A Merry Little Murder

by Beth Byers

  It wasn’t that the dresses weren’t lovely. They were. There was one that was embroidered with dragons, there was another that was black with beading that somehow glistened in the light despite being entirely black. Violet paused, staring when the shop girl held up a daring gold creation.

  Another was a day dress that screamed style, but Violet sighed as she looked at it. Where would she wear it? An afternoon tea? Violet had no desire to go to such a thing. What about that light deep maroon one? It was lovely and the way it hung, it would set off the slender lines of Violet’s calves, but then she might have to go to the Savoy with Victor and smile through dinner, pretending to enjoy the fish and the sight of people with their best clothes on display.

  “Things have been a little—” Violet stood and took one of the dresses, holding it in front of her. She hadn’t missed Lila’s razor gaze, which was what pushed Violet into examining the dresses. Even blue, Violet was taking that gold dress home.

  “Off?”

  Violet nodded. “Jack wasn’t pleased to find Victor and me with Tomas when we came back from Bruges and even less pleased to see him pawing at me while he was in the midst of his shell-shock. I won’t apologize for that.” Violet held a red dress in front of her body. It was a straight dress without beading, but it was made of layers of red fabric that provided dimension and made it interesting. Violet examined it and found her interested piqued. She liked it.

  “Do you think you need to apologize for it?”

  Violet shook her head. “Tomas finds strength in the past when he tries to pull out of shell-shock. Do I have to apologize for having a childhood with someone other than Jack? He’s a good ten years older than me, anyway. I was raised with Tomas. Victor was. Our childhood was what it was. I can’t apologize for Tomas any more than I can for Meredith or that idiot, Algernon.”

  “Really,” Lila said, “you might need to apologize for both Algie and Merry. They are wanting in the extreme.”

  Violet was shocked by her laugh, and she held the gold dress in front of her and twirled. She could imagine dancing in this thing. She could imagine dancing with Jack in this dress. He was a large man, and she enjoyed how he made her feel small. She could picture him in her head. Dark hair and eyes, penetrating gaze, he moved with the strength and grace of a lion. She supposed she thought of him as a beast because he was so very large.

  If she bought this dress, would Jack dance with her? She had to admit that one of the things she enjoyed the most was the way his hands felt on her back and waist. She shivered as she gazed at the dress and decided to try it on.

  “There’s a matching headpiece,” the shop girl said. Her eyes were avid as she listened to their gossip.

  Violet nodded in acknowledgement and stepped into the dressing room to change. She had to admit she loved the gown as she looked it over. Both the gold dress and the red dress. There were matching red heels just the right color with the t-strap and diamond buckles. They’d glittered in the candlelight. Violet could imagine the whole ensemble with her black pearls from her birthday. The red dress style was all in the cut of the fabric. It was layer upon layer of fabric put together at angles to make the layers become a sort of pseudo fringe. The gold dress was all in the daring and the lines of the wearer.

  “Yes, Vi,” Lila said, still in her cranberry beaded creation. “Buy them both. I have been thinking about the holidays, dear. I know you’re blue, but I wonder—”

  Violet lifted a thin brow and waited.

  “Denny and I were wondering if you’d rally round? We’re…I won’t go so far as to say we’re in need of assistance. It isn’t quite so dire as all that.”

  Violet didn’t even need to consider before she said, “Of course we will. What do you need?”

  “It’s the inheritance. You know Denny’s aunt left us some money and a house? The house is in the Lake Country in a little village where our families live. Oh, Violet…they are demanding we come home. There’s going to be a party. A Christmas dinner, the roast goose, the fish, you know. Jellies. When we’re there, we’re children again. Except when they demand why we don’t have children yet. Those who don’t realize things can be prevented assume I’m barren and…well…the little asides. Between Denny and I, we have a whole team of cousins to smother us. I don’t want to.”

  “I understand. Well, not the having children part, but the rest.”

  All too well. Violet and Victor hadn’t stopped being recalcitrant children when it came to their stepmother. Their father, on the other hand, was sort of distantly affectionate.

