by Beth Byers
Always and forever—Jack. Violet thought about the way his hand pressed against her spine when they walked. The way his eyes glinted when she teased him. The way he wound their fingers together. The friendship between Jack and Victor, and the way the two of them consciously determined to become brothers.
Even with all of those good things, she couldn’t quite shake the darker memories. She lowered into the water until everything but her nose was covered, letting the water fill her ears and muffle the world. She had always loved the way everything became more distant when she buried herself in water. Violet took in a long breath and held it, trying to find some peace. Her mind jumped from her dreams to Jack, to Lila and her kicking, to the murder investigation.
The police wouldn't let Violet or anyone else leave her father’s house until the murder investigation was over. She was guessing that she wouldn’t sleep peacefully again until she was home and away from the murder site. Maybe not until she started sleeping with Jack’s massive warmth as well. The idea made her shiver. She had never…they had never…it both sounded lovely and different, and—it was an odd thing really. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around a physical relationship.
She knew that Lila and Denny hadn’t waited until they were married to be together. Violet hadn’t ever allowed any previous relationship to reach that point. It was something she wanted with Jack, but—it was also foreign. Was that the right word?
Her mouth twisted, and she deliberately returned her mind to the investigation. The constable and the inspector had both jumped to Violet as the murderer. Or at least as the main suspect.
She slowly sat up in the water. What if that was just this inspector’s way? What if he deliberately focused on each suspect, making them feel as though the only possible killer was the person in front of him? Maybe he hoped to scare them into revealing their secrets? She didn’t think it was the best way to investigate, but the village was a quiet place and perhaps Inspector Wright didn’t have experience with an investigation of this kind.
Vi wasn’t sure it mattered what his theory about her was. She had to assume she was the main suspect and work to ensure her freedom. It was time to figure out who killed Melrose Nelson and all the other horrible things that were uncovered when someone was murdered.
Violet cracked her neck and pushed herself out of the water. Wrapping a robe around herself, she crossed to her bedroom. Lila had left while Violet was bathing, so she dressed quickly. She chose a long, brown, pleated skirt and an over-sized jumper over a high-collared blouse. Her selections were about as anti-bright young thing as she had, and she chose them specifically to play mind games with Inspector Wright.
She looked out the window and paused. There was a woman walking towards the back garden. Violet instantly wondered if that was Celia. The form was distant enough that Violet couldn’t quite make out much more than the skirt. If it was Celia, Violet would be tracking that young woman down and asking her about the lover in the garden. It was time to start getting some answers.
Violet hurried down the hall towards the stairs but stopped when she heard someone yelling in the great hall. She stepped closer to the wall and edged forward to listen.
“What do you mean we can’t leave?” Lord Devonsly said. He wasn’t the one yelling. He sounded as affable as ever. “I just want to go shooting.”
“We’d prefer for the weapons to be put up.” Inspector Wright’s firm voice carried up the stairs to Violet as if on fairy’s wings. She grinned at the idea of a mischievous fairy carrying tales and tilted her head towards the gentlemen.
“What? Why?”
“Someone was killed here,” Inspector Wright replied with baffled irritation. From the sound of it, he’d explained at least a half dozen times.
“But I didn’t kill him,” Lord Devonsly replied with the same blunt opposition. “Are you sure that there isn’t a tramp? Can’t imagine any of the folks here killing someone. These are good people.”
“So you know them well?” Inspector Wright asked.
“As well as you know anyone. I quite like the Carlyles. Backbone of the country folk. Lost two sons in the war. Didn’t try to sidestep sending them off.”
“I’m sure you can understand”—Inspector Wright’s voice was fully exasperated—"that we can’t use the fact that they sent sons off to war as a reason to allow someone to get away with murder.”
Violet peeked around the corner and watched as Lord Devonsly shook his head. To his mind, it was clear that Inspector Wright was the one who didn’t understand. “That’s what I’m saying. They wouldn’t have murdered anyone. People like the Carlyles don’t need to murder.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Inspector Wright demanded, shoving his hand through his hair. “Anyone is capable of murder in the right circumstances.”
