The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Boxset 1

by Beth Byers

  Meredith’s mouth twisted and she said, “A better future? No.”

  “Cook remembers,” Violet lied. “She remembers that you perked up after the lawyer came and Aunt Agatha changed her will. Did she take you out of it after you married your husband and he lost everything? That seems like something she would do. We were being tested all our lives and didn’t even know it. I bet you failed when you let your husband lose everything you had. Did you show up dejected and broken and play on her unwarranted love for you?”

  Meredith stepped precisely into her room. It didn’t have two comfortable chairs next to the fire like Violet’s, but Meredith perched on the end of the bed. “Fairy stories and attempts to slide out of the mess you’ve made.”

  “You saw me with the letter opener in my hand.”

  Beatrice appeared in the doorway for a moment and then stepped to the side. Violet was certain that the girl was still there on the other side of the doorway. Reliable, wonderful Beatrice.

  “Nonsense and fairy stories.”

  “You knew I was the main heir. Hargreaves saw you eavesdropping with the lawyer.” That was a wild guess, but Violet had seen Meredith eavesdrop more than once herself. “Aunt Agatha told you that she’d fix the will after she saw you. She changed it and you listened to find out what you’d receive. It wasn’t fair, but it was enough.”

  Meredith paused, momentarily at a loss for words and Violet was certain.

  “Hargreaves saw you. You’re the only one who could easily reach the house for the early attempts on her life. Victor and I took the train to Shelby. We met your demon twins. We talked to your sister. I wouldn’t have blamed you for getting away if you’d just found a job. Your sister is terrible. It’s a new age for women, Merry. There was no need to murder to escape your lot. We even have the vote.”

  “A new age? So I could share a room in London with other working girls? Living like sardines in a can, slaving away as a typist for some animal who thinks it’s acceptable to manhandle me? I don’t think so. Why is it fair that you and Victor have everything? You were already well set up when she left you everything.”

  Violet swallowed her shout of fury before she said, “So you pondered on how you were in the will. You remembered how—even if it wasn’t as much as I received—that it would get you away from your sister.”

  “And punish you! You aren’t better than me. You weren’t more attentive. You were awful. You and Victor pulled pranks and caused trouble. I was an angel! I listened. I did everything I could to get Aunt Agatha to love me, and she never did!”

  Violet closed her eyes for a moment and then said, “You didn’t love her.”

  Meredith’s mouth slowly opened and she sputtered.

  “She wasn’t stupid, Meredith. Aunt Agatha knew you didn’t love her. Algie was fond of the old girl. John cared for her, but didn’t make her a priority. You want to know why I was favored? I loved her. I needed her. Victor loved her too.”

  “They won’t believe Hargreaves over me. He’s a servant. He’s nothing.”

  “They’ll be able to track down the cyanide now that they know where to look. The problem with so many attempts on her life that failed was that there were so many chances to catch you. It won’t take them long to find the proof.”

  Meredith gasped and jumped to her feet. Fate seemed to be mocking her and she shrieked in fury, lunging at Violet and shoving her. Violet had no warning. Trading polite accusations and then she was falling back. She tripped on the brick near the fireplace and hit the ground. Pain rushed her leg, and Violet screamed.

  Meredith darted out as Beatrice rushed in.

  “Miss Violet!” Beatrice shouted. “Help!”

  Beatrice beat at Violet’s dress, crying as she did. It took Violet too long to realize that she had been on fire. By Jove, she had been on fire.

  Vi sat up and looked at her leg. The fire hadn’t extended beyond her dress. The pain had stopped. More pain from heat than from fire burning her legs. She was all right.

  “Thank you,” Violet whispered to Beatrice, remembering again that nothing was right for Aunt Agatha.

  Tears started to fall and Beatrice pulled Violet close, hugging her tightly. “There, there,” Beatrice said. “There, there.”

  “Oh,” Violet breathed. “Oh.” She pulled away and looked up at the kneeling Beatrice. “I…”

  A realization of what had happened seemed to occur to them both at the same time.

