Violet Fire Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked Grace up and down carefully. Louisa was all elegance and vitality, her day gown cut scandalously low, exposing a good deal of bosom, as white as the magnolia blossoms outside. Her hair was arranged in a mass of artfully casual curls, held in place by gold combs. She fluttered a hand-painted Chinese fan.
    Grace stood still, her every joint aching from the days of bone-jarring travel, her glasses fogging from the humidity and her own body’s warmth. She wanted to remove the spectacles, so she could see better but she did not dare. Perspiration gathered under the crown of her hat and between her full, although carefully concealed, breasts. She immediately sensed that Louisa was vain, arrogant, and demanding. She was afraid to breathe, afraid she wouldn’t pass muster, and at the same time furious for having to take this position. Louisa pointed the fan at Grace’s head. “Perhaps you’d care to take off your hat?”
    Grace did, controlling her red-hot Irish temper with difficulty, keeping her eyes down so Louisa wouldn’t see her anger.
    â€œYou have red hair.” Louisa sounded shocked.
    Grace said nothing.
    â€œYou never said so in your letter. It’s been my experience that red-headed women are loose. My daughters must have only the best influences. At least you’re not young.”
    Grace bit her lip. Usually her age was not a sore spot, and she did want to look older for this job. But somehow, just now she felt tired of people making allusions to it. She remembered Martha Grimes asking if she was married, and how that had bothered her. But maybe she should face it. She was a spinster—she was twenty-seven.
    Louisa shrugged. “Oh well, at present I am desperate to see the girls taken care of. They are to be instructed in sewing, embroidering, and etiquette every morning from ten to one. Dinner is precisely at one-fifteen. In the afternoons, they may nap. From three to five you may give them their reading and geography lessons. Supper for the children is at six. You are to eat with them, unless you wish a tray in your room. Breakfast for the children is at nine. You may take your own breakfast anytime you like. I expect you to spend Saturdays keeping them amused—picnics and so forth. Sundays are your own. Hannah will show you to your room and introduce you to the girls.”
    Grace could not bring herself to say yes ma’am to this woman, and was fortunately relieved from having to do so when Louisa left and a tall, statuesque black woman of about forty appeared, with Clarissa trailing behind her.
    Hannah flashed Grace a warm smile. “Don’t you worry about her,” she said. “Just stay out of her way and thingswill be just fine. Miz Barclay likes to think she’s royalty, and expects everyone else to think so, too.”
    Grace smiled, pleased she had found at least one ally. “I’m Grace O’Rourke,” she said, extending her hand.
    The woman blinked, then laughed. “Women shakin’ hands?” She waved at her. “Come on, you must be exhausted. You met my girl, Clarissa?”
    â€œYes, I have.” Grace dropped her hand. “Why shouldn’t women shake hands when they meet each other? Men do.” Stop it, Grace, she said to herself instantly. Don’t go starting up.
    Hannah flashed her an amazed look. “’Cause we ain’t men. Clarissa, go and fetch some fixin’s for Miz O’Rourke, mebbe some nice, cool lemonade an’ a piece of that cake Cook made.”
    Grace bit her tongue, hard.
    â€œYes’m,” Clarissa said, her eyes wide and curious on Grace. She flashed her another smile before running off to do as her mother bid.
    Grace’s room was on the second floor, tucked away in the back. It was probably the smallest room in the house, but Grace didn’t mind.
    She stared at the walls, then touched one. Fabric. Blue and white fabric. She caressed one of the intricately