by Beth Byers
Jack led the way down, torch in hand. Victor refused to let Violet go next, but they all relaxed when they heard Beatrice say, “Stop it, you idiot.”
Vi gasped and called, “Are you all right, Bea?”
“She’s fine. Quite a bump on her head, but she’s too hard-headed for a blow to do her much damage,” John Smith said, turning up the light on his lantern. “I just found her when I realized that idiot Landy was gone.”
“How did you get here?” Vi asked, pushing the rather too attentive John Smith away to free Beatrice.
He handed over his knife and then stepped back when Vi and Beatrice shot him a dark look.
“I was stupid,” Beatrice admitted. “I saw the letters come in through the slot, and it wasn’t time for the mail, so I opened the door and saw a figure running. Who would run but a prankster? I chased her all the way to the museum, to the back gate, and into the cellar where she was, of course, waiting.”
“Who is it?” John Smith and Jack asked in unison.
Violet sawed through the last binding.
“I don’t know,” Beatrice said. “I’d never seen her before.”
“Don’t worry about it. Victor, help her please. Let’s call a doctor.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need a doctor,” John Smith snapped. His pretty angel’s face flushed when they all stared at him. “She just doesn’t look herself.”
“And how would you be knowing how I look?” Beatrice demanded.
“I work for these blokes often enough, don’t I?” Smith jerked his thumb towards the others. “I’ve got eyes. I’m paid to use them. You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” Beatrice said, as she stood. She lost her balance and Violet grabbed at her, but Smith beat Violet to the rescue. “Just a little off-kilter.”
Smith raised a brow at Violet, who shot him a quelling look before she told Beatrice, “You’re seeing a doctor.”
“I really am all right,” Beatrice replied.
“Then you’ll see them for my sake,” Violet countered. “It is an order. Remember, I’m your employer and your friend and I insist. Let’s save the subsequent argument for when you’re better since we both know I’ll win.”
Beatrice didn’t look happy, but she nodded begrudgingly.
“Did you see Landy?” Jack asked.
Smith shook his head.
Jack sighed. “Have a look about. Perhaps Beatrice isn’t the only one who got hit over the head.”
Smith disappeared without answering.
“He’s smooth like a snake,” Beatrice muttered as Victor lifted her into his arms. Beatrice protested, but Victor ignored her.
“It’s our turn to save you,” Violet told Beatrice, taking her hand and then turning back to Jack. He’d turned the torch onto the rest of the cellar. Beyond the still-packed crates was a large metal tub. Jack crossed to it and leaned down.
“I believe this is our hundreds of pounds of wine, gin, and bourbon.” He gestured to the side and they saw the emptied vinegar, water, and salt.
“The she-devil must have just dumped out some of it and added enough vinegar to ruin what was left.”
“I was starting to think it was Danvers,” Jack said. “I’m both relieved and baffled. What did you see, Beatrice?”
Jack led the way up the stairs that went inside the house as Beatrice admitted, “Blonde hair, a white face, she got me from behind, sir. It’s all blurry in my head.”
“Don’t worry,” Violet told Beatrice. “We’ll find her.”
“Give her my regards,” Beatrice told Violet darkly.
Chapter 12
“Bloody hell, Jack!” Ham said as they appeared in the hall. “Where have you been?”
“The cellars,” Jack said as Victor stepped into the hall from the cellar.
“Beatrice!” Ham took in the sight of her as Violet followed, the last to leave the cellars. “Jack. Vi. Damn it!”
“What?”
“Kate, Ginny, Geoffrey, along with Em”—he glanced at Violet, cleared his throat, and amended—“Miss Allen—were too clever for your scavenger hunt. They found your joke, which would have been fabulous if not for the rest.”
“And?” Violet asked, knowing that the culmination of the day’s events must have come. What would it be? Thousands of beetles? A bag of rats? A room of displays crushed into shards of glass with priceless artifacts destroyed?
“A body.”
Violet grabbed Jack’s arm before she tumbled back down the cellar stairs and then carefully shut the door behind them.
“A body? A murder? Who?”
Ham paused. “Actually, I don’t think it’s a murder.”
Violet frowned. “Is it a dummy?”
Ham shook his head. “It’s quite real. It’s just…been…”
“What?” Violet demanded. “Stop softening it for me.”
“I think it might be some poor fool who had been donated to a university.”
Violet stared, blinking slowly. Then she let go of Jack’s arm to shove into the kitchen and take a seat in the corner.
“Don’t worry madam,” the chef called. “I’ll reheat the fish over a cast iron pan. I’ve made a lemon sauce and vinegar sauce. We’ll cut them into bite-sized pieces. It’ll be a bit sticky and it won’t be stones into gold. Perhaps stones into copper. We’ll—”
Vi shook her head. She really might be sick, she thought. Had someone donated their body to a university for students only to end up as the prank of some idiot? She hadn’t thought she could get angrier, but she had reached a level of rage where it seemed the blood in her veins boiled. She felt as though she could feel its passage through her temples and at her wrists. Her heart pounded in her chest in rhythm with the throbbing in her ears.
Jack took her hand, and she glanced at him.
“A body?”
He nodded.
