by Beth Byers
Charlotte frowned as she tried to remember what had happened that day. “We were in those lagging days after Boxing Day and before New Year’s. My husband joked that we didn’t know what day it was or what we were supposed to be doing other than sleeping.”
Violet nodded. She knew those days well. They were her favorite. Even before she’d married Jack and had a reason to linger in bed, she’d have lingered with a book. It wasn’t uncommon for her and Victor to lounge side-by-side playing checkers and leaving the floor before the fire covered in crumbs from too many sweets.
Charlotte rubbed her face. “It’s different when you have children. You have to do more than sleep and eat. I was busy. The children were so excited after Christmas and a bit wild with too much sugar.”
“Even Phoebe and Harold’s daughter?”
“Alice?” Charlotte nodded. “Of course. She’s quite little, you know. Barely two-years-old, but she was in the same nursery with my wild crew.”
“Was Phoebe in the nursery with you?”
Charlotte nodded. “She doesn’t like feeling as though she isn’t beautiful or thinking she’s overweight. She does like to goad poor Delilah, but Phoebe is more devoted than many a mother I’ve known.”
Violet’s mouth dropped open in unequivocal disbelief.
Charlotte laughed at the look on Violet’s face before she explained, “It’s not stylish to be a devoted mother. It’s necessary to see Phoebe with Alice to recognize the love.”
Violet didn’t believe it. It was unfair of her, but in Violet’s mind, Charlotte was projecting her own feelings about being a mother onto Phoebe. Rather than argue with Charlotte, Violet asked, “Who else was there that day?”
“Well,” Charlotte said, frowning. “Everyone who is here now. Except for you and your husband and Miss Allen. My parents and uncle and aunt live in the local village, so they don’t usually stay here during the day. When the family is around, they come for dinner and to spend time with their grandchildren, but why would they sleep here when their own beds are less than half an hour away.”
“So they weren’t here during the day?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Grandfather and I had the children with us and my parents don’t come over during the day unless there is a reason to. All of us laying around, snoozing and eating isn’t reason enough. I am almost positive they didn’t arrive until just before dinner as usual.”
Violet could see that so easily and her list of suspects narrowed to the grandchildren. The children of Olly Rees were Violet’s least likely suspects anyway. Established themselves and with good foundations and no obvious motives, it was even harder to consider them when they weren’t present when Olly was killed. If they didn’t sleep at the house, then the suspects were their children. Reason enough, Violet thought, for them to say nothing when the doctor and the policeman assumed age for the reason of Olly’s death.
Violet was willing to remove Charlotte and her husband as suspects, too, considering how long they had been away from the family. What terrible secret would missionaries from a remote location have to murder an old man? That left Joseph, his very quiet brother Alexander, Harold, and their wives. Violet immediately made Phoebe the villain in her mind.
“I have a bias,” Vi said as she flopped onto her bed while Jack adjusted his tie.
“Even I don’t like Phoebe,” Jack said. “I saw her daughter try to run up to her today, and she stopped the child because she’d been playing outside. The child wasn’t even dirty, she just could have been.”
Violet winced. “We need to re-establish who the suspects are and what in the world was happening here.”
Violet rose for her bag, digging through until she found the notes that Beatrice had made when they were home. She skimmed it and then started crossing whole sections out until it read:
Murder of Olly Rees
SUSPECTS:
Mrs. Stevens — Olly’s sister. Was in attendance at the holidays and lives in Olly’s house. Confessed to learning more about Violet and brought up the death of Aunt Agatha.
Mr. Oliver Rees— Olly’s oldest son. Believed to have been in attendance at the holidays. Primary inheritor? Doesn’t seem to have needed Olly’s house. Father of Harold and missionary sister. Unlikely, he wasn’t present during the hours that Olly discovered something about his family or when Olly was most likely killed.
Mr. Edgar Rees— Olly’s other son. Believed to have been in attendance at the holidays. Did he inherit anything? Does he need money? Father of Joseph and other sibling. Same as above.
