Silver Bells & Murder: A Violet Carlyle Historical Mystery

by Beth Byers

  “A tip?” Jack asked easily as he took a bite of his sausage. “What kind of tip?”

  Smith sniffed and reached for his coffee, leaning back to watch. He was certainly the cat and the poor constable didn’t realize yet that he was the mouse.

  “About the murder weapon.” Constable Livingstone smiled slowly and looked among them. “The truth will out.”

  “It will indeed.” Vi casually took a bite of her toast. “The murder weapon? Do you know what kind of weapon it was? Has the doctor gotten back to you so soon with some clarification on what you’re looking for? Was it an axe? Our prints are on the axe.”

  “It was not an axe,” Livingstone shot out.

  “A machete?” Rita asked. “Those are quite fearsome blades.”

  Livingstone jerked and snapped. “No. Of course not.”

  “A bread knife?” Kate added, surprising Vi by adding to the delivery. “I cut my finger on the one here just yesterday. It is quite sharp.”

  “What? No.” Livingstone’s gaze had gone from exhausted to enraged. He opened his mouth to lash out, and Vi imperiously gestured him to silence.

  “Did this tip include details on why someone who had never met your victim would want to kill him?” Again before he could reply, she mockingly added, “I suspect your superiors will want that information as well. At least that is what my father, the earl, and his friends expect.”

  Livingstone’s face flushed deeper, turning into an unhealthy mottled red. “I think you’ll find that my superiors find the murder weapon a rather important piece of evidence that will change their attitude towards the earl and his daughter. When it is discovered in this house, they’ll be curious as to why you’ve lied so continuously.”

  “Lied?” Vi lifted a brow and gestured to the constable. “Well, then, turn up the evidence, so we can shake in our boots.”

  “Stay in this room,” Livingstone snapped. “I’ve an officer who’ll be watching this door while I search with another of the lads.”

  Violet lifted her coffee cup, saluted, and sipped as though she were bored, but Denny ruined it with his high-pitched giggle that he tried and failed to cut off. Livingstone paused as he left, but he didn’t turn back.

  “Look at him with his witness,” Beatrice said. “He’s not entirely an idiot.”

  “Contain yourself,” Ham suggested to Denny mildly, but he went back to eating his breakfast again. “There are holes big enough to drive lorries through, but we’ll let them come to their natural conclusion.”

  “I think we should return to the fact that Beatrice is smug,” Violet said easily. “Why is she so smug? What is happening behind her impassive face?”

  “Impassive?” Beatrice asked. “Surely not.”

  “You look just like your uncle when you smooth out your expression like that,” Violet told Beatrice. “I’ve started to see behind Hargreaves’s impassive expression, and I’ll get through yours as well.”

  “I’m not smug now,” Beatrice lied and then added to turn the attention, “He’s going to dig through my underthings.”

  “I have some new ones you can have,” Violet told her. “Happy Christmas, but you’re still smug.”

  “Oh thank you, and I will take them.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “Smith suggested that you might believe the set up that was being created against him. I thought you would not. It was a whole argument. We decided to solve it uniquely.”

  “There was a wager,” Smith explained. “I don’t appreciate you losing it for me.”

  “What did you lose?” Denny demanded.

  Neither Smith nor Beatrice spoke and Victor said, “Well it was either inappropriate, or the wager isn’t over.”

  Violet laughed and was interrupted by Mrs. Anderson. She came into the dining room, expression frustrated as she said, “That policeman said that someone called in a tip about the murder weapon. I—”

  “They won’t find anything,” Violet told the woman easily. “This breakfast is fabulous, Mrs. Anderson. We’re indebted to you.”

  “Yes. Well. It’s irregular and quite stressful to—”

  Vi nodded immediately, saying sympathetically, “It’s not fair to you to spend Christmas looking after us and having to deal with a murder investigation. I think it’s only fair to take what we’ve already agreed upon and double it.”

  Mrs. Anderson’s gaze widened and she glanced among them. “That’s more than I’d make in quite some time. But my girls and I won’t be cleaning up the blood in the office.”

