by Beth Byers
“Paris. Booze. Skating?” Vi wheedled, glancing at Lila who turned her big eyes on her love with a pleading look.
He hemmed and hawed before he said, “I really only half-work anyway. Just enough to keep the pater happy that I’m doing something and keep my allowance coming.”
“Then it’s resolved! Motion carried. All for one and one for all,” Vi laughed.
“This calls for drinks,” Victor said and Vi scowled at him and waved hers away. She had a firm policy of never drinking while she was still struggling with the headache from the last round.
Giles came into the sitting room with another tray of sandwiches and said, “Your new things have arrived, Miss.”
“Lovely,” Vi said. “Come darlings and see what I earned this morning.”
“What did Eleanor say about me?” Vic asked rather anxiously as Vi rose.
“That your eventual wife would throw me out and I’d have to marry or slum it.”
Vic laughed at that and Vi led the girls to her room where Lila threw herself on the bed and Gwennie started to dig through the bags that had arrived.
“You simply robbed her blind, Vi,” Gwennie said as she pulled out the stack of stockings.
“It’s not quite so simple as that. Father won’t give me an allowance without strings, but he’ll still pay for clothes,” I said. “I just bought rather more than Eleanor realized. Father won’t object when he gets the bill. He doesn’t get all that many bills from me. I always look like the economical sister because Isolde goes ham.”
“Oh that is nice,” Gwennie said, “I wish my parents or aunt would do the same. Rather than letting me buy clothes, they simply buy a dress they approve of here or there. Or gift me with a new hat. I get stockings money and not enough for much more. I have to beg for cigarettes.”
“Money is the string they use to get us to do what they want us to do,” Lila said, “It doesn’t get better after you are married. Denny and I get quiet little questions about babies. My mother can’t imagine that I might be doing anything to prevent a baby and I don’t think Father is even aware that such things exist. They’re both quite concerned that I’m barren and Denny will leave me.”
“There’s time left for babies,” Gwennie said, holding up the pink champagne dress against herself. “This is divine.”
“It is,” Vi agreed. “Thank you for coming with us. The relatives really are rather vile. Aunt Agatha is a doll. An armed and slightly mad doll, but a doll all the same. And you never know who will be with Aunt Agatha. Anything from a painter Lady Eleanor would find objectionable to some rich duke’s son.”
“That sounds interesting,” Lila admitted. “Better than withering away at home while Denny pretends to work.”
“It sounds about a million times better than slowly dying with my aunt in Scotland.”
“Darlings,” Vi said, rising smoothly and adjusting her cuffs. “I’m without a maid, so I’ll be having to pack while we chat since Harold Lannister has tickets for So This is London and I very much want to go.”
“You’re wearing this, I hope.” Gwennie said, nudging the dress.
Vi smirked and nodded, holding the dress against her body and twirling so it flew out. “Why else would I buy it?”
“Is Harold Lannister rich?” Lila demanded.
“Is he handsome?” Gwennie touched the dress almost longingly.
“He’s—witty. Educated. Not-ugly, but not handsome. And very, very rich.”
“Is he connected to the right families?” Lila asked channeling Lady Eleanor.
“He’s American,” Vi said with a wicked grin. “Lady Eleanor would despise him.”
Chapter Three
“Solve a puzzle for me, darling?” Lila asked as we settled into our seats in the train carriage.
Vi glanced her way and said, “Well of course. If you need brainwork, I’m the one.”
“Why are we going to this thing? Aunt Agatha is not like Gwennie’s aunt who pays for things right?”
“You mean she doesn’t give us an allowance?” Victor asked. He smiled at Vi and then turned back to Lila and Denny.
“Correct,” Lila said. “I understood when you wrote to her weekly about what you were learning at school. She paid the bills then.”
Vi laughed, “It’s rather simple. We like her.”
“Love her even,” Victor added tapping his cigarette case against his thigh. Violet had given him it as a reward for crawling out of college, degree clutched in his paw.
“But you’re not her heir?” Denny asked. “She’s rather rolling in the green isn’t she?”
