by Beth Byers
“We need to know more,” Violet agreed. “We need to know if anyone was hurting financially. Who benefited from the death. If they have skeletons in their closet. And if so what those skeletons are.”
Beatrice looked the paper over again. “Or you could not. You may be invited to this house party, but you don’t have to go. You could take what you’ve learned to an investigator and give him the information and excuse yourself. You don’t have an obligation here, Vi.”
Violet sipped her coffee and realized that she knew she didn’t have to. She had no obligation like they’d pointed out time and again, but she was also sure she wouldn’t be walking away from this. She and Jack might not find out what happened to Olly Rees, but Violet wanted at least to try. To know she had done her best before she left it behind her.
Violet finished her coffee and scone with Beatrice and left the woman to her work while Violet went to hunt down Jack. She wasn’t surprised to find him with Smith.
She tossed them both the paper she and Beatrice had made.
“We had another visitor,” Jack told Violet as she curled into a chair near the fire. He and Smith were conversing near the desk in the library and Violet had thought to read and let her mind wander about the case, picking at the threads.
“All right?” Violet said, glancing between the two of them.
“An anonymous visitor who left things in the mail slot,” Jack said.
“Why is this person being anonymous?” Violet demanded. “Did they run away again?”
“I have no idea. It isn’t even helpful.” Jack picked up an envelope and tossed it to the side. “Smith thinks whoever is doing this knows for certain that Olly has been murdered. He says any reasonable person would fall into line and believe that the grandfather just passed away.”
Violet hadn’t thought of that. “Really?”
Smith held out his hands. “Well, yes. Normal people don’t see a dead person and think ‘murder.’ That’s particular to Yard men, me, and you, Vi. If Beatrice found her grandfather dead in his bed, she’d start making comments about the full life he had led and how much he’d be missed. She wouldn’t be looking for the location of the pillow or whether it looked like there had been a struggle.”
Violet leaned back in a bit of a horror. “You know…I hate that. I hate that the way I think has changed so much.”
“It’s changed to what is, Vi,” Smith said while Jack watched them. “You’ve stepped out from the herd and among the wolves.”
Violet frowned at him. “I don’t care how you categorize the whole of mankind, but Beatrice better not be another sheep in your mind.”
“She’s not a sheep,” Smith said idly, entirely unperturbed by Violet’s injunction. “She’s both better than the sheep and the wolves, particular unto herself.”
Violet frowned as she stared at Smith’s angelic face. He seemed in earnest, but Beatrice was important to Vi. “If you persuade her to hand over her heart, you had better take care of it.”
“A wolf doesn’t change it stripes, Vi,” Smith said, but there was an edge of dare to him.
“But they do mate for life,” Violet shot back, ignoring his mixed metaphor. “And, she knows what you are. I know what you are. No one is unaware of that, Smith. Be a wolf. Just be a wolf who is good to his mate.”
Smith lifted a brow but he didn’t argue further. It was worse that way, Violet thought. There were no promises given and no idea what was going on behind those hellishly pretty eyes of his. Violet ground her teeth and then saw the flash of humor in Smith’s idle face.
She shook her head and then snapped at Jack, “What did they send? This anonymous fool.”
Jack rose and handed her the envelope. “It’s a list of who was there for the holidays, which I got from Baldwin, Rees’ friend. And a note on how he was found. Nothing useful. He was found a few days after Christmas in his bed. He didn’t come down for breakfast, which was unusual any time of the year and especially unusual with guests in the house. The family eventually went after him to see if he was unwell and needed anything.”
“Who did specifically?” Violet asked.
“His second son. The man’s name is Edgar Rees. He went up, found Olly, and called for help within minutes of leaving the breakfast room.”
“So there wasn’t enough time for Edgar to have murdered him?”