  “That’s really a problem for the caretaker of this house,” Violet told the woman. “Better to keep it closed for the constables. I wonder if you could help us with some information about the village?”

  Vi had trailed off deliberately and Mrs. Anderson asked, “What is that you want to know, my lady?”

  “I should like to know if you’ve heard of a secret gambling situation in the village?”

  “I should say so,” she muttered. “It’s ruined a family or two so far and I don’t doubt it’ll ruin a few more before the constables put a stop to it.”

  Violet sniffed and then asked, “Where does it happen?”

  “That’s the mystery, isn’t it?” Mrs. Anderson said with the air of a woman who had mused over the subject many times. “No one knows except those who go.”

  “I heard that it was held here,” Lila whispered loudly. It gave the perfect vibe to catch Mrs. Anderson’s interest.

  Mrs. Anderson stared for a moment and then glanced around the room. They were all watching her with careful attention. “Why would you think that?”

  “The murder of course,” Violet said. “Why else would someone get murdered in this house?”

  “But even a murder doesn’t make sense for gambling. Why would you think that? How did you even know about gambling here?” Mrs. Anderson shook her head and glanced between them. “I don’t see how you could know that.”

  “She’s swifter than the constable. Poor fool,” Smith told Vi.

  “We’re sleuths,” Denny said proudly. “This is what we do.”

  “Sleuths? You realized, while snowed into this house, that gambling was happening in this village and somehow connected it to a murder?” Mrs. Anderson’s expression was so full of doubt, shock, and suspicion, Vi was surprised the woman didn’t throw off her apron and storm from the room. Instead she said, “They usually meet on Saturday nights.”

  “Of course they do,” Vi said. “It is Saturday night after all. How convenient for it to be on Christmas Eve. People will start zozzled and happy. A little more likely to believe that the next roll will turn out in their favor.”

  “How do you know it happens on Saturday night?” Jack asked.

  “Easy enough,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Leticia Mooney was just fine a month ago on Saturday morning, she didn’t go to church the following Sunday, and the next time she was seen, she was heavily bruised and looking for help in feeding her children. Her man always tended towards throwing money at races or poker or dice. She should never have married him, but she was in the family way. Many a good woman has been caught by a bun in the oven.”

  “Her husband sounds like a peach,” Vi muttered. “I do love local women and what they know. Jack,” Violet said seriously, “you should really have more women working for Scotland Yard. It’s a terrible oversight.”

  “It’s a valuable point,” Smith told Ham. “I have hired a good local woman many a time. Beatrice and Vi are worth a thousand of your everyday gents.”

  Vi turned to pace and said, “So, we take the lodge that no one usually takes. It sets the gambling organizers into a tizzy.”

  Mrs. Anderson sniffed and waited. She was unconvinced, but Vi felt if they could convince her, they could convince the village.

  “So,” Vi says, “the caretaker tells Ham that there’s scarlet fever and the influenza in the village and the servants are ill. This man knows we’re spoiled and useless.”

  “Which we really are,” Denny agreed. “It
would have worked.”

  “Except,” Vi added, “Kate and Victor are sick and exhausted. Jack and I were delayed. We gathered up and decided where to go next. We could leave easily enough once we were together.”

  “But the snow,” Mrs. Anderson said. She shrugged as if she was starting to believe and then asked, “Why didn’t they just move the gambling location?”

  Vi paused and the friends stared at each other. “Oh!”

  Vi’s eyes glinted with understanding and Smith groaned. “I’m not there yet.”

  “The other officers,” Vi said. “They’re not involved. Maybe they’re even trying to find it. They can’t just go anywhere. Livingstone is attempting to hide he’s involved from the other police.”

  “The other officers are good boys,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Quinn Murray is straight as an arrow and twice as honest as a priest.”

  “Damn it, Vi,” Smith muttered. “Is that the fellow searching our socks with Livingstone?”

  “Well yes,” Mrs. Anderson said. “It is actually.”

