Kennington House Murder: A Violet Carlyle Cozy Historical Mystery (The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Book 2)

by Beth Byers

  Victor knocked on her open door. “Oh, well this room was made for you, wasn’t it?”

  Violet told Victor of her plans for using his man to get new shelving and he said, “Darling, there’s a little room down the hall that can be your office and pulp novel hideaway. It’s empty. You’ll need to outfit it with whatever your heart desires.”

  Her gaze narrowed on him. “It’s the office for the lady of the house, isn’t it?”

  He smirked and attempted to look innocent.

  “And because I am a lady, I am suddenly in charge of maids and meals?”

  He begged without saying a word.

  “Very well,” she said. “But I am giving it up the moment you succumb to the finer emotions.”

  “Darling you’re already succumbing to those emotions. Did you think I was unaware of the glances between you and a certain Mr. Wakefield? Sharpen your skills upon my household while you fight your fate, and your hulking investigator will thank me for it.”

  She scowled at him. “Were you here just to put me to work or was there something else?”

  He frowned and pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Sneaking home did us no good, darling. They’ve found us.”

  Violet turned her scowl toward the envelope. It was the same thick cream paper and red seal that Lady Eleanor always used. Vi had been certain they’d have a few days to settle in and yet here was a summon.”

  “What madness is this? We have only just arrived. Did you call ahead? How did they know?”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps Lady Eleanor has employed a spy.”

  “Find the fiend out and send them on their way,” Violet demanded, her gaze still fixed on the hated envelope. Then she sighed and admitted, “She always does outwit us when she choose. Our problem is that we never expect her attack until it’s too late. Well…out with it. What is the sentence?”

  “A dinner party. Thursday. With Isolde, the betrothed, our esteemed stepmother and a few select guests.”

  “I suppose it was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

  “At least we’ll have the shield of a good cocktail.”

  “Of course, dear one.” Violet smirked at him. She preferred to drink when she was happy not to dull her senses in dealing with family, so she’d be lingering over one drink rather than drowning herself in her cups.

  He scowled at her and warned, “Two can play at that game.”

  “Will you be sneaking a flask into tea with Lady Eleanor? Didn’t she cut you off the last time?”

  He laughed. “Picture her face.”

  “Oh I am,” Violet countered, raising a thin brow. “Finding you guzzling from a flask during her dinner party will have Father on our doorstep.”

  “Perhaps the flask only in the automobile.”

  “Wiser, but I think you’d better save it for after, darling. You’ll need all of your defenses.”

  Violet set Beatrice to freshen the dress for the dinner party and another for her date and then took the typewriter from Victor and dropped herself into a story. She was flying through a tale of a haunted house, a young ingénue, and her lover with a dark past. The hours passed until Victor came to her room.

  “Dear one, give me your pages and go to bed. You’ll need your wits tomorrow to enchant Jack and then to deal with Lady Eleanor.”

  Violet shook herself from the specter scene she’d been writing. “Is it so late?” She stretched and yawned and realized it was deep into the night. “It’s like visiting an old friend. I forget how much writing makes you visit different parts of your head. I feel as though there were cobwebs up there after all of our time being good-for-nothings.”

  “Parts of your head?” He laughed at her and gathered up the stack of pages. “Bed, dear one.”

  “Perhaps it has been too long,” Violet said, gesturing to the pages, “and it’s all a jumble of words and nonsense. Pulp stories have nothing redeemable about them but fun, and I’m not sure I delivered even that much.”

  “Certainly nothing but fun,” he agreed.

  “What do you think Lady Eleanor would say if she knew how we’d kept ourselves in eggs and sardines before the influx of the ready money?” Their secret writing career and the pseudonym for the duo of V.V. Twinnings was a secret that only their closest friends knew.

  “She’d turn over in her grave and scream down the house, darling. Our secret must never get out.”

  Violet laughed as she turned in her chair and then glanced down at herself. She still wore her traveling clothes and hadn’t done much more than slide off her shoes. She picked them up and put them away while Victor said, “Shall I call for a warm milk?”

