by Beth Byers
Violet grinned at him, and he grinned back.
“You’re the best, Vi.”
She shrugged.
“He was terrible.”
She nodded.
“That was just wonderful, just wonderful. I’m not sure I’ve ever enjoyed a tea with you so much. When he answered Victor’s question that you had just asked. By Jove! I think you had steam coming from your ears, dear one. It was fabulous.”
“Violet put six sugars in Greybull’s tea.” Lila laughed.
“How many did he ask for? No one actually asks for that many.”
“None.”
“Your comment on the weather, and the look on his face after Victor bemoaned the downpour. I do love you, Vi,” Denny pronounced.
Chapter Five
“So you’re the hardworking brother?” Violet asked, as she re-entered the parlor. “Make me an Old-Fashioned, Victor. Make it strong, please.”
“Weren’t you at a charity event?” Wendy asked. “I apologize, I thought you left. Then Denny told me to sit tight, and—I don’t want to keep you from the orphans or the wounded soldiers. I’m sure you must be up to something important.”
“Shopping,” Violet agreed with a nod. “Though Victor and I do support an orphanage in your hometown.”
“I—” Wendy looked to Denny and back to Violet. The poor man’s mouth was hanging a little open.
“He is earnest,” Violet told Lila as they hooked arms. “I like him.”
“I—” Wendy glanced around the room as if surprised. “Is this really how you live?”
“It is,” Victor said as he handed everyone an Old-Fashioned. “We are frivolous and merry and lazy.”
“Just so lazy.”
“We are indeed,” Violet told the man. “No one is quite as lazy as dear Denny. I think, Wendy, that you received all of the capacity your family had to provide for hard work.”
“It’s Wendell.”
“Your Greyly is horrible,” Violet told the man.
“Yes. I’m—ah—aware that Mr. Greyly can be—ah, difficult. I mean. I—”
“Denny, you would say anything,” Victor told Denny. “What’s wrong with your brother?”
“I think he has manners,” Lila said. “We’re all surprised.”
Violet sighed. “You’re educated. Why are you putting up with Greyly?”
“Archeology is expensive. It’s the pursuit of something ancient and wonderful for the knowledge. The expansion of where we came from, of what we’re capable of. It only happens when people like Greyly with money to spare get involved. You…you…they’re…”
“They’re necessary,” Violet finished for Wendy, meeting his earnest gaze. “By Jove! You are hardworking. Who do you think is setting these fires?”
“Greyly is terrible. So anyone might. He…he makes you put all journal articles past him so he can adjust for his own theories. He…he takes credit for the best finds. He ruins you if you leave his projects. Not that anyone else would hire you if you’ve worked for Greyly.”
“You seem upset,” Violet said.
Wendy paled. “Well. I am. It’s just—we all are.”
Violet sipped her drink. “All of you?”
He nodded.
“And who has been here who could have done this?”
“Every archeologist coming in for the party and probably their assistants. Anyone who wants a job for a more reputable man. Greyly sucks you into this madness and then owns your life and your career.”
“So you went to school, studied, got a job and thought, ‘By Jove! I’ve made it!’ Only to have all of your dreams crash apart once you realized what you got pulled into?”
He nodded, glancing to the side. “It’s amazing when you’re digging and finding things. It’s awful when Greyly takes your discoveries and ruins everything.”
Violet’s head tilted as she examined Wendell Lancaster. He was Kate’s cousin, Denny’s little brother, and something of an enigma. His eyes fixed on hers, but unlike Denny’s, they were bright. Wendy had set his cocktail immediately aside. He was hiding his emotions, desperately trying to hold them back. They were Denny’s eyes though. “How much do you hate him?” Violet asked him.
Denny laughed and lifted his cocktail to his brother and then wound his fingers through Lila’s. “What do you think? Is he ready for Violet?”
“I still see him as the grubby little boy who was digging in the garden. I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand why you’re making a big deal about her,” Wendy said. “I—don’t believe—I—look—I have met many brilliant women.”
Violet lifted a brow.
“Here’s the thing about Vi,” Denny told Wendy expansively. “She’s more clever than you’d think.”
“No—no offense, Lady Vi—but Mr. Greyly is counting on, ah, well, your fiancé.”
“Use your imagination, my lad!” Denny called fervently before swallowing the rest of his cocktail. “You think that because Vi is all pretty and feminine and has those big eyes and fluttery lashes that she’s not two steps ahead of you?”
Wendell scowled at Denny. “This is all very untoward, Denny.”
“Maybe it’s because she smells good,” Lila suggested. “He can’t handle how good she smells, I think.”
Victor scoffed.
“She doesn’t smell as good as you, Lila love. It’s the eyes. She stares off into the distance and we lads think, what if she’s dreaming of me?”
“Lila Junior,” Lila said immediately. “Or Jack Junior. We’ll call him J.J. except for Violet, who will always call him something entirely frivolous. Like Teddy Bear.”
“Is this how you really talk?” Wendell asked. “And how you spend your days now that you have the money from our aunt? You’re all idiots.”
“Not Vi,” Denny and Lila said together and then laughed when Wendell stared at them as though he couldn’t believe they were serious.
