The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Boxset 2

by Beth Byers

  She opened another and read. This letter referred to the way Harriet cried over the wall where Ethan Knight’s name had been carved. The way Harriet traced his name each time she went. The promise that she would love another again—the one who loved her. The admirer. One who waited in the wings. Violet felt sick as she read the pages. There was nothing truly romantic here. Just too much watching, too much noting, too much obsession. Harriet had hidden these letters. Had she been intrigued or horrified? Just because Violet found them alarming didn’t mean Harriet had felt the same.

  Violet’s hand was shaking. Poor Harriet! Had anyone known of this, this…hunter? He’d tracked and documented and commented without regard to how helpless Harriet might feel knowing she was being silently and distantly pursued.

  Violet bit her lip again and glanced up as Lila entered.

  “I have the last journals. The ones that go back to around when I left.”

  Violet nodded. She picked up the stack of letters, glanced around, and then whispered, “Look up March 27, 1922.”

  Lila looked at Violet, frowning, but did as asked. It took Lila several journals to find the right time frame. Then Lila read,

  “I got another letter today. It was on the piano bench when I returned home from visiting the monument. How did I miss him? Who is it? Why won’t he leave me alone? I’ve left him notes, asking him to leave me be. But nothing…now when Henry asks me for a drive or Hank makes a joke about making me fall in love with him, I don’t know who to trust. All I know for sure is that I can’t find myself married to someone who would follow me and ignore my pleas to leave me in peace.”

  Violet related—at least somewhat—to what Harriet had written. Not because Jack was like this ‘admirer’ but because Jack was the opposite. He’d shown Violet what could be possible by how he treated her. Vi, herself, had first become attracted to Jack when she’d realized that he saw her. Not her the earl’s daughter or the twin or the writer or—eventually—the heiress. He’d seen Violet. The sometimes crabby, sometimes blue, sometimes unkind, sometimes loving, sometimes weak woman and found her to be all he wanted.

  “Oh my,” Lila said. “I visited after this. I spent a whole afternoon with Harriet. When I asked her about falling in love again, she told me it was impossible. I thought…my goodness, Vi…I thought she meant that she was still in love with poor Ethan.”

  Violet took Lila’s hand again. “She was. Of course she was. She cared for his mother and visited the monument where his name was carved. Her love and her heart…they’re wherever his body is buried.”

  Lila’s hands were shaking as she looked at the stack of letters and a tear slipped down her cheek. “If she’d said something, Denny and I would have made room for her. We’d have helped her get away from whoever drove her to write this.” Lila lifted the journal and then let it fall closed.

  “Was Mrs. Knight gone by then?”

  Lila’s gaze lifted and then she slowly shook her head.

  “Then she wouldn’t have left.”

  Lila nodded. “We have to go. We have to take these things. We have to figure this out.”

  They stacked up what they could and returned to the house. The two of them took over the dining room table, stacking the letters by year and then by month. When they were finished, the letters progressed from a year after Ethan’s death when the writer assumed Harriet was done grieving.

  Her love had been lost, a year had passed, the war was over, it was time—he wrote—to move on.

  Harriet’s responses were written in her journal, and she had been baffled and angry. She finished her rage-filled entry with, How could I be done with loving Ethan after only a year? How could I ever be done loving him? I can still see his face so clearly. Those blue eyes that loved me. He knew me and loved me even when I was awkward. It was him who loved me first. His strong fingers that made me feel safe. His words that told me I was everything, that made me believe it. When you have been everything…what else is there?

  Violet’s hand trembled with emotion as she traced Harriet’s words on the page. She looked up to see Lila crying even harder. “You are everything to Denny.”

  “I know,” she said. It wasn’t an arrogant statement or an ungrateful one. Lila knew she was loved. “I can’t imagine carrying on as Harriet did. If I had lost Denny like Harriet lost Ethan, I couldn’t have been bright again. I couldn’t have sung those songs and been a star like she was. She was so much stronger than I knew.”

