The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Boxset 1

by Beth Byers

  “We’ve had quite enough,” Jack snapped.

  Violet flinched and an expression of regret passed over his face. His father called his name and Jack said, “Forgive me.” He then shut the door in her face. Violet shrugged, debated her options, and returned to the breakfast room.

  She set aside her cold tea and made a fresh cup, this time taking a plate of fruit, tomatoes, and eggs.

  Uncle Kingsley had a loaded plate, a large cup of tea, and a newspaper. He tossed the paper to the side and demanded, “What the dickens is happening, gel?”

  Violet sat quietly, desperately wishing for her brother, when a huge crash came from the east wing.

  “Oh dear,” Violet said as Uncle Kingsley cursed. “I believe that might be the coffee tray we sent up.”

  “What in the bloody hell is happening here?” Uncle Kingsley demanded.

  “There has been an accident. I believe Mr. Jack Wakefield may have just lost his temper on the silver.”

  “And who the dickens is this ill-tempered Wakefield?” Uncle Kingsley yelled.

  Violet did not miss the irony as she calmly said, “Mr. James and Mr. Jack Wakefield are two of Aunt Agatha’s guests for the holidays.”

  “And they believe it is acceptable to throw about her silver? Time to send the woman off to bedlam before madness overcomes us all.”

  Violet’s gaze narrowed on her uncle and she snapped, “Mr. James Wakefield nearly lost his life in an accident this morning. The ire Mr. Jack Wakefield feels is surely justifiable given the near-loss of his father’s life.”

  “I hardly think it appropriate to act in such a manner,” Uncle Kingsley yelled. “Now where is my son? I sent the maid for him quite a while ago.”

  “Uncle Kingsley,” Violet snapped, “You have not been here for twenty minutes. You have spent the entirety of that time yelling and insulting my aunt in her own home. I hardly think you are in the position to cast aspersions on the behavior of Aunt Agatha’s guests when your own behavior is reprehensible.”

  “Reprehensible? Who do you think you are, gel? I am your elder.”

  “And,” Violet hissed, “on a normal day I would treat you with the respect your age deserves. However, I will not stand by and watch you insult my aunt and the behavior of her guests when you have no reference point for why they are behaving as they are.”

  “I will be speaking to your father,” he snarled, “and your aunt.”

  “Please do,” she replied calmly.

  The door of the breakfast room opened and both Victor and Algernon entered.

  “Where is Hargreaves?” shouted Uncle Kingsley.

  “There has been an accident, Father,” Algie said. “Of course he’s seeing to the needy.”

  “The old fellow who fell down the stairs and then his son had a tantrum? I suppose someone has to deal with them. I was under the impression this was a full-grown man we were dealing with. Is he damaged from the war?”

  “Ah…” Victor said. “Well…”

  “I think I’ll just go find Meredith,” Violet said brightly. “So nice to see you, Uncle.”

  “And where is Agatha? Sending threatening letters and demanding a body’s presence during the holidays. If I’d wanted to come see the old gel during the holidays, I’d bloody well have made it known, wouldn’t I?”

  “Ah…” Victor replied, clearing his throat. Violet winked at him as she shut the door, ignoring the supplicating look on his face.

  Violet ran up the stairs to her rooms, knocking on Gwennie’s door and warning her to stay away from the breakfast room and to save Lila and Denny as well.

  “What is happening?” Gwennie asked when Lila opened the door to the bedroom she and Denny shared.

  “There has been another attempt on Aunt Agatha,” Violet sighed. “Mr. James Wakefield was the victim. He’ll be all right, I understand, but the doctor is with him. My uncle has arrived, and he’s in a rage. It’s just safer, darlings, to eat toast in your room. I’ll send some up, shall I? Then perhaps you all will want to visit the town today or play a few rounds of billiards. I’m so sorry things are dire. This was not at all what I imagined when we invited you.”

  “Not to worry, darling,” Lila said while Gwennie squeaked in shock. “We will be fine. How can we help?”

