Silver Bells & Murder: A Violet Carlyle Historical Mystery

by Beth Byers

  Violet took a seat next to Lila after filling herself a cup of tea. “The idea of food does make my stomach turn. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax or sleep until that body is out of the house. We were so close, weren’t we? If we’d been able to escape today and this would have come tomorrow, we might never have known about it.”

  “Now that is a Christmas dream I could get behind.” Lila sighed and stole a sip of Vi’s tea while Vi rose to stir the stew. She sniffed it and then controlled her expression as she caught the whiff of something that was not quite right. She stole a moment before she turned to face the others, hoping for impassivity.

  Thankfully, before Lila could ask for an opinion, there was a knock at the back door—just as the front door rang. Denny headed to the back of the house while Violet made her way to the front.

  Chapter 11

  They’d gone for a constable, Violet could see. Ham had caught up and Mr. MacAdam had taken them into the village to find a fellow. Violet met Jack’s gaze and saw the banked fury in his expression. His jaw was flexing and she knew he was eyeing her carefully as if she’d been attacked instead of come home to a rather horrible body.

  “Constable Livingstone, may I present my wife, Lady Violet Wakefield?”

  Vi just kept herself from rolling her eyes at the honorary title. It was done on purpose and Vi could see the constable caught that.

  “Bit of a muck-up before you came upon the body?” he asked her.

  “I haven’t actually come upon it,” Vi admitted. “I fear I tend towards nightmares, so I trusted my friends and stayed away.”

  “Had a lot of nightmares about dead men, then?” he asked, stepping into the house.

  There was an awkward silence among the friends while Mr. MacAdam glanced among them. Both of the gents caught the tension, but no one explained. They were failing already, Violet thought. It was time to throw herself on the sword.

  Vi forced out a tear and then lifted a shaking hand to her face. She hoped she was coming across as trembling versus having a seizure in only her hands. “Oh this has just been the worst week even before we found a body. I just…I just…”

  She took the handkerchief that Jack handed her and turned to the side as if she was striving to hold in her tears. She should not have looked up because Smith was just stepping into the hall and his amusement at her fake tears made it difficult to hold back a burst of laughter.

  “Vi darling,” Jack said, when her shoulders started shaking. He pulled her into his arms and told her, “Chin up, my love. It’ll be all right.”

  With her face pressed against his chest, she was able to focus on producing more of the right emotion for the moment.

  “Jack and I were detectives for Scotland Yard until rather recently,” Ham said softly, as if he were trying to keep her from hearing. “I fear our families have been more exposed to these dark things than they’d like.”

  By Jove, Vi thought, that was rather poetic.

  “So who’s the dead fellow?” the constable asked. “Better lay an eye on him. Wakefield, why don’t you get your wife to her room to calm down and we’ll take a look.”

  Vi stiffened but only Jack knew. She was nothing but steel spine and fury when Jack carefully tugged her towards the stairs, keeping her out of sight of the locals.

  “Do they know who it is? Did Smith figure it out?” Jack asked as he hurried her up the stairs.

  Vi shook her head. “Smith has been laying a scene.”

  Jack didn’t like hearing that but he said nothing. “What the devil, Vi?”

  “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. By heavens, Jack, there’s a body in that office. Whatever have we done to turn gods and karma against us in this way?”

  They reached the bedroom and Vi took a seat on the bed. The room they had was rather small, so there was but a bed and the wardrobe. Violet frowned and then asked, “What the devil, Jack?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, echoing her from before and then asked again, “What the devil—”

  Vi took a deep breath and told him, “Victor and Kate have taken to their beds with headaches to encourage the story we’ve crafted.”

  Vi told him, and the tension level ratcheted up with each word.

  “I don’t approve of this—” he said. “We’re making it harder for Constable Livingstone to find the killer by throwing in our own lies. If he realizes and can prove it, he would have every right to get us in rather a lot of trouble.”