  Violet and Lila were certain after reading the letters and the journal entries that they’d discovered the words of the killer. It wasn’t any one specific thing in the letters so much as there had been a man who had followed Harriet, haunted her really. Doing that—it wasn’t normal. If you were that outside of what was normal, how far was it really to kill someone?

  What, in fact, were the chances that a girl could be traced and tormented for years and then murdered and have it be two different people? No. No, it must be this ‘admirer.’

  “An admirer,” Lila growled. She slammed her hand down on the table. “What kind of sick joke is this? What kind of demon-engineered prank to force your love on someone like this? To haunt her? He is lucky he never had the strength to sign his actual name. He wouldn’t have to worry about justice from the police. I would run him down with the auto, back it up, and run him down again.”

  Violet rose and paced. When they’d returned to the house, Victor and Denny had left, so they were alone with all of this information. Jack hadn’t returned. Here they were with what was certainly clues about the killer, and even after sending out a servant to uncover the men, they were nowhere to be found.

  Violet groaned as she paced. “They’re avoiding us.”

  Lila looked away from the window. “What do you mean?”

  “They don’t want us to get wrapped up in the investigation. They want to keep us safe. As though just because they aren’t around, we’d stop using our minds and figuring things out. We’ll just have to go and see what Martha knows. She strikes me as a girl who would lurk in the hedges and watch. She might have even seen this admirer.”

  Lila’s brows lifted and then she nodded. They left the house and Violet drove over to Lila’s home. Lila’s parents weren’t there, but Martha had been confined to her room. On the one side, Violet hated that she had been. On the other hand, Violet wanted to scold the girl and possibly slap her palm with a ruler.

  Martha was feeling sorry for herself when she arrived at her bedroom door. She scowled at both Lila and Violet, who let themselves into her room. The girl had been sitting at her vanity, playing with makeup. She’d strewn her bedroom with her dresses, and Violet guessed that she’d spent the day examining her wardrobe and finding it wanting.

  “Are you an animal?” Lila demanded. “You don’t have your own maid, you know.”

  Martha gasped. “Betty will take care of it.”

  “You are a spoilt brat,” Lila told her little sister, who crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

  “Enough,” Violet told them both. “Martha is young. She’ll grow up.”

  “I am grown up,” Martha shot back. “My friend, Alice Carson, is getting married. You don’t get married if you’re a child.”

  “Yes, you do,” Lila said. “If your friend is your age, she’s both a child and getting married.”

  “Please stop,” Violet said. “Martha, you called Harriet a whore the other day.”

  “She was one,” Martha said with a scowl, shooting her sister a nasty look. “Being dead doesn’t change the truth.”

  Before Lila could shoot back a biting remark, Violet raised her hand. “Tell me why.”

  “Ah.” Martha examined Violet as though it was a trap, but Violet simply raised her brows and waited. Every time Lila started to shift, Violet pressed her friend’s hand and waited. A long few minutes later, Martha said, “She was engaged to both of the Henry Wickhams.”

  “Why else?” Violet demanded and waited.

  “R
obert and Donald were both infatuated with her. I am…was…just as pretty as Harriet, but they didn’t even see me.”

  “Who else? Why else?”

  “I saw a man leaving her house once. When her parents were gone. I had stopped by to ask if I could borrow her pearls for a party I was going to, and he was leaving.”

  “Who was it?” Lila demanded sharply.

  Martha jumped. She started to answer but Violet cut in. “It’s important that you are very clear about who you saw or thought you saw.”

  Martha sniffed. “I don’t know. I don’t know who it was. I didn’t see his face. A man. Wearing a suit and a hat. I only saw him from behind. By the time I reached the house, he was gone.”

  “Where did he go? To the road? Out of the back?”

  Martha blinked and frowned. “Well…he must have gone through the break in the hedges. There’s a lane on the other side towards the Wickham house.”

  Violet glanced at Lila, who nodded and added, “Anyone from around here would know of that lane and that break in the hedges. Not just either of the Henry Wickhams.”

  Still though, Violet thought. If they shared a lane, would that explain why the person who had been watching Harriet always knew where she was? Perhaps it was as simple as a good view.