  “I’ll have a bath and be fine. No need to wake Beatrice or Hargreaves to coddle me.”

  Victor nodded as she grabbed one of her books, winking at him and left him stealing the pages of what she’d written while she made her way to her private bath. She hadn’t noted the taps on the bath before, but the Asian style dragon that poured water from its mouth made her smile. Yet again, Aunt Agatha reflecting her love for Violet through the little details.

  If there was anything that being independent did, it was to give you the freedom to indulge harmless vices without reproach. She started her bath with rose-scented pink salts and then sank into the hot water and the newest Tarzan novel without another thought.

  The next morning, Violet donned a new dress she’d purchased in Paris. It was a very light pink, almost nude in color with lace edging and simple lines. She had a matching cloche hat and a drawstring bag. She finished dressing with a pair of small pearl ear bobs, a long strand of pearls, and some barely there color on her lips.

  “Am I presentable?” she asked her brother as she went down the stairs.

  He nodded and they went to the business offices.

  “Lord Carlyle,” the clerk said as they walked in and then a moment later, “Lady Carlyle.”

  They hadn’t made an appointment but considering that Violet owned these offices she smiled brightly and said, “Lovely day, isn’t it? We’ll be seeing Fredericks.”

  The clerk sort of started. “Well, yes of course, my lady. Did you want tea?”

  Violet shook her head and glanced at Victor, making a passing comment on the office furniture.

  “Did my lady wish to wait out here?”

  Victor cleared his throat, mouth twitching as Violet turned and asked, “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Ah…”

  Violet’s tone had been bright and charming but the clerk seemed to sense the trap as the door behind him opened.

  “Well…I just hoped to avoid your boredom?”

  “Because my pretty little head cannot possibly understand business.”

  “Well…ah….”

  Hamilton Fredericks scowled at his clerk. “Jones, you fool. Lady Carlyle, Lord Carlyle, please this way.”

  After a conversation about the state of the business and Violet signing a few papers, Vi leaned back and said, “Thank you for being good at what you do.”

  “Thank you for actually reading the reports I send you. I know that others aren’t so lucky as I. Too often business deals are made among folks over dinner or a polo match and ignore the advice of fellows such as myself.”

  Violet glanced at Victor who knew it was as true as she did. “Well…I promise not to dis-employ you should the day arrive you feel the need to call me to account.”

  Fredericks grinned for a moment. “I have little doubt that I will never need to, my lady. I…”He glanced a little anxiously between the twins. “I hesitate to--”

  “Out with it, man,” Victor said as he sipped the coffee he’d accepted from the clerk.

  “It’s not my place. I know that.”

  “”You’re forgiven in advance, Mr. Fredericks. Please tell us what is on your mind.”

  Mr. Fredericks pushed back his glasses and pulled out a register. “Your sister, Lady Isolde?”

  ‘Yes,” Violet said, feeling a hint of trepidation.

  �
��Her betrothed came here and wished me to place some money into his investment scheme. He alluded, rather forcefully, that you were behind this plan.”

  Violet paused, a flash of rage rushing through her though nothing reflected on her face. Her brother reached out and touched her wrist. A lodestone to help her keep her anger in check.

  “And?”

  “My lady, Italy is not so far and I had not heard from you. I know you give me rather a lot of latitude to follow my instincts in business. Ultimately, I told a little…well…a…a fabrication…”

  Victor grinned and snorted back a laugh, “So you told Danvers what? That Violet does not allow you to fly free?”

  “Just so,” Mr. Fredericks said, “that I wasn’t able to make any such investment until I heard from you directly. But I did look into the scheme, ma’am. I thought if I were mistaken on his intentions I should be prepared with the advice I normally provide.”

  Violet crossed her fingers in her lap and waited. She liked nothing about the situation and even with encouragement to invest, she didn’t think she’d follow it. She had solid investments with people who didn’t try to manipulate and lie their way into accessing her money.