“And there is your wolf, Violet.” Smith glanced at Jack before he added, “It only takes a few minutes to really smother someone, Vi. Edgar could have killed him. The real question is who touched his body and did they note if it was cold or warm. Warm? Edgar could easily be your man. Cold? We’re looking at a middle-of-the night scenario and it could have been anyone in the house.”
“Was he smothered?”
Jack shifted and then answered almost unwillingly. “That’s our best guess. There was no sign of illness. It’s possible it was poison but we’re not talking about brilliant criminals here. This was the act of a desperate person who was working with what they had on hand. A pillow over the face of an old man who is sleeping is pretty obvious.”
Violet skimmed the letter, shook her head at its general uselessness and then noted the invitation. She pulled it from the envelope and found that they had, after all, been invited to a house party to be held by Macie Stevens. Given that her brother had died in that house less than a month before, it was shocking to say the least to invite guests over for the weekend. Violet could only imagine she intended to get away with it by fixing on her crotchety old woman crown.
“Are we going?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” Violet said, instantly.
“Take Beatrice as your maid again,” Smith said. “I’ll be about.”
“Perhaps Beatrice has her own things to do,” Violet suggested.
Smith laughed low. “You realize, of course, that she’ll do whatever you want, Lady Violet.” He stressed her title with a mean sarcasm.
“Beatrice loves Violet because Violet took her from being a housemaid to allowing her to be her own woman,” Jack shot out. “Don’t take it out on Violet that the woman you care for cares about more than just your opinion.”
“Beatrice, as a maid, can get gossip out of the servants,” Smith returned. “She’s lovely, clever, kind, and personable. They’ll talk to her when they’d never talk to you or the police. Beatrice may well crack this case while you two are diving into cocktails with the idiots in this family.”
Violet lifted a brow, waiting to see if Smith was going to spit out anything else.
“And yes, I know why Beatrice likes and respects Violet. To be honest, it’s why I like and respect Violet. You have my loyalty, whatever it’s worth, Lady Vi—” For the first time her name didn’t feel like an insult, “—because you recognized Beatrice and helped her. Beatrice, Ginny, who else? Me even?” He laughed mockingly and added sarcastically, “That’s going too far, I think. We can’t expect that level of miracle from even one such as you, Violet.”
Before Violet could answer, he rose and faded from the library, leaving Violet and Jack gaping at each other.
Chapter 10
Violet faced her closet and then glanced back at Jack.
“We don’t have to,” he repeated. He’d said so several times already.
“Have you noticed my megrims are gone?”
He nodded slowly, almost unwillingly. Violet laughed and then darted across the room to jump into his arms. He caught her, leaving her hands free to hold his face between her palms. She placed a kiss on his lips, soft and sweet and then leaned back.
“If being nosy, interfering house guests keeps me out of the grey days, Jack, I will dive into this problem, which is none of my concern. Then, take all the spare moments to enjoy how good it is to feel my unfettered love for you without all of the issues of my head and heart getting in the way.”
Jack replied with a fervent kiss that left her breathless and delayed their packing for some time. They ended up with another casual evening, a picnic in their
bedroom while they slowly worked through packing their bags for the weekend. Violet felt as though they were rebelling against the manners and traditions they’d be succumbing to in a traditional house party. They put a blanket on the floor and ate cheese, crackers, cold meats, and had ginger wine for Vi and port for Jack.
When they finished, Violet brushed off her kimono and then returned to her closet. Three evenings at the house, so she packed the first three evening dresses she found. A blush pink dress with an overlay of black lace that reached her calves, dipped low in the back, high around her neck, and set off her new chandelier earbobs from Jack. Violet popped those in her jewelry box and added her long strand of cream-colored pearls. Matching shoes and headpieces, undergarments, and Violet turned to the next dress.
This one was navy blue, fringed from shoulder to hem and shot through with silver threading. To that dress, Violet packed her matching headpiece, shoes, and then turned to her jewelry. Jack had gotten her sapphire earbobs for Christmas, and Aunt Agatha had left her a diamond and sapphire choker with matching bracelets. She decided she’d layer her favorite bangles and pearls along with them.