  “I should warn you,” Lila said. “Denny and Jack have become rather good friends. Denny has invited Jack as well.”

  Violet considered for a moment. “It would be too obvious if we didn’t go but Jack did.”

  “Do you wish not to go with him there?” Lila’s focus on Violet was so emphasized, Violet felt that her friend just might be able to see right into her head. “I believe he is going only because he believes you and Victor are arriving.”

  Violet shook her head. She wanted very much to go with him there. It seemed that almost the second she knew she had feelings for him he started to work more. The distance that had developed since then was driving her slowly mad. He was one of the few men who seemed to appreciate her wit, take her heritage in stride—without being entranced by her Father, the earl—let alone not being bothered by Victor.

  The few times Violet had spent time with another man, they always seemed to feel the need to compete with her twin or were jealous of him. Jack, on the other hand, took Violet’s relationship with Victor in stride.

  Violet was too-well aware that some of her blues came from the fact that Jack had faded out of her life. “Perhaps it would be better. I don’t know if I can keep on with things being so forced. I’d rather—”

  “Better to know, one way or the other.” Lila stepped back into the dressing room. “Maybe it is time for it all to come to a head.”

  “Indeed. He has been gone a lot. That Scotland Yard friend of Jack’s pulled him in on some case in the North. It involved several former soldiers.”

  “It could just be that.”

  “It could be.” Violet didn’t sound convinced, and Lila didn’t look convinced.

  Violet turned away to pursue more dresses just to avoid the subject. She ended up buying several dresses with the matching accessories. Lila watched Vi so carefully that she was forcing laughter and demanding that they extend their visit until they’d shopped the stores closed.

  “What is happening with the urchin?” Lila asked.

  “Ginny would be offended that you called her that.” Violet propped a hat on her head and examined it. The brim somehow made Violet’s head look like she’d put on a helmet. Violet set it immediately aside. “Ginny’s grandmother is unwell. That’s the only family the poor thing has left.”

  Lila winced for the child. “What happens next?”

  “She helped me save my sister’s life. Ginny’s too young to be on her own. I’ve already told her grandmother that I’ll be her guardian. Victor says he’s ready to inspire the next generation, though I think that Ginny will go to a girl’s school. One capable of dealing with the wild thing she is. I’m more of a mentor and less of a mother, so we’ll need all the help we can get.”

  “Oh ho,” Lila said. “I am certain that the only thing Victor can inspire that girl to do is drink too much, smoke too much, sleep too much, and be a very attentive sibling.”

  Violet laughed and they left soon after. Violet had bought a large number of dresses including the red, the gold, the dragon dress and several day dresses with stockings and accessories. She was momentarily excited, but it faded quickly.

  “Will Gwen be there?”

  “Gwen and John are meeting his parents. Did you think they’d fall in love as they have after introducing them over the last holidays? It is good that they aren’t coming, as my mother objects that I intend to invite so many people to come stay with us over the holida
ys, but goodness…it is sheer survival, darling. We’ll be at our house for most of it, of course. The family parties will be a little bigger and thankfully much rarer. In between those things, we’ll listen to jazz, we’ll dance in the parlor, we’ll drink whatever creations your Victor is certain to bring.”

  Violet laughed and Lila continued. “We’ll set up a tree, sing some carols, fill our stockings and eat mother’s Christmas dinner, and she’ll pretend to not mind you’ve arrived.”

  “How will you do that?” Violet asked.

  “Well, darling, sometimes you just have to blink and look innocent. It would be unwise, I think, to explain that I have invited my friends as a buffer to avoid the demands for grandchildren.”

  Violet laughed again.

  “Indeed.” Lila batted her lashes and she said, “Listen to the expert, I find that a shrill giggle and manic lashes will have them muttering under their breath about you as they stomp off to discuss Denny and I with their cronies in private.”

  “Tell me of your house.”