  “Perhaps the town trip? See if you can find John Davies? He left as soon as they found Mr. Wakefield to get out of the way. See what you can find out about him?”

  Gwennie nodded a little too enthusiastically, and Violet realized her friend may just have developed some puppy love for her cousin-by-marriage.

  Lila’s lush lips twitched at the expression on Gwennie’s face and she said, “Yes, I think we’d better.”

  Gwennie blushed furiously and disappeared into her room as Lila asked low, “Darling, are you all right?”

  “I lost my temper with my uncle,” Violet confessed. “I am sure Aunt Agatha will be hearing about it shortly. He came in a rage and just said the most horrible things, and I…I…just snapped.”

  Lila smirked and then said, “Well, darling, I’m sure you were justified.”

  “Perhaps, but it is so hard to prove when he’s my father’s age and I called him to repentance.” Violet could feel the heat on her cheeks. “I am ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t have lost control.”

  “You will apologize prettily, bat your lovely lashes, and blame your womanly weakness. He won’t be able to avoid accepting your apology. That’s what comes from being such a lovely thing.”

  Violet scowled. She would need several drinks before she could muster up the strength of will for such a lie.

  “Don’t forget to flatter him outrageously, darling,” Lila trilled.

  Bloody hell, Violet thought as she realized she would have to do just that. Lila’s mocking laughter chased Violet down the stairs and into the kitchens where she requested trays sent to her friends and apologized for the extra work.

  The cook nodded sharply, clearly frustrated, and Violet paused to flatter her as well before escaping to see Meredith in the library.

  Chapter 13

  “Meredith,” Violet called. “Hello, dear. Uncle Kingsley has arrived with his blood up, and I thought I might hide with you.”

  “Left your friends to it, did you?”

  “I’ve warned them off. I believe they may spend the day in town as Uncle Kingsley came through the door with the devil in his eye,” Violet laughed. “My friends are bright young things after all. They don’t linger for the dull family fighting. We haven’t had a chance for a good chat yet, have we? You’re near Chigwell these days, aren’t you? Near your parents?”

  “Indeed no, though I was coming from there when we met on the train,” Meredith said sourly. She sniffed and closed her book, giving Violet a look that said she was very much interrupting.

  Violet smiled brightly and ignored Meredith’s silent order to vacate. “Where are you then, dear?”

  “About two hours from here, actually,” Meredith said, sniffing once again. “My sister pled for assistance and I arrived forthwith. Family should help each other after all. Support in one’s time of need.”

  Violet grinned brightly and winced inside. Assistance? More like an unpaid servant. If Violet knew anything about Gertrude, and Violet knew very little, she knew that Gertrude was cheap, sour, and inclined to order about anyone weaker than herself. The few times they had met had not left either cousin pleased with the other.

  “Doesn’t she have children these days?”

  “Five in four years,” Meredith said. “She had twins as well. Twins are an affliction on a family. Not that I intend to offend you and Victor, but I have to speak the truth.”

  Violet gaily laughed and said, “Oh, none taken, darling. Believe me, that is not the first time someone has made such a statement to Victor or myself. We were rather a handful when we were children, weren’t we?”

  Meredith sharply nodded and then she rose to ring the bell. When Beatrice arrived in the library moments later, it
was evident that she’d been cleaning nearby. There was a bit of dust on her cheek and she was red-faced with exertion.

  “Mrs. Halvert? Miss Violet?”

  “Technically speaking, Violet should be called Lady,” Meredith told Beatrice, who flushed brilliantly.

  “I don’t use my title,” Violet countered. “Not really. Miss is simply perfect, dear Beatrice.”

  “Tea, please,” Meredith demanded. “Sandwiches or biscuits or toast. Something to nibble.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Beatrice said, disappearing quickly.

  Meredith scowled after her and said, “She’s too pretty to be a servant. And rather too bright-eyed. No doubt she listens at doors.”

  Violet’s expression didn't change, but she said, “I quite like her. She’s…stalwart.”

