by Beth Byers
Rita listened without further questions, and Violet didn’t explain what was actually happening. They were using the grief and shock of the Russell family to ferret out a murderer.
Jack sent Rita with the constable before Violet, and Vi had little doubt it had been done deliberately. If the shooter had returned, he wouldn’t get Violet when he tried for Rita. Nothing happened, but Jack waited for several long minutes before he walked Violet to the auto. Even after waiting, he kept her behind him the entire short distance.
“I object as strenuously to something happening to you as you do to me,” she told his back.
Jack glanced at her, and he smiled just with his eyes. “I’m larger than you. I can take more damage than you.”
Violet didn’t agree, but she knew if it came down to it, he’d physically haul her to whatever seemed to be safest to him. They slid into a second police car, and Jack greeted the driver before pulling Violet directly into his side. He settled his chin over the top of her head and murmured, “I think we must have the worst luck in all of London.”
Violet shook her head under his chin. “We have each other, money, a nice home, love, and we weren’t the ones who drank the poison. We do, however, have pretty bad luck when it comes to our associations.”
“We know too many killers,” Jack agreed.
“It’s your fault,” they said in unison.
Jack pulled back so he could see Violet’s face and then tilted her mouth to his. He stole her breath with his lips. He set her on fire, and she wanted nothing more than to climb into his lap. The sound of traffic, the awareness of the constable behind the wheel, everything but Jack faded until she pulled away and pressed her face into his neck to catch her breath.
“Jack,” she whispered against his skin, and he placed his hand against her lower back, holding her tight against his side.
“Violet,” he told her, “after this case and Victor and Kate buying their house, we’re going somewhere where we know no one, and we’re going to walk, sleep, and read books.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “It doesn’t take that long to get to somewhere warmer. A good steamship, a few days, and then we can spend days in the sun.”
The auto pulled onto the earl’s street and to the Russell mansion. They walked to the house and were let inside. Violet nodded at the butler, who had the same impassive face, but this time there was nothing humorous in his gaze.
“Miss Rita,” he said as they entered. “Are you well?”
Rita nodded, but no one believed her.
“Mr. Wakefield, Mr. Russell asked me to bring you to his office. Everyone else is gathered the parlor. Miss Rita, your father wants you to join him as well.”
Violet and Ham followed the butler to a parlor to join Mrs. Albright and several other men and women more of her age than Rita’s. Mrs. Albright, the sister of the first Mrs. Russell who had died years before, seemed familiar with the others. She appeared almost cozy despite the solemnity of the situation.
There were four men, two women, and a vicar beyond Mrs. Albright. There was also a clear division in the room. As Violet was introduced, she categorized them mentally versus trying to remember their names individually. The men were all linked to Mr. Russell, though they didn’t appear to share the same side. She had the brothers, older and younger, the business partner, and the long-time friend. They each had solemn faces and every single one of the men was tall enough and grey enough to be the person who had arranged for Mrs. Russell’s poisoning. Could one of them have been the shooter as well?
“They couldn’t make it easy for us, could they?” Hamilton asked.
One of the two women was Mrs. Russell’s sister, who stood speaking with the vicar, with the business partner nearby. The other men and final woman grouped on the other side of the parlor. The two brothers were talking quietly together as the long-time friend looked on. Mrs. Albright was fluttering about as if she were the hostess of a gathering. The last woman sat alone sipping from a cup of tea.
Violet and Ham watched the groups. “This is terribly awkward,” Violet murmured. “Shall we slide our way in?”
“We need names and histories,” Ham told Violet. “Who served in the armed forces or who is an expert marksman? That shot taken at you today was risky, but no one would try that if they weren’t confident in their skillset.”
“Perhaps that will be enough. You know, I have an idea,” Violet told him. “I need to leave here, however, and I think you’ll need to remain.”
“Do you want Jack to rip me apart piece by piece?”
“Ham,” Violet said, glancing around the parlor, “I’m going to gossip with the servants.”
His gaze sharpened with interest. “I will murder you myself if you get hurt.”
“No, you won’t,” Violet told him. “Keep them in here, if you can.”
Hamilton led Violet to the door, ensuring no one followed, and Violet wandered across the beautiful black and white tiles back the way she came until she found the man she’d been hunting.
“Hullo,” she said. “Just who I was looking for.”
His impassive face did not adjust in the slightest. “Oh?”
Violet grinned for a moment. “I’m going to say things that shouldn’t be overheard.”
His eyebrows lifted just a bit at that and then he silently led the way to a small office barely larger than a closet. “How may I help you, Lady Violet?”
“Someone is trying to kill Miss Russell,” Violet told him flatly. “They poisoned Mrs. Russell by accident and then they shot at Miss Russell today as she was leaving the ladies club.”
“I’ve heard,” the man said slowly, still even and guarded in his expression.
“I need your help,” Violet told him, low and quiet as if they could be overhead. “Servants know everything. Who is the heir?”
“Miss Russell is,” the butler said after a long moment. “After seeing to longtime servants or small bequests to friends.”
