Read A Memory of Violets for Free Online Page B

had taken twenty-one years and a seven-hour train journey, but on this quiet London street, Tilly Harper felt, for the first time in her life, that she was, very definitely, at the beginning.

Chapter 4
Violet House, London
    March 25, 1912
    S he was greeted by a large, red-faced woman who filled the narrow doorway with her ample frame and sizable arms.
    â€œWell, you must be our Miss Harper. You’re very welcome!” the woman enthused, a broad smile spreading across her face, accentuating her general roundness. Tilly took the hand that was offered to her, shaking the plump fingers firmly. “Come in, come in! Mrs. Pearce is my name. Harriet Pearce,” she continued, still shaking Tilly’s hand vigorously as she half dragged her inside the door and then into the passage.
    â€œVery pleased to meet you, Mrs. Pearce,” Tilly replied, wincing as her trunk banged off the edge of the door. “And what a wonderful greeting. The flowers are beautiful!”
    â€œThey are indeed. Quite the spectacle. On account of the newfactory opening. We didn’t decorate the entire street just for you, I’m afraid!” Mrs. Pearce laughed at her own joke as she closed the door. “Did you have a good journey? My, what a long distance you’ve traveled. From the Lake District, aren’t you? You must be exhausted. Are you hungry? You must be hungry. Let me take that for you,” she added, grabbing Tilly’s trunk and hoisting it easily to one side of the narrow passage, despite its considerable weight.
    It was like being met by a whirlwind. Tilly wasn’t sure which question to answer first—or whether any answers were required at all, since Mrs. Pearce seemed quite capable of conducting an entire conversation with herself. As she chattered on about the noise of the locomotives and the disappointing quality of the items available on the refreshment trolleys, Tilly took the opportunity to look at her new home.
    The passage was pleasantly lit by the pale afternoon sunlight, which had briefly penetrated the fog and shone through the leaded panels in the door. The walls were decorated with pretty tulip-patterned wallpaper, the vivid reds of the flowers set against a rich background of green and gold. It gave the impression of a field of tulips stretching from one end of the house to the other.
    Looking down the long passage, Tilly admired the highly polished floors and banisters, which shone like glass. Someone had been very hard at work, she could tell. She caught a glimpse of a room to the right, which she presumed to be the parlor, and could see the scullery at the very back of the house. Just inside the door was an umbrella stand, and on the wall to her left hung a large beveled mirror, reflecting the light of a small hall lantern and making the passage feel larger than it was. Catching a glimpse of her reflection, Tilly adjusted her hat and rubbed at a smudge of soot on her cheek.
    â€œI’m the housemother next door at Number Five. Rosebud,” Mrs. Pearce said. She had hardly paused for breath. “Unfortunately, we’ve had quite the turn of events these last few days, and poor Mrs. Harris, the housemother here, finds herself with a broken leg!”
    â€œGoodness. That’s terrible. I hope she’ll be all right.” Despite her words, Tilly could think only of the repercussions Mrs. Harris’s injury would have on her.
    â€œYes, it’s dreadful bad luck—not to mention, awful timing. The poor woman. But never mind, these things are sent to try us!” Mrs. Pearce chuckled to herself good-naturedly as she took up a corner of her white apron, using it to wipe her hands, which were covered in flour. “Anyway,” she continued, “she asked me to step in and show you the ropes until she’s back on her feet. Oh! Hark at me. ‘Back on her feet!’ My, oh, my!”
    Tilly’s heart sank. How was she ever going to