The last dress was the brilliantly deep purple that Violet thought of as royal purple. It seemed at first to be the simplest of the dresses, but embroidery of the same hue with a few strands of lavender and silver thread covered every inch of the dress. It was elegant and beautiful and quite unusual to the dresses of the day. Violet, however, loved the dress against her naturally creamy skin, dark hair, and dark eyes.
She glanced through her packed jewelry and decided a mix of what she’d already set aside would do for this dress. Violet added the necessaries and then took out several day dresses, an alternative dress just in case something untoward occurred, and added her favorite pajamas and kimono.
“Is that everything?” she asked Jack. “I feel always as if I’m forgetting something obvious that I’ll miss while we’re gone.”
“When we’re not nosing through all their secrets, you might want a book or two.”
Violet’s condescending glance had him holding up his hands in surrender. She pulled the bag she intended to bring with her in the auto and added her journal, the book she was reading along with the one she intended to read next, her favorite pen in its case. She put her jewelry into that bag and cosmetics and a few other sundries.
Violet threw herself on her bed when she’d finished. “I wonder who else is going to this? Will it be a family party with us as the awkward extras or will Mrs. Stevens cushion the oddness?”
Jack shook his head. “It’s why we’re bringing our auto. The moment we’re done, murderer found or not, we’re going to leave.”
Violet grinned at him. “You have your knight in armor persona gleaming. All protective and careful.”
“Quiet,” Jack said with a laugh.
“It’s not your fault you’re so heroic, darling,” Violet teased. “It’s just how you are.”
Jack placed his hand gently over her mouth. “I’m going to visit with the earl’s friend again in the morning, if I can find him at the club. I’d like to get his take on that list of yours. Given that I won’t be able to investigate in my usual manner, I feel a bit like I’m following in your footsteps rather than setting my pace.”
Violet choked on a laugh. “I’ll lead you along, darling. First, you’ll need to casually bring up people’s secrets in front of them. And look for chances to gossip.”
Jack’s brows lifted and he tried to huff. “Men don’t gossip. That’s a woman’s purview.”
“Right, of course,” Violet mocked. “Like when Father had already heard about the odd surroundings of Olly Rees’ death because he and his friend were just exchanging information in a military fashion rather than gossiping over port and cigars.”
Jack groaned.
“Gossips. The lot of you men.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s the problem of the limited nature of women’s minds.”
Violet gasped and leapt for his back but he expected it, and he turned to grab her in his arms instead. He lifted her high and then pressed a kiss on her forehead.
“No kisses for you, sirrah!” she declared. “Limited nature! That’s in the man’s mind.”
“Foolish men,” he agreed, “who assume that women aren’t as capable themselves and then are incessantly surprised by the things the women in their lives accomplish.”
Violet’s head tilted as she examined his face and then she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Her words had his fingers digging into her spine and then he kissed her once again. “You are everything for me, Vi. Without you, I fear I would be nothing more than a husk.”
The house was nice enough. It was large without being sprawling. The guests would be housed rather tightly, however. It seemed that there had been rather more acreage in the past, but things had changed and the family wasn’t quite as wealthy as it had once been. Houses could be seen in the distance, chimneys with puffs of smoke above them. The scent of fresh country air mixed with the scent of oil from the autos that were left along the drive.
Jack stopped the auto and then got out to hand Violet and Beatrice from the auto. Beatrice was in the plainest of her dresses and had set aside the small upgrades she’d made to her wardrobe over the years of promotions to look the part of a proper lady’s maid.
She approached the waiting servant who helped her with the luggage while Jack and Violet approached the front doors. A servant opened the doors before they could knock. The woman wore a black and white dress with a starched apron and greeted them formally as they entered.
“Hullo, hullo,” Violet said merrily as they were shown into the parlor, her hand gripping Jack’s forearm rather tightly.