“But they can just ruin you,” Lord Devonsly replied. “They don’t need to kill a fellow.”
Inspector Wright laughed, and Lord Devonsly groaned in frustration. Violet had to bite her bottom lip to avoid laughing aloud. Certainly Lord Devonsly was a bit of a blockhead, but he was also entirely correct. Violet’s father had connections to the most powerful people in the country. He wouldn’t need to commit murder to destroy someone’s life. Why bother with murder when you can slowly torture someone until they give up on their own.
Violet would say her father would never do such a thing, but the truth was, if it were someone he’d consider murdering, he probably would do just that. Violet stepped back from the stairs. If she kept eavesdropping on the conversation that would never end in understanding, she might miss Celia.
Violet stepped backwards until she was out of sight and then turned and hurried towards the servant’s stairs. She rushed down the darker, narrower staircase and appeared at the back of the house near the kitchens. Violet went quickly through the kitchen, winking at Cook as she went out the doors. The constable was in the kitchens, but Violet didn’t let him catch her.
“You can’t leave,” he called.
“Just going into the gardens for some air,” Violet replied without stopping. He’d have to follow her, or he would have to accept that she wasn’t actually leaving.
She paused outside when certain he wasn’t coming after her, glanced around, and rushed towards the last place she’d seen the young woman. She hoped that it was actually Celia and not some maid on her afternoon off. It took Violet a moment to catch movement in the gardens. She walked swiftly down the path towards the movement and stopped when she saw Celia leaning against a tree. There was a man standing in front of her, leaning with his hand on the trunk near her head so that he loomed over her.
Vi wasn’t sure if she was seeing a man intimidating Celia or romancing her, and Vi wasn’t sure who was in front of Celia. Violet had been loomed over by both Jack, and loved it, and Theodophilus, and hated it. She stepped forward slowly, an ear towards the couple.
“…see how you can just…” Celia said. Her voice trailed off, stealing the words from Vi. The tone, however, wasn’t distressed.
Violet paused. If Celia wasn’t being hurt and the couple hadn’t heard Vi’s approach—well, it was a good opportunity to learn some things, wasn’t it?
“I’m broken inside, Celia! I—I—it’s not easy. I lost my brother.”
Violet took a deep breath. Was this Leopold? Violet re-examined the man. Of course it was. She really was out of sorts if she hadn’t realized who the man was. Who else could it be? The Rosens man was as blonde as Isolde. Violet sighed at the way her head was chugging along so slowly and told herself to sharpen up.
“You did lose Melrose!” Celia said. “Just last night. And yet you’re out here and you’re…you’re…my goodness, Leopold, mourn your brother and leave me be!” She glanced away from Leopold and found Violet. Celia’s jaw dropped, and she cleared her throat, shoving at Leopold until he too turned.
“What’s this?” His tone was certainly threatening now, but what could he do? Any danger she faced from Leopold Ne
lson was a problem for later. Whoever the killer was couldn’t be dumb enough to hurt Violet in front of witnesses. Really, the murderer was too clever by half. Both poison and stabbing? An eminently clever way to muddy the waters.
Violet met Leopold’s gaze.
“What are you doing out here?” He was furious, his gaze lighting on Violet as though she were an interloper.
“Walking in my childhood garden,” she lied. “Trying to clear my mind.”
“Did you kill my brother?” he demanded. “How could you?”
“Why would I kill your brother?” Violet arched a brow at him. “You do realize that I have no reason to kill your brother. Unless you also believe that your brother attacked me in the drawing room and I was forced to defend myself? Somehow overpowering a man twice my size?”
Leopold scowled at Violet’s mocking voice.
