Violet - Book Two

twenty one

My insides drop. Oliver Kingston - the murderer of Aggie.

"I thought he was locked up?" Enoch alleges from his position beside Miss Peregrine.

"He must have broken out," Jake answers assertively. "Probably with some help-"

"Children." Miss Peregrine says clearly, stopping Jake in his tracks. "It's no longer safe for us here if what Jake and Emma say is true. Now listen carefully."

The headmistress slowly makes her way from behind the couch to the other side of the coffee table, in order to address us all directly. A hushed burble of surprise at her decision follows, however it is silenced by a sincere stare from Miss Peregrine. I keep an arm around Emma - she is still quivering in fright.

"I'm going to make a few telephone calls now, and whilst I do that I want all of you to retrieve your suitcases from wherever they may be. You must pack one change of clothes, your nightwear and anything else of importance. One item of luggage only, do you all understand?"

A pause: then a nervous utterance from all saying "yes, Miss Peregrine."

"Good, make sure your belonging are downstairs as soon as possible. Emma and Jake should remain down here to assist me. Bronwyn," Her head turns towards the young girl before her. "Could you take the luggage down to the beach once everybody has brought their luggage down?"

"Yes Miss Peregrine."

She flashes a feigned but somewhat reassuring smile at all of us before looking up at the clock atop the mantelpiece. "It is currently fifteen minutes to four. You must all be downstairs ready to leave by half-past-four at the latest."

She suddenly disappears out into the hall, where the telephone resides. Her exit is a silent cue for everyone else to make a dash for the staircase. Not a word is spoken from housemate to housemate.

I swing on the bannister at the top of the stairs and briskly walk towards my bedroom for what I presume to be the final time. Once inside, I stand on my vanity stool to reach the top of my armoire where my luggage lies, dusty and neglected.

It makes a 'clunk' sound against the door when I pull it down from its spot, and set it down on my bed. Returning to my wardrobe, I throw a few clothing items towards my open luggage and find a more suitable outfit for me to travel in - which I change into quickly. I force myself to make a sad farewell to my beloved wardrobe, as I push the doors shut for the last time.

My pyjamas and my new nightdress are shoved into the corner of the case, beside my blue baby dolls which I changed from into brown brogues. I take the jewellery Enoch gave me and place it in a little box along with my favourite gloves and earrings: it is then slid alongside my folded clothes. A single hardback book, my framed photographs and Enoch's letters join the ensemble before I close the lid and do up the buckles.

I button up the tweed jacket and curl my fingers around the handle of the suitcase. The feeling of the leather against my skin reminds me of the night I left the house in Oxfordshire to come here, only a couple of years prior. Now I'm leaving for good.

My shoes clicking against the floorboards, I stand at the doorway to say a silent goodbye to my bedroom. The well-loved plants I received from Enoch are doomed to perish in their pots, whilst the furniture and my clothes will gather dust forever more. It's all rather upsetting, really.

Before I get overly emotional over inanimate objects, I make a dash for the corridor. I happen to cross paths with a flustered Millard, who has reappeared fully dressed for once, and clutching a brown bowling bag.

"Where have you been?" I ask him as we descend the stairwell together.

"I was there all along, you just couldn't see me." His disembodied voice chirps, surprisingly cheery considering the rather frightening circumstances.

A small pile of luggage has appeared in the centre of the hallway. Millard lunges forward and balances his patterned luggage atop a large trunk with the lettering 'H.S' on the side - standing for Horace Sumnusson, of course. I move around the side of the pile and slip the leather cuboid into a corner, where it fits quite snugly.

The house is reminiscent of a panicked beehive. Emma and Jake stand close to the door, observing the events with anxious expressions. Olive bustles past clutching a large paper bag which I assume contains the leftovers from the tea party. Bronwyn enters through the front door, picks up two items of luggage in each little hand and waddles back out again, shutting the door behind her using her foot. In amongst the pattering of feet I can hear Miss Peregrine nattering into the telephone, however her words are indecipherable.

Deciding on going to the garden for some fresh air, I weave my way past my housemates towards the kitchen. It's empty, but I find a familiar face in the utility. He's ransacked the cabinet and put the contents into a small leather pouch.

"What are you doing?" I ask Enoch, sidling up beside him.

"Just taking some stuff with me." He pulls the drawstrings on the pouch closed. "I might get bored wherever it is we end up."

He holds he bag up for a second, inspecting it, before sliding it into his cardigan pocket.

"I'll put that in my bag at some stage." His big eyes stare down into mine, pondering. "How are you feeling?"

His words linger in the air between us for a while, as I suddenly realise I'm not feeling an awful lot at this moment.

"Frightened." is the only word that springs to mind. My voice wobbles as I speak. "I'm frightened."

"My wee Violet." He sighs, pulling me close in his arms. I clutch onto him for dear life. "We've got some time, let's go upstairs for a bit, eh?"