Silver Bells & Murder: A Violet Carlyle Historical Mystery

by Beth Byers

  “That looks lovely,” Vi told Smith and then winked at the disgusted expression on Jack’s face. “We can’t be excellent at everything.”

  “Right,” Jack said, but she saw the glint of humor in his gaze that told her he wasn't all that upset. If anything, she thought he might be enjoying himself.

  She followed Beatrice down the hall and found everyone else in the library where they’d been gathering. It was a rather pathetic room with old books but nothing interesting to offer. Given the books lying about, Vi could see her own selection had been plundered.

  She idly asked, “Has anyone seen the house office?”

  Head shakes all around and Vi glanced at Beatrice. Neither of the nannies would have bothered, but they probably should check. Beatrice whispered she’d go ask while Vi took a seat and watched her brother. He’d taken a chair near the fire and looked woebegone. There was too much effort in that expression for her to be overly worried about his health.

  Vi’s gaze moved to Kate and saw a matching humor in her sister-in-law’s expression. Yes, they agreed silently, Victor was fine. Vi took a seat next to Rita and asked, “All is well?”

  Unlike the gents, Rita caught the tone immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  “Phone’s out.”

  “The madwoman in the wood, too?” Vi glanced towards Kate and Rita nodded. Kate had told the others.

  “The madwoman in the wood, the telephone out, an office that seems to have been riffled.”

  Kate lifted a brow. “Oh my.”

  “Indeed,” Vi agreed. She leaned back and wondered at what point the oddness of the house out-weighed the risks of the illness in the village. Vi whispered the question to Rita, but her friend didn’t have the answer any more than Vi.

  Chapter 7

  “I feel like something is amiss,” Violet said after they’d stopped pretending to eat the meal the boys had prepared.

  The steaks might have been all right if only one of the three had seasoned them, but Smith, Jack, and Ham had all salted and peppered the meat, the potatoes, and the carrots, and at least one of them had used quite a heavy hand. Only Denny had been able to choke his whole plate down, and he’d been liberal with the wine to get it done.

  Jack scowled. “We know the dinner was interesting.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Vi said and then added, “and interesting is a generous description for this meal. I’m still hungry, but I cannot possibly eat that.”

  “Those steaks tasted like you cooked them in sea water, nestled them next to a salt lick while they rested, and then dosed them with a heavy hand of sea salt.” Denny lifted a brow as Jack’s gaze turned towards him. “Thanks for cooking, old boy.”

  Jack looked disgusted and then he laughed just as Ham demanded, “What am I, chopped liver? I helped with over salting our dinner as much as Jack.”

  “You’re a king among men,” Rita told him with a laugh. “Have you checked the snow? Has it reached the eaves yet?”

  “Still coming down,” Ham said. “A soft but rather effective chain to bind us tightly.”

  “Chain?” Rita asked. “Oh, to keeping us in the house. You are being dramatic.”

  “I’m hungry,” Ham told her. “If there weren’t so much snow, or if we had more than one auto, we’d be gone by now. We’d have waited for everyone together, said scarlet fever, and gotten right back on the next train. Now I’m angry we didn’t. I want an actual chop of meat, all the sides, and then I want a sticky toffee pudding.”

  “Warm bread,” Denny said. “With the butter that just melts into it.”

  “Oh!” Lila groaned. “Is anything better than warm bread?”

  Vi laughed as Rita rolled her eyes and told the rest of the table, “He’s whiny when he’s hungry.”

  Violet laughed into her hand and then said, “We could try again?”

  They all glanced at each other and then returned to the kitchen. The bread had gone stale but Beatrice admitted, “I know how to make scones. They only turn out some of the time.”

  “I would kill for a scone,” Kate added. “And I also know how to make them. In fact, I can make many things. So can Lila.” Victor gaped as Kate rose. “If the scones don’t turn out, we can just try again.”

