The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Boxset 1

by Beth Byers

Violet didn’t realize she’d started crying again until Lila brushed back her hair and wiped her face with her handkerchief before she said, “It’ll be all right, luv.” Her voice was low and soothing. “It’s horrible now, and it’s not fair. But you are lucky. You had someone who loved you so much.”

  Violet nodded against Lila’s shoulder as she said, “I didn’t realize how much I loved her. Not until she was gone. I can’t…I don’t…I don’t want the money. She was my mother in all the ways that mattered.”

  There was another knock on the door and Beatrice opened it. Hargreaves stood on the other side. His face was pale and he had the look of someone who’d seen something terrible. Given he’d discovered the body of his mistress, he had. “The police need fingerprints, Miss Violet. Mr. Jack Wakefield apologized to interrupt your grieving, but he needs them sooner rather than later.”

  Violet turned and said, “Lila said Aunt Agatha was stabbed with her letter opener.”

  “I’m afraid that is correct, miss,” Hargreaves said. Mr. Jack Wakefield is working in the library with the local constables.”

  “My fingerprints are on it,” Violet told Hargreaves. She sounded exhausted. She felt wrapped in wool and pain. “I opened Agatha’s letters yesterday while we talked in her office. I have a hard time with messes and her mail was scattered across her desk.”

  “Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon?” Hargreaves’s jaw tightened and then he said, “Miss Violet, Mrs. Davies asked Mr. Jack to help her because he is very good at what he does. There is no need to fear.”

  “I hope that’s true,” Lila said fiercely. “If it isn’t, we’ll just…bribe officials with your fortune.”

  “I don’t think she’ll receive the money, if they think she killed Mrs. Davies,” Gwennie said softly.

  “Victor will though,” Lila said. “No need to worry.”

  Violet felt a flash of fear. “It can’t be good for me that my fingerprints are on the weapon.”

  “We’ll find the real killer,” Lila swore.

  Violet nodded, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. She hadn’t been so cold perhaps at any time. Her fingers hurt with the pain of the cold despite the fires burning throughout the house. She followed Hargreaves down the stairs and into the office where Jack was working with the constable.

  “Mr. Wakefield,” she said softly. “I used the letter opener yesterday when I was speaking to Aunt Agatha.”

  His jaw tightened and he nodded. He was the one who took her fingerprints. He did it with careful, large hands that made her shiver though she wasn’t quite sure why. Despite the fact that he was compiling evidence against her, she still felt safe.

  “The will would have changed out of my favor too. That can’t be good.”

  His jaw flexed over and over and then he said, “You didn’t know that. There is far more motive for your uncle to have injured your aunt. He is still at the end of things. Perhaps he realized that he wasn’t in either will. Perhaps he acted out in rage.”

  The constable, Officer Jones, was baby faced with blond hair and dark eyes. He nodded at what Jack said. Was the young constable so certain then? Did she know him? She couldn’t recall his face.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Jack said. “Make a note of it, Jones.”

  Did Jack believe she’d killed Aunt Agatha? Was that note of Jones to show she was helpful? To weaken or strengthen the case against her should it come before the court? She wanted to believe he knew her better than any idea that she might be a killer.

  But, the simple fact was he didn’t know her well at all. He didn’t know her favorite music or food. He didn’t know if she liked to ride horses or whether she was a good dancer. All he knew was that she’d had some expectation of inheritance and may have killed her aunt.

  “Lila said Aunt Agatha didn’t suffer.”

  “It is hard to say,” Jack said. “But I believe she died quickly. She didn’t have time to cry out or seek help. That is a good sign that she didn’t suffer.”

  Violet found she was crying again and that Jack kept a clean handkerchief in his pocket. He pressed it into her hands and asked, “Did you know you were her heir?”

  “Haven’t we discussed this before? I didn’t know. I knew she was rich,” Violet admitted, woodenly. “But I wouldn’t have thought she had quite that much money. I don’t even…I mean…how much did I inherit?”

  Jack’s head turned towards her and he said, “She did leave it to you in percentages, didn’t she? One-half of what was left. I don’t really know. Jones, fetch Mr. Coates.”