  “I haven’t been able to really think of it as mine, to be honest. The dearly departed was Denny’s aunt. So, he has all the memories of carousing in it. It’s terribly old-fashioned with ancient wallpaper and creaking stairs and what not. There’s even a small ballroom though only Denny remembers it. It isn’t a beast like Aunt Agatha’s house. I’m not sure Denny and I are ready to do things like fix it up and buy furniture.”

  Violet laughed and then asked, “A ballroom, you say?” A sudden idea hit her and she grinned with excitement. She hoped the idea would turn out just as she imagined.

  * * * * *

  Violet escaped to her bedroom when she returned home and decided on an evening in with a long soak. She avoided dinner even though Victor checked on her with a tight expression in his eyes and a masked face. She made him swear to leave and visit a nightclub with his friends while solemnly promising to soak in the bath until her skin had wrinkled. He sighed and left, and when she finished bathing, she hauled herself to her typewriter. She stared at the page for long minutes before she started to write and three sentences in, she yanked the page out and threw it away.

  An action she had to repeat several more times before she pounded her hand down on the keys and bit back a shriek.

  Violet took a long breath in, looked at her journal, and felt hollow when she considered writing in it. She didn’t want to face her feelings. Was it truly necessary to write out how she was afraid things were ruined with Jack? Or that she was in an abyss of missing her aunt? Or that the prospect of the holidays with Lila and Denny and the machinations were a dim prospect indeed?

  Violet stood and paced before she told herself, “Enough! Sit down and write. This is not who you are.”

  Violet considered for a few minutes before she pulled out her previous manuscript. She grabbed the first page off of the top and retyped the first three paragraphs and then refused to read the next. Violet stared at the start of the story and then decided upon a ghost. Every time she got stuck, she grabbed another random line. The story would be choppy, but it would be a start. She wrote, clicking away at the typewriter. At one point Victor came in, Violet vaguely aware of it, but she was caught up in the story. So, she just waved him off.

  When she looked up again, she noted a tray next to her. There was a sandwich, a glass of ginger wine, another of water, and a peeled orange. Violet paused long enough to eat half the sandwich and consider the plight of her newest heroine. Though perhaps, she thought, the right word was damsel.

  The best way, Violet thought, to feel better about one’s circumstances was to throw someone into an abyss and only give them a frayed rope to get out. She worked until late into the evening and when she finally crawled into bed, the story was well onto its melodramatic path. Vi went to sleep thinking about something other than previous Christmases and the loss of Aunt Agatha.

  Instead, however, Violet was thinking about going to Denny and Lila’s new house, what to bring for the holidays, and whether things with Jack were over or would revive over the holidays. They’d started to fall in love in the failure to prevent a murder. Maybe they’d be able to decide if their love was real or if it was a figment that burned away in the light of jealousy, trials, and loss.

  Chapter 3

  “How long is the train ride?” Victor moaned as he flopped back on his seat.

  “Too long,” Lila said. “And far, far, too short.”

  “What’s that, old girl?” Denny lit a cigarette and then offered his lighter to Victor. “You have no wish to be scolded? To be instructed on how to live? Next time, we need to be wiser. We’ll go to the Amalfi Coast. Shall that be our newest holiday tradition? This being called home to deal with family and their wants has got to stop.”

  “Yes. Please. I feel the impending doom of eventually having to spend a holiday with our stepmother.” Victor snapped his cigarette case closed and leaned back. “I do wonder what Italians eat for Christmas dinner? I admit I prefer a roast goose for the holidays.”

  Violet glanced out the window. “They have geese in Italy, brother. I’m sure you could still have the meal just as you desire.”

  “Well—” Victor took a long drag of his cigarette and smiled at her, “when in Rome and all that stuff.”

  The relief in that smile made her feel a bit guilty. She had been a burden on him since she’d been struggling with her blues. Hopefully, the fun she’d planned would set his mind at ease and stop him watching her with an eagle’s eyes. Perhaps if she threw herself into a merry holiday she’d come out on the other side of Boxing Day happy again. She couldn’t grieve forever, could she? The sudden and obvious answer was yes. There was never going to be a time when she didn’t wish to have her aunt back. Yet, she knew that the melancholy would pass.