  They looked among each other and then went to the kitchen together. It appeared as though it had been hit by a train and then ravaged by angry, starving orphans. Lila groaned and said, “I can’t work like this. I can barely cook on the best of days and this—I can’t work in this disaster.”

  Vi snorted and then started to make a sink full of hot, soapy water. She couldn’t cook, but anyone with elbows and hands could clean. Somehow, despite the fact that they rarely had to do any sort of housework, the mood shifted. Jack lifted the large pan they’d used to cook the steaks and turned to help scrub it up.

  As they worked together, the mess disappeared and Vi found Lila explaining to Denny how to combine flour and butter to make scones while Kate lingered in the larder and appeared with jars of preserves, tins, and fruit.

  Seemingly magically, scones appeared with clotted cream and jam. Cheese was sliced with fruit and served with smoked fish. They tried again at the stove and made up simple omelets, some of which even looked like omelets. At the same time, they fried up tinned sardines. Served with tomatoes, mustard, and water biscuits, this was a meal none of them had eaten in a while and all of them seemed to enjoy more than usual.

  Rather than taking the food back out to the large dining room, they sat around the large kitchen table the servants of the house must have used.

  “So there was a woman in the trees?” Jack asked and Smith snorted at the idea, followed by Ham.

  “She was watching something and wouldn’t say what.”

  “And you think she might have been trying to keep an eye on us while someone else was attempting to break into the office?”

  “I think it’s possible,” Vi told them.

  “We should probably search the office then,” Smith said with relish.

  “And maybe we should climb up to the top of the house,” Ham added, “to see if we can figure out where she’s coming from.”

  “And,” Violet added, “we should decide how we’re going to leave this place. If the snow keeps coming, are we just going to stay indefinitely until spring breaks or can we find a way home before then?”

  “This was fun,” Kate said, looking around the kitchen. “We wouldn’t have done this if not for the servants abandoning us here.”

  Victor winced. “And yet, I don’t know that any of us want to eat sardines on water biscuits for more than a day or two.”

  “Maybe we should just have another adventure getting home. There has to be a farmer with a sleigh. We’ll add the silver bells, and we’ll sled our way to a train station.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” Denny said, “not yet. I—I’d rather chop down a tree, decorate it, and wait until Boxing Day or the one thereafter to leave.”

  “We won’t have a feast,” Lila told him. “It’s scones and sardines, my lad.”

  “Maybe if we find that farmer and a capable cook,” Violet started.

  “Then,” Rita continued, “we could get a feast delivered.”

  They eyed each other and finally Jack said, “It’s a bit late for that.”

  “Which is why we have records,” Denny announced. “We might be somewhat useless when it comes to basic survival, but we know how to have fun.”

  Rather than going back to the library, whose walls had gotten stale and whose books had turned from unknown worlds to dusty tomes, they found their way through the house and came upon the reception room or ballroom or hall of portraits.

  Rita ran from portrait to portrait pulling off the sheets, while Victor opened the windows to let in fresh air. Contrastingly, Ham and Jack started a large fire in the fireplace, and Smith and Beatrice brought up a tray full of their favorite drinks.

  They didn’t have ice, but Victor used clean snow from the balcony,
and one of them started a record while another lit the sconces on the walls that had never been maneuvered to gas. The room flickered and sang, and they played well into the night, somehow managing to have lost every single tradition of Christmas, every single decoration, and every single thing that was familiar. But, as long as they had each other, it was the merriest of celebrations.

  The sun had long since risen when Violet opened her eyes the next day. The tracing of Jack’s finger over her spine was enough to draw her fully from her dreams.

  “What an odd little trip this has been,” Violet said. “All because I didn’t want to have to go to the family celebration and deal with Eleanor.”

  “Next time, we’ll just say no.” Jack continued to rub her back until she turned onto her stomach.

  “I hate to see my father upset,” Violet said, pushing up to sit. “I don’t know why, but it still fills me with guilt. I don’t have the rage that fueled me before.”

