Candlelit Madness: A 1920s Historical Mystery Anthology including Violet Carlyle

by Beth Byers

  Harvey didn’t notice her, but Samantha’s gaze caught Hettie’s and the once-friend arched her brow. There was a twitch about her lips proclaiming amusement that made Hettie want to vomit again. Instead, Hettie nodded once and then walked with as much dignity as she could out of the restaurant.

  She reached the street where the doorman offered to get her a cab, and Hettie nodded without thinking of where she wanted to go. When the doorman opened the door for her, Hettie slid into the seat and then stammered out the name of the hotel where she and Harvey were staying, unable to think beyond anything but Harvey’s lips press into Samantha’s neck time and again. It replayed through Hettie’s mind like a cruel cosmic joke.

  Hettie noticed after some time that her hands were shaking.

  “You all right, lady?” the cabbie asked.

  Hettie shook her head.

  “You want me to go in and get someone for you?”

  Hettie shook her head again, feeling the need to vomit once more. She breathed slowly in and out. There was one word ricocheting through her head over and over again, but she knew the answer. The word was: Why. It was both a question and a mockery of her heart. She knew why. She’d known the second she’d seen Samantha in Harvey’s arms. Why he’d chosen Hettie? Why he’d moved from Hettie to Samantha…Hettie paused and shook her head. Not that.

  Samantha Braniff was beautiful, clever, charming, and the scholarship student.

  The scholarship student. Hettie had never cared about Samantha’s lack of money until the current moment. The cabbie opened the cab door for her, and Hettie slowly stepped out, taking his proffered hand.

  “You sure you don’t need help inside?”

  Hettie shook her head and handed him the money in her wallet. He glanced down at it, eyes wide and then shook his head. “Lady, it’s too much.”

  “You’re kinder than you need to be,” Hettie told him blankly. Her gaze was already fixed beyond him as she mumbled, “And I am richer than I need to be. Have some.”

  She patted him on the shoulder and left him with the wad of money as she made her way into the hotel. The cabbie followed, waving the doorman over and told him, “She’s not well.”

  The doorman took her gently by the arm. “Would you like me to send for the doctor? Your husband?”

  Hettie jerked and then blinked rapidly. Her husband? Was this a vicious joke? She shook her head again, noting the quick glance between the doorman and the cabbie, then shuddered with shame. Did everyone have to know what a terrible mistake she’d made?

  She walked slowly to the elevator and the attendant took her straight to her floor without a word from her. She blinked a little stupidly and then dug her key out of her wrist bag. Her fingers were still shaking as she attempted to get the key into the lock. She stumbled into the suite.

  She had been hurt when Harvey had said that they should get a suite with two bedrooms. Now, she knew why. That stupid story about spending time with his brothers and being out late. Was it even possible that she could be more naïve? She sighed and then crossed to her bedroom. She took off her dress, throwing it towards the corner. She’d bought the dress for Harvey, and she’d never wear it again.

  Hettie paused for a long time and then glanced back. She hadn’t bought that dress for Harvey. She bought it for herself, hoping Harvey would find her lovely in it. But…she’d bought it because she felt lovely in it.

  In her lingerie, she crossed back to the dress, picked it up, and tossed it towards the bed before she peeled off her stockings. She hauled the closet doors open and walked in and started throwing dresses out. She’d bought a good half-dozen pale pink dresses because Harvey had told her he liked them.

  She sighed. Samantha Braniff did look lovely in pale pink. Hettie had, in fact, given Samantha a few of the dresses she’d gotten. Hettie wasn’t sure she’d ever want to wear the color again, but she wouldn’t make any decisions yet. After all, it wasn’t the color’s fault that her husband was a vicious, cheating pretender who had lied to Hettie about liking the color on her.

  Hettie paused in her excavation and turned slowly as a thought struck her. She crossed to her desk where the mother of pearl box had prominent position.

  Slowly, Hettie opened the box and pulled out the letters.

  The first letter quoted both Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Edgar Allan Poe. Di mi! Hettie swore, thinking she was epically stupid.

  “You know, my girl,” she said aloud, “you really should have known when the fellow referred to two of your favorite writers.”

  Hettie was coming to a realization that she’d been targeted. She’d been sought out, and targeted, and…and…caught like a fish in a barrel.

  Hettie read through the pile of the letters, noting how Harvey seemed to know her insecurities, the way she’d always despised the color of her skin, the way she had always felt terribly plump when it was the style to be very thin. Harvey had known just what to say.

