sighed. Of course she was less important than finishing the row.
Her mother still did not look up. Instead, her needles clacked together more loudly. But after another few moments of silence, she spoke. “The Ladies’ Guide to Proper Deportment says, and I quote, ‘A lady does not engage in any of the following behaviors: sighing, rolling her eyes, slamming doors…’ The list goes on, as I am sure you recall. Do you flout the precepts of proper deportment because you wish to put me to the blush, or is it just boorishness on your part?”
All that, and she hadn’t lifted her eyes from her knitting.
Violet felt a corner of her mouth twitch. “Mama, you wrote the Ladies’ Guide.”
An eyebrow rose. The baroness finished one last stitch and then laid her work—a short, blue scarf—aside. “I see no reason to alter my words simply because I committed them to print in the past. Quite the contrary. I labored over them once already. Why should I exert myself to express an identical sentiment in an inferior way?”
If Lily had been here, she would have a hand on her hip now, a foot tapping. She’d start scolding their mother, and afterward, when she and Violet had left the room, she would have made some sort of comment about how cold Mama was—how she could not even be bothered to greet her own children with pleasantries.
But Violet understood her mother better than her sister did. For Mama, that had been a warm greeting. She wasn’t the kind of woman who embraced those she cared for with abandon. When she was pleased to see someone, she lectured her. It was just the way she was.
“You have some reason for coming to see me?” her mother said.
“I am visiting,” Violet said smoothly. “What reason does a daughter need to visit?”
“What reason, indeed?” The baroness shook her head. “You were given the gift of speech, Violet. Make use of it.”
Violet smoothed her skirts and looked down. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. No matter what her mother had just said, she wouldn’t appreciate it if Violet simply blurted everything out.
So, Mother, Lily gave me reason to believe that you know about a scandal. By some chance, have you figured out that I am the most reviled scientist in all of England?
They were at an impasse. There were six things that every lady was supposed to lie about. One was her own faults, which meant that Violet couldn’t admit what she’d done. Ladies also lied about faults in others—so her mother would refuse to acknowledge Violet’s hidden identity, even if she knew of its existence.
Her mother’s rules made a great deal of sense, but on occasion, they were also extremely inconvenient.
“So, Mother,” she said instead, “Lily tells me that you’re teaching Amanda the rules. And the shadow rules.”
Her mother glanced up sharply, looking around. The shadow rules were not discussed in company. But nobody else was about. “Your sister doesn’t like it much. But yes, I am. Amanda is almost a grown woman, and she deserves to know how to get on.”
“Lily thinks you’re just being difficult. I think…” Violet licked her lips and looked at her mother. “I suspect you believe that some scandal might fall on us.”
“Scandal.” Her mother picked up her scarf and turned it over, frowning as she examined her work. “I have no idea what you might be talking about. What sort of scandal do you think there might be, Violet?”
Another woman might have spoken those words as if they were a question. Her mother gave them a slight twist—the kind that suggested that she wasn’t asking a question at all, but stating a fact.
If she was going to play games, then Violet would play right along. “I have nothing in mind.”
“Stuff and nonsense. When people say that it’s nothing, they usually mean, ‘nothing I wish to talk about.’ But I am your mother, Violet. Your wish to keep silent is irrelevant. I wish you to tell me what you know, and so you will.”
Violet bit back a laugh. So might her mother browbeat anyone. She’d seen it a thousand times. Of late—oh, truthfully, over the last decade—she’d bemusedly watched herself doing the exact same thing. As the years went by, she and her mother became more and more alike. Violet couldn’t wait until she’d earned her mother’s prickly indifference, until the calm, assertive façade that she put on became truth.
“What’s so funny?” her mother asked, frowning at her. “Are you laughing at me? What have you heard, Violet?”
“I haven’t heard anything,” Violet said.
There was a long pause. Her mother carefully stood. She tiptoed to the door, and stood there in silence for a moment, counting out beats. Then, very swiftly, she yanked it open.
Nobody was there. Her mother poked her head out, peered both ways down the hall, then very softly shut the door once more.
“I appreciate your discretion, Violet,” she murmured. “And I understand that there are…some things that must not be spoken aloud. But if we are to manage the thing that I hope we will not have to manage, we must come to an understanding. Just as well that Lily is not here; she’d have conniptions.” She looked over at Violet. “You know what we have to do.”
It was the first rule, the rule that superseded all other rules. “A lady protects her own,” Violet said.
Her mother nodded. “Even if her own is foolish and forgetful…ah, well. I have no regrets. Come, Violet. Sit. Don’t say it aloud—I don’t believe anyone is listening, but I’d rather not find out that I’m wrong when…” She sighed. “I’m too old to manage this sort of fear. This scandal that you have in mind. Is it a new scandal or an old scandal?”
“It is an old scandal.”
Her mother’s nose wrinkled. “What year?”
“Oh,” Violet said in surprise, counting back. “It was…1862.”
“Oh. So.” The baroness’s lips pinched together and she shook her head in silence. “That. Indeed.”