“It doesn’t really add up, does it? You know what does add up? Siblings kill each other far more often than random strangers, did you know?” Violet smirked at him. “Often over jealousy of the same woman. Tell me, Celia,” Violet said, looking over Leopold’s shoulder, “was it Leopold or Melrose whom you’ve been walking with in the gardens?”
Leopold stepped into Violet’s space, attempting to loom, and she felt a flash of fear.
“You’ll need to be stepping away from my fiancé,” Jack said.
She winced. That was the voice of exasperation. She stepped toward Jack without turning around. “What do you think, Jack? Has Celia been walking with Melrose or Leopold?”
Jack placed his hand on her back, and she felt instantly safer. “I think that you shouldn’t be out here while there is a killer in our midst.”
“Whoever did the killing isn’t going to strike me down in the gardens.”
“What are you trying to say, Wakefield?” Leopold demanded, his gaze going between Violet and Jack as though he couldn’t believe what they were insinuating.
Jack’s fingers dug into her spine, and she was sure that he wanted to shake her. “Violet, my love, Melrose was murdered in the drawing room.”
Violet flinched at the logic. He was right, she was wrong. “I—”
Jack cleared his throat, and she stopped. There wasn’t really an apology she could make for putting herself in danger. She should have taken his worry into account. She should have gotten him to go with her. It would have taken one moment to knock on the door and ask him to come with her.
Violet’s head cocked as she examined Celia and Leopold.
“Just what are you trying to say, Wakefield?” Leopold asked again.
“He seems like a man in love,” Violet told Jack, examining Leopold. “I know that gaze.”
“Or a man obsessed.” Jack reached down to take her hand. “It’s not that large of a step from love to obsession, Vi.”
“What are you trying to say?” Leopold repeated.
“Men in love are prone to murder,” Jack told Leopold. “We’re disgusting animals, really.”
Celia squeaked. Her gaze was wide and worried, and Violet had to wonder if she feared the man next to her or someone else?
Chapter Thirteen
Celia hurried away without a comment, and Violet glanced at Jack, winked, and followed.
“Wait! Celia, wait!”
The girl slowed, glancing back. Her eyes were a deep brown and shining with tears. Violet rushed ahead, grabbing her wrist.
“It was Melrose you loved?”
She shook her head.
“Leopold?”
She shook her head again. Violet fought the desire to shake the girl. You didn’t get to be cagey in your replies when you were discussing murder. The idea that somehow your secrets were your own in a murder investigation infuriated Violet. Didn’t the dead deserve better? Didn’t the living deserve the killer to be found?
“They both pursued you? Both brothers?”
Celia pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly. “For a while, Leopold pursued me. I thought this was it. Love. Finally. Finally I’d found it.”
Violet nodded. “I understand. It seems impossible until it happens to you. Then it’s magical.”
“Except it wasn’t for me. It all fell apart.” A tear slipped down Celia’s cheek. “Leopold moved on to an American heiress, and the next thing I knew Melrose was pursuing me. He was so romantic. He brought me flowers. Not just zinnias—he brought me orchids. He wrote me poetry. He actually sang to me in front of my friends. I thought, this must be love. Leopold had thrown me over, but fate had saved me for something even better.”
She sniffed, and Violet wrapped her arm around Celia’s shoulders. This wasn’t a happy ever after. It ended with a body that had been both poisoned and stabbed. Could Celia have done that? The girl didn’t seem to be the kind to grab an ice pick and thrust it into the chest of someone she had loved.
“I was so happy,” Celia continued. “I didn’t think I could be that happy. Then—then—one of their previous victims found me. She told me about how Leopold and Melrose had done it to her. She showed me letters. They were the same as the ones I was cherishing. Word for word except our names. So, I decided, I’m going to confront them.”
Violet tugged Celia towards a stone bench near the roses. It was cold outside, and she’d normally have brought Celia in for warm tea, but Vi didn’t want the tale interrupted.