  Violet leaned back and waited. Regardless of his opinion, he would stand with them. “What’s this scene that Smith laid?”

  “He broke the window and put some water down to look as if it had been blowing in. I didn’t see the end result, but—”

  Lila and Rita appeared at the door and then Lila said, “I understand you’ve been overcome by emotions.”

  “Yes well,” Vi said, “the constable made some comment about my dreams being full of dead men, and I’m afraid we all got rather too tense.”

  “I suppose having a system in place to deal with bodies and nightmares does make us look rather suspicious, doesn’t it?” Rita asked. “Go on with you, Jack. Constable Livingstone wants you investigator types about.”

  Jack left, and Lila hooted once he was gone. “Doesn’t like the plan?”

  “Indeed not.” Vi flopped back. “How long do you think I need to take to my bed?”

  Lila laughed and then flopped down next to Vi. “Rather a while, I should say.”

  “You’re saying that because you know I want to go down and eavesdrop.”

  “Yes,” Rita said. “Only Constable Livingstone sent us on our way.”

  After a long moment, Vi asked, “Who was at the back door?”

  “A cook!” Lila almost sang the words. “And her children, our maids. They heard about the body, asked for double pay, and then went to work. The littler one went off to clean the library and the parlor. The older one took off for the baths. Denny broke into a poem of thanksgiving when the mother tossed my stew to the dogs, so to speak, and talked about a saffron chicken dish, potatoes, carrots. She was bemoaning the lack of time to make fresh bread rolls and then promising savory scones when she sent us both from the kitchen.”

  Vi’s stomach was growling. “Please say you asked her for coffee.”

  “Oh I did.” Lila patted Vi’s hand lightly. “I’d never leave my friend to suffer when help was at hand. Denny said he’d bring it up, so we could have fresh beds and the like.”

  “I could weep,” Vi said honestly. “The problem is that the idea of a real meal—rather than the dead man—is bringing me to tears.”

  Denny appeared with the coffee and an actual tear came to Vi’s eye. She’d normally have had several cups by that time of day, so she had been fighting a headache until the coffee that afternoon, but it was returning because of the stress of the moment.

  Vi took the coffee as Denny announced, “The dead fellow is the station master.”

  “The who?” Rita asked. It only took her a moment to add, “From the train station?”

  Violet’s head tilted and then she said, “Oh we are idiots. He must have been involved with whatever is going on here. Otherwise, he would have been at the station when we arrived.”

  “I suppose we haven’t had time to work it out,” Rita said, sighing over her own cup of coffee. “If that woman makes food as good as she does coffee, the ship is coming right.”

  Denny stared at her and then laughed. “Right of course. Never mind the body.”

  “Never mind the body,” Rita agreed. “You’ve heard, of course, that Violet is struggling with female hysterics?”

  “I have. Women. They’re delicate creatures, you know. If you aren’t careful, they’ll fall all to pieces, and you’ll just be left with rather a lot of hair and tears.”

  “Hair and tears?” Lila asked him in the threatening silky way she had. “That’s what women are made of?”

  “And everything nice,” he added w
ith a charming grin that did nothing for him, since it was followed by a high-pitched giggle. He tried to stop it, but the attempt seemed to make it harder. His laughter nearly exploded and Rita shoved a pillow over his face.

  “You’ll bring the constable up here.”

  “We’ll blame Vi,” Denny laughed. “High-strung, purebred filly that she is.”

  Vi sat up. Her daggered glance was full of threats, but they wouldn’t be properly delivered if she was lounging while she fired it.

  He met her gaze and immediately threw up his hands in surrender.

  Before they could continue, there was the sound of bells from outside. They crowded around the single window and watched as a sleigh appeared.

  “You could imagine that was Father Christmas, couldn’t you?” Denny asked.

  “A uniformed constable and a man with a doctor’s bag instead.” Lila had already turned away when Rita said, “Step back now. We don’t want to be too obvious.”