  How long, she thought, had Hettie’s inheritance been supporting both Harvey and Samantha? She crossed to her desk and started digging through her papers. It took only minutes to see a few cheques had been written that Hettie hadn’t written. Her gaze narrowed as she flipped through bills. That had been a very distinctive dress that Samantha had been wearing.

  Hettie rose, glanced out the window, and then looked towards Harvey’s room. He wasn’t back yet. She crossed to it, taking the things she’d purchased for him, the pile of cash on the bedside table, and emptied his safe. She removed all of the things to her handbag since she was too well aware of how Harvey would finagle a servant into giving him access to her things.

  She packed her bags and called for a servant to take them to storage while she waited for a tolerable hour.

  The next morning, with Harvey still absent, Hettie made her way first to the dress shop where she demanded all of the bills that had been sent to her hotel.

  It took only the frantic, terrified gaze of the shop girl for Hettie to realize she’d been paying for Samantha’s clothes. Hettie had covered the bill for her own purchases, and she told the proprietress coolly, “I hope you have an alternate way of receiving payment for this account, for I won’t be paying it again.”

  The woman said nothing, but her gaze turned bug-eyed.

  Hettie glanced around at her favorite shop and then left. Never would she buy from such criminals again. She journeyed from the dress shop to the bank and demanded the manager. A few minutes and a very uncomfortable conversation later and the account was closed with a new account opened. From there, Hettie went to see her solicitor.

  Hettie did not have an appointment, but her account was large enough that the man she usually saw dropped everything. Hettie discussed the chances of her getting a divorce or even a legal separation.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hughes,” he said.

  “Call me Hettie,” she replied, nauseous at the last name. “There’s nothing I can do?”

  “To break between you legally?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “He’s adulterous.”

  The solicitor cleared his throat and gently said, “I am sorry, ma’am. You could separate yourself but not legally remove him from your life.”

  Hettie sighed, staring into the distance and then changed her will instead. Her money had been very carefully wrapped up for herself. She stared at the conventions her family had insisted upon and realized that they had recognized Harvey for a snake when she had not.

  “My goodness,” Hettie told the solicitor. “It must be very trying for you to have a naïve and dim-witted client like me.”

  The assurances that she was no such thing did not change Hettie’s view. She sighed as she left the solicitor’s office. She couldn’t rid herself of Harvey, but she could rid Harvey of Samantha. Because if the fool thought that Hettie would continue to finance himself and his lover—especially the lover who had thought to entrap Hettie—they were both very, very wrong.

  Hett
ie found her way to the port. It took a while to find a ship and then purchase tickets—separate cabins—but she did. She then wrote the first reply to his letters he’d ever received:

  The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone

  What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,

  Is much more common where the soul’s

  Born weak.

  Harvey—

  I have uncovered your designs, your lover, and what you are. I wish I could say I was surprised. Instead, all seems clear. You learned of my wealth and my weakness through Miss Braniff and engaged in a careful war on my heart.

  Shall I congratulate you that you won the early battles? You’ll discover the later battles are much more difficult on a wary heart. Perhaps, I should add both on a wary heart and wary pocketbook.

  I wish it hurt less. Regardless, I have no intent of continuing to finance your lover. Do as you wish. I, however, have decided upon some days in Greece and perhaps Paris until such time as it is possible for me to rid myself of you.

  There is a cabin for you if you wish to take it. Please understand that the days of my blindness are over as are the days of my indulgence. I declare now that should the day arrive that I can divorce myself of you, I will do so. I declare now that I will never, ever pay your mistress’s bills again. Should you choose to avail yourself of the cabin on the Queen Seraphina, you do so with the foreknowledge that an allowance is all you’ll get from me.

  My heart, not that you want it, is forever unattainable.

  In disgust,

  Hettie

  Hettie had to write the letter three times. She found as she wrote one without a single teardrop an awareness of what she mourned. It was not, after all, Harvey. It was the lack of Harvey. She had been too keen to fall in love and too innocent to realize what he was. Now, she knew what he was and mourned not the man, but the relationship that would never be. The promise of what was to come.

  The next letter was much easier to write,

  Miss Braniff,

  You wished me knowledge of the truth, enjoyment even. You’ll find that the truth is both an awareness and a bane. You may believe that my shame in being caught will safeguard you against the awareness of the world’s knowledge of what you are. You will also discover that you are incorrect in such an assumption.

  I never cared that you were poor. I was a friend to you in what I thought you were. A witty, clever girl worthy of my esteem. It seems I was as wrong in you as I was in my husband. I am not so ill-informed of the nature of Mrs. Heather Higgins, who has received a lengthy tale of your deception. If my understanding of Mrs. Higgins is correct, I believe you will discover that the circles that once welcomed you no longer do so.