  “She…she…killed Mrs. Davies!”

  “Go tell Mr. Wakefield,” Violet said. “Quickly now. They have to catch her.”

  Chapter 22

  Meredith didn’t make it farther than the long drive to Aunt Agatha’s house when the constables found her. They put Meredith in the back of their auto and drove her to the police station before the rumors of what she had done had flown through the house.

  Jack Wakefield followed while Victor raged over the sight of Violet’s burned dress. Lila and Gwennie bundled Violet into a bath and a nightgown. It took a stiff whiskey, two gin rickeys, and Beatrice holding Violet’s hand until she was able to calm down enough to sleep. Even then, she cried while she slept.

  The sun was high in the sky and the servants busy when Violet woke the next day. Beatrice was near at hand and disappeared the moment Violet sat up, returning with Giles’s famous and effective morning after remedy, two pills, and a tea tray.

  “Bless you,” Violet said. She moved slowly through her ablutions until Victor appeared.

  “Come on now, luv.” His voice was gentle. “You need more than toast, and Mr. Coates needs to speak with us.”

  Violet followed her brother down the stairs and into the yellow room. She didn’t really listen until a rather large number broke through her fog.

  “I don’t understand,” Violet said. “How much?”

  Mr. Coates repeated the amount and Violet choked. He gazed at her a few minutes while she drank tea and stared at the wall. Finally her gaze turned to Victor who seemed as shocked as she was.

  “I didn’t realize the old girl had succeeded quite so well at her game,” he said.

  Neither had Violet. She hadn’t the faintest clue.

  “I…” She paused, closed her eyes, and said, “I need you to pay off Uncle Kingsley’s debts. Enough to keep him out of debtor’s prison. The same for Algernon. Pay off his debt and make sure he’s aware that we won’t do it again.”

  Mr. Coates’ expression said what he thought of those endeavors, but Violet just couldn’t allow her uncle to suffer when she’d been given so much. They signed papers while Victor paced in the background. He hadn’t been surprised by what Violet had requested for her uncle, and he wouldn’t be surprised when she escaped the yellow room before she heard more. She didn’t want the money, she wanted her aunt.

  “Victor,” Violet said, cutting into Mr. Coates commentary. “I want to go.”

  “Paris?”

  She nodded. He could have said anything, and she’d have said yes.

  “No,” he suggested, “it’s so grey in Paris during the holidays. Let’s skip Paris and go straight to Italy.”

  That was fine, too. She didn’t care. She just needed to leave the place where her aunt, the only mother she clearly remembered, had been stolen from her. Violet made her way to her rooms and packed her bags. They could leave first thing in the morning.

  That evening, Jack Wakefield found her as she sat in Aunt Agatha’s library. She was alone, though Victor and their friends had checked on her several times. She looked up expecting her twin and found Jack Wakefield.

  “I am leaving in the morning,” Jack said. “Father is well enough to leave his room and doesn't want to stay where his friend was stolen from him.”

  A feeling Violet understood all too well. “Victor and I are going as well.”

  “Paris?”

  “The Amalfi coast.”

  Jack nodded. He made no other comment on her destination but she hoped that light she saw in his gaze was approval. He
slowly took her hand. “There is much to do for your aunt even now. I will see her through to justice.”

  Violet nodded. She didn’t know what to say. She stared down where his large hand engulfed hers. Once again, the feeling of being small next to his bulk struck her. Once again, she discovered that she enjoyed that feeling. He made her feel both safe and so very womanly.

  “You will be seeing me again, Lady Violet Carlyle.”

  Her gaze jerked up to his and she nodded almost helplessly.

  “Until then.” He squeezed her hand once and was gone before she recovered from his unexpected promise.

  “Miss?”

  Violet turned from the view of the sea to Beatrice. The maid had a bit of a tan and a smile that brightened the greyest of days.

  “Mr. Victor has returned.”

