Evergreen Falls (33 page)

*  *  *

Violet woke to a cold that the small radiator simply couldn’t keep away. Her window, small and dim at the best of times, was completely covered by snow. She curled herself into a ball under the blankets, hanging on to the last sweet scrap of sleep, where she was warm and her future unfolded with calm ease. The last thing she wanted to do was get up for the breakfast shift. But then she remembered that the kitchen would be roaring with warmth and good smells, and she threw back the covers. She went to the bathroom to wash and dress, then headed upstairs.

Miss Zander was in the kitchen, which was uncommon. Usually she let the cooks and waitstaff be, but then Violet realized she was in urgent discussions with Hansel.

“What’s happening?” Violet said, sidling up to Cook.

“The flying fox is stuck down in the valley. They think the snow is blocking the cable hoops.”

Miss Zander turned and saw Violet, gave her a smile. “I wonder if your friend Mr. Betts is up to working in the snow,” she said. “We’ll need that fixed or we’ll have nothing to eat!”

“Does it always snow this much?” Violet asked.

Miss Zander shook her head. “Violet, it
never
snows this much. Or it hasn’t in forty-eight years. We had sixteen inches of it overnight. If it doesn’t stop today, the roads will be impassable. If the winds turn southerly, we’re going to have a storm on our hands.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I lived at Evergreen Falls the last time it snowed like this. I was only six, but I still remember the storm that came that afternoon.” Miss Zander’s face looked pinched. It was the first time Violet had seen her look anything less than perfectly in control.

Violet shivered, and moved to the kitchen table that had been pulled up close to the fire. Cook put a plate of bacon next to her. “Eat up,” he said. “The radiator’s busted in the staff dining room, so we’re going to have to eat in the kitchen till it’s fixed.”

Eating was the last thing she felt like doing, but she picked at some bacon anyway. There was a baby inside her now, trying to grow, and she was responsible for it.

Clive came in, fetched by the last of the bellhops, and discussed with Miss Zander the best way to go about getting the flying fox moving. After Miss Zander bustled away, Clive sat down.

“Morning,” he said, reaching for the bacon.

“Are you sure it’s safe, fixing the flying fox in this weather?”

“Of course it is. Just a bit cold.” He forced a smile. “Not worrying about me, are you, Violet?”

She looked at her plate. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” she said. She wondered what Clive would think if he knew how much trouble she was in.

“Your concern is very sweet. I’ll be fine. If I can get the cable moving at this end, it will shift all the snow off along the entire length. I think it’s just that the pulley wheels are frozen and need oiling.”

“Well,” she said, not meeting his eye, “do be safe.”

The kitchen grew busier as the day started, but there was a subdued feeling about. At first Violet didn’t notice it, so involved with her own ruminations was she. But after breakfast she realized the staff were dragging their feet, continually going to the windows to look out at the slate-gray sky and the constantly falling snow. Clive came in, having been unable to move the flying fox more than a few feet. He shook snow out of his hair and off his gloves, his cheeks red and his eyes wild. “I’ve never felt anything like it,” he said.

By three o’clock they heard that the roads were closed. Miss Zander gathered them in the kitchen and announced that anyone who wanted to head out of the mountains and down to Sydney should pack immediately and leave on the five o’clock train.

“Are you going?” Clive asked Violet.

She shook her head. How could she go back to Mama in this state? Besides, how could she bear to be apart from Sam? It would happen, but not yet. Not yet.

A flurry of activity followed. Bags were hurriedly packed and rooms left in disarray. By that evening, the only staff left were Miss Zander, Cook, Clive, and Violet.

“How will we manage?” Violet asked.

“Oh, we’ll manage, my dear,” Miss Zander said. “We’ve lost Miss
Sydney and Mrs. Wright, too. Four staff is ample for six guests. In any case, it’s only in the short term. The snow will ease and the roads will open again, and they’ll all be back. But I can’t keep them up here in the freezing cold when there’s a chance we’ll be cut off, especially with the flying fox out of action.”

Violet went to the kitchen sink and leaned on the cold porcelain, gazing out the window. Dark fell and the snow continued, pouring out of the sky white and soft and relentless.