“What happens to the money if Miss Russell dies first?”
The butler shook his head. “That wasn’t accounted for in the will.”
“Those brothers are the only living family of Mr. Russell?”
He nodded.
“Are either of them good shots? Perhaps extraordinarily so?”
“No, my lady,” he said. “I believe that the younger Mr. Russell is very much known to be clumsy. He also has quite terrible eyesight. The older Mr. Russell has bad gout and a bad heart.
Violet sighed and muttered, “I suppose that is too easy.” She eyed the butler, and he eyed her in return, seeming to want to tell her something but not quite putting it out into the air. “Who do you suspect?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” the man told her.
Violet wasn’t worried about sense at the moment. She was worried about who was doing the killing and why.
“Why?”
“All of the men have been here most of the day. If the shooter was intending to kill Miss Rita—”
“He was,” Violet told the butler clearly.
“Then the shooter was hired.”
Violet held in a sigh of frustration. She was getting nowhere. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Only that I wouldn’t leave a small child in the same room as Mrs. Albright,” the butler said. For once an expression crossed his face and it was one of utter disgust. “She’s just evil.”
“Evil?”
Violet considered the luncheon she’d had with the woman earlier that day and couldn’t quite see it. She had, if anything, seemed clingy and weak.
“You don’t agree,” he said. She didn’t respond and he would say nothing more, so she followed the butler back to the parlor. Hamilton was already in the hall and Jack was exiting the office where he and Rita had met with Mr. Russell. Jack frowned in her direction when he realized she was returning from somewhere unescorted except for the butler.
“One of the boys showed up here,” Hamilton told Jac
k and Violet as they joined him. “We need to confer and perhaps get Miss Russell somewhere safe.”
“I am not trying to hurt my daughter,” Mr. Russell argued. “I don’t like this plan of taking her away.”
“I can only imagine how you must feel, Mr. Russell,” Jack told him, and by his tone he’d said this more than one time. “The person who tried to harm your daughter knew where she’d be and when she’d be there. The last time I dealt with someone who refused to seek refuge to avoid the clear attempts on her life, she didn’t survive.”
Violet bit down on her bottom lip hard. Very hard. That had been her great aunt, the woman who had raised Vi. Her greatest regret was being unable to convince her aunt to hide until the culprit was located.
Mr. Russell met Jack’s gaze and nodded. “All right. All right. Take good care of my baby. She’s all I have.”
“We will,” Jack promised, holding out his hand. “As I have said before, I will find the culprit. Twice now, they almost took all I have from me.”
“Hold her tight,” Mr. Russell said, sounding exhausted. “You don’t get over losing someone you love. No matter what lies the world would tell you.”
Chapter 14
“Is it time?” Denny demanded. He waved Violet into the parlor and she shook her head at him.
Hargreaves was waiting in the hallway, and Violet could see beyond the open door to the familiar chalkboard. Denny had already titled it with “Suspects,” leaving room for the notes and questions she wrote out. She lifted her brows at him and he grinned. “I have chocolate.”
“I was shot at, dear Denny. I feel I must scrub my hair and skin to ensure all the glass is off of me. Otherwise I shall have some fall into my soup.”
He started to object, but the sight of both Victor and Jack behind Violet must have been enough to silence him. With a bit of a whiny frown, he said, “We’re ready when you are. I’d have ordered in dinner for us all, but Hargreaves said we do not eat food that we don’t prepare ourselves. They’re scurrying around the kitchens to make us something.”
“I’m sure whatever they made will be fine,” Violet told him. “Cook is a professional.”
Denny, Lila, and Kate were dressed for dinner already. Kate’s gaze was worried but clear, and she still seemed to glow, so Violet didn’t worry that today’s near-miss had upset her sister-in-law too much.
If not for the guests, Violet would just as soon have put on her pajamas and avoided food entirely, but she could see that wasn’t going to happen. Denny had that look of glee and joy in his eye that said he’d never rest until he was able to list out the suspects and discuss the puzzle of the crime. Unlike Violet and Jack, who were haunted by crimes, Denny seemed entertained. He wasn’t really. He was a good man for all his laziness, but he wasn’t bothered by the things that didn’t immediately affect him.
“I hear you’ve been shopping, Vi,” Denny said with a smirk.
Violet’s gaze shot to Lila, who had gasped and slapped her husband’s arm.
“I—” Lila started.
“Don’t make me set Jack and Victor on you, Denny my lad,” Violet told him. “Both of them are feeling very protective.” She noticed Rita standing at the edge of the group and gestured her closer. “I’m sure you wish to give yourself a good scrub too, Rita,” Violet said after introductions. “Our adventure today was one to leave your skin crawling with the certainty that something remains behind no matter how many times we brush off our skin and hair.”
“It did,” Rita agreed. Her bright blue eyes flicked amongst the friends. “What a lovely chosen family you have. I suppose that is the biggest problem to traveling nearly incessantly. You don’t have friendships like the ones I sense here.”
“Have you really been to Africa?” Denny asked.
Rita nodded.
“Lions?” Denny demanded.