The gentlemen rose while Phoebe waved rather lackadaisically from the sofa. “I didn’t think you’d come.” Phoebe glanced around to take in everyone else’s reactions before she added, “Why would you?”
“Boredom,” Violet answered merrily. “Out and out winter blues. Is your daughter here?”
“Up in the nursery,” Phoebe said without enthusiasm. She glanced around the room, ignoring the sofa filled with the older ladies, the gents who were talking in a circle near the fire, the servant who was hovering helpfully. There was another younger woman across the room in the chair next to the older women. Given her conservative dress and the looks similar to the Rees men, Violet assumed she was seeing the missionary sister, Charlotte. “I’m sure she’ll be about, but we’ll keep her from being underfoot. Don’t worry.”
“Perhaps Violet likes children,” Delilah said acidly.
“No one really likes anyone else’s children,” Phoebe countered. “Only a mother could love those sticky, smelly creatures.”
Violet winced for both of them as they shot daggered glances at each other. There was no love lost between those two. Violet could only imagine that with enough time of watching Phoebe not appreciate her child, Delilah had developed a well and truly horrific fury.
“I do enjoy little ones,” Violet said firmly. “Though, perhaps, I have a preference for my brother’s children.”
“Did the heir finally marry?” Mrs. Stevens asked. “I assumed that he never would at this point.”
“He’s not that old,” Violet defended. She was done rolling for this woman simply because she was old. “He is engaged to be married. I was referring to my twin, Victor. He has twin daughters who are only a few months old.”
“Does he?” Delilah asked. “Twin daughters sound like such a miracle. Do they look the same? Do you have a photograph?”
“They do,” Violet said. “It is, however, possible to tell them apart if you know them. And yes, I even have it with me, and I’ll find it and show them to you.”
“Do you know them, though?” Phoebe demanded. “Surely you don’t spend all that much time with them.”
“Every second I can,” Violet said unequivocally. “I adore their perfect little selves.”
“Are you unable
to have children? Is that why you’re obsessed with your brother’s children?” Phoebe was the one who asked, and the question was mean, but Delilah was the one who flinched.
“My twin brother’s daughters might as well be my own,” Violet snapped back. “Whether I have a dozen of my own, I will adore my twin’s. And am I obsessed? Yes. Completely.”
Phoebe snorted, but Violet’s face didn’t soften in the least. The gents had, thankfully, gathered near the fire, so Jack wasn’t stiffening with fury while Violet, Phoebe, and Delilah argued in their politest voices.
“Perhaps it’s a twin thing,” Phoebe condescended. “I can’t imagine that it would be anything else.”
“You’re projecting your own dislike of having children onto everyone else,” Delilah hissed. “You should be counting your blessings for Alice.”
“I don’t dislike having children,” Phoebe said idly. “I dislike being pregnant. Given I would be happy with just my sweetling, I don’t see why I must have child after child to continue an ancestral line that no one else cares about. It isn’t like there’s a title to carry on. It isn’t like there’s an estate to hand down. Father Oliver works. Harold works. Our child will work. There is no need to preserve the family name that no one cares about but us.”
“You don’t care about continuing the family name?” Delilah asked aghast.
“Obviously not,” Phoebe said dismissively. “I suppose I’d be more interested in having child after child if I was. Violet understands. Her husband doesn’t have a grand family estate to carry on either. One child, male or female, and she’ll be done.”
“Oh, I want more children than that,” Violet said, done with the conversation. “Funny weather we’re having. Don’t you think so, Delilah?”
Delilah agreed and then said something about the long streak of rainy days leaving her hair frizzy. “And it’s so cold.”
“Indeed,” Violet said. “Quite reaches into your bones, doesn’t it?”
“Your rooms will be ready soon,” Delilah said. “The housekeepers are a bit behind. The daily help that comes in isn’t really enough for a party so large.”