“At my party?”
“Are you all right?” He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his, and then winced at the raw rage in her expression.
“Someone used the remains of a poor soul to prank my guests?”
Jack cleared his throat as Violet’s nails slowly curled into her palms. Hands fisted, she rose.
“I won’t be too slow next time.”
“Vi—”
Her gaze narrowed on him. “You should find them first.”
“Vi—”
She didn’t reply. She strode down the hall towards her friends in the ballroom. If Violet needed someone who would break the law with her, who would set aside all bounds of what might be, then what Violet needed wasn’t her beloved Jack or her beloved twin. It was Rita and Lila.
Violet did not go home that night. She did, however, retrieve her dogs from Victor’s house and find her way to Rita’s penthouse suite, pausing long enough to ensure that Ginny was all right. Her own private fiend, Violet thought, when her ward explained that she’d been the one who clued Ham in on the state of the body and the likelihood it came from a school.
Vi pressed a kiss on the girl’s head and ordered her to use her powers and intelligence for good before checking the babies before she left.
She arrived at Rita’s suite and took one of the four bedrooms for herself and Beatrice. Jack knew where she was and he would find her or not. She wasn’t worried so much about that as she was about actually committing murder should she beat Jack and Ham to the prankster.
“I’m surprised Jack didn’t appear last night,” Rita commented in the morning as she poured herself a cup of tea and watched as Violet started her second cup of Turkish coffee.
“He probably worked all night,” Violet admitted. “Especially since he knew I planned to meddle.”
“Ham told me to keep my pretty nose out of it or he’d wring my neck,” Rita announced as she leaned back to sip her tea.
Violet’s head tilted and her gaze narrowed.
“It’s like he’s daring me,” Rita said.
“I’ve been thinking,” Beatrice said caref
ully. “The ad is still there. The one that seems to have stemmed these pranks. What if we…follow up?”
“How do we even know it is for what’s been happening to Vi’s house?”
“That snake Smith seems to think it does,” Beatrice muttered. “He’s not usually wrong.”
Violet glanced at Rita, who shrugged.
“I suppose we could find the ad and see if it’s something we can answer.”
Beatrice grunted, and they both looked at her.
“You can be assured,” Beatrice said, “that the snake is doing just such a thing. It would probably be wasted efforts. Forget I suggested it. We might be better served by sticking to our purview.”
“Are you saying that we should wait at home wringing our hands?” Rita demanded, aghast.
“No, of course not. Mr. Smith might be smooth in his snakish-ness, but no one can reach the circles you can, Lady Vi. There has to be some rumor of it. Use your connections. Between Mr. Denny, Mr. Algie, the earl, your artist friends, someone has to know something.”
“She’s not wrong,” Violet told Rita. “You know,” Violet said. “We could get Miss Allen.”
“She hates you, Mrs. Vi,” Beatrice told Violet flatly.
“But,” Violet said slowly, her mouth twisting. “It would sell quite a lot of papers.”
Rita looked sharply at Violet, who grinned evilly and rose to make the telephone call.
“You want me to do what now?” Miss Allen asked, glancing between them.
Violet explained for the third time.
“You guarantee there will be prize money?”
Violet bit back the sarcastic remark that of course she did, but instead, she just nodded once. Miss Allen looked down at her notes and then again at Violet. “Jack won’t like it.”
“He’ll be fine,” Violet said, not liking the light of happiness in Miss Allen’s gaze as she said it. Perhaps, Violet thought spitefully, Miss Allen was feeling her years. Violet was, after all, younger than Jack by nearly a decade and Miss Allen was his same age.
Miss Allen’s expression did not agree with Violet’s assessment, but Vi little cared what Miss Allen thought when it came to Jack. There was a reason, Violet reminded herself, that Jack had ended things with Miss Allen.
Violet spun her wedding ring and waited.
“We’re going to have to triple our print run,” Miss Allen said. She rose and paused. “I am not your friend.”
“Nor am I yours.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Likewise,” Violet shot back.
Miss Allen’s mouth twisted and then she said, “You did a good thing with Ginny.”
Violet’s pause was out of sheer shock.
“I met those other girls. Ginny wasn’t lying.”
Violet adjusted her expression and told herself to think of Miss Allen as she would any other woman. “Yes, I know. Ginny wouldn’t lie about that.”
Miss Allen’s gaze sharpened. “Do you think she would lie at all?”
Violet almost said yes and then thought of her Ginny and shook her head. “Not even about who ate the tarts,” Violet said truthfully.
Miss Allen rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t envy any schoolgirl her life. Not even to have my youth back.”
Rita laughed low and Violet glanced her way.
“I was horrible in school,” Rita admitted. “It’s better to not look back. There’s no use in it anyway.”
“Agreed,” Miss Allen said. She paused once again to add, “Let’s not make a habit of this.”
“Mrs. Vi,” Beatrice said, “I could write letters to your father and Lady Eleanor telling them what happened and asking them to look into things from their end.”
“No one else would be better to reach out to the upright elders,” Rita told Violet.
“Except, the upright elders would know nothing of this business,” Violet answered. “But write them all the same, and make some for Algie and his wife, maybe Jovie and her artist boyfriend? Who else?”