  He’d gone to town to purchase something. Had it been a painting? She thought it might be. Something for his office when they returned home. The weeks since losing her aunt and gaining an inheritance had been long. There was something about the sun and the wind that had made them bearable.

  “He has a letter from home and would like you to join him.”

  Violet followed Beatrice down to the little table on the back patio that overlooked the sea. Victor sipped something while Lila and Gwennie leaned back, eyes closed under the warmth of the sun. It didn’t matter that it was January and wasn’t all that warm. It was just that it was so beautiful.

  “How are you, luv?”

  She smiled and perhaps for the first time since losing her aunt, Violet was able to answer honestly, “I am well.”

  “We’ve been called home.”

  Violet considered. No longer were they reliant on the income from their father. While they’d been here, Hargreaves had been packing the things Aunt Agatha had left them in the big house and moving it all to London for their return. They didn't have to go anywhere they didn’t wish. They could say no. Freedom had never been more free with so much money at their fingertips.

  “Isolde is getting married.”

  “Oh, no,” Violet laughed, shocked at her genuine humor. “Now no one will ever want to marry me. Once your younger sister is wed, all chances of love have been frittered away.”

  “That wasn’t true,” Lila laughed, “even before you started swimming in the green. Now, my luv, everyone knows what a catch you are.”

  “Drowning in the green,” Victor added, “our Violet. Drowning in money. A terrible fate.”

  “Smothered by it,” Gwennie added with a laugh. “If only we were all so encumbered.”

  “I wouldn’t mind returning to my poor working Denny,” Lila said. “Gwennie wouldn’t mind stumbling across Mr. John Davies. You wouldn’t mind running into your Mr. Wakefield.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Victor said, “watching Lady Eleanor attempt to cozy up to us now that we’re cronies with Midas.”

  Violet smiled. The sea was beautiful this time of year, but it would be better in the summer.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Violet announced, “those things myself.”

  THE END

  Summary

  April 1923.

  After a winter on the Amalfi Coast, Lady Violet Carlyle returns home for her little sister’s wedding. The last time Vi was with her family, she was the pauper daughter who needed to wed before she lost her chance. After the events of the holidays, Vi’s richer than Midas.

  When Violet meets her sister’s fiancé, Violet knows something must be done. This is no love match or even a good match. Before she can stop the wedding, she finds herself embroiled in another murder investigation. Yet again, she and her family are the suspects.

  This time, instead of being a suspect, Chief Inspector Jack Wakefield knows she’s innocent. He’s not eyeing her for the crime, but she’s captured his attention. Can they find the killer, so they can explore what’s growing between them? And just how will her family react when they discover she’s falling for a Scotland Yard detective?

  Pam. Gurrrllll.

  <3 you.

  Chapter 1

  “Ah,” Violet said merrily, glancing up at her brother, “home sweet home.”

  The drizzle turned to a downpour, and she laughed as the boat rocked beneath their feet. Each of them were drenched through their clothes and would require hot baths and hot toddies at the earliest possible moment. The cliffs of Dover were in the distance but rather hard to make out with the rain—still…it was home.

  “We’re going to get horrifically ill. Sniffles for days.” Victor glanced back towards the entrance to the cabins and then shuddered as he recalled what was happening in there. “How many stone do you think Gwennie is currently…expelling?”

  Violet nudged her brother with an elbow and ignored the statement. Poor Gwennie got notoriously ill whenever they were in an automobile, train, or boat.

  Violet gripped the railing and leaned down until Victor grabbed the back of her overcoat. “After the Amalfi coast, the English Channel is something of a disappointment, isn’t it?”

  “Grey water, cold that seeps into your bones, and storm clouds? Yes, rather. I’d give buckets of money for a patio overlooking the sea and a cup of Turkish coffee.”

  The twins stood on the deck, holding onto the railing. The water was rough but not dangerously so. The cabin they’d taken was filled with the scent of sick, so they’d escaped to the wetter but fresher air. Without a regret, they’d left their friend Lila and the maid Beatrice to deal with the sick Gwennie, as both of them erred on the side of sympathetic illness.