  As though reading her thoughts, Lila said, “Harriet wasn’t always home. She wouldn’t have been easily seen at all the other places. Or all the time she spent with Ethan’s mother. She lived quite on the other side of town.”

  Violet nodded. “It’s a start.” Violet examined Martha, who had been trying to follow their conversation and failing. “Is that the only reason you called her a whore?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Having someone leave your house when you aren’t home isn’t a crime for the victim,” Violet told the girl.

  “Unless she was there.”

  Lila snorted. “You really should spend more time thinking about what you say before it comes out of your mouth.”

  “I found her reading a secret letter,” Martha shot back. “She wouldn’t tell me what was in it. But I saw it was written by a man’s hand. She was pretending to mourn Ethan and carrying on with someone else. He was probably married. That’s probably why she wouldn’t talk about it. She just used Ethan to…to…make herself look virtuous and hide her affairs.”

  Chapter 13

  Violet and Lila glanced at each other. It was getting later in the day and the time for luncheon had come and gone.

  “I need to eat.” Lila adjusted her hat and pushed back her hair. She was so flushed, she was glistening.

  Violet reached over and squeezed Lila’s hand. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Her aunt and uncle hadn’t appeared, so they left the treats they’d brought, took what they needed, and headed out. Lila was certain her aunt would have said something about the hunter of Harriet if her mother had known when they told her about the murder.

  There was no need, Lila shared, to explain about the letters and someone watching Harriet. It would be painful for her mother to realize that Harriet kept so much from her.

  “We need help.” Violet carefully pulled away from Harriet’s home. “We need Kate.”

  “You want Kate because Victor is half in love with her.”

  “She’s also edging towards brilliant and a woman. No man is going to understand to the same degree these things.”

  Lila glanced over. “Well…rather…”

  Violet nodded and slapped her hand against the steering wheel. “She must have been half-afraid for so long. Yet so brave to keep on taking care of Mrs. Knight.”

  Lila wiped away a tear. Violet hadn’t even realized her friend had started to cry. She reached over and took Lila’s hand. Lila gulped back a tear and then wiped her next tear away and put on a brave smile. In the move, Violet could imagine the same expression on Harriet’s face. Vi shuddered with the idea of it—that brave face Harriet must have carried with her despite the burden she was hiding.

  She hadn’t had anyone to turn to for help. How alone she must have felt. Despite that, Violet had liked her immensely. She had seemed like a lot of fun and Vi had been sure that if Harriet had lived in London, the twins would have been part of the same group.

  The level of crime that had been committed against Harriet was growing in Violet’s mind. It wasn’t just the murder, which was terrible indeed. Her peace of mind, her excitement, her safety had been stolen in advance. Had Harriet even been surprised when she was being murdered? Maybe the only surprise had been the identity of her ‘admirer.’

  The burden of what Harriet carried was weighing Violet down. She didn’t see how Jack had been able to be involved in crimes like this one after another. How did he avoid having it ruin the rest of his life?

  Lila directed Violet to Kate’s home. “Turn on your quiet face and solemn thoughts.”

  Violet glanced to her friend. How did you turn on a quiet face? Just treat Mrs. Lancaster like her stepmother, Violet thought. She could do that. She parked the car outside the house. It was a nice place, smaller than Lila and Denny’s, but Violet would have been happy to live in it.

  The steps to the front door were wet with rain that had washed the snow away, and the skies were grey again, matching how Violet was feeling inside—grey with a fire of rage.

  Kate opened the door when Lila knocked. She lifted her brow and then stepped back. “How is your family?”

  “Katherine!” The call was sharp and irritated. “Bring them in! Goodness’ sake girl.”

  Kate smirked instead of blushing and won Violet over a little more. Kate led the way to a parlor where her mother was sitting. “It’s Lila, mother. Her friend, Lady Violet Carlyle, as well. They’ve stopped by to…” Kate looked back and waited.

  “To beg for mercy,” Lila said to Denny’s aunt. “I…well…I’d like to beg for Kate’s assistance even though I know how you rely upon her. May I introduce my friend, Lady Violet Carlyle?”