  Victor came into the room with Mr. Coates and said, “I’m not sure it’s quite the thing to be interviewing my sister alone.”

  Violet scowled at her brother and said, “Enough of that.”

  “Vi, we’re talking actual murder here. A possible hanging.”

  “The murder investigation is not over,” Jack said. “Don’t leap to conclusions that aren’t warranted. What we need to know, Mr. Coates, is exactly what these two inherited.”

  Mr. Coates adjusted his glasses and stepped into the library. “As of right now, my clients are the heirs. I work for them, not you, Mr. Wakefield.”

  “Tell him,” Violet said. “Just tell him.”

  “Violet,” Victor hissed.

  “Victor,” Violet snapped. “Aunt Agatha is dead. We aren’t going to make it harder to find her killer.”

  “Who might have set you up! We all got something. Maybe something worth killing for. Maybe it’s better to have the lesser amount of money and pin the crime on some other cove!”

  “Mr. Coates,” Violet said. “Please answer whatever questions Mr. Wakefield and the police might have regarding Aunt Agatha’s estate.” Violet nodded at the constable and Jack as she said, “If you no longer need me…”

  “Wait!” Victor called. “I don’t want you wandering the house until the killer is caught.”

  “Don’t be silly, Victor. Right now, I’m the killer’s favorite person. My fingerprints are on the weapon, I handed Aunt Agatha a cupful of poison, I inherited…” She turned to Mr. Coates and asked, “Did I inherit the most?”

  “Ah…well…” Mr. Coates glanced at Victor and then said, “By a rather wide margin. The split of her remaining money, itself, was very even between you and your twin. But your aunt left you her shares and interests in her business dealings. Those are worth…quite a bit.”

  “See,” Violet said. “The only person left with a motive to hurt me is you. You’re my heir, my lad.”

  He almost snarled at her, but she left him in the library and slowly walked up the stairs to her room. What had he said? Something was bothering her. She passed Uncle Kingsley’s room at the front of the stairs and noted that it was being thoroughly searched by two of the local police.

  Violet slowly passed the room, taking full advantage of the chance to look inside. She didn’t even try to hide what she was doing, but they didn’t note her interest. What had Victor said that had caught at her mind? That it was better to inherit less but have someone else seem like the killer.

  Here they were searching Uncle Kingsley’s rooms. He seemed like a likely killer. Almost as much as Violet. Uncle Kingsley had lost so much, he was in dire straits. Far more so than the rest of them. Could it be him?

  She went into her room and took up the list of suspects she’d made that first night. She took the list over to her desk and pulled out a new sheet of paper.

  Slowly she wrote the names again and considered them in the new light.

  JOHN DAVIES— Seems well off. Maybe not as rich as Agatha, but rich enough. He also seems as though he were quite fond of Agatha. He inherited well, but it won’t change his life in any way. Killer? Not in my opinion.

  ALGERNON ALLYN — He is in the soup. He doesn’t have a lot of money and his dad lost everything. But, Aunt Agatha’s will gave him money despite his foolishness because he was kind. Could she have been so wrong?

  Violet didn’t want to believe that Agatha h
ad been wrong about Algie. When you came right down to it, he was well-connected and handsome enough he could probably marry some nouveau riche daughter or use his connections to get a job. Algie…his plan to marry Violet off…it wasn’t the plan of someone who was bright. It was the plan of someone who hadn’t given up hope. Violet just didn’t think Algernon had done it.

  What about Kingsley?

  KINGSLEY ALLYN — Before the will and before he’d arrived, Violet had thought he had his own money. She hadn’t been aware he’d lost everything. When had that occurred? Before or after the first murder attempt. It had been weeks and weeks ago, hadn’t it? The way he’d acted since he arrived had been downright belligerent. He had been awful to everyone, especially Agatha. Did he really believe that he could bully her into keeping her will the same? But…he hadn’t even been in the will. Not either one. Not really. Though the second will did pay off his debts.

  Violet tapped her finger against her notes. It was in the opposite of his best interests to kill her before the will had changed. Was he really so sure he’d inherit something from his aunt? After all their many battles? After he’d seen his own brother disinherited?