CHAPTER TWENTY

A
round midnight, the wind changed direction and howled over the hotel. Violet woke at the noise, then slept fitfully thereafter, as internal doors banged and windows rattled and the cold penetrated through any crack it could find.

She didn’t know how long it had been—perhaps three or four hours—when a thundering crash woke her with a start. Instinctively, she curled into a ball under her covers as the noise went on. The wind seemed to have redoubled its force. Her heart sped, and she was now far too frightened to go back to sleep. If only Sam had come to her tonight. Pressed against his body, nothing would seem so bad.

Violet threw back the covers and pulled on her dressing gown. Maybe if she crept up to his room, like she used to do, the fear would ease.

She was emerging from the staircase to the staff quarters when she saw a light bobbing in the dark across the foyer. She paused, waiting, and a moment later Miss Zander’s silhouette emerged.

“Violet!” she said coolly. “Good, you’re here. I need you to wake all the guests and get them to assemble immediately in the ballroom.”

“What? Why?”

Another huge gust shrieked over them, and Miss Zander clutched
at Violet’s arm protectively. As it passed, she thrust Violet gently away. “Go. Take this lamp,” she said. “Part of the roof on the east wing has fallen in. Our electricity has been cut, and so has our phone. The ballroom has the domed roof. It’s the safest place for us all to be until this storm passes.”

Violet nodded, and headed up the stairs with the hurricane lamp. She would be waking Sam after all, but there was no need for secrecy. No time for embraces.

The ladies’ floor was first, and she knocked hard on Flora’s door. “Excuse me. Wake up, ma’am. It’s an emergency.”

The door opened a second later. “Violet?”

“Sorry to wake you, ma’am,” Violet said, embarrassed to be standing in front of Sam’s sister in her champagne-colored silk dressing gown.

“As if I could sleep. What’s going on?”

“We’re all to assemble in the ballroom. There’s been a roof collapse on the other wing. The safest place is under the dome.”

“Of course, of course. Do I have time to dress?” Another immense gust. Flora shook her head. “I think I’ll just go as I am. Here, you go up to tell the Powells, and I’ll fetch Sam, Tony, and Sweetie. That will save some time.”

“Thank you, Miss Honeychurch-Black.”

“Flora,” Flora said. “Please, call me Flora. Our surname’s rather a mouthful.”

Violet smiled at her, and Flora returned her smile in the shifting light of the lamp flame. Then Violet hurried off upstairs to wake Lord and Lady Powell.

By the time she came back down to the ballroom, Miss Zander had illuminated the room with half-a-dozen hurricane lamps, had the fire burning in the grate, and had piled up pillows and blankets by the fire.

“Come in, come in,” she said to Violet, who was hesitating a few steps behind the Powells. “No standing on ceremony tonight. Staff
and guests all together. Safety first. See, our handyman and cook are already here.”

Violet looked around for Sam, who sat on a pillow by the fire gazing intently at her. When their eyes met, he gave her a weak smile. Her ribs contracted, and it occurred to her very brightly that love was actually a kind of pain that one didn’t feel at first through the euphoria. She acknowledged him with a nod, then went to sit by Miss Zander, who sat at one of the dining tables with a sheet of paper and pen and looked elegant even in a thick wool dressing gown.

“We’ll need to do some rearranging, Violet,” she said. “The boys from the east wing will have to be moved.”

Violet glanced up and saw Clive and Cook huddled together, chatting by the room dividers.

“With roads and rail out, our flying fox almost certainly disabled, no phone and no electricity, we can expect it to be a long time before somebody can come and look at the roof over there. Wonderful as Clive is, I think it’s a bigger job than he can manage himself. So, I’m going to move the male staff into the female staff quarters, and I’m going to move you up to the ladies’ floor. I’ve already spoken to Miss Honeychurch-Black, who’s the only woman up there now, and she has no problem sharing the floor with you. You will take the east bathroom and she the west, so you’ll likely rarely see each other. I’ll move my own things up on the top floor next to the Powells.” She made lists as she spoke. “The gas appears to be working still, so we can cook and heat the rooms.” Miss Zander stopped for a moment, put down her pen, and sneezed loudly. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “The last thing I need is to get sick. Violet, feel my forehead. Do I feel warm to you? I’ve been feeling congested and woolly all day.”