  “Stalwart? A very odd term to be using for some country housemaid who probably spends each afternoon flirting with the footman and dreaming over the young men of the house, telling herself if they only knew her they could love her despite the difference in class.”

  Violet had to keep her mouth shut and remind herself that she was there for details of Meredith’s life. As much as Violet would like to imagine otherwise, each of the attempts on Aunt Agatha’s life could easily have been done by a woman as a man. Her current preference for murderer was Algernon. Or John Davies. She didn’t really care one way or the other about the blank slate that was John Davies, and Algernon had tried to use her to pay his gambling debts.

  Meredith, on the other hand, had a rather hard time of it for the entirety of her life, and Violet wanted to wrap the sour old thing up in a bit of loving. Maybe from a distance. See Meredith in some remote seaside cottage where it would be quite inconvenient to visit but where she might be happy.

  “What do you think of the village where your sister lives? Are there a lot of people there?”

  “It is a typical English village. The lending library is lacking, the gossip between the housewives is without end, and there are more widows than there should be. Gertrude has quite a time of it with the way some of the country housewives treat her. They don’t seem to realize how well connected she is and don’t treat her with the respect she deserves.”

  Violet winced for Meredith and Gertrude. They were living in the old days when their grandmothers could lord it over their neighbors because a cousin had been the third wife to an earl. Of all the ridiculous things. If the war had taught them anything, hadn’t it taught them that birth didn’t make one better or worse than another? After months and years in the trenches with the nobility working side by side the lower classes, dying together, surely they could see that there was nothing particularly special about being the child of an earl? Violet didn’t feel special as compared to Meredith. Simply more fortunate in her parentage. That didn’t even have to do with her father being an earl. Uncle Cecil was undesirable even if he had been the earl.

  Violet might disappoint her father and stepmother, but they loved her and would never see her working for a married sister.

  She gently said, “I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for you, Meredith. Losing your husband as you did.”

  “Yes, well. Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” Her fixed gaze told Violet exactly who would never love at all and she found herself biting back a sharp retort once again.

  Violet reminded herself that Meredith had been very unfortunate and counted herself blessed to have avoided the same pain, when Beatrice opened the door, interrupting the awkward conversation by setting out the tea things.

  “Did you want to pour, luv? Or shall I?”

  Meredith scowled as she poured. “Have you read anything enriching lately? I’ve been pursing A Treatise on Domestic Economy. We are so wasteful as a people. Frittering money away on the most useless of things and throwing out what could be used wisely.”

  Violet smiled brightly despite being unqualified to say a single nice thing about an entire treatise on penny pinching. She confessed, “I’m afraid I have not read one enriching or educational thing since Oxford, darling. I am rather addicted to French novels, pulp magazines, and the occasional scandalous play.”

  “Well, I am unsurprised. You always were flighty.”

  Violet smiled at that. She had been rather flighty as a child. She did, in fact, relish being flighty as an adult. She might have lied about her intellectual pursuits, but she’d be damned if she got pulled into a conversation about domestic economy. If she had been honest, she read the financial papers and reports from Aunt Agatha’s companies as well as essays about women’s rights, but Violet didn’t want to hear Meredith’s inevitable lecture about such things, and to be honest with herself, she much preferred the scandalous French novels. Let alone, her fierce love for the Tarzan stories of Edgar Rice Burroughs.

  Aunt Agatha had a shipping company that went between London and New York, and Violet had commissioned the captain to get her the American novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs every time he went along with anything that fell into the same line. He was good enough to acquire the American pulp magazines as well. Though, she let Victor take credit for ownership should anyone notice them on their shelves.

  “Victor and I were thinking of going to Paris after our visit with Aunt Agatha. Would you like to come with us? We’re staying with a friend and the cost will be very minimal.”

  Meredith seemed almost shocked for a moment, her mouth agape. Violet rather felt the same. The invitation had escaped her before she’d fully thought it through.

  “It should be dismal weather and a terrible crossing, but I think that, in general, we’ll have a rather fine time. French chefs are so much better than British ones, don’t you know?”