  “When you were young?” Jack asked. He pushed up to sit next to her and their hands wrapped around each other.

  Vi laid her head on Jack’s shoulder and admitted, “Yes. Denny remembered that time Victor and I climbed up to Lady Eleanor’s room to leave vermin and wreak havoc.”

  “I believe you also destroyed clothing—if Victor’s drunken memory is true.” Jack sounded amused, but he also had the careful tone of a man who knew he was treading among memories that were as poisonous as they were humorous.

  “We were terrible children,” Violet said, snuggling into Jack’s side. It was those days, however, that gave Victor and Violet such a distaste for Christmas at the homestead. Especially when it was so easy to add in the loss of Aunt Agatha. Christmas without Aunt Agatha was painful. The empty place at the table was always so distinct.

  “When I told your father we weren’t coming, he knew—”

  Violet had nothing to say to that. Her father wasn’t dim and even though the bridge between them had somehow been rebuilt, it was no steady structure. He knew that as well as she did.

  “He said if he could he’d go back so he could change things…”

  Violet’s mouth twisted and her heart hardened. It was so easy, wasn’t it? To see backwards and realize where you’d gone wrong. Maybe she should be forgiving. Maybe she should let go of that pain behind the wall she’d put up in her heart. Maybe she wouldn’t be so afraid of having children of her own if she could trust that she wouldn’t be like her father.

  Violet looked down at where their hands wound around each other and knew that Jack could handle all of the upset that lived in her heart and cropped up frustratingly often. “I’m sorry.”

  He knew what she referred to, so he just lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “It’s not Christmas if you’re struggling with Lady Eleanor, Vi. Do you think that Rita wanted to visit her father and impending sister after losing the baby?”

  Vi shook her head. “What about you and your father?”

  “I asked my father what he’d prefer, and he told me he wanted nothing more than the club, a pipe, a warm drink, and to not have to get on a train and make nice.”

  “Make nice?” Vi laughed. Jack’s father was always proper and nice. What had he been like as a more passionate young man? Had he always been controlled and proper? Vi would love to hear the stories of him as a boy. “We need to make sure that he enjoys a Christmas feast before we get back to the country house.”

  “I think he’d prefer that. A quiet dinner with just us. Roasted goose and a lovely chocolate pudding.”

  “I suppose this wouldn’t have felt quite so awful if the servants had stayed and the cook had been decent?”

  “I suppose not,” Jack agreed. “It hasn’t been so bad. At least no one is poisoning people on a rather terrible ship.”

  “Oh!” Vi laughed. “That was a bad one.”

  “Funny now, though,” Jack pointed out.

  Vi turned and faced him. “Are you trying to keep me from diving into the grey days?”

  “Maybe.” There was something in his eyes that said he had spent the morning lingering simply because he wanted to.

  It was time, Vi thought, to tell him her idea. Well, the idea. Kate’s idea. “You are a little lost, I think.”

  “Bored, perhaps.”

  “When I’m bored, sometimes I like to learn new things,” Vi suggested. “Maybe with my friends.”

  “Are you saying we should learn how to cook? I suppose an argument could be made after this experience.”

  “I turned out a decent omelet towards the end there.”

  Jack grinned and then said, “Why do you think I shared the last one with you?”

  Vi had to laugh and then she crossed to the dresser and lifted a drawing that Kate had made for Vi to wrap. Upon reflection, Vi thought he’d rather decide alone if he wanted an aeroplane for Christmas. She handed it to him and then waited.

  His gaze narrowed on the drawing. Slowly, he turned to her. “Are you saying that I should learn to fly?”

  Vi nodded.

  Jack’s gaze returned to the drawing and lingered for a long while. When his eyes lifted again, the light of interest was in them.

  “It was Kate’s idea,” Vi said. “She drew it for you, and I was going to wrap her drawing. Only I didn’t want you to feel pressured if you don’t want to do it, and I didn’t want to buy one and then have it be not quite the right thing.”

  “And you won’t worry?”

