by Beth Byers
Chapter Four
“Is this goat?” Lila demanded with a sneer, shoving her plate away. “Denny!”
Denny giggled and Violet was sure he’d purposefully ordered his wife that meal.
“Goat?” Martha gasped. “Goat?” She stared down at her plate.
“Oooh,” Rita said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Yum.” She reached out with a fork and took a bite. “Oh, that’s so nicely spicy. My nose is burning.”
“Do you like your nose to burn?” Denny asked, staring down at his plate and then taking the naan. “At least they have this weird flat bread. By the sweat of your brow and all that.”
“Denny,” Violet said and Victor finished, “You’ve never worked by the sweat of your brow.”
Jack leaned back and ate his food next to Ham. Ham’s gaze was fixed on Rita, who was happily eating the spicy goat dish. Violet smiled at the sight. She had to wonder whether Rita realized Ham’s interest and if she was avoiding it. They did seem a little like pals, but if Ham wasn’t half in love with Rita, Violet would eat her hat. Speaking of, she rather wished she had worn one. It was nearly morning, and the only people eating at this hour were a few night workers glancing at Vi and her friends and the other spoiled crowd in evening gowns and suits, as though they were birds of paradise inexplicably found on a Scottish moor.
“Why were you in the club, Martha?” Violet asked the girl, who had her arms crossed over her chest. She was pouting like a child and every time she tried to turn her whining gaze on Victor, Violet was tempted to slap the girl again.
“I was the one who told Denny about it,” Martha snapped. “He found the roving club, got the passwords, all of it, from me. I’d tell you that you were welcome, but I clearly regret my choices.”
“So do we all,” Lila said idly. “You are completely out of control, and that is coming from Denny and me, who don’t actually care.”
“If you don’t care then why am I here?”
Lila’s sneer had Violet choking back a laugh as her best friend explained. “Because, foolish one, when Father finds out that I knew you were there and left you, it’s my fault. If I drag you out, write to him, and then wash my hands of it, it’s his fault or yours, but I’m clear.”
“You are diabolical,” Violet told Lila.
“It’s why you love me,” she replied, and the two friends grinned.
Violet handed her a samosa. “I think you’ll like this.”
Lila took it dubiously and risked a careful bite. She finished it rather reluctantly and then declared, “Where is the auto? I want to sleep before the sun rises. Maybe then my body will forgive me for this food and those cocktails.”
“They were bad,” Violet agreed.
“Of course they were. It isn’t about the best of everything,” Martha said snidely. “It’s about being authentic.”
“Authentic?” Violet let her disgust color her voice.
“Feeling, experiencing, interacting, like the human animals we are.”
Violet slowly drew in a breath to allow herself a moment to think before she replied. “Those you were spending time with were certainly animals. Leaving a girl in the state we found her. You attacking Victor with your lipstick.”
“Don’t speak of it.” Victor’s eyes sparked with anger once more.
“You were the one who lashed out,” Martha snapped, eyes flashing but with much less effect than Victor’s glare. “You two think you’re so much better than us because your father is an earl.”
“Only better than you,” Violet said brightly, “but not because our father is an earl. None of us would have left another as defenseless as Joshie’s friend left that girl. None of us would have left her like that.”
“So you interfered,” Martha sneered. “Stuck your noble nose in. She needed to be there. Bobby isn’t going to be kind to her because you took her off.”
“She needs to leave him, then,” Violet said simply.
“We’re not all as fortunate as you, Lady Vi.” Martha looked triumphant, as though she’d won the argument.
Denny cleared his throat. “You have been, however, little Martha. Maybe your Joshie could wax poetic about his work ethic with his job at the tango club, for your roving criminal clubs, and at private parties, but you can’t. You have a closet full of clothes your daddy bought you, your pockets full of ready money your daddy gave you, and your entrance to nearly wherever you want to go because of the connections your family provides you.”