  Her face had paled and she slid into a seat. Her hand was on her chest, and her eyes were distressed. “His Nann will be so sad. She’s a good woman.”

  Kate rose to get Mrs. Anderson a cup of tea. “It’ll be all right.”

  Mrs. Anderson seemed surprised by the offering. She must have worked for those who focused on class over humanity, Vi thought, as Mrs. Anderson said, “Aren’t you kind?”

  Chapter 18

  “What did you do with it?” Constable Livingstone demanded. He was huffing with anger. His eyes were almost roiling, but the younger, bright-eyed officer behind him wasn’t quite so ready to point the finger of blame at them.

  Vi jumped in to answer, so she could torment Livingstone. If they riled him up enough, he might give himself away. “With what?”

  His eyes flashed and Vi smiled smoothly. Just imagining her stepmother in the place of Livingstone channeled a sense of devilry that would set off any misogynistic man who had already tried to bully her into betraying her friend.

  “With the weapon!” Livingstone loomed threateningly and Jack cleared his throat. Funny how a little noise, a lifted brow, and a direct look could get a man to back up.

  “The weapon that one of us supposedly telephoned you about?” Vi asked easily, ignoring the byplay between the men. “Or the one that you tried to hide in the house to frame our friends?”

  Livingstone thrust his hands through his hair. “How dare you, ma’am? I am an officer of the law.”

  “That’s ‘my lady’ to you,” Violet told him with a complacent arrogance. “It’s only an honorary title, but it does belong to me. Use it.”

  The sound that Livingstone made had Denny laughing into his fist. He couldn’t hold back the sound, and the high-pitched giggles had Livingstone’s eyes bulging.

  “Is murder funny to you?” Livingstone demanded.

  “Let’s just calm down,” Constable Murray cut in. “So far, we’re just looking for evidence, my friend. We can make arrests and accusations when there is evidence.”

  “They’re guilty!”

  “What’s funny is that he’s an idiot,” Denny told Murray. “Why would we kill that man?”

  Constable Murray glanced at Livingstone who was so enraged he didn’t see the doubt on Murray’s face.

  “I could arrest you right now,” Livingstone snapped. “You’re a pack of liars.”

  “Could you?” Denny countered. “I thought evidence was necessary for that. Instead, what you have are the sworn statements of a group of individuals, some of whom are respected. Not me you understand, but Vi and Victor and Jack and them. We were together when the murder happened.”

  “A lack of motive,” Rita added easily. “That is my favorite part. We never even met that man. Why would we kill him? Even as a housebreaker, we could have just called you.”

  “It’s that he thinks we’re idiots,” Kate said. “The good constable believes that we’ll crumble when the law turns on us. He doesn’t realize.”

  “Realize what?” Constable Murray asked. “Is there something we should know about you?”

  Vi did like that one. He was a redhead with delightful freckles, light brown eyes, and a clear conscience. He was free of worries and the weight of guilt, and it shone from him like the Christmas star.

  “The audacity to work against two of England’s most famous and talented detectives,” Beatrice slid in and then casually took a bite of her eggs. “Jack Wakefield and Hamilton Barnes might have left Scotland Yard, but they were quite good at what they did.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” Murray said. “Are you Chief Inspector Barnes? I read your paper on interrogations. It is an honor sir, an honor.”

  “Oh!” Smith winced. “That does make the attempt to bully us more difficult.”

  “What are you talking about?” Livingstone shouted. “Quiet, Murray. These people are guilty.”

  “Guilty of being bullied by your superior,” Victor said. “It just won’t work with us, my good man. Vi and I have been bullied by nobility the whole of our lives. They are so much better at it than you. My friend, you’re a second-rate small town officer trained only in taking drunkards from the streets and making them sleep it off in middle-of-nowhere Scotland. It’s laughable that you think you can hide a weapon and then point a finger. More evidence is required that that. Isn’t that right, Murray?”

  “A murder weapon is a telling point,” Murray said, but his expression was at least half-way to convinced that something was amiss.