  When the two of them were side-by-side, they proclaimed their status as twins. They were both slim with dark hair, dark eyes, elfin faces, and clever expressions. Both of them had a merry and lively look to their eyes.

  “I’m having rather a hard time imagining Isolde married,” Violet confessed. “I know that’s why we’re going home, so I suppose it must be happening, mustn’t it? I keep thinking of her when I first saw her. You remember. We’d had the measles, so we didn’t meet Isolde until after she was several months old. Pink, chubby cheeks, that long white dress on her. The little bonnet. The scent of sour milk under her chins.”

  “Well,” he said rather lightheartedly, “I had been having a rather hard time imagining her out of the school. It took me a bit to realize that last time I saw her she was in the schoolroom, and I’ve never yet met this grown-up version of our little sister.”

  Violet nudged her brother. The twins and Isolde didn’t share a mother, and the two of them had spent rather a lot of time with the relatives on their mother’s side while Isolde had done the opposite. In many ways, they were strangers.

  “I feel like we’re losing her before we’ve even gotten to know her,” Violet said. “Is it losing Aunt Agatha that makes me mourn Isolde in advance?”

  Victor pressed a kiss to Violet’s head and then said, “You lost two mothers, Vi, and not very much time has passed since the last one. Isolde isn’t dying. She’s just marrying. We’ll see her again, and she’ll present us little cherubic, double-chinned offspring to cluck over.”

  “Isolde is following the path Lady Eleanor laid out before she’s even had a chance to form wants of her own. It’s…sad.” A concerned look crossed Violet’s face before she added, “Do you think she really wants to be married? Could she, truly? She’s within a breath of eighteen. Surely this is all Lady Eleanor’s engineering.”

  “Certainly, Lady Eleanor has a lot to do with this, Vi. You know our dear stepmother sees marriage as the moment when she can wash her hands of you. Perhaps it’s the same for her own child.” Victor let the smooth carelessness of his expression fade and continued, “Thinking of myself at Isolde’s age, the idea of being married is…terrifying.”

  “Darling,” Violet said, winding her arm through her brother’s elbow, “the idea of strapping on the old ball and chain at your current age is terrifying. Admit it.”

  He grinned and winked at Violet before he said, “You know me too well, love. As for I
solde…do I believe that Lady Eleanor has pushed this sham of a marriage? Of course I do. Yet darling, I also think that Isolde won’t hear our objections. She always was a romantic little thing, playing with baby dolls at the age you were racing to the swimming hole. It’s better to let this one go. Perhaps, if we handle things just right, and she needs us later, she’ll come our way.”

  Violet sighed and nodded and turned back to the ocean, placing her head on his shoulder. She rather feared her brother was correct about Isolde’s fate.

  Docking at Dover was what one would expect. Busy, wet, and fraught with frustration. They gathered up a porter and their bags and determined to stay in a hotel before they caught the train to London. Gwennie was so green and frail looking they weren’t quite sure her health wouldn’t have been irreparably harmed by adding in yet another journey. And there was the lure of a hot bath and a hot drink, which sounded more important than getting to London before another day passed. They found rooms, baths, and hot drinks in that order.

  It was only afterward that they thought of dinner. The hotel restaurant served an excellent roasted chicken dinner. After the luxurious Italian food they’d enjoyed for months, the familiar British roasted potatoes, veg, and chicken felt almost as much like coming home as the drizzle. They all partook heavily, but Gwennie tucked in like a starving urchin.

  “Darlings,” Lila announced, raising her glass of wine, “thank you for the lovely time abroad. Here’s to our own beds, seeing my love again, and a day where Gwennie isn’t sicking up in the background.”

  Gwennie blushed brilliantly. Violet nudged her and said, “The woebegone lamb look is good for you, darling. Perhaps a certain Mr. Davies will be in London for business?”

  “If so,” Victor said, enjoying Gwennie’s flush even more than Violet, “we should have a dinner party. I did buy rather a lot of spirits that need a party to be appreciated.”