Harold Rees— Olly’s grandson. Seems to have been a big fan of his grandfather and upset when it was suggested that Olly was murdered. Was he upset because Olly really was murdered? Or was Harold upset because the secret was out? Did he benefit from his grandfather’s death?
Phoebe Rees— Olly’s granddaughter-in-law. Seems to have liked him fine. No obvious reason for her to kill her grandfather-in-law. She and Harold seem to be doing fine financially from the outside. Are they really? Called her husband a snake in the grass. Was that because she was drunk or does she know something that others don’t?
Joseph Rees— Olly’s grandson by Edgar. Other than an heirloom surely he wouldn’t be the primary inheritor. Seemed quite upset by the idea that Olly may have been murdered.
Delilah Rees— Olly’s granddaughter-in-law. Why would she kill Olly?
Charlotte Rees- X — the Missionary Sister —Olly’s granddaughter. At home during the holidays when she often wasn’t. Did she benefit from her grandfather’s death? Was it enough to push a supposedly religious woman to such a terrible crime?
Alexander Rees — Unmarried. What would a bachelor do over the course of the day, observed by his grandfather that would end in murder. Violet just couldn’t imagine it.
Olly’s friend who the earl spoke with— Believes Olly was killed as well. Is his saying so a ruse? A way to hide what he did? What possible reason could the man have for murdering his friend?
Who else was there? Whoever killed Olly knew him well enough to know he was a sound sleeper, to know that a pillow would be available near his bed, to know that he wrote in his journal when he was sleepless at night. To know that the sheer fact that he got up for milk might just indicate he was troubled. He was killed by someone who knew him well and probably had something to hide that the old man had discovered.
QUESTIONS —
What was in the will?
Is Phoebe right that there wasn’t enough money from Olly for anyone to murder him?
What are the finances like for the members of the Rees family? Is anyone in dire straits?’
Maybe it isn’t about money. Maybe there was a murder, and it was about a family secret?
Did Olly know something that would have ruined someone’s life? Is there a way to find out now that he’s dead?
Did a doctor look at Olly’s body after he died? If so, did they just assume he passed away? How was Olly found? Will the doctor talk to anyone? Perhaps Jack?
What did Olly discover about his family?
Violet looked at the last question and then underlined it. Just what had Olly discovered that was worth murdering someone over? Violet read the list over several times, telling herself not to focus on Phoebe and to think. Think about each of them individually.
There was Harold, who, Violet admitted, she didn’t like all that much. But when she focused on the denizens of this house and left out the children, Violet appreciated only Mrs. Stevens and Charlotte. Harold, Violet focused. Who lived in London most of the time. Who would have a life very separate from his grandfather. Could he have some secret he wouldn’t want the family to know that would come out to an observant man who was happy to have his grandchildren home? Did it have anything to do with those Friday appointments?
Violet frowned on that idea, muttering as she paced and nibbled her thumb. She was aware that Jack was watching her, but she didn’t think beyond the comfort of his presence. While she paced Beatrice a
nd Smith appeared.
Smith picked up the notes and read them over while Beatrice straightened the room.
“The letter,” Smith said. “There was the start of that letter in his desk. The killer didn’t know to look for that.”
“The one to Joseph.” Vi ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging her head piece and tossing it aside. Why had Olly Rees been writing to his grandson on the night he was murdered? Would it have been a plea to change his behavior? Would it have been a revelation of some sorts? A message about hunting the next day? It was impossible to say.
Chapter 16
Violet’s hand was on Jack’s arm that afternoon as they entered the parlor to join the others for tea. They’d spent an afternoon of useless sleuthing reading through the accounts once again, attempting to see something in the family members and finding nothing and then speaking to Mrs. Stevens again who had no further incites to give.
As they walked into the parlor where the tea was being served, Vi’s mind was still revolving with all the reasons that Olly might have been writing to Joseph. Her gaze fixed on Joseph. And his was fixed on his wife. She smiled up at him, full of love. Violet shook her head. Nothing to see there.