Violet pressed her palm over Miss Zander’s brow. She was on fire. “You’re very hot,” Violet said. “You should go and lie down. I can take care of things here.”

“No, I’ll simply will it away,” Miss Zander harrumphed.

Violet grew insistent. “You’ll make yourself sicker if you don’t rest.”

“How inconvenient,” she said. “And Will Dalloway may as well be a million miles away. Even if it stops snowing tomorrow, the route between here and there will be impassable. Perhaps in the morning, when the storm’s over, I can get Clive to go over to Karl’s offices and see if there’s any medicine there for a fever.” She sneezed again. “Good grief, the timing.”

Violet smiled at her. “I’ll set you up a little bed on the floor.”

“No, and I mean
no
. I can’t have them all seeing me lying down looking ill. I am the only person here who won’t lie down. When Eugenia Zander collapses, so does the whole hotel. I’ll just put my head down on the table for a little while. Would you be a dear and make sure everyone is settled? We’ll be safe in here.” Then Miss Zander did just that, laying her head gently on the table and closing her eyes.

As the wind screamed overhead, shaking the windows, Violet went to the guests one by one—including the odious man everyone called Sweetie—to offer them pillows and blankets and cups of tea. Sam took the opportunity to caress her hand softly as she handed him a pillow, but apart from that they neither touched nor spoke. Cook went off to the kitchen to prepare toasted crumpets and tea, and Clive kept the fire stoked. He was wearing a long, maroon wool robe and slippers, and Violet felt a stab of fondness at gaining a small glimpse into the private man he was.

Nobody slept, and gray light glimmered outside the windows a few hours later. Dawn was accompanied by a sudden drop in the wind, and by the time Cook had brought in plates of steak and eggs for breakfast, the snow had stopped altogether.

Violet saw Clive heading for the exit and followed him. “Where are you going?”

“Outside for five seconds, to see,” he said.

“I’m coming.”

Lord and Lady Powell overheard and joined them. What a strange group they made: the noble writers, the waitress, and the handyman, all in their robes, gingerly opening the front door to the hotel—letting in a spill of snow that had piled up—and peering into the daylight.

The sky was pale blue and mostly clear, with gray clouds disappearing on the horizon. The frozen air was still. The sun was weak, and it gleamed wanly off the snow. The east wing looked no different from outside, but Clive told Violet a section of the roof about twenty yards across had collapsed under the wind and the weight of snow. As for the rest of the world: it was a different landscape from the one they were used to. Where paths and roads and rail lines had been, there were instead softly undulating snow hills. It was so pretty, Violet almost didn’t mind that they were cut off from the outside world.

“We should have gone back to Sydney yesterday,” said Lord Powell.

“The move would have disrupted me too much,” Lady Powell answered. “My novel is just getting to a crucial point.”

Lord Powell huffed. “Don’t marry an artist,” he said to Clive, then shuffled back inside, followed by Lady Powell.

Clive turned to Violet. “Sorry I got you into this.”

Violet looked back at him puzzled, then realized what he meant. “Don’t apologize. I made my own messes,” she said.

“You didn’t make it snow.”

“Yes, that’s true enough.” But for everything else, she blamed only herself.

*  *  *

It was a strange day, strange and silent. The guests retreated to their rooms, and the staff packed and relocated as instructed. Miss Zander grew paler by the moment, until finally she took herself to her new room at the top of the stairs, leaving Cook in charge until morning.

Violet didn’t have a moment to enjoy the luxury of her new room. After she finished moving she was busy making beds and serving meals, then as evening fell, she ran about organizing lamps for all the guest rooms, and finally waitressing at the small dinner in the dining room, which Sam did not attend. She took Miss Zander’s evening meal up to her, then ate her own dinner afterwards in the kitchen with Cook and Clive. Clive, too, had started to look distinctly unwell.

“Not you, too, Clive?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t tell Miss Zander.”

Without thinking, Violet reached across to feel his forehead. It was only as her skin connected with his that she remembered their history, and how intimate the touch might seem. She jerked her hand away. “You’re very hot,” she said.

“So hot that I burned you?” he said with a smirk.

She wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “You should go to bed. Cook and I can manage.”