"Where is she?" Gideon's voice boomed from the entryway. "Violet! Violet where are you?" I stood warily from my perch at the kitchen table where I'd been keeping vigil with Claire and Jeannette, his shouts thundering through the house as he closed in on my whereabouts. He slid into the room, spinning in a typhoon of dark emotion, his hair in disarray, his unbuttoned coat flying behind him like a sail. He stopped dead in his tracks, panting and red-eyed. "Violet," he said simply, my name a prayer on his lips as if he hadn't just roiled through the night to find me. "Yes, Mr. Winston?" I glanced at the two maids I'd been sharing tea with, hoping they didn't deduce too much familiarity from Gideon's manner. "What can I do for you?" His jaw clenched and his throat worked mightily around words that would not form. "There is a problem. Come with me." Not waiting for me to comply he steered me to the door by my elbow. "Is it Phillip?
What do You think about Ours Is Just A Little Sorrow?