Vi looked for Phoebe and Harold. Phoebe’s gaze was fixed on Joseph as well and there was a pitying disgust on her face. She placed her hand on her stomach, where her baby was growing, and then it moved to Harold where her expression smoothed into nothingness. Whatever Phoebe was thinking about her husband was entirely hidden.
Why was Phoebe hiding her thoughts? What did she know?
“Oh my heavens,” Violet said, turning her face to Jack’s shoulder to hide her reaction. As she did, her gaze met Charlotte’s. Phoebe’s gaze was considering as she looked between Delilah and Harold. Phoebe’s gaze was masked, but her very attention drew Violet’s to the others. To the duo she’d never considered together. Charlotte’s gaze was as considering as it landed on her brother and her cousin-in-law.
Violet’s gaze returned to Charlotte, and they were, both of them, wide-eyed with alarm. They were, both of them, thinking the same horrible thing. It seemed that being a missionary’s wife and a woman concerned over the righteous choices did not prevent Charlotte from seeing what Violet-the-wolf had just seen.
Their gazes were locked and a silent, horror-filled back and forth. Violet let go of Jack’s arm and crossed to Charlotte. They said nothing as they stared again at Joseph, then Delilah, Phoebe, and finally Harold.
“Not Joseph,” Charlotte murmured low to Violet. “Not him. Look at the big lug.”
“Not Phoebe,” Violet whispered back. “She is one of the victims here.”
“I—” Charlotte was sick as she stared at her brother and her cousin’s wife. “No— It can’t be him.”
Violet wasn’t going to argue with Charlotte. Instead Vi squeezed the woman’s hand lightly and stepped back to Jack. Harold and Delilah. Harold and Delilah. Violet’s gaze turned to Joseph and then to Harold.
But then Delilah said something to Joseph and he smiled at her, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead, and she leaned into him. Violet knew that move. It was one she did with Jack. He’d touch her and Vi would leaned in. She’d make his touch last longer and curl into him like a cat. It was not the move of a woman in love with another man.
Violet’s gaze moved to Harold, whose mouth had tightened just enough. Now, he was a little jealous, Vi thought. She sighed and then glanced again at Phoebe. She shifted in her seat, full with Harold’s baby, and all the while he was betraying his cousin and his wife. There was no proof, but Violet had seen many a cuckolding man and his lover before, she felt certain.
Violet imagined for a moment what it would do to her if Jack were to have done the same. But she couldn’t imagine it. Jack was incapable of such a betrayal. He would never, ever do to her what Harold had been doing to Phoebe.
Violet turned to Charlotte as they accepted their teacups and whispered, “Delilah and Joseph? A love match?”
Charlotte nodded firmly and she looked as confused as Violet felt.
“It seems like it,” Vi muttered.
Violet glanced at the cousins. They were clearly family. Their eyes were the same color, their hair was the same color, they came of the same grandfather, and one of them was betraying the other in a way that would ruin that relationship forever.
Violet focused on Delilah again, and when the woman glanced up, Vi smiled softly at her. Pieces fell into place. The love. The need for a child. The similarities in looks. By heaven, Violet thought, it was just obvious. She wanted nothing more than to set aside the earl grey tea for a strong cocktail.
Was this how Olly Rees felt when he’d made the connection? It was no wonder he couldn’t sleep. And no wonder that his journal was missing. Where would they find it, Violet wondered. Would they? Or was it ashes lying in a grate?
When the tea was over, Violet hurried to her bedroom for the photograph of the twins and then went to see if she could find Delilah. Vi looked for a long time until she found Beatrice. Violet explained what she’d seen and then asked if Beatrice knew where Delilah had gone. “She’s in the nursery. Be careful. Anyone who kills an old man is on the edge of madness.”
Vi’s brows lifted and she followed her former maid up the stairs and peeked her head in. Delilah was sitting in a rocking chair with a baby and Charlotte was holding a little girl that looked to be only a year or two old. The look of utter bliss on Delilah’s face, knowing she couldn’t have children, was painful to see.