  Livingstone’s mouth dropped open and he hissed, “I will take you in right now.”

  “The problem here is that you need to take yourself in,” Jack told him easily. “You’ve made too many mistakes to get away with it.”

  “Let’s just calm down,” Constable Murray said. The power dynamic between Murray and Livingstone was shifting and even Livingstone sensed it. “We don’t need to be hasty.”

  Livingstone glanced among them frantically, actually shocked at the accusation while Mrs. Anderson gaped. She cleared, her throat and then slowly rose, “John Livingstone, you didn’t!”

  “Of course I didn’t,” he said, staring at her as though she were a demon cropped up from the underworld.

  “Your gran is going to roll over in her grave.” Mrs. Anderson clucked her tongue. “She always did worry about you.”

  “My gran is alive and well, thank you very much! And she doesn’t worry about me.”

  “That didn’t sound very convincing,” Denny said in a stage whisper and Lila laughed into her palm.

  “Well she won’t be when she hears of this!”

  Constable Livingstone turned on the woman. “How could you possibly believe them over me? You’ve known me since I was a boy.”

  “I have known you since you were a boy.” Mrs. Anderson shook her head regretfully as Denny’s giggles enraged Livingstone. “Oh, dearie. No one will believe that these folks killed Lewis Camdyn. Why would they?”

  “Maybe because they’re killers.” Livingstone shook his head and then stepped back. “You won’t get away with this.”

  “Calm down, John,” Murray snapped. “That’s enough.”

  “You have forgotten something very important,” Jack said idly. “It’ll be easy to confirm. Once confirmed, you’ll be under suspicion no matter who wielded the knife.”

  Ham shifted and Livingstone looked frantically among Jack, Ham, and Smith. Violet had to admit, she was offended.

  “Even I figured it out,” she said.

  “I didn’t,” Denny complained. “Tell me.”

  Livingstone stared at Vi who sighed. “Telephone calls can be confirmed. They’ll make sure that no one telephoned from here and then that the police station didn’t receive a telephone call. It’ll be over then. I’m guessing the knife can be traced, and of course, once the local constables aren’t involved in the crime, they’ll be able to verify a gambling ring which none of us could be tied to.”


  “Simple really,” Ham said. “It might have worked against someone else however.”

  Smith sniffed and then shook his head. “I doubt it. The courts would have found the holes, and he’d have been caught then.”

  Livingstone stared and then he spun and darted out of the house.

  “Aren’t you going after him?” Mrs. Anderson asked.

  Murray sighed and chased, but the question had been directed to Ham and Jack.

  “I don’t see any reason to,” Ham said. “It’s not like we’ve any authority. We’ll just call that fellow that Vi’s father knows. It’ll get back to him.”

  “What if he gets away?” Mrs. Anderson demanded. “Murray is not quite as big as Livingstone. He needs help.”

  Smith shrugged and Violet admitted, “Murray is too late already. Surely Livingstone is going to flee in whatever auto they brought. As for the murder, a person who cheated at gambling was murdered. It feels a little bit like the fruits of your labors.”

  The sound of the front door slamming made Jack rise. “I suppose one of us should telephone and take Murray back to the station with the other one, wherever he is.”

  “It is Christmas Eve,” Kate said as she rose to pull a chair over for Mrs. Anderson. “Let’s just focus on the good, shall we?”

  Mrs. Anderson’s Christmas breakfast made the one the previous day seem like a little something she threw together before sending someone off to work. There was so much food and so many options, Violet knew that her meal would be immediately followed by a nap. Which was, she thought, the only way to spend Christmas day.

  “Lady Violet,” Mrs. Anderson said as Vi left the dining room.

  “Oh please,” Vi said with a laugh, “Mrs. Wakefield. Or Mrs. Vi. Either way. I only use the title when I want to be irritating. Like a paper cut.”

  Mrs. Anderson’s gaze widened. “Oh, yes. Well. I see.” She leaned in confidentially. “You were quite irritating.”