by Beth Byers
“So the message on the mirror was not from you?” Ham’s gaze was fixed on Rita’s face and she blushed deeply as they were led to their table. She muttered something low to Ham that the rest of them could not hear, but when Violet’s interested gaze fell upon the couple, she didn’t miss the way Ham had tangled his fingers with Rita’s.
“What did you do?” Jack asked Violet again.
“Wiled away the afternoon,” Violet suggested.
“I assumed you’d have gone shopping.”
“We did,” Rita said evilly. Her wicked cackle had everyone turning her way, and then she shrugged both innocently and entirely unconvincingly.
“Vi?” Victor asked. His gaze met hers and she met his gaze openly. Firstly, he could read her like a book. Secondly, he could never guess what they’d done. Therefore thirdly, despite his twin abilities, there was no reason to believe he could share anything Vi was hiding.
“They seemed to have dyed muslin with tea and shredded it. Simply bolts of it,” Ham reported after ordering a stiff drink. “Artfully strung about my rooms as though some sort of cross between spiders and cobwebs had attacked my home.”
Victor accepted his G&T and laughed.
“Violet, I believe, was responsible for a diorama of taxidermy next to my bed.”
Vi simply sipped her drink, a Bee’s Knees, and tried to convey the honeyed sweetness in her expression. She didn’t seem to be successful, but she clung to her efforts all the same.
“Rita, however,” Ham continued, “left me a message in a rather disturbing shade of orange on my mirror. I’m not certain that the girl who cleans my rooms will be able to get it off with any accuracy. She also hid all my ties, short-sheeted my bed, and removed all of the wine, gin, whiskey, and bourbon from my rooms. I had to suffer the indignities of their wanton corruption without any solace. She left me a series of notes in my books, all of which had been turned spine inward.”
“Why do you think that was me?” Rita demanded.
“Violet is much neater than you. If she’d turned them around, they’d have been rearranged into proper order and neatly lined on the shelves.”
“Your shelves do give me hives,” Violet said idly as she sipped her cocktail again, ignoring the shocked looks that were being sent her and Rita’s way. As she met Jack’s gaze, she told him, “Rita had a message to give Ham. I was merely an instrument in her delivery.”
“So you bought him taxidermy.”
“They gave the squirrel rather effeminate eyelashes. It couldn’t be left to suffer in that dust shop.”
“You took his bourbon?” Victor asked, aghast. “Vi!”
“I didn’t,” Violet countered. “I felt quite badly, so I left Ham a box of chocolates and a bottle of quite old scotch. Rita, however, said he’d have to suffer without my gift.”
“Someone ate one bite of each chocolate.”
“I was hungry,” Rita lied. “Vi made quite a pig of herself with the petit fours.”
Vi gasped, gaze narrowed on Rita, who refused to admit to her lie. “She thought it would be funny. I disagreed.”
Denny shook his head. “I feel left out.”
“They took my wine and bourbon,” Ham told Denny flatly.
“I think I could survive long enough for a delivery.”
“They ate my chocolate,” Ham added.
At that, Denny shuddered. “You can strike our home with your mischief all the same. Lila’s mother has decided to bring Martha to London, so just wait for them. I think…dare I say…Lila and I are going to flee. We’re thinking Paris. I suspect if we stay anywhere nearby that her mother will use it as a prod and arguing point for the rest of our lives.” He put on a high-pitched voice. “Remember that time you abandoned us in London while you went to the Lake Country? Every single Christmas. Every single family dinner. At every single request for every single future favor. A trip to the continent will look more planned.”
Violet snorted and then groaned as every single person at their table turned on her. “I know! I know! We’re supposed to be stopping.”
Jack took mercy on Violet and told the others of what had happened to his auto. “What have you learned?” he asked Ham after his impassioned description.
“It’s not great,” Ham admitted. “Hugo Danvers escaped from his work detail about four weeks ago. He was pretty far from London, so the locals haven’t picked up the story, but he could be here by now.”
“Where’s Isolde?” Jack asked Violet. Both of them were immediately worried about Vi’s sister who had once been kidnapped by the criminal. “Are they still at the country property?”
Violet shook her head. “They’re in Brussels. My stepmother appeared, and they finally left their own house to get rid of her.” Violet met Jack’s gaze and then said, “I’m sure he does hate us.”
“And Ginny is with us,” Victor added. “If he knows that Ginny is here, he might add her into his revenge.”
“Maybe we should send her away?” Violet asked and then shook her head and answered her own question. “I don’t think we can do that. I am almost positive she’s testing us to see if we want her around.”
“I agree with that,” Kate said.
“I need another drink.” Victor lifted a finger for the waiter and ordered second drinks for all of them while they added their orders for dinner as well.
“I feel like needing another drink is the theme of this prankster,” Violet said. “What is going to happen next? And will it finally end somehow being of greater damage than replacing parts of the auto or adding cats to the house?”
They ate with that glum thought hanging over them. They danced later and had cocktails and spun under the lights and things seemed brighter. Finally, Jack said, “Let’s go home.”