“I know a few adventurous types who might do something like this,” Rita said, “though they wouldn’t just target you. They might have an idea of who might.”
Rita picked up a lap writing desk and left the larger desk to Beatrice. With the scritch-scritch of the pens, Violet thought back to what Miss Allen had said. Jack won’t like it. After that thought was the memory of Lila. She’d say something to the effect of Denny putting Lila’s happiness first and Lila putting Denny’s first. Violet was an arrogant wench, she realized as she rose to write a thank you note to Lila, a not-apology note to Denny that repeated he was an idiot, and followed-up with the fact that Violet adored him all the same.
Once she was finished with that, Vi rose and crossed to Rita’s closet. They weren’t the same size or even close to it, but Violet needed something to wear home that wasn’t a costume or a kimono.
Vi dug through Rita’s dresses until she found a skirt with a belt, a jumper meant to be loose, and a blouse that was too big but would work under the jumper.
She put her jewelry into one of Rita’s handbags and kissed both women on the cheek.
“I’ll be back, but I should warn Jack and ensure he has more coffee at the least. I’ll bring your clothes, darling Beatrice.”
“Are you giving in to the man?” Rita teased.
Violet, however, answered seriously. “It’s possible that if we want to be happy, we shouldn’t worry about the man and consider instead about treating the man we love as we would want to be treated.”
Rita groaned as Violet blew her a kiss and escaped home.
Chapter 13
Violet found Jack at Scotland Yard. She’d switched to a plaid dress, a yellow jumper, and only her wedding ring and one of Aunt Agatha’s cross necklaces. With so much consistent hatred, Vi felt as though she needed the memories of Aunt Agatha as a shield along with a dash of faith.
“Vi,” Jack said as she walked into Ham’s office. “What—”
“What am I doing here? Confessing to my crimes.”
Ham cursed and rose to leave the office, and Vi sat down on the edge of Ham’s desk to face Jack in the chair opposite.
Violet slipped off her shoes. “Did you sleep?”
“I took Ham home and ended up sleeping on his couch after a long discussion of what was happening.”
Violet nodded, unsurprised. “It’s hard to sleep without you,” Violet confessed. “But I’m here because I put an article into the Piccadilly Press. Em doesn’t think you’ll like it.”
Jack’s face had faded to emotionless and even. He could be questioning her about a crime with that face.
“She’s probably right,” Violet said, propping her elbow on her knees and then her chin on her fist. She liked his face, she thought, even when he was emotionless.
Jack waited quietly, probably intending to use the silence against her, but she had already decided she was going to tell him what she was up to. Silence wasn’t necessary. Or perhaps she was guessing on his intent because she felt guilty.
“I thought two could play at the games of hiring random people to work against the other, and I would suspect that I have more money. The article is offering rewards for those who can lead us to anyone who assisted in the pranks or the engineer of this plot.”
Jack groaned.
“I asked for information leading to the apprehension of my chronic prankster. They’ve been directed to the front desk of Hotel Saffron who apparently do whatever Rita wants. Yesterday, she asked them to arrange a hot air balloon for her just to see if they would. We’ll be going soon.”
Jack closed his eyes and said, “At least you didn’t put our address in the paper.”
Vi grinned. Then she popped off the desk and straddled his lap. She turned his face to hers like he always did to her and grinned at him. “Do you know I was repentant today?”
“Repentant for your mischief?” Other than general meddling—which she had warned him of—she felt that his statement was out of
order and she showed him by pulling his ear. Though it was good to see the glint of laughter back in his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t all that upset over what she’d had done.
Violet watched Jack’s eyes crinkle with a smile and she kissed him on his nose. “Lila convicted me in my heart driving me to repentance and confession. Thus my presence here.”
Surprise filtered through his grin.
“Do you know what she told me?”
He shook his head, but she could see the interest mixing with the surprise.
“That she and Denny are happy because they put each other’s happiness first.”
Jack pressed a return kiss on her nose. “I see.”
“Are you happy?” she asked him, and he placed his hands on her hips.
“With you?”
“With life,” she asked.
“I read your journal. The bit that your prankster intended me to read.”
Violet pressed her lips together, realizing what he must have read about and wondered whether he hated what she’d written.
“Do you really want me to stop working for Scotland Yard?”
She considered and then admitted, “I don’t know what I want. You being happy is more important to me than anything. Does it make you happy to work for Scotland Yard?”
Rather than answering her, he asked, “Do you like managing your aunt’s investments?”
Vi swallowed thickly. She should have known he’d realize her feelings about business meetings and reports. She liked the innovative side of it. Meetings, however, and spoiled entitled rich arrogant men who set aside her thoughts and tried to bully her? It was a waste of time and energy.
“You’re training Beatrice for a reason, Vi. You can let yourself step free of the parts you hate.”
Vi pressed her lips together, trying for an enigmatic, smooth expression, but she knew she failed.
“Agatha wouldn’t want you to be unhappy. You hate those meetings. If the meeting isn’t about ridiculous fiction taken far too seriously, it is actual torture to you. Especially without Agatha. It just reminds you of what you’ve lost.”