  “They’ll confirm he’s dead,” Vi said. “Give the constable a time range to pen us in and then we’ll be interviewed.”

  “Should we practice the story?”

  Vi shook her head, but it was Lila who answered, “It’s like all those times we lied to my father. You have to stick as close to the truth as possible, avoid elaborations, stupid jokes, and only lie where it’s important.”

  Denny nodded seriously.

  “How often did you lie to your father, Lila?”

  “Daily. I lie to him still to keep up with the skillset.” She laughed and then she rose, looking regretful. “I suppose I must go hover over Lily and the twins since Kate and Victor have taken to their beds. What does it say about us that we aren’t worried for the babies with a body in the house? We’ve become casual, my friends.”

  “Next is callous,” Rita said. “Out with you Denny. Stick with Lila, so she can keep you in line. I’ll hold hysterical Violet’s hand and see to it that she’s quite all right.”

  Violet and Rita gazed at each other. The two of them were in the same boat really. Their gents were joining in on the lies and neither of the men would be happy about it. It was a bad place to be, and Violet felt as though she were infecting Jack with her more casual morals.

  Though that wasn’t really fair. She just wasn’t going to be the patsy for some killer who’d decided to murder a person in the house where they were staying. It was like they were playing chess with the killer, and Vi could only hope that the fool hadn’t laid more traps. Surely, surely, the only trap was the fact that they were somewhat snowed in and would be the obvious killers.

  Here’s hoping that Constable Livingstone wasn’t a fool and didn’t just follow the obvious. None of them had a motive worth killing over. With any luck, they would be able to turn the press in their favor. Violet sighed and then went for her coffee. It was nearly gone, but the dregs of the cup were better than nothing.

  “Do you think they’ll forgive us?”

  “I think they’ll solve it themselves,” Violet admitted, “rather than let our lies cause someone to get away with murder or the wrong man be caught.”

  “Surely you think it was that woman?” Rita asked as she finished off her own cup.

  “I think she has to be at the top of our suspect list. What we need to know is why they’re all coming here. I mean—is it a hidden treasure, a lost will, blackmail letters? Something worth killing over, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” Rita said. She glanced up quickly and then heard steps coming closer. “Oh dear.”

  She jumped to her feet and sat next to Vi, who threw herself under the covers and placed a hand over her eyes just as Denny had described before. If she could see herself from the outside, she might well have achieved the perfect Victorian faint. It was unfortunate that she wasn’t wearing a corset and her friends didn’t carry smelling salts in order to complete the look.

  A moment later there was a knock on the door and Rita rose to answer it with a stage whisper, “Yes?”

  Chapter 12

  The detective set up shop in the smaller of the unused parlors. His men threw the sheets to the side, and he set chairs next to the fire. Jack took a step in, shook his head, and stepped out. To Ham, he said, “It’s frozen in here. Let’s get the boys some coffee and see about a fire, shall we? We can’t bring the girls in here to freeze after what they’ve been through.”

  Ham’s gaze met Jack’s and his eyes tightened. He nodded once and then Jack asked the constable, “I suppose you want to interview us separately?”

  “Indeed,” Livingstone said. “Just to get a handle on things. Did you know the station master, Lewis Camdyn?”

  Jack shook his head. “No one was at the station when Vi and I arrived. We were the last to arrive. It was like it had been a Sunday there. Locked station doors, no one about. If we weren’t meeting our friends, we’d have just taken the train back to the next village. It was eerie, to be honest.”

  “So you’ve never seen him before?”

  “Never,” Jack said precisely, and then rose to take the wood from the girl who’d arrived while he was gone. He helped her to make the fire and then sent her out for the coffee. “Sorry about that. I fear we haven’t had help until Mr. MacAdam and his wife stepped in. We’re rather desperate for decent coffee.”

  “What the devil has happened here?” Constable Livingstone asked, leaning back with his paper and pencil.