  Violet’s mouth twisted. She knew that Uncle Kingsley had hoped his aunt would rescue him and his family. Only Aunt Agatha wasn’t that type of woman. She was almost cold when it came to business. He knew that. Violet knew that. If Aunt Agatha couldn’t be persuaded to save him, would he have killed her in a rage?

  Violet thought about how Aunt Agatha had died. Someone had planned to do it from the time she’d said the lawyer was coming to update the will. Someone wanted to avoid Aunt Agatha from changing the will. Whoever had killed Agatha both expected something in the will and felt it was worth killing over. Were they concerned they’d be removed from the will? She’d never said what she was going to do, so why would anyone jump to that conclusion? Maybe, they were really worried that she’d leave the money to a charity instead of her nieces and nephews.

  Violet slowly rose and walked down to the kitchens. She found Cook working quickly and Hargreaves in his shirtsleeves.

  “I’m sorry,” Violet said, “to intrude on your space. I…Hargreaves, did you ever think of anyone who might have known or been here when Aunt Agatha made her will the last time?”

  Hargreaves shook his head and Cook said, “Miss Meredith was here. I remember it clearly. She’d been blue and I perked her up with some jellies while Mr. Coates was with Mrs. Davies.”

  “Meredith?” Violet hadn’t even put Meredith on the list when she’d been up in her room.

  “Your aunt had been worried about Miss Meredith. Mrs. Davies had me make some heartening foods to get the blood up. Even had the doctor out. You remember Hargreaves, the doctor said Miss Meredith was exhausted.”

  He blinked quickly and said, “Oh yes. I remember now. I apologize Miss Violet, I—”

  “I’m sure it’s of no import,” Violet said. “Mr. Wakefield and the constables are focused on myself and Uncle Kingsley.”

  “You?” The cook laughed, but she didn’t sound amused. It was the bark of fury before she said, “You’d sooner kill your brother than Mrs. Davies.”

  “I didn’t, of course. I would never.” Violet was seated at the table with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits while Cook fussed over her.

  She muttered as she worked, “What’s the world coming to? I ask you! I ask you, Hargreaves? People killing a good woman like Mrs. Davies for what? Filthy lucre. Filthy lucre. It’s a cold world we live in. Knew it since the war. Poisoning our boys in those trenches. My nephew Tommy went off to war and never came back. That’s when I knew we was going to hell. Right in a hand-basket.”

  Violet sipped her tea, enjoying Cook’s tirade even if she muttered about how spoiled Victor was and how Violet and Mrs. Davies coddled him.

  “Girls are never coddled, are they? The weaker sex. Weaker? You see a girl like Miss Meredith looking after her sister’s little ‘uns and not even saying a word against it. You see you, Miss Violet, looking after your brother. You think we don’t see how he has his man, Giles, and you without a maid. Beatrice says you’re looking after his room even now with us about to help you. Girls are never coddled. We just carry on. Struggling, working, having babies, taking care of our men. From the day it all begins ‘til the day we die.”

  Violet pulled out her scrap of names and showed it to Hargreaves, who glanced it over.

  “I don’t believe Mr. Kingsley Allyn believed he’d inherit, Miss Violet. Your aunt was pretty blunt with him time and again.”

  “The police think he might have killed Aunt Agatha because he lost everything.”

  “I can’t say if he did or not, miss. Only that he knew he wasn’t in the will. It was always about you five young ones.”

  “Was it?”

  Hargreaves and Cook both nodded.

  “Uncle Kingsley knew it?”

  They nodded again.

  Chapter 21

  Violet left the kitchens before she made the servants uncomfortable with her presence. The five cousins who’d spent so much of their childhood with Aunt Agatha rattled around in Violet’s mind. The five who’d been half-raised by Aunt Agatha and half-educated by her. The five listed in the will.

  Violet removed herself, Victor, and John from the list of suspects and debated on Meredith and Algie. Her cousin, Algernon Allyn was spoiled, a bit thick, and prone to taking the easy way out. That was part of the problem wasn’t it? He was an out and out dunce.