“Funny you should ask,” Victor said, “I am the keeper of the bet book on that. Vi hasn’t placed a bet, but the rest of us have quite a sum on the line.
“That bet book is foul.” Violet glanced across the aisle and found a rather distinguished older man sitting next to a younger version of himself. The older man had glanced their way when they were talking of the bet book and she was sure he was listening.
“It is foul,” Victor agreed blithely. “Without taste and generally despicable.”
“Stop quoting me,” she said, elbowing him. She tried to direct his attention to their eavesdropper but Denny snatched the book from Vic’s hand. It was a small black thing, and it held more of Vic’s despicable side than she wanted to know.
“Let’s see,” Denny said, flipping the pages and opening one at random. “Oh ho, it’s the Algernon page. He thinks Violet and Victor will inherit. With rather too much for the servants. And not a penny to those who need it. He’s rather an obnoxious fathead, isn’t he?”
Vi nodded and adjusted her coat. “Oh stop.”
Denny grinned at her and turned another page. “Ah, cousin Meredith. Her guess was probably a house of wayward girls. Is she a sour one?”
“Not awfully,” Vi said, “She’s just on the border of things. Not rich but not poor. She’s too close to the big houses and the fancy parties to be satisfied with what she has. Only she’s too far away to be able to really slide in and enjoy.”
“I know the type,” Denny said blithely. He had already lit his cigarette and took a long drag.
“If dear cousin Meredith had the looks, she’d weasel her way into some rich man’s bed and find it wasn’t all she thought,” Vic said
“Victor Carlyle,” Vi countered. “There is nothing wrong with Meredith.”
“I like Merry,” Vic said while Lila laughed. “One has to be rather the thing to marry for money. She’s lovely enough but in a rather ordinary way. Not like Lila. Even you couldn’t do it, Vi. Not on looks. Whoever gets you will be obsessed with your wit and then never think anyone else could rival you.”
“Stop it,” Vi said, elbowing her brother rather harder this time. “You know I don’t wish to marry for money.”
“If you did, you’d marry Tomas who has enough money to bathe in and worships the ground you walk on.”
Vi had had enough at that. “I’m going to find wherever Gwennie disappeared to.”
“You know she gets sick on trains,” Lila called, “You may not want to find her.”
“She’s not the only one ready to sick up.” Vi shook her head, walking away.
As she left she heard Denny ask, “And who does Vi think your aunt will leave her money to?”
“Vi? She refuses to say. She really does hate this thing. It only exists because of one drunken evening, but even in her cups, she wouldn’t bet. It’s anyone’s guess who will inherit and no one would be surprised if she left it all to one of us, split it evenly, or decided to fund a reform school for girls,” Vic said. “Drives most of the family mad.”
“A reform school for girls,” Denny squeaked. “No wonder! Why does Algie think it’ll be you? The poor fish. You all have never given the idea that it would be.”
Victor hummed and then said, “Oh our Mother asked Aunt Agatha to look after us when Mum realized she was dying. Dear old Aggie took her promise seriously. Trying to compel us to read treatises and learn abou
t investments. Vi always indulged the old dear. I’m afraid I never did. But, she also saw that we learned to ride and paid for our tour around the world. She’s a good ‘un, and Vi doesn’t want to think about her dying.”
“So Agatha is a bit more of a replacement mother than Lady Eleanor,” Denny mused.
“Clearly darling,” Lila told her husband. “Don’t be thick.”
* * * * *
Violet Carlyle looked up from adjusting her fur-trimmed coat to see her cousin Meredith’s, pale face. Her nose was powdered, her hair was tucked up into an updo that gave the illusion of a bob, and her cheeks were as bright as her eyes. Violet almost felt drab in comparison. Her dark hair was held against her head with a rather delightful hat, and she knew the dark color brought out the brightness of her eyes. She might have more freckles than she could hide, and she might be curvier than was the fashion, but she knew she was cute as a button. Meredith, however, was elegant and slim.
“Meredith luv,” Violet said, pressing her cheek against her cousin’s. “How long has it been? Ages? Simply ages!”
