And then Vincent turned away from her, breaking the spell so abruptly that Anne nearly gasped.
Before she could fully register what had happened, the sharp slap of the door shook the apartment.
He’d left her behind with the ring exactly where it had been before.
Why was it, then, that Anne felt like everything had changed?
CHAPTER 31
A Triangle
Appears just before an unexpected meeting.
Violet didn’t bother clutching her hood as she marched down the street, her eyes darting from the card clutched between her bare fingers and the numbers etched along the sides of the brick buildings, which were halfobscured by snow.
Though most would have drawn the velvet ribbons tighter to shield the delicate skin along their cheeks and nose, Violet was beyond caring about the cold and hadn’t even noticed that her curls had fallen from her bun and were now whipping furiously in the wind. She was entirely focused on finding the address printed on the bottom of Brigit’s calling card, the determination that had been kindling within her warming the tips of her toes and melting away any remnants of winter’s chill.
By the time she found the matching number aside a charming red row house, Violet was practically vibrating from anticipation, her foot tapping relentlessly against the icy stoop as she lifted her hand to knock on the front door.
Her knuckles didn’t even have a chance to hit the wood, though, before the door creaked open, revealing the landlady, who was so bundled up that it was a wonder she was able to move at all.
“Dear me!” the poor woman cried as she glanced up and saw her unexpected visitor. “Miss Quigley, you must excuse me. I had no idea you were standing here in the cold!”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Violet assured her, trying to speak slowly though all she wanted to do was rush forward. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“All the same,” Brigit said in a fluster. “And here I am just about to step out to run an errand.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to have come at an inconvenient moment,” Violet replied, her foot already lifting to fall back on the step.
Perhaps her intuition hadn’t been something to follow without question after all.
“Actually,” the older woman said, a note of excitement sparking in her tone, “you’ve come at just the right time.”
A tingling sensation skittered from the base of Violet’s spine to the bottom of her neck then.
“You see, a family acquaintance stopped by unexpectedly this morning to pay her respects. She was a close friend of my husband’s late aunt and only just heard the news,” Brigit continued.
“A family acquaintance,” Violet echoed as the rhythm of her heart began to beat to a quicker pace.
“In fact, she might be the person you should speak with if you want to know more about the history of your building,” Brigit said as she looped her scarf around her neck. “She just told me that she lived there as a young girl. That’s how she got to know my husband’s aunt, whose father rented out the apartment at the time.”
It can’t be, Violet thought to herself.
“What’s her name?” Violet asked, her voice shaking as she spoke, though her teeth weren’t chattering from the cold.
“Mrs. Margaret Hall, but she was little May Schultz when she lived in the apartment,” Brigit answered. “I imagine she has all the answers you’ve been searching for.”
“I believe so,” Violet replied as the corners of her lips began to lift into the start of a smile.
“She’s sitting in the parlor if you’d like to speak with her yourself,” Brigit said, gesturing to a room down the hall. “I’m just going to pop out to the bakery so that I have something to offer her with tea. I’ll only be a minute.”
“If it’s not an imposition,” Violet murmured, trying to keep her wavering voice steady.
Brigit must have mistaken Violet’s anticipation for a shiver, though, because she quickly ushered her inside, mumbling about warming her bones next to the fire and helping herself to a cup of tea as she began to step down the stoop.
When the front door snapped closed, Violet could hear the crackling of logs in the hearth and the subtle rustling of stiff brocade skirts from the direction that Brigit had nudged her toward. And then she noticed a nowfamiliar scent drifting down the hallway: the aroma of freshly cut rosemary.
It beckoned her forward, tingling her temples as she took a step and then another until she was nearly turning the corner into the parlor. Something was waiting for her there that had been trying to weave its way into her dreams.