Beatrice left as Violet entered the room, but Violet’s business manager muttered, “You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”
Violet ignored the comment and introduced herself to the toddler, Alice, seated on Charlotte’s lap. Alice shook Violet’s hand and then giggled as Violet leaned over the baby Delilah was rocking. “What an angel.”
Delilah’s interlude was interrupted by Violet’s nearness and the woman scowled at Violet before a look of adoration crossed her face again as she rocked Charlotte’s baby. Violet looked at Charlotte, who was watching their best guess for the murderer hold her tiny baby. The baby was bigger than Victor’s twins but not by that much.
“I have twin nieces, did you know?” Violet said sweetly to Delilah.
Delilah looked up and nodded.
“Would you like to see the photograph I had taken at Christmas? I knew a woman who loved babies as you do would be interested. I’m afraid Jack is rather tired of me blathering on about them.”
Charlotte shifted silently but said nothing as Delilah leaned forward. Violet grinned at her and then said, “Let’s exchange, shall we? I’m sure you can understand how I ache to hold a baby after Jack insisted we leave my nieces and return to London.”
Delilah’s gaze narrowed and Violet had to force herself to imagine something happening to her sweet nieces to make the sorrow fill her gaze in a way that Delilah saw and recognized. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” Violet lied. “They feel like they’re mine, you know. Since they’re my twin’s. And their mother is ill and they needed me, but Jack wanted to return to work.”
Delilah carefully handed Violet the baby and took up the photograph. Her voice was low in wonder as she whispered, “They look just alike, don’t they? What little angels.”
“They are,” Violet said truthfully, looking down at the baby in her arms. “What a sweetie.”
“Oh, let me take her,” Charlotte said. “She’s got that look that says she’s about to fuss.”
Violet handed the baby over immediately and then leaned towards Delilah. “This one is little Violet, but we call her Vivi. And this is my sweet Agatha. Vivi, like her favorite aunt, is a bit of a hot-tempered thing. Agatha is pure angel.”
Delilah was shaking her head as Charlotte handed her baby to the nanny and ordered quietly, “Take the children out. They need some air.”
Delilah asked question after question of Violet while five children including Phoebe’s daughter and the baby we
re gathered and taken from the nursery. The moment the door closed, Violet glanced at Charlotte who shook her head. It seemed she wanted her children well and truly away before they confronted Delilah.
When enough time had passed to calm Charlotte, she nodded at Violet, leaving the next step in her hands. Charlotte was probably uncertain of how to proceed. Violet felt as though one should approach it as if you were going to assault a person with a board.
Violet seamlessly shifted from talking about baby Agatha to saying, “It’s because they look alike, isn’t it?”
Delilah stared at Violet, confused. “Surely twins often look alike?”
“Not the babies. The cousins. They look alike. Joseph, Harold, Alexander, even Charlotte. They’re so conveniently looking alike.”
“Harold was the better choice,” Charlotte said gently. “You wouldn’t be ruining brothers that way. Harold and Joseph are as close as brothers, but they aren’t brothers, are they? There’s something sacred among siblings that you avoided.”
There was no question that Delilah knew what they were talking about. She paled, stammering before she shook her head, but it was too late.
“How could you?” Charlotte asked. “Grandfather aside, how could you do that to Joseph? I thought you loved him.”
Delilah bit down on her bottom lip as if fighting the need to reply. Her eyes rolled frantically and then Violet added, “It should have been obvious, really. When Jack and I saw you and Harold arguing in the park on the night of the scavenger hunt. No one argues like that if they aren’t intimate.”
Delilah was shaking her head and she’d bitten so hard on her bottom lip that it was bleeding. “No, no.”
“But yes,” Violet pushed. “You are. You chose a cousin, somehow convinced him to sleep with you, and you’re trying to carry a child you can pass off as Joseph’s.”
“Joseph will never forgive you for Harold or for Grandfather,” Charlotte accused.