  Poor Victor, Violet thought, it wasn’t as though he didn’t also grieve Aunt Agatha. Their aunt had loved and led both of the twins. They both missed Agatha desperately. Yet Victor had Violet to deal with as well.

  “What are we writing these days?” Lila demanded. “Now that you’ve ended the tales of poor Isla…oh hullo there, Jack. We’ve got room for you here, my friend.”

  Violet glanced up, heart in her throat. She was half-afraid he’d be looking at her and half-afraid he wouldn’t be. Her wide eyes fixated on his face, and she found his sharp gaze on her. She smiled and she knew it went all the way to her eyes. She certainly felt it in her heart. He’d been gone so much over the last few months, and she hadn’t been quite aware of how very much she’d missed him until he’d appeared again, and she was flooded with relief.

  “Why, Mr. Wakefield.” She fluttered her lashes up at him and then winked. “We meet again on a train.”

  Jack grinned at her, returned her wink, and turned to the others. He settled directly next to Violet, and she had to hide a shiver at his warmth. “What’s this now? Writing?”

  Lila gasped. “You are aware of the opprobrious V.V. Twinnings? The twins’ pseudonym for the books they write?”

  Victor snorted. “Opprobrious?”

  “I think that’s a little far,” Violet said. “Certainly the great V.V. Twinnings writes pulp. Yet—”

  “Do you mean trash?” Denny flicked off his cigarette. “Surely you do.”

  “I do not,” Violet argued. “I most certainly do not. Our last heroine Isla was dim but not lewd. You, good sir, could do well to take on her better attributes!”

  “Idiocy?” Denny demanded with a lifted brow.

  Victor laughed. “She was stupid, Vi. Isla was based upon the terrible decisions of our foolish Isolde. It was why you created her. You know you needed to work through your frustration with our sister.”

  “But both Isolde and Isla are sweet,” Violet countered. “Good-natured. Heroines with the best of intentions. Not lewd.”

  “Good intentions pave the road to hell, my sweet,” Denny said. “I’m not saying I don’t enjoy your books, but they’re hardly high-brow.”

  Violet lea
ned back with a scowl. “We have never, not once, claimed that they were the best books. Simply fun.”

  “Fun they are. Your scarlet ghost was a compelling cad.” Lila nudged Denny as he started to counter. “Hush it, husband. You stole the book from me to read it first.”

  “I suppose they’re fun,” Denny admitted with a wink. “I don’t think you can top the scarlet ghost. He is my favorite sort of dark hero.”

  “The new heroine…” Violet started but Victor cut-in.

  “I thought we decided we were writing another damsel. I think they are, by nature, a little dumb. Otherwise, they’d just save themselves. You would save yourself, Vi. After being around you, Isolde would probably save herself. She won’t need you to throw her into the Thames again. In fact, I’d count on you to save me if we were in trouble.”

  Violet shot Victor a quelling look. The last thing she wanted to recall was her sister’s near-marriage to a fraudulent cad which ended in murder and Isolde’s kidnapping. Violet shook that memory off and said, “We’re writing a damsel. A runaway. The poor child escapes a lecherous guardian only to fall into the arms of a highwayman. Innocent to the ways of the world, not necessarily stupid.”

  Lila laughed and clapped. “I do hope she has an inheritance. I despise reading about having to scrape for one’s bread. Feels too much of too many of our days.”

  “We’ve never really had to scrape, darling,” Denny said, “or at least we wouldn’t have if we hadn’t thrown all our ready money at the nightclubs. Regardless, not anymore. God bless our dearly departed aunt.” Everything about his speech was lazy and the way he leaned back on his seat with his legs jutting out just so seemed to declare that the sheer act of sitting was a burden. Not his reality, for he was a vital man, but his affectation since he’d inherited. “Now we’re in the green. Rolling in it. Not quite like Victor, of course, who can get away with buying houses sight unseen. Let alone Vi, who can dive right into her bouillon and swim the breaststroke through her mountains of gold, but I think we’ll be all right for our bread.”