“You mean did I see them?” She didn’t wait for him to confirm as she answered. “Yes. A group of us explored with local guides and saw quite a few animals in their natural habitat. You’d think that lions are the most terrifying, but they aren’t. It’s the crocodile. A gazelle goes innocently for a drink of water, and the crocodile appears out of nowhere, like lightning, and pulls it under. It’s horrifying.”
“It sounds like it,” Lila said with a shudder.
Rita’s gaze went distant, seeing something that no one else could. Her pause was long and dark before she spoke again. “Rather like the last few days, really. Humans are more crocodile than lion. Devious and dangerous and attacking out of nowhere.” She shuddered, and Kate stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Rita’s shoulders and murmuring to her.
They headed up the stairs while the rest of them stared after. Violet finally broke from the spell.
Ham also had news that had disturbed even him. She glanced at him, the question in her eyes, and he said, “I’ll explain later.”
Which translated into that Jack would hear immediately but Violet would have to wait.
“Why don’t the rest of us dress for dinner?” Victor said, dashing Denny’s hopes. “We’ll meet down here with the dinner gong?”
Jack glanced at Ham and jerked his head towards the library.
“Hardly fair,” Violet told them, but Jack reminded her, “Glass, my love.”
“You’ll tell me?”
“To my utter dismay”—he paused to place a kiss on her brow—"your insights are invaluable.”
That, Violet thought, deserved gratitude. She kissed his cheek before running up the stairs. The moment she entered her room, she rang the bell for Beatrice and asked the maid to rid Violet of the dress she was wearing, put the black pearls up for a while, and start the bath.
While Beatrice worked, Violet lay down on the end of her bed and simply breathed in and out. It had been a terrible few days, Violet thought, redeemed only by finally learning what it felt like to be held in Jack’s arms through the whole of a night. If anything, Violet had become completely and utterly certain that all roads in her life led to Jack. He was the other half of her heart and nothing would do for Violet but to spend the rest of her days with him.
Violet went searching for Jack as soon as she was sure she was glass-free. She left off much of her makeup again, only darkening her brows and lashes and applying a light layer of lipstick. She was so tired from the day she ached, and she wanted to go back to her bed with Jack nearby.
He was in the room he’d used before, directly next door to Victor. Violet found Jack in a suit, his tie still undone, as he put on his dress shoes. She walked into the room as he rose and tied his tie for him.
“There,” she told him, letting her hand trail down his chest. “You’re perfect now.”
“Hardly that.” His eyes were worried and his jaw and shoulders were tight. Whatever they’d learned wasn’t good.
“Well?” Violet tangled their fingers together and laid her cheek against his chest. There was something to be said for wearing very little makeup and not having to worry about it smudging his crisp black suit.
“They found the shooter.”
Violet gasped and looked up at him. “What? How? Who?”
“An ex-soldier who hasn’t been able to find work since he returned home. He never met the person who hired him face-to-face, but he was referred to whomever is setting this up by the man in the club. He gave us a name for that fellow, but we’re having trouble tracking him down.”
She blinked and opened her mouth to say something but had simply nothing to say. She gaped instead.
“The shooter, it seems, was told to miss you and Rita.”
Violet had felt she was gaping before, but now she was well and truly fish-mouthed. “I—I don’t understand.”
“It’s madness,” Jack growled, “that’s why. The shooter was told that he was only to scare Miss Russell.”
Violet closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against Jack. It seemed that every time they reached the new lows of mankind, they found humanity could sink lower. “Th
ey succeeded. Was Mrs. Russell’s murder an accident then? Or perhaps they meant to kill her after all.” Violet looked up at Jack. “Jack, anyone could be this madman. It could be any family member. Any of them. Anyone else. It could even be Miss Russell.”
Jack nodded. “We’re back at square one. I’m not sure what to do from here. We’ve hardly had time to think on it. If they only mean to terrorize, we’ll never know when they’re done. I would say that Miss Russell fleeing home and staying with strangers is exactly what they want. As long as she’s with us, they know she’s scared.”
“Perhaps then they won’t strike again while she’s with us,” Violet surmised. “But for as long as it takes to find the culprit, she’ll have to look over her shoulder.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Jack swore. “I don’t care if they meant to scare her or not. They put you at risk twice over and I intend to see them pay.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist to remind him she was well. Eventually the dinner gong rang, but neither of them moved. They lingered in each other’s arms, finding refuge and solace simply by the reality of their heart beats, each precious breath, the scent of each other, their warmth. In the end, they moved only because they could hear Victor running up the steps for them.
Before he could tease them, they stepped into the hall and went to join the others.
Chapter 15
Non-poisoned cocktails were just what was needed after the last few days. Non-poisoned cocktails with champagne because fizzy always made things better. Violet’s drink was a random concoction she wasn’t sure Victor could duplicate. She’d asked for something strong, fruity, and sweet. Whatever he’d put together tasted heavily of champagne and citrus and made Violet want to pick an orange from a tree and eat it warm, with the sun shining on her face. She could picture it so clearly, she was almost there.