  “I’m alarmed,”Mr. Fredericks admitted. “The amounts I hear bandied about for Mr. Danvers’ wealth don’t match up with what I’ve learned as I researched.”

  Victor was the one who leaned forward at that point. He lost his lazy spaniel look and asked silkily, “So Danvers is not as rich as he reports himself to be?”

  Fredericks shook his head. “I believe it is a…house of cards.”

  “And those who’ve invested with him?” Victor’s face was impassive stone and Violet shivered.

  “Are in a rather precarious fiscal situation.”

  Violet licked her lips, playing with the ring on her finger while she closed her eyes. It was worse than Fredericks could possibly know. Would her sister be marrying this Danvers if he were not rich? Of course she wouldn’t though perhaps Danvers wouldn’t be marrying Isolde if not for her wealthy connections. Violet doubted it very much. The way he’d attempted to manipulate Fredericks told her Danvers was a man without honor. But also without money?

  She scowled. Danvers was using this new connection to Isolde to get access to Violet’s funds? She was suddenly certain that to Mr. Danvers, the prize was not Isolde but her rich connections.

  Chapter 4

  Jack Wakefield in his evening clothes was enough to steal Violet’s breath and keep it captive. She smiled through it, walked down to his automobile with her hand on his arm. His bulk made her feel delicate, though she was hardly that, and the glint in his eyes made her feel beautiful. She hadn’t expected a pretty little Austen Seven when she’d imagined his car, but it seemed to suit him when he opened the door for her.

  “I confess,” he said as he handed her inside of the vehicle, “I was a little uncertain of where to bring you. I suppose you like jazz and dancing and clubs?”

  Violet nodded and admitted, “All of the usual things.”

  “Would you like to try something rather adventurous?” There was a certain tilt to his lips that was full of good-humor, and his eyes were alight with challenge.

  “Of course,” she said merrily, laughing up at him. Her heart was in her throat, her veins were racing with anticipation, and she felt suddenly certain that she had always been intended to be right in this car at right this moment, with this man. He had a seriousness to him that didn’t try to crush her light-heartedness. “You see before you a woman who fears nothing…let alone whatever it is you have planned.”

  His laugh was deep, and she felt warmed by it. She hadn’t heard it from him much. Things had been too dark and too serious when they’d been trying to stop Aunt Agatha’s murder. He didn’t explain his plan, simply wove his little automobile through the streets of London, parked, and handed her out onto a rather hole in the wall place. Most of the people nearby were of Indian descent.

  Jack grinned at her and asked, “Do you like spicy food?”

  “I’d have said yes, but I believe that most of the Indian food I’ve had was adjusted for our weaker palates.”

  “Next time, we’ll go to The Criterion.” Jack ordered for both of them and the food was quite different from what she was used to. Red sauce, rice, and interesting white chunks in it. She took her first bite tentatively and nodded at his somewhat anxious gaze. It wasn’t spicy at all, though he had ordered several spicy things. She waved her hand in front of her face when her nose started burning and had to carefully dab away the tears from her eyes to protect the kohl on her eyes.

  They were getting sideways looks from the other restaurant goers, but once she laughed off the burning, the other patrons went back to their food.

  “This isn’t hot,” she said, pointing to the red sauce with white chunks. “What are these things?”

  “They’re called paneer. I lived in India for a while and have been unable to return to our blander foods here. Though, you can’t beat our fish and chips.”

  “A favorite,” she admitted. “I missed them quite a bit when we were in Italy. Though already I’m regretting not having easy access to veal marsala.”

  It was easy to move from favorite foods to favorite books to favorite past times. Despite the changing clientele who came in work clothes and grabbed dinner, Violet and Jack lingered over their food.

  She didn’t even notice time passing until Jack said, “I don’t believe this evening will be a success until we dance.”

  That was an offer she would never turn down. The nightclub, like the restaurant, was a bit of a hole in the wall though she barely noticed the dark walls, the clouds of smoke, or the crowded room. He swung her into a dance that left her breathless and laughing. A moment later, her gaze was caught by a couple in the corner.