“Their man’s half day is on Wednesday afternoons. So, I thought I could confront them without an audience. Servants know everything, and they talk. Maybe I’d even find the proof first—show it to them and make them tell me.”
“How did you get them to talk to you?”
Celia bit her lip. “They didn’t. I took Melrose’s key from his coat. We had gone for a walk, and I pretended to be cold. He put his coat around me, and I took his key right out of his pocket.”
Violet laughed. “I like how you work. What happened?”
“I let myself in. They almost always lunch at their club, so I knew I had time. I went through their desks. They have a log. An actual log! Of their conquests! Of points they assign for things!”
“Like what?”
Celia blinked rapidly as though fighting her tears. She sniffed, swallowed, and said without inflection, “Accepted proposals. Taking someone’s ah—”
“Virginity?” Violet bit her bottom lip as she listened. “Were you in that log?”
“Not for that!” Celia’s gaze darted to the side, and Violet didn’t bother to argue. No one in their right mind would admit to such a thing.
“So you found your proof and you confronted them?”
Celia took in a slow breath. Tears were shining in her eyes, and she shook her head as she glanced away. “I was too much of a coward. They came back while I was there.”
Violet gasped and Celia bit her lip. Her gaze was still fixed on the ground as though she’d found a treasure in the greenery. She told the flowerbeds, “I was so scared. I panicked, and I jumped into the coat closet. Thankfully, the Nelson brothers are too spoiled to hang up their own coats.”
Violet laughed. Not so much at the statement, but at the snide disgust in Celia’s voice.
“They were talking about their register. They give more points if the second brother can step in successfully as Melrose did with me.”
“Oh my.” Violet didn’t see why Celia had ever walked or talked with the brothers again.
“I couldn’t believe it. But, they were so cold, they were laughing. Over other girls. Over me. Over their great aunt who kept changing her will for them.”
“So why are you here?”
“Kyle,” Celia groaned. “You’re rich! Kyle needs the money. Father wouldn’t leave me at home alone.”
Violet groaned. “My goodness, do these men have no shame? My money and I are not there for the taking. Why would anyone really think so?”
Celia’s brow wrinkled. “Your mother,” she said flatly. “Lady Eleanor made it seem as though you were desperate to marry. Father said we had to take the risk. He has
had a series of bad investments, and well—things don’t look good for Kyle or Father.”
“But you’ll be fine?”
“You’re not the only one with an aunt.”
Violet snorted. She noticed Jack walking past. She had little doubt that he’d keep Violet within view. Did he believe Celia was the killer? Violet would think so if it were only poisoning. And not because she believed poison was a woman’s way to murder. Anyone who didn’t want to get their hands dirty would use poison. Violet just didn’t see Celia lashing out in a fury. She’d hid in the closet of the brothers’ rooms if her story was to be believed.
“So then,” Violet asked, “you were here with them. And thought you’d give them another chance. To see—”
“No!” Celia was trembling. “Melrose promised me, he promised that this time it was real. How could I believe him? I’d heard him laughing with Leopold. Their competition, Violet, it extends to everything. Who is inheriting from their great aunt. Who is the favourite son. Who has had the most women. But, Melrose said it was time for the games to end. It was time to stop being children. He said that he was in love, and it was real, and that he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me.”
Violet pasted a commiserating expression on her face. Did Celia realize how her story sounded?
“Did you believe him?” Violet hoped that she hadn’t, but someone had walked with the man in the garden so often that Cook had taken note.
Celia wiped away another tear. “How do you know if someone loves you? Why do you believe that Mr. Wakefield loves you? He probably doesn’t. He probably only wants your money or your virtue.”
Celia was so in earnest that Vi felt as though she had to answer. “You can never truly be sure when someone is lying to you or not. But—”
Celia’s expression demanded Violet to come up with some way of explaining it all. Violet pushed her hair behind her ear as she gathered her thoughts. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of Turkish coffee.
“There are the other factors. Jack hates that I put myself in danger, but he doesn’t try to box me in.”