“Just because Daddy gives me money doesn’t mean I’m not trying to live an authentic life.” Martha sniffed and rolled her eyes as though the rest of them were fools.
“What is it,” Rita asked idly, “that makes something authentic? Surely this food is authentic. Perhaps the experience in this restaurant? Or walking down a street? Those are all authentic things.”
“It’s not pretending. It’s the struggle, the dirt…the grit of it all. The sweat of your brow like Denny said, but real. The animal needs of your body. The…the…”
Denny scoffed, and Lila yawned at her sister before lazily saying to her, “Do shut up.”
Martha’s mouth snapped shut but it didn’t stay closed. “You see what I mean,” she said to Rita.
Rita straightened. “There is something invigorating about the experiences that go with survival, but I suspect that you’re romanticizing them.”
Martha pouted as Rita continued. “It is just as authentic to admit you’re spoiled and enjoy the fruits of your parents’ labors. Authenticity is about being genuine. Surely throwing yourself in with another crowd and romanticizing their authentic struggle is condescending. Your friends seem to be struggling in reality to survive. And you, at any time, have only to hold out your hand for a step up. Are they even your friends or just enjoying what you can do for them?”
Martha’s pout had deepened to a full, furious frown, but Rita ignored it.
“I have traveled with tribes in Africa and seen their wildlife. I have ridden a camel and sat by a fire and eaten snake and goat and turtle in a wilderness. As enjoyable as I found my journey, I am no more authentically any of those peoples nor would I pretend to have their knowledge.”
“Don’t you see our knowledge as superior?” Denny asked quizzically.
Rita laughed at Denny. “Ours? Over theirs? It would depend, wouldn’t it, on our location.”
Denny stared at Rita. “Whether Africa or London, you’re still fluent in languages they’ve never even heard of.”
“But in Africa,” Ham told Denny, “we are the infants and they the wise men. I am certain that in some savanna—we would die in days.”
“If not hours,” Rita agreed.
“Whereas in London? They might need our knowledge to survive just like we’d need theirs to survive in Africa.”
The look on Martha’s face soured as she became more and more entrenched in her pout. Especially when Rita finished her lecture. “You are doing the equivalent of pretending to be a tribesman when you’ve really been raised in the countryside of England. There’s nothing wrong with making friends across all races and stations. I think the quibble point comes when you romanticize the struggles of another without understanding them. None of us here truly know what it is like to worry about being able to buy enough food, but your friends just might. None of us know what it’s like to give birth in a hut with a dirt floor, but pretending it’s more real than the way you might give birth—that’s not fair to their struggle.”
“Speaking of giving birth,” Victor said, “I’m off to your house, Vi, to scrub the filth of tonight off of me”—he shot Martha a venomous look—“and then to go tell Kate of the night. If she throws me out, I’ll be on your doorstep woebegone and alone when you return.”
Violet rubbed her brother’s back. “Kate is irrational right now. Perhaps carry a shield to fend off whatever shoe she throws at you.”
“Just tell her the truth,” Lila said, “but start with how much you adore her.”
&nb
sp; “I’ve been put on a budget of those as well.”
“Did you want me to come with you?” Violet asked, knowing he did.
He gave her his best spaniel’s gaze and she rose, Jack rising next to her. “May we see you home, Rita? Or Ham?”
“I’d be happy to,” Ham said. “I believe we’ll be passing your house, Denny?”
They left the restaurant and Violet watched Jack stop and thank the staff and then let him tuck her into his side. It was coming on warmer days, but at that time of night or morning or however they wanted to view it, there was a distinct chill in the air.
Their driver had located them, though he’d had to buy their location from the man at the club door despite Denny already paying the fellow to see them home.
“Did she get home okay, Jimmy?” Vi asked.
Their driver nodded. “No trouble at all, ma’am. Except she seemed rather surprised to find herself at her parents’ house. I think she wasn’t quite—ah—well. I asked her for her home address and took her there, but she was confused when we arrived. Her mother about wept into my shirt, ma’am. Then her father carried her inside and the two of them were crying on each other while I was trying to wriggle out and get back to you.”