  At first she was just appalled that they were kissing so openly. The man had slick-backed hair and triple set of chins. The young woman before him had to be younger than even Violet and she had to be half his age.

  “Oh,” she said, blinking rapidly as though the smoke had somehow disguised what she was seeing. It hadn’t.

  “Are you all right?” Jack asked into her ear, having to lean down to reach her.

  She started to say yes and then shook her head.

  “Perhaps a drink?” she suggested, and Jack wove them off the dance floor, people moving out of his way instinctively.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  She shrugged and the bartender grinned at her, eyes up. Violet turned to him and asked, “What do you recommend?”

  “Always the house drink,” he said in a way that made it clear he didn’t recommend it at all.

  Violet winked at the man. He was spiffy in a nice suit with dark skin, hair, and his eyes. His expression twinkled as Violet asked, “What if I resolutely turn the house drink down?”

  “Would you like something new?”

  Violet nodded, glancing up at Jack, who said, “I think we both would.”

  The man mixed them two drink and handed them over. “This is called the sidecar.”

  Violet took a careful sip and then “Mmm’d.”

  “What is that?” Jack asked.

  “Cognac, orange liqueur, and lemon juice. Do you like it?”

  “Very much,” Violet agreed. She begged the ratios from him for Victor before grinning up at Jack.

  “How long may I keep you?” The question was light, but Violet felt as though if she answered forever, he’d take her up on the dare.

  “Not too late, I’m afraid,” she said, but she placed her hand on his wrist so he’d know she wasn’t escaping him. “My stepmother is having a dinner party tomorrow, and I have to show up with bells and smiles on to meet the scoundrel-in-law.”

  He laughed. “Already you’ve decided to dislike him?”

  “Early reports are…alarming.”

  A look of concern appeared as he led her towards the hall. They went right past that large man, who noticed her a
ttention. He narrowed his gaze upon her, flicking over her meanly before turning back to his companion as though Violet were the one who was acting amiss.

  Jack drove her home, walking her to the door. He pressed a solitary finger under her chin to turn her face up to his. The move made her wish for a kiss and her heart raced at that simple touch. The porch light put them in a circle of radiance while all around them was dark and silent. It wasn’t the early hours of the morning, but it was nearer than not.

  “Thank you for your company,” he said with a gentle smile.

  Violet grinned and curtsied in reply.

  “May I call upon you again?”

  “Oh, I’d say so.” Vi winked as he squeezed her hand before seeing her inside of Victor’s house.

  * * * * *

  “I thought I wouldn’t see you until the early hours.” Victor stepped out from the library as Violet shut the front door.

  “I thought you were going out,” she told him. “What’s this? Shirtsleeves, a tie hanging around your neck, and ruffled hair?”

  “I was going to meet Denny and Lila, only then I had an idea for the story. I just had to get it down. The next thing I knew, you were coming through the door. Didn’t it go well?”

  “Oh Jack was…well.” Violet cleared her throat, knowing she was blushing, and her brother laughed back at her.

  After meeting Jack, she was suddenly willing to consider a different future—if he was who she thought. He had charms enough to bend her will towards that path. She slowly undressed, putting away her jewelry, hanging up her dress, arranging her shoes and her coat where they belonged before noticing an amethyst book on her desk. There was a lovely pen next to it.

  Victor must have made a stop at some point or sent out Giles. The journal was just what she wanted. Vi put on a kimono that Victor had purchased for her in Italy and then a robe. Slipping her feet into warm slippers, she sat down at her desk. Her mind was moving too quickly towards including Jack in all things, and it was worrying her.

  Was she intrigued by him and attracted? Yes. Had they bonded over a quite intense period over the holidays? Yes. But could she trust her future to the instincts that came out of those weeks? No. Who was Jack when the pressure wasn’t on? Who was he when his father wasn’t in the house and he hadn’t been brought in to be the savior?