“Oh, simply forever, is Victor with you?”
“Of course.” Vi grinned, “He’s in the carriage smoking and drinking coffee with a few friends. Are you coming down alone? How modern of you!”
Vi let her gaze flit over her cousin noting her threadbare, too-thin, coat and slightly dented cloche. Vi felt a bit like a poisonous piece of work when she realized how hard-up Meredith seemed. Vi knew in a relatively distant way that Meredith had married and lost her husband during the war, but Vi hadn’t understood that her cousin had fallen onto such hard times.
“I wasn’t expecting you’d be on the same train,” Vi said, not letting her gaze linger on anything other than her cousin’s face. “Isn’t it lovely? Victor wired for a car to be waiting for us and for someone to take our luggage. You’ll join us, won’t you dear?”
Meredith accepted and then complained about the drizzle outside before stating, “This is my first holiday with Aunt Agatha in quite some time. Have you been down recently?”
“Victor and I tend to spend Christmas more with Aunt Agatha than our father. She’s such a grand gal and Papa is never quite pleased with Victor or myself, don’t you know.”
Meredith’s face froze for a moment and Vi was sure she knew why. Meredith hoped to inherit from Aunt Agatha. It drove Violet mad that whenever any of Agatha’s relatives saw her they seemed to only see money bags up for the taking. What about her adventures? What about how she’d married, lost her husband, and spent the next forty years investing and growing his respectable income into something rather remarkable. As a woman!
“Oh Vi,” Gwennie said from behind them. “I wonder if you wouldn’t hunt me up some water, dear?”
“Oh you poor thing,” Violet said, “You look simply deathly. Come, come. Can I get you anything else?”
“Oh no…no…” She heaved some and came all over green and Violet backed up a step in case it was a projectile situation.
Meredith wrapped an arm around Gwennie’s shoulders and walked her to an empty seat, placing the bucket from a ready porter into Gwennie’s lap while Violet disappeared to find a cup of water. And perhaps a strapping cup of tea?
Violet rushed down the train aisle looking for a porter or a tea cart to gather up the necessaries for Gwennie and crashed right into the strapping man who had been sitting across the aisle from her and her friends.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry. So clumsy of me. I’m afraid I…”
He cut in with one of those low manly voices that caught her attention. “Don’t think a thing of it. I was right in your path.”
“And I barged right into you,” she said and smiled. Rather nervously, she adjusted her hat. He was so tall. And dashing. With a rather severe jaw and penetrating eyes. He had one of those beefy, strong bodies that made her feel tiny which wasn’t something she knew she liked until quite this moment. Given her luck, the most probable outcome was that he was a dunce.
“Brightest part of my day,” he said, and he stole another smile from her without her consent.
She took a look about the compartment and caught the positively judgmental gaze of Meredith and Violet started. “Oh, excuse me. I must get my friend some water. Please forgive me for simply slamming into you.” She nodded and flowed down the aisle hoping to improve the impression he must have of her. ‘Oh Violet,’ she thought, ‘It is not like you’ll see him again.’
She gathered up both a cup of tea and a glass of water for poor Gwennie and made her way back to where she’d left the girls only to find them gone. By Jove, whatever was Meredith thinking taking Gwennie off when Violet was out getting the necessaries? Violet scrunched up her nose, shrugged her shoulders, and decided the best course was to head back to her brother and see if Gwennie had turned up there.
The train carriage where her brother and friends were sitting did, in fact, contain Meredith and a green Gwennie. Vi delivered the now barely warm cuppa and the water and hoped to not wear it should it return to existence.
The gentleman she’d abused in the aisle was gone, but the man who simply must be his father remained. Meredith had taken an empty seat down the way and Vi let her hand touch Victor’s shoulder before she made her way down to their cousin.
“How have you been, Meredith?” Violet asked in a jolly way.
“As well as can be expected,” Meredith said rather poisonously.
Violet pasted a bright smile over her face and commented upon the newly dropped waist lines.