“Mmm,” Violet agreed, laying her head on his arm. It must have been past two o’clock in the morning when she and Jack left the club. Victor and Kate had left long before, but they had to worry about their babies, given the prankster.
Violet snoozed against Jack’s arm until they arrived at their house. Jack growled and Violet woke to the sound of his voice. “Something happened, Vi.”
The house was not lit-up, which is what she would have expected if something had happened. But Hargreaves was standing with the local constable on the front step. Jack got out of the black cab and handed Violet out after him, paying the man while Violet slowly walked towards the house.
“I almost don’t want to know. What if there’s feces on our bed now?”
Jack shook his head and put his arm around her. “What happened, Hargreaves?”
“Someone broke the back window,” he said, sounding as bothered as the rest of them. “Whoever it was broke every lightbulb in the house and left the furniture and beds strewn with glass. Small things were taken, but thankfully, I’d had the girls lock up the more expensive items earlier this morning. I’m afraid your manuscript was tossed on the fire, ma’am.”
Violet gasped and to her surprise, tears filled her eyes. She had been nearly done. “Oh,” was all she said. She glanced at Jack, at Hargreaves, and then muttered, “I’m going to my room at Victor’s.”
She left them all, but Jack followed quickly, walking her to the house, unlocking the door, and seeing her inside. Vi wanted nothing more than to open Victor’s door and tell him she was there, but she couldn’t risk waking the babies. Instead, she cracked the door and whispered, “Holmes?”
A moment later, both of her dogs appeared in the doorway, followed by a sleepy Victor. He took one look at Vi’s face and went back for the basket of puppies as Violet made her way to her old bedroom. She hadn’t slept in it since she’d married Jack, and she’d never expected to feel so sad when she stood in the doorway again.
Victor settled the puppies near the fireplace, lit the fire that had been laid, and left again without a word.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked.
Vi nodded, but it was a lie.
“I need to talk to Hargreaves a
nd the constable. I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded, and it was fine. It wasn’t so much that she was scared or hurt. She was haunted. Someone walked through her house. They’d taken something she’d worked on for weeks and destroyed it. They could have easily taken the pearls that Victor had bought her in Cuba or the long strand of creamy white pearls that Aunt Agatha had given her. They could have destroyed her small painting of Aunt Agatha on the vanity.
Violet pressed her lips together and changed into the nightgown that Victor brought. He took a seat in the chair near her fire while she disappeared into the bath to wash her face, clean her teeth, and change into the pajamas. He’d even brought her one of the kimonos she’d given Kate, which felt like home.
“They ruined the book,” Violet told him, taking the chair opposite him. His low curse illustrated her feelings as well.
“Anything else?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t been able to work the bottom part of the lightbulbs out. I guess they didn’t take them out and crush them. They broke them still in the fixtures. Hargreaves had only been able to light lanterns. Plus it’s too late to bring a man in to fix things or to clean it well.”
“You’re going to have to add me to the list of those who might commit murder, Vi. Are you going to have to replace everything? Maybe we should just flee to the country?”
Vi shrugged. She had no idea how it would all go. Would she throw herself on her bed a few weeks from now and have a random piece of missed glass cut her? Would their servants all quit, finding the aggravation not worth the pay? “We’ve invited all of our friends to the party at the museum, Victor.”
“After,” Victor suggested.
“After,” Violet agreed.
Violet sighed as she looked towards the door of her bedroom. She knew that Jack was still dealing with whatever had happened and she knew he’d come before too much longer. She hadn’t expected her house to feel quite so….violated. But that was the right word.
Chapter 8
Violet woke in her old room and frowned. Jack had left while Violet was still sleeping, placing a kiss on her forehead before disappearing. She took in a deep breath and then dug through her closet until she found an old dress. It was gray to match her mood, but she refused to succumb to the blue days just because some…some…fiend was messing with them.
Violet popped a bright pink jumper over the top of her gray dress, found her way to Kate’s dressing room and put on a pretty pink rouge to give her face the flush of happiness, and then added some of Kate’s pale pink lipstick. A little mascara and Violet felt as though she could face whatever had happened at her house.
Because she could, she took her dogs down to the garden and played with them—puppies included—until they were panting, curled up under the bushes, and then Violet took them inside just in case the criminal turned his or her attention to Victor’s house.
She followed the path between Victor’s house to her own and approached from behind. There was already a man at the window, removing the broken shards to add a new glass.
Violet watched for a while and then walked into her house. There was a small fleet of men working in the hallway. Two were on ladders dismantling the lighting fixtures while others were cleaning the floors. Hargreaves hadn’t just brought in their servants, he seemed to have hired a whole army of additional servants.
Violet shook her head and slowly walked through the house. Two women were carrying an oriental rug out through the front door. Violet watched as they carried the rug out to the street where they could beat the glass off of the rugs and then sweep it up. There were a couple more servants out there already, beating another rug that she thought came from her office.
Jack’s auto was gone from in front of the house, and Violet assumed that Hargreaves had taken care of that as well. Vi found her way to Beatrice’s office. Vi’s former maid was rearranging stacks of papers by the light of the open window.
“Here too?” Vi asked.
Beatrice gasped as she grabbed her chest. “Oh!”