  With such awareness, you’ll discover that your bills also arrive to your own door instead of mine. Perhaps Harvey was generous enough to buy you trinkets with my money that can be used to pay those bills. Perhaps you have another fish on your string who will step in where I will not.

  In disgust,

  Hettie Hughes

  Hettie sent the letters by messenger and then returned home to discuss her fate with her family. It was of no surprise to any of them that she had been blind and stupid. Her father sighed deeply. “I would have wished differently for you.”

  “Darling girl,” her mother said, “you are not the first nor will you be the last who will discover her husband is a philanderer. Like those who have gone before, you’ll survive.”

  Hettie stared at her mother. She had the same eyes, the same complexion, the same soft smile, and the same pain. Her gaze turned to her father, who was looking away and then back to her mother. Slowly, Hettie reached out and took her mother’s hand.

  “I am going to Greece.”

  “Greece?”

  “The rumors will be flying shortly.” Hettie tucked a stray red lock of hair behind her ear. “I’d rather avoid them.”

  “Why should they fly?” Father asked, still avoiding Hettie’s gaze.

  “Father,” Hettie said with an edge of rage, “it’s the dawn of a brighter age. I may be ignorant and blind, but I will not be Harvey’s stiff-upper-lip cipher. Nor will I allow the woman who helped Harvey to slither his way into my affections off so easily.”

  “Do you want to be the world’s dupe?” Father shouted. “You really are stupid, aren’t you?”

  Hettie’s laugh was bitter. “I already am the world’s dupe, Father. Being saddled with Harvey is a bed of my own making. Being saddled with Harvey and smiling about it, isn’t my fate.”

  “Do you think you’re so better than those in the same fate?”

  “I’m less resigned to it. Just think, Father, your granddaughter may find the sheer idea of this conundrum unbelievable. I’ll refuse to countenance for her if no one else.”

  “Harvey can’t just refuse my bills,” Samantha said as Hettie left her parents’ mansion.

  Hettie turned slowly and saw that the smug smile was gone, and there was panic in those lovely sapphire eyes.

  “That sounds like a question for Harvey.”

  “He said you took all his money!”

  “His money?” Hettie laughed and lifted a brow. “Come now, Samantha darling, you always knew it was my money. Did you think I’d keep paying your bills after I enjoyed your truth? Are you really that stupid?” It felt good to point out another’s stupidity given how much she’d berated her own.

  Samantha’s gaze narrowed. “They’ll all know how stupid you are.”

  “They’ll all know the level of your morals. I care little for their opinion of my capabilities.”

  Samantha growled and grabbed Hettie’s arm. “You think I can’t take him from you?”

  “By all means,” Hettie told the woman, “take him. I certainly don’t want him.”

  “Then why did you book him a cabin?” There were actual tears in those eyes.

  “So,” Hettie told her flatly, “you could enjoy the truth. You might have given him the key to my affections, and I’ll admit, I was easier than I should have been. But do you honestly think he loves you?”

  “He doesn’t love you!”

  “Yes,” Hettie said, almost gently, “obviously.”

  Their gazes met for a long time and Samantha finally glanced to the side.

  “He only loves himself.” Hettie shook her head. “I’d tell you I was sorry, but I’m not. You got what was coming to you. He’ll get the same. Eventually.”

  “I say,” Harvey said three days later, “the candlelight is rather pretty reflecting against the windows, isn’t it?”

  Hettie glanced up from her champagne glass and then looked at the candles. They were artificial, and Harvey was probably too drunk to tell. She shook her head. “So you decided to come after all?”

  The boat rocked at the moment and he grinned at her abashedly. “Come now. We can move beyond this, can’t we? I…made a mistake.”

  In his precise campaign to win her heart? She hardly thought so. She considered again upon what the solicitor had said. In the artificial candlelight, their artificial love flailed, and Hettie made herself her own promises. She might not have the dreams she’d thought she attained when she’d married him, but she’d find new dreams.

  Somehow…

  …to be continued in….

  Philanderers Gone which can be ordered now.

  July 1922

  If there's one thing to draw you together, it's shared misery.

  Hettie and Ro married manipulative, lying, money-grubbing pigs. Therefore, they were instant friends. When those philandering dirtbags died, they found themselves the subjects of a murder investigation. Did they kill their husbands? No. Did they joke about it? Maybe. Do they need to find the killer before the crime is pinned on them? They do!

  Join Hettie and Ro and their growing friendship as they delve into their own lives to find a killer, a best friend, and perhaps a brighter new outlook.

  Copyright © 2019 by Beth Byers, Bettie Jane, Carolyn L. Dean, C. Jane Reid

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