  “My sister needs me,” Meredith said, twisting her mouth sourly and scowling at the affront of Violet’s invitation.

  “Oh, darling. A visit to Paris is good for the soul.”

  “I hardly think so. No doubt you’ll be drinking and dancing with little consideration of the finer morals or elevating yourself.”

  And, with that, Violet decided to not push the matter. “No doubt you’re right, darling. We do enjoy our grasshoppers and gin rickeys. Let alone dancing. A little jazz music, a little of the city by starlight. Perhaps a jaunt down to the vineyards to find something delicious to add to the cellars.”

  Meredith scowled as she said, “Foolish drinks with foolish names for foolish minds.”

  “Fun drinks with fun names for fun times. Foolish minds, I’ll give you.” Violet took a fortifying drink of her tea and grabbed a biscuit. A little shortbread dunked in her tea just to watch Meredith’s mouth twist up into a scowl.

  Yes, Violet was definitely going to be consigned to hell for tormenting her cousin, but her already weak better nature failed her entirely.

  Chapter 14

  “What did you find out?” Victor asked, as Violet joined her brother, Denny, Lila, and Gwennie in Victor’s room that evening. Lila had taken the chair near the fire and was reading their story, while Denny and Victor were smoking near the window. Gwennie sat across from Lila, book in her lap, looking up with a curious gaze. “Any changes for good ole Merry?”

  “She is as sour as she ever was. We were cruel to give her that name, but Victor—” Violet shook her head and started her pacing. She stopped to cover the typewriter and straighten their paper stack and then continued. “She got manipulated into moving in with Gertrude, who has a passel of terrible children.”

  “Oh, no,” Lila said. “It’s the nightmare of every widow and spinster.”

  “It’s worse than you know,” Violet declared. “Gertrude has had five children in four years including twins.” Violet paused dramatically and added, “Who—like all twins—are an affliction on their family.”

  Victor snorted and then said, “Well, Merry’s not wrong there.”

  “I do feel sorry for her. I even invited her to Paris—”

  A chorus of, “Oh, nos!” and, “You didn’ts!” filled the air and Violet
held up her hand.

  “Not to worry, my loves, she has no interest in foolish drinks with foolish people who foolishly fritter their time without thought of higher things.”

  “Thank God!” Victor muttered and then said, “Don’t be kind again, sister mine.”

  “I’ll endeavor to bring my inner shrew to the forefront for the rest of our stay here.”

  Lila laughed while Gwennie shuddered. “I’m sorry, Vi. But your cousins are simply awful.”

  “Oh darling, we know,” Violet told Gwennie. “It was why we pled so fervently for you to rally round. The thing is, my loves, Meredith’s life has changed. And she’s closer than we thought. Gertrude lives with her husband in Shelby which is only two hours from here. It would have been possible for Meredith to commit all of the crimes herself whereas Algie would have had to hire someone to help.”

  “And,” Victor added, “with Uncle Kingsley appearing at the threat of really being left out of the will, he has to be added to the suspect list.”

  “Has your uncle had any material changes lately? Something that might drive him to murder for money?” Denny asked. He put out his cigarette and crossed to his wife, settling his hand on her shoulder for a moment and squeezing.

  Victor shrugged and Violet echoed it. It wasn’t as though they were close with Uncle Kingsley. Perhaps they were invited to a dinner a year, if that.

  “How is Mr. James, Victor?”

  “Ran into Jack. He said his father is drugged up and plastered up, but will be fine. He had quite the rage in his gaze though. I wouldn’t want to cross Jack Wakefield for all the money in the Bank of London.”

  “Mmmm,” Violet agreed. The enraged Jack had been somewhat terrifying, but she was so glad to hear that his father would be all right. The memory of her sudden pain that morning, when she’d thought that Jack had been the one hurt, returned. What was this between them? She was his suspect. He was an investigator. A would-be murderer was on the loose, and her heart was skipping a beat nearly every time they touched.