“I’m sorry,” Vi laughed. “I’m jumpy too. I’m just surprised whoever this is went after you too.”
“I think they were just spreading mischief,” Beatrice admitted. “Mostly my papers were shuffled and all the lights were affected.”
Violet sighed as she glanced around. She could see that there just weren’t enough brooms to go around and Beatrice hadn’t been able to sweep up the glass in her office. The crunch, crunch of it would probably scratch the floors, Vi thought, and they’d be refinishing them shortly even though they had just before they moved into the house.
Violet smiled at Beatrice, inquired after her family, and left the maid to sort out her regular letters from the party organizing and from the reports on the orphanage that Violet and Victor supported.
Violet hurried towards Jack’s office and found him watching as one of the men in overalls used pliers to remove the remains of the last lightbulb.
“We’ve got the electricity turned off,” the man said, “so we can’t test it quite yet, but you should be sorted out.”
The maids had already worked in Jack’s office. All signs of crushed glass were gone.
“They used our china too,” Jack told Violet. She winced and then muttered, “All of it? Even Aunt Agatha’s?”
He frowned as he nodded and Violet had to fight another flood of tears. She was going to commit murder, she thought. She was going to find this fiend, take them captive, torture them, destroy the things they loved, and then smother them to death.
Rather than cry, Violet fisted her hands.
“Perhaps we should call off the party,” Jack suggested.
Violet shook her head. She’d be…well, she’d be damned if this person drove Violet into admitting defeat. “We’ve already paid for it all, Jack. What else can they do? No. We’re having the party and we’re setting a trap.”
“Agreed,” Jack said. “I’ve already talked to John Smith. That man is sneaky enough to catch anyone. He’s going to be lurking and seeing what he can find. Perhaps we have an unknown enemy.”
Violet shook her head, wondering what they could have possibly done to deserve this. She pretended to smile and kissed Jack’s cheek, but she knew he didn’t believe her lie of a grin any more than she believed his.
“It’ll be all right, Vi darling.”
How could they say such a thing? They were blindsided with each attack even when they thought they’d prepared. Who’d have imagined that someone would be bold enough to dump manure in Jack’s auto and get away with it?
“The constable will be back this morning with another man from Scotland Yard,” Jack told her. “I called Ham even though this is a little petty of a crime for what he normally does. It turns out his superiors minded less when he emphasized who your father was.”
“Ah, the good earl,” Violet muttered and then winked when Jack examined her too closely. Vi both hated the special treatment her father could invoke for her and used it often enough to know she was a bit of a hypocrite.
She left him, clinging to the lie of happiness as she made her way to her own office. If there was a particular viciousness aimed at their house, it was here. Her typewriter had been flung over. The maid had righted it, but Violet could see that it would need to be repaired. A new girl was working in the corner. She had a soft look about her as she swept the floors and she was doing quite a poor job of it.
“Would you leave, please,” Violet told her. “Send my secretary Beatrice to me.”
Once the girl left, Violet took the broom she’d been using so poorly and swept. Removing the glass helped more than just watching. She watched the bristles of the broom scoop up the shards of glass and made quite a pile of it, noting the blue painted china amid the destroyed lightbulb.
There was something soothing in taking her office back, but when she’d dusted her bookshelves, removed the glass, and cleaned her desk, Beatrice still hadn’t arrived.
Violet rang th
e bell and found that Hargreaves himself had answered it.
“What happened to the girl I put in here?” His eyes glinted with anger and Violet shushed him.
“It’s fine,” Vi said, “though, I did send the girl for Beatrice and was hoping someone could send her along. As for the room, I suppose that cleaning it myself makes me feel like I’m taking it back from whoever did this to us.”
“They’ve nearly repaired all the fixtures, ma’am,” Hargreaves said. “We’ll be turning on the electricity again shortly to see if anything was permanently broken.”
Vi nodded and then faced Hargreaves. “Are we going to lose anyone over this?”
Hargreaves shook his head. “Bringing in the extra help and offering bonuses helps. It also helps that you’re good to them. They hear the horror stories from their peers, ma’am.”
Violet shook her head, but she wasn’t surprised. She was of the opinion that if you always treated the staff well, they were less likely to tell other people your secrets. She was certain that they knew at least most of the things she wouldn’t announce in a newsletter.
Violet pressed her forehead and took a seat, hopping back up. The glass hadn’t been swept from her chair, but her skirt was thick enough to prevent cuts. She shook her dress out as Hargreaves used a dust rag to wipe her chair thoroughly.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded and then leaned back. “Just send Beatrice, would you? Also, order a new typewriter and send this one to be repaired.”
Hargreaves disappeared as Violet started working through her desk. Her manuscript had been destroyed, but there was also her letters and things that had been rifled through. Violet left her office and went to her bedroom. It had been thoroughly cleaned. Any sign of what had been done there had been removed. She heard a loud snap and then the overhead light turned on.
Violet saw a large black cat sitting in the corner of her room, and she hoped that it hadn’t been hurt after the last day. She hadn’t even considered the poor things.
Beatrice appeared a few minutes later and Violet said, “I need to focus on the party."