  “I will,” Vi told him honestly. “But you are careful; you won’t need to go up in bad weather or in a craft not in good order. Jack, I thought we might lose the girls when we got here when I heard about the scarlet fever. Even now, though none of us are high risk, I worry. Living is worrisome.”

  “It is,” he said carefully.

  “There is a part of me who wants to dig my claws into those I love and hold as tight as possible, but none of us would be happy that way.”

  “So you’ll be brave instead?”

  “Or I’ll pretend to be,” Vi said honestly, knowing she’d worry. Jack wasn’t going to love writing like Vi and Victor did. He wasn’t going to love not investigating like Denny loved not working. Jack wasn’t going to like being idle, but Scotland Yard was closed to him, and chasing just any person wasn’t working.

  “Who would have thought that not having to work would be so hard to handle?” Jack’s mutter was low, and Vi thought that he hadn’t really intended to voice his thoughts. She could see why so many of their generation, especially those lucky enough to have money, did ridiculous things like set the Thames on fire and descend into opium or morphine hazes.

  Chapter 8

  Vi tended to be the one who crawled out onto the roof or leaned out from a window when they did ridiculous things like what they were doing now. This time, however, Jack and Smith had found a spyglass, and they used it to point out smoke coming from the distance.

  “What do you think?” Jack asked as he spied another rooftop. The village was too far to be seen with too many trees between them. “The one with two bits of smoke coming up might be a farm. They could have a good sturdy truck or perhaps even a sleigh.”

  “That one is closer to the road,” Ham said, pointing in the opposite direction. “It also seems to be a bit closer to us. They may have a telephone given they’re closer to the road.”

  “Clearly,” Violet said with a grin, “what we’ll do is split up and go both ways.”

  Smith considered the snow and the houses in the distance and said, “That does look rather chilly.”

  Kate laughed low and then added, “Perhaps, what we should amend that plan to is that Victor and I will take a mid-morning nap.”

  “Oh, us too,” Denny said immediately. “Much better plan than tromping through the snow.”

  “I would just as soon not tromp through the snow,” Beatrice admitted. She eyed Smith and then suggested, “What if we attempted to make the next meal?”

  “In place of a ramble in the snow? I believe I saw a
chicken in the ice box.”

  “A chicken!” Denny gasped. “Do you know how? That feels much harder than sardines on biscuits. I’m not sure you should risk it.”

  “I can roast a chicken,” Smith said, a little exasperated. “Not all of us are entirely incapable of caring for themselves.”

  “Is that because you first learned to murder chickens and then humans?” Denny demanded. “Did you practice on chickens?”

  If he intended to be offensive—and he had, he succeeded. Smith groaned and grunted at the same time, and the noise sounded rather painful.

  “Denny!” Beatrice snapped. “If someone is going to be the murderer among us, it’s going to be you for being so frustrating.”

  “Me?” Denny groaned, pointing dramatically at Smith. “Clearly Smith with his dark history and obviously false name.”

  “Don’t cause trouble, my lad,” Lila drawled.

  In quite a loud whisper, Denny asserted, “Digging at him is how he knows we like him all right.”

  “All right?” Beatrice demanded, eyes narrowed.

  “Not quite so defensive, Bea darling,” Smith told her. “These are schoolyard rules.”

  “For children?” Beatrice asked.

  “It is Denny,” Rita said. “I want a ramble in the snow. What say you, Ham? Why don’t we head for the house that could possibly have a telephone? We’ll see if we can’t find someone to take us to the train?”

  “If we do contact someone who is willing to help us,” Ham said, “I assume we want to go as soon as possible?”

  “Yes,” Violet nodded.

  “Christmas Eve?” Ham asked. “Do we want to get on a train on Christmas Eve?”

  “I think we should,” Rita answered before everyone else could agree. “The adventures in the kitchen are losing their amusement, and the house is getting quite grubby. I don’t think any of us want to pick up a scrub brush and scour the bathtubs.”