  Violet could believe that he might cut a saddle girth in a moment of rage or push his aunt from a bridge if he’d been turned down or threatened to be cut from the will. Attempt after attempt? Grease on the stairs? That was more creative than Violet could justly give Algernon credit for. Maybe if Uncle Kingsley had been directing it all.

  If, however, you were to look at just the five of them. What about Meredith? Her life was a nightmare. She had no relief in sight. She couldn’t just marry for money like Algie. She couldn’t just get a job like Algie. She couldn’t use her connections for anything. Her connections had led her to a life of unpaid servitude.

  She might have been told by Aunt Agatha to keep the faith. What if your life was miserable? What if it were just awful and you knew that a slight push of a woman off of a bridge or a small glass of sherry was all that stood between you and freedom. Would you kill then?

  Violet’s journey up the stairs was almost blind. The grease on the stairs was such a woman thing to do. Perhaps Algie would shove someone down the stairs, but he wouldn’t grease them. Perhaps Algie would stab their aunt in the back, but he wouldn’t think ahead, unlock the window, crawl through it, and…that wasn’t something you could do without being seen.

  If you were small enough, however, you could slip in and hide in the curtains and just…wait. You wouldn’t even have to go through the window if you placed yourself behind the curtains and were patient.

  A sudden memory crossed Violet’s mind and with it, she was sure. Utterly sure. She passed Uncle Kingsley’s room again and saw the constables searching. What were they looking for?

  Poison? Muddied shoes from the flower bed? What if just on the side of the door, were a few pieces of evidence? What if Meredith was figuring a way to hide them while the police focused on the wrong relative? What if it was already too late?

  Violet passed her own bedroom, her friends’ rooms, her brother’s space and made her way to the end of the hall. Meredith’s bedroom was one of the smaller ones on this floor, but it had a beautiful view of the garden. Violet passed the room and walked down the servant stairs. They came out very near the door to the gardens only a few doors down from Aunt Agatha’s office.

  Any of the five cousins could have taken those stairs to the office, but Meredith’s room was but a few steps from the servant case. Meredith would know when the servants were likely to be on the stair and when they’d be clear. Violet bet Algernon wouldn’t have a clue about such things.

  Violet slowly walked
back up and stared at her cousin’s door. Would it be so bad to search it? Perhaps. But Violet was going to anyway. She knocked on the door. There was no answer.

  She knocked again and carefully called, “Meredith, love? Are you in there?”

  The was no reply. Slowly, Violet twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. She glanced quickly around and found it empty. Violet breathed slowly out. The bed was made, and Meredith’s small trunk was in the corner of the room, closed.

  Violet crossed to the trunk and opened it. There was nothing inside. The wish of a small vial or packet that could have been used for arsenic burned away in the light of emptiness. Violet pushed herself to her feet, crossed to the bed and glanced underneath. Not even dust under the bed.

  On the desk, there was a start of a letter to Meredith’s mother. It didn’t say anything useful such as ‘I’ve successfully murdered Aunt Agatha and can now afford to escape Gertrude’s demon children.’

  Violet opened the wardrobe and found three dresses. Meredith’s coat and hat were carefully hung up. A single pair of stockings and a few unmentionables were in the drawer of the wardrobe.

  Violet sighed. Nothing. She had been foolish to look. Perhaps the police had already searched. So easy to find nothing when there was nothing to be found.

  The door of the bedroom opened and Violet spun around. She met Meredith’s gaze.

  “Whatever are you doing in here, cousin?” Meredith asked. Her gaze had changed from the usual cold distance to something different. Something scary.

  Violet considered and then decided to risk her thoughts out in the open. “It was you.”

  Meredith laughed and then her gaze narrowed on Violet.

  “It was you,” Meredith countered with a small smile about her lips. “You’re the one who inherited the most. All I got was an allowance. Almost nothing compared to your heaps.”

  “She told you that you would get it, didn’t she? Something to help you hold on through the hard times. Aunt Agatha saw how tired you were from caring for your sister’s children and the way your family treats you, and she promised a better future.”