“Oh my.” Violet glanced towards Jack but the auto was dark at that time of night, so she just murmured, “I hope that it turns out as well as it can.”
“It’s hard to say, isn’t it?” Victor’s tone conveyed the same thoughts that were edging about Violet’s mind. If they’d been brought in that state to Aunt Agatha, they’d have been cried over and then scolded and probably sent off. If they’d been brought in that state to Lady Eleanor, she’d have only cried while Father was present and then she’d probably have tried to beat them senseless for the shame of it all.
“Hopefully her parents are like Aunt Agatha,” Violet said for them both.
“Indeed,” Victor added. After a moment he asked, “Jack, what would have happened to you if you’d turned up on your parents’ doorstep in such a state?”
“My father probably would have hugged me until I couldn’t breathe, shaken me until I begged him to stop, and then dragged me off to some carefully planned recovery.”
Violet had yet to know her father-in-law very well, and she couldn’t quite imagine the kind man shaking Jack at all. They were clearly father and son, their looks and sizes similar.
“By Jove, Vi!” Victor cried. “What will I do if I get a wart like Martha? Who knows what Kate is brewing? Maybe it’s a devil!”
“Certainly it is,” Violet said agreeably.
Victor moaned as Violet laughed at him, running her hand over the top of his head. He was clutching it between his hands, though she could only see the shadow of him.
“Darling Victor,” Violet said seriously, “just ask yourself what Aunt Agatha would do.”
He shuddered a moment later and repeated, “What would Aunt Agatha do? Yes. That will work. My God, what I wouldn’t give for her to be here. To help with the baby. To talk to her. What if I muddle him up?”
“You won’t,” Violet said.
“Hah! Says you. No one likes me more than you, Vi. Not even Kate.”
“You’re a good man, Victor. You’ll do your best, and it’ll be enough.”
Victor clutched Violet’s hand in the dark, sitting slowly up. “What would Aunt Agatha do? Bloody hell, I’m a maudlin fool at this time of night. We’re not so bright and so young anymore, Vi. It’s time to turn in a bit earlier.”
“Midnight?”
Victor scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Perhaps before 3:00 a.m.”
Chapter Five
“It’s all your fault,” Martha told Violet the next morning. Martha’s arms were crossed over her chest and she seemed to be on the edge of stomping her foot. “Lila sent a telegram to Father, and he’s coming to drag me home.”
Violet sipped her Turkish coffee slowly and then set her teacup back on the saucer. “I hardly think that has anything to do with me.”
“Lila told me last night you’d have done the same for your sister.”
“Write a telegram? I suppose I might have.”
“She’s just tattling. It’s like that time I broke her doll.”
“You did that on purpose,” Lila told Martha, taking up her own teacup. “You always were spoilt.”
“You’re still getting revenge for it!” Martha shouted, stamping her foot. “You’ve always hated me and want me to suffer.”
“Only some,” Lila said idly. “It’s good for your soul.”
“You’re just jealous that Cousin Godfrey left me more money than you.”
Lila sighed and took a deeper gulp from her coffee cup. “Save me, Violet. Do you have a muzzle or a gag?”
Violet shook her head and then looked up as Jack stepped into the room. Her dog, who was sitting at Violet’s feet, picked up her head and barked once. A small wriggling red and white creature yipped back. Violet’s mouth dropped open and she jumped up just as Jack dropped down to kiss her. They collided and somehow, Jack maneuvered himself into her chair with her on his lap and the pup in her arms.
“Oh!” Violet cooed. “Oh!”
“I believe you requested one of these,” Jack said as Violet kissed the little dog on his head. He licked her nose, tail wagging so hard it was providing a steady metronome beat to the moment.
“What a display!” Martha gasped in feigned shock.
