Free The Violet Hour by Brynn Chapman

no accident. It’s message; all roads lead to commerce here in Charleston.
    The sky is a clear, cloudless blue and the clops of the mare’s feet are attempting to lull me into security. But I will not hear of it.
    Vexation is as much a part of me as breathing, this I have come to accept as my newfound reality.
    But recently, worry and angst have thwarted any other emotion that used to reside inside me.
    My mind is full of her once again. This may be my greatest vexation. I need my mind to be focused. It is selfish to want her.
    I have done something despicable, completely unthinkable. I have eavesdropped on Allegra, fabricated reasons to be in her proximity.
    As I worked on arc lamps, I have heard her teaching her charges to play. She was so utterly kind to all of her students. So patient. There is no falsehood in her.
    My mother once said, Judge a person by the way they treat those who can do nothing for them. Allegra’s heart beats true. Too true. This world is not a place for the kind. Her goodness reminds me of George.
    I run my fingers roughly through my hair and grip the reins tighter. My mind breaks free of my careful self-control—releasing an onslaught of images through my mind; I wish to know everything about her. To touch her, to never have her out of my sight. To protect her. My heart stops when I see her…
    “For the love of all that is holy. You are a lost cause,” I murmur.
    I grind my teeth and force my wits to the task at hand.
    My shipment of chemicals, necessary for the oh-so-vital pyrotechnic, should’ve arrived weeks ago. But with the political climate…with talk of succession, impending war, shipments had been late, if arriving at all.
    As the carriage rattles by the local pub, my eye is drawn to the multi-colored flyers; advertisements are plastered all about the windows.
    One is for Charleston’s Fancy. Orchestra! Moonlight! Magnificent!
    A faded poster titled, Come See Miss Mary Marvel-The musical crown-jewel of Europe. One Night Only.
    My eyes skip across several others and click back as my breath catches.
    “Brighton.” I cock my head, confused. Someone calls again, “ Brighton !”
    My head quickly swivels away from the advertisements. Indeed I cluck to the horses, putting as much space between me and them as possible.
    Silas . Perfect.
    “Whoa.” I tug on the reins and the team halts before him, his white walking stick swinging.
    I have it on authority from local slaves that stick has everything to do with caning and naught to do with walking.
    Silas steps toward the carriage, his hand raised in greeting. “What brings the mysterious Monsieur LeFroy to the glorious port of Charleston this day?” He flutters his fingers mockingly.
    “Your pyrotechnics. And you had better pray the shipment has arrived or your new production will be decidedly less colorful.” I grind my teeth together.
    “Ah. Well, good. I shan’t detain you then. Commerce must commence. And more importantly, the show must go on.” Silas steps away, heading toward the water, walking stick swinging jauntily at his side.
    I cluck and the team ambles forward. When they try to break into a trot, knowing the water is their destination I pull back on the reins to slow their pace, waiting till Silas’s back disappears into the customs building.
    “Whoa.” I flip the reins around a hitching post and vault from the seat, striding down the street as quickly as I can manage without drawing undue attention.
    “Mam. Sir,” I say genially, tipping my hat, weaving my way past townsfolk, my eyes fixated on the poster. With a sideways glance, I snatch it from the window, fold it and stuff it into my waistcoat pocket.
    Hurrying back to the team, my breath is coming hard and fast as I slide into the driver’s bench.
    As each fold opens, dread seeps thicker and thicker into my mouth.
    Have you seen this woman?
    Missing. Miss Katherine Manners, Cellist and Musical Prodigy.
    Miss Manners was last seen performing in the state of