“I don’t waste my time, energy, or money with such frivolities. Very few have the time or money to fritter away like you and Victor.”
Violet was simply determined to not let Meredith spread her blighted outlook, so she smiled and said, “We have been rather blessed, haven’t we? Funny how the luxury of our shared grandfather and the little bit of money from our mother has given us such the chance for—how did you say it? A frivolous life.”
Something seemed to whisper judgement and sour lemons to her cousin and Meredith’s mouth twisted up into a bit of a snarl. She snuffled a little bit and then said in a rather boiled way, “Yes. Well. I suppose we did receive a similar inheritance from our grandfather. Of course your father has added a bit to yours. And you didn’t have the burden of marriage, a household, and then losing your beloved in the war.”
A great tear rolled down Meredith’s face, and Violet was suddenly convicted of being the sour one. She reached forward and took Meredith’s hand. “You have had a time of it, haven’t you? Oh, darling. I suppose I am just unable to understand the greatness of your loss.”
Meredith pulled out a worn handkerchief, and Violet felt another flash of guilt. Her poor cousin. Even her handkerchiefs looked as if they’d been through the war. And perhaps they had.
“I can only hope that Aunt Agatha will understand. You would think that a widow, like herself, would be able to see why I struggle so.”
The inference to Aunt Agatha’s will was a bit too blunt for Violet’s taste. The last thing she wanted was to keep her eye on Aunt Agatha’s death as something to be anticipated. Perhaps, she was being too harsh on Meredith? She might merely intend to put the touch on Aunt Agatha for a bit of green? Neither was to Violet’s taste but one intention was infinitely preferable.
Chapter Four
The drive from the train station to Aunt Agatha’s countryside manor was longer than poor Gwennie could handle and they had to pull over for Gwennie to sick up and then Denny to sympathetically sick up along side her.
Violet fled the area while the two of them were clearing their stomachs on the road. Otherwise, she just might have joined the lineup of the ill. Lila and Victor who had rather stronger stomachs than Violet attended the downtrodden while Meredith remained in the car.
“Miss,” the driver said, “There is a car coming if I don’t mishear. Perhaps a step to the side of the road?”
“Thank you, Peters.” Violet selected the side of the road withou
t people sicking up and turned her face up to the drizzle. “Am I mad to enjoy the smell of the rain in the countryside?”
“Perhaps a little, miss,” he said kindly. His craggy face spread with a grin and a wink and he said, “But then again country rain is better than that dirty London rain.”
“Too right you are, Peters,” Vi said.
A few moments later a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost paused beside the road. The driver’s door opened and the glorious man from the train stepped out.
“Oh hello,” Violet said, smiling at him. “If it isn’t my train friend, the punching bag.”
“You are rather too small to do much damage. Don’t worry too much.”
He grinned at her. His companion, who must be his father, stepped out of the other side of the car. “Is all well here, my dear?”
“Well,” Violet said, “Our automobile is well and the journey proceeds afoot with but a small hiccup.”
They turned and saw the sick Gwennie and Denny. A smile flitted across the face of the son and he said, “And you are no nursemaid?”
“Alas,” Violet laughed, “We’ve already got one who is sympathetically ill and I have no desire to add to that number.”
“Wise, wise,” the father said. “I believe you are Violet Carlyle.”
Violet placed her hand on her chest, a little surprised, and said, “I am, indeed. You, I fear, have the better of me.”
“Not for long,” the father said, “I am James Wakefield and this is my son, Jack.”
“Misters Wakefield,” Violet said, waiting for the rest of the explanation.
“My father is great chums with your aunt,” the younger Mr. Wakefield said. “We are to be part of this holiday party.”
“Oh, hullo,” Violet said, holding out her hand to each of them in turn. “That does explain it. Victor and I had heard dear Aunt Agatha had invited most of the family and rather expected her interesting friends as well.”
“I don’t know about interesting,” the older Mr. Wakefield said. “Lady Agatha’s husband and I were school chums through Eton and Oxford. Her invitation forced my poor son to listen to too many tales about the good old days.”