Jack stiffened under Violet, but she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
“You can pick another, if you’d like,” Jack said. “This one was the favorite of the mother’s owner. Said he was the sweetest of the lot.”
“Hmph!” Martha’s tone was patronizing and completely devoid of any recollection of how they’d found her last night, dressed as she’d been.
“Do shut up,” Lila told her sister.
“Do,” Violet agreed. She rose and pulled Jack to his feet, nudging him towards the Chesterfield and took a seat at his side rather than on his lap. Rouge leapt up onto the couch next to them and stuck her little black nose towards the puppy. The pup wriggled frantically but Rouge bypassed the puppy for Jack’s lap.
“Victor stopped by once he got up,” Jack told Violet, playing with her fingers with one hand while he scratched Rouge’s ear with the other. “He’s decided that we need to go to the country houses until the baby arrives. He wants you to come, but he’s determined to set out by the end of the week. He said, and I quote, ‘Aunt Agatha often talked about the importance of clean air for children.’”
Violet’s lips twitched. “I suppose some time in the country would be agreeable. Lila, you and Denny will come with us?”
Lila nodded. “Denny is becoming a bit soft again. He’s like a half-baked bun, too soft in the middle. Jack, you’ll have to walk him.”
“Like a dog?” Jack asked.
“Just so.”
“I’d like to help Ham finish this case,” Jack told Violet.
She paused and then nodded. She wasn’t quite ready to be separated from Victor again, but they’d follow soon after. “I do need to do some shopping. We should send that same clerk down again to see what needs to be updated at the house.”
“Good idea,” Jack said, dropping another kiss on her temple.
Martha huffed like an offended Victorian grandmother, and Violet was tempted to slap the girl again.
“Back to it,” Jack said, kissing her on the lips this time, and Violet noted the twitching edges of his mouth that declared he’d done it as much to irritate Martha as to steal a moment of affection with Vi.
Violet laughed and leaned back. “Thank you for the puppy.”
“Seemed fated,” Jack told her off-handedly. “You wanted one. I heard tell of one. Just the thing.”
“Perfect,” Lila said. “I’ll foist the baggage off on Father, we’ll shop, and then we’ll take the pups down to the country with our newest things. Violet, did you see the orange dress with the gold overlay that Harriet Anderson w
as wearing the other night at the Savoy?”
“It was perfection,” Violet agreed as Jack backed away.
“I’m not going to put up with this treatment,” Martha announced, setting her teacup down and standing.
Lila sniffed and in her idlest voice said, “If you think I won’t knock you down and drag you back into this parlor by your hair, please recall when you did break my doll.”
Martha stared at Lila, who slowly lifted a brow.
“You can’t make me do what you want.”
“What I want,” Lila told Martha, “is for you to take the trouble you’re determined to throw yourself into away from me. I have little doubt that you’re determined to ruin your life, but if you think—even for one moment—that I’ll spend the rest of my life listening to Mother bemoaning that I didn’t keep a close enough eye on you, you have forgotten what I am capable of.”
Violet blinked at the sheer, cold nastiness in Lila’s voice and watched in shock as Lila sipped her coffee again before she added calmly, “Do sit down, dear, you’re blocking the view.”
Martha dropped onto the sofa. Violet closed her mouth and went back to petting her dogs.
“Paris?” Violet asked Lila.
“Too close,” Lila said. “There’s too much of a chance that they’d expect me to jaunt over and pick her up.”
“New York City?” Violet suggested, lifting a brow at Martha.
“Are you talking about where I might go?” She sounded aghast.
“Talk to Rita. She can suggest somewhere far away,” Violet told Martha, “but still fun. Be authentic somewhere else if you must.”
“Why do I have to leave?”
“Because you aren’t without family,” Violet said. “If your mother is really going to blame Lila, it’s the least you can do.”
“But I don’t want to,” Martha whined.
“You can’t be all that attached to your friends here.”
Martha paused.