  “I have no idea to be honest,” Jack said, leaning back casually and trying for the attitude of friends at the club. “This entire situation has left us baffled. It feels like whoever is behind this wanted to be rid of us. Their plan was a good one.”

  Constable Livingstone sniffed and then asked, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “I don’t,” Jack said, pulling a cigar case out of his pocket and offering one to the constable. “My brother-in-law doles these out from a trip to Cuba. They really are excellent.”

  Jack trimmed and lit his cigar and then handed the accouterments over to the constable.

  “Tell me about last night.”

  Jack had to admire the general question. “It was pathetic. I’m afraid we’re rather lacking in useful skills among us like baking and cooking. We’ve been trying to muddle through. Ham, Smith, and I decided to fry steaks. How hard could that be?”

  The constable looked like a man who had fried steaks before.

  “It would have been all right if it were just one of us. It wasn’t though, and it was terrible. So as a group, we went to the kitchen and tried again. Between all of us, we turned out something to satisfy our hunger.”

  “You ate in the dining room?”

  “On the first attempt. On the second attempt, we ate in the kitchen.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we went up to some long hall with portraits. Maybe a reception hall? Maybe a ballroom? It was up a flight of stairs with a lot of portraits of fellows wearing kilts.”

  “When was that?”

  Jack tapped off his cigar and admitted, “I have no idea. The first dinner attempt was around 8:00 p.m. The second? Maybe 10:00 p.m.? Not sure how long we lingered in the kitchen.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  “No idea,” Jack said. “We just sort of lingered. I fear none of us really cared about a reasonable sleep time and the like.”

  “How long did you stay in the hall?”

  Denny laughed. “So sorry, old man. I’m afraid I laugh at the worst times. Nervous habit. A dead body in the office? Why? I’ve spent the day wondering and trying not to sick up.”

  “So, how long did you stay in the hall?” Constable Livingstone repeated. He didn't sound understanding from that tone. The fellow had the look of Denny’s Nann back from his childhood.

  Denny giggled again, thinking of his Nann crossed with the constable. “No idea really. After the third cocktail, I sort of floated and had deep thoughts about a Christmas pudding even though I knew we wouldn’t have one. Do you like those? The flaming ones? Vanilla
cream on top and full of fruit? I could eat one of those every day for breakfast. Not that my wife would let me.”

  The constable didn’t seem even mildly amused.

  “I am sorry. I fear I’m rather useless. Jack and Ham only put up with me because I’ve been friends with the mighty twins since they were too young to choose better.”

  “Hmm, yes. Well. So no idea when you left the hall?”

  “Quite late? Maybe quite early? It’s hard to say. I might have slept for a while and then stumbled to my bed. It’s all a bit blurry.”

  “Did anyone leave while you were up there?”

  “What, and nip down and murder some random fellow in the office? No.” Denny laughed outright at that. “Can you imagine? What a bloody wonder. But no, no one left.”

  “How certain are you?”

  Given that he’d made it seem as though he had been drowning in gin, Denny didn’t think the constable would believe any bit of that.

  “Fairly sure.”

  Constable Livingstone wrote notes for so long Denny nearly wrung his own throat to keep back the giggles. He was the worst at moments like these. The giggles dried up when he made himself focus, but Denny still shifted nervously.

  “And Smith?” Constable Livingstone asked. “Odd that you call him by his last name.”

  “Even his wife does,” Denny said and didn’t giggle at all at that. It was just what Vi had feared. Was she a prophetess?

  Constable Livingstone waited so long Denny found himself with the need to fill in.

  Finally he grunted, “Smith’s far cleverer than I am as well. They all are, really.” He pointed at himself, “Clownish.”

  Livingstone waited and Denny told himself, don’t speak. It became a little song in his head, so he was somewhat surprised when Livingstone asked, “And did you see the station master, Mr. Camdyn?”