  Vi smiled prettily and held out her hand. In her mind, she was whispering “solemn” over and over again.

  Mrs. Lancaster looked like an older version of Kate combined with a Catholic nun. Kate’s mother wore a long sleeve, white blouse and a dark grey skirt covered in a grey cardigan. She frowned at the two intruders. “I am not one to leave my family struggling with their burdens. Losing Harriet…you have my deepest condolences. That is not a loss that…”

  Mrs. Lancaster looked at Kate and despite the tales of a controlling mother, there was clear love in that expression. Violet’s judgement of the woman changed, and Mrs. Lancaster won Violet’s affection while Kate sparked Violet’s envy. To have a mother? Invaluable. Violet took a seat near Mrs. Lancaster and grinned at her.

  “We’re just about to have tea. Simple enough, but hearty, if you’d like to join us.”

  “Yes, Aunt, please,” Lila said. “We missed luncheon taking care of other things.”

  A maid brought out a tray loaded with bread and butter, biscuits, and simple sandwiches. Vi wasn’t usually speechless, but the pressure of not ruining things for Victor was causing her to second-guess everything she might have said.

  Violet’s mouth twisted and she glanced at Lila, who had to fight a grin. Kate, however, stepped in and rescued Violet as though she’d been doing it her whole life.

  “Mama, Violet is also a Shakespeare fan.”

  The woman’s lips pursed. She sniffed sharply before she said, “Anyone with half a mind enjoys Shakespeare. Lady Carlyle doesn’t seem to be a complete idiot though you never can tell with the peerage.”

  Violet bit her lip to choke back a laugh while Lila cleared her throat. That just turned Mrs. Lancaster’s attention to Lila instead. “I think the question we all have is whether you’re barren, whether you’re using those new-fangled and ill-advised ways of preventing a child, or perhaps, your husband just prefers to warm other beds? Denny’s uncle, Peter Lancaster, was one to stray far and wide. Perhaps Denny is the same?”

&nb
sp; Violet choked, bit the inside of her mouth, and then carefully set her teacup down. Lila, on the other hand, said, “The new-fangled option.”

  Mrs. Lancaster lifted a brow. “At least you’re not barren. All that money that Denny just inherited being lost to him and passed out of the family to whoever Lila makes her heir. Women always live longer.” Mrs. Lancaster turned to Violet. “That’s how you inherited, isn’t it? The widowed wife left the money to her own family?”

  It took Violet a moment to react. “Well, yes. I suppose so.”

  “You suppose so?” Mrs. Lancaster’s expression was mocking and Violet felt the need to explain.

  “My aunt’s husband died quite a while before her. She took the money she inherited and grew it into a fortune as a way to…ah…spend her time? I believe that his nephew received as much as she inherited initially, if not more.”

  “So you got the difference?” Mrs. Lancaster asked sharply and then refilled everyone’s tea. “You’re too thin child. Eat.”

  Violet took another bite of her sandwich at the demand and then said, “Well, myself, my brother, our cousin. We all received some of it.”

  Mrs. Lancaster sniffed, eyeing Violet as though what she said was clearly a lie. Perhaps a bit of a hedging of the truth as Violet did inherit the largest portion.

  “Mama,” Kate said as Violet took another bite at Mrs. Lancaster’s sharp order. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be prying into their private affairs.”

  “As though we haven’t heard already. This one,” Mrs. Lancaster gestured to Violet, “told this one,” she gestured to Lila. “Now we’ve all heard about the money. I suppose we can dissect it behind closed doors if you prefer, Kate. It’s not like they don’t know Lila blabbed, seeing as how Martha has been throwing herself at the male twin.”

  “I confessed to blabbing,” Lila said. “I hadn’t realized Martha would be quite so forceful when she’d heard about the money.”

  Violet met Lila’s gaze and decided to just be herself. She explained, “My aunt trained all of her nieces and nephews that spent time with her about managing an estate and money. She left the bulk of her funds to me because she felt as though I might not lose it all. I suppose if she’d announced her intent, the others would have studied and listened.”