Denny yawned aggressively then whined, “When is Jack coming? I feel like I can’t leave Violet to her shenanigans until Jack appears.”
“She needs a keeper?” Wendy demanded.
“No,” Violet and Lila said, as Victor and Denny said, “Yes.”
Violet’s gaze narrowed on the lads, who grinned at her, but neither took back their assertion.
“Vi, love,” Victor said, patting her hand. “There was that time at Christmas. You couldn’t move freely for weeks.”
Violet turned to Lila, who was shaking her head at both Victor and Denny, wincing dramatically for them.
“Come on, Vi,” Denny said. “You’ve cut it close a few times, is all. You know? Added a little spice to your life, perhaps. It’s just…”
“Jack,” Lila said for her husband.
“He’s just quite large,” Denny added. “Protective.”
“He could squash Denny like a bug and not even breathe heavily afterwards.”
“I could do that,” Violet told Lila.
She considered for a moment and then grinned at Violet, shrugging and nodding. “Yes, darling. I think you could. It’s your killer instinct. Denny’s all spaniel. You’re like a lioness. One of those big African cats.”
“I can’t even tell what you’re talking about anymore,” Wendell said. “I have serious business.” He stood and nodded at the women before scowling at his brother and stating, “Thank you for your time.”
Denny laughed as his brother stalked out of the parlor and then turned an expectant gaze on Violet as she took the final sip of her cocktail.
“Well,” Violet said, “shall we go dress shopping then, Lila?”
“Indeed,” she nodded. “Victor. Laddie.”
They had a black cab called while they gathered their coats and cloches, and then the two of them slipped into the backseat of the car, sending the driver towards the British Museum.
“How long do you think it’ll take them to realize we didn’t go shopping?” Lila asked.
“Denny? He probably won’t realize at
all.”
“And Victor?” Lila demanded.
“He already knows.” Violet crossed her leg in the car and shivered into her coat. It was quite damp, and the rain was coming down in sheets.
The black cab stopped in front of the British Museum, and they hurried inside. Violet approached the ticket box. “Are there any archeologists here?”
The man adjusted his jacket and looked down his nose at her.
Violet took his condescending expression as a yes and said, “Would you tell them that Lady Violet Carlyle is here? I’d be willing to entertain the idea of a contribution to their work should they be willing to entertain my questions.”
“Lady Violet Carlyle?” He didn’t believe her.
“Lady Violet Carlyle,” Violet replied. “Why don’t you tell them and let them be the judges?”
He narrowed his gaze on her, but Violet tilted her head, lifted a brow, and channeled her stepmother. She felt as though she’d put an invisible tiara on, but it worked. The man blushed and nodded once and said something to another fellow to watch the ticket box.
Violet and Lila crossed to a bench and seated themselves until a small man in brown tweed appeared with the ticket man. The man in brown tweed glanced Lila and Violet over. “Lady Violet?”
“That would be me,” Violet replied. She rose and held out her hand, letting the little fellow in tweed squeeze her fingers. “May I introduce my good friend, Mrs. Lila Lancaster?”
He nodded and then said, “I am Henry Parker. Ah, this is very awkward. I understood that you offered a bit of support for our work?”
“Perhaps,” Violet said with a smile. “I would be willing, but I do have some questions.”
The man accepted.
“Will you tell me what you do here?”
Mr. Parker went through the process of his work as he led her through the museum, and Violet had to force herself to turn away from scenes of astounding beauty to focus on the man. His work focused on the discoveries that were pulled from Egypt. After they had a rapport running, Violet asked him, “What do you know of Harvey Greyly?”
Parker scoffed. “That hack? He’s just rich with his own wild theories. Legitimate archeologists won’t work with him.”
“What about young archeologists who don’t know better?”
Parker shrugged. “No one else hires Greyly’s hacks. They destroy their reputation. They destroy their legitimacy. There are more who want to dig than can afford it.”
“What if they’re still very young?” Lila demanded. “Earnest. Hardworking?”
“Again, my dear,” Mr. Parker cut in, “there are more men who want to dig than can be hired for it.”
He led them into his office and offered them a seat.
Violet crossed her hands over her stomach. “Tell me about those who work for Greyly.”
“I don’t know much of them,” Parker said.
Violet laughed merrily. “Mr. Parker, archeology is like being a member of the upper crust. The circle is small, and we all know each other better than we’d prefer. Surely you’re the same?”
Parker glanced at Violet and Lila. “Greyly has good men working for him. He manipulates their findings to support his theories. His archeologists hate him. Some of them hate him but still want to work. Stephen Lands is writing a book to counteract Greyly for when Lands retires. It won’t reverse the damage of all he’s done, but I think Lands mostly cares about the message he intends to send to Greyly.”
Violet lifted a brow. “What about the other fellows who work for Greyly?”
“Why do you care?”
“He’s had a series of fires,” Violet said.
“And why does that concern you, Lady Violet?”
Violet smiled merrily. “You make a good point, sir. It doesn’t concern me. It does, however, concern a friend. It’s important to me to understand why this series of fires is happening.”
There were small crates sitting on the shelf behind Parker’s desk, and she could see that he’d been working on something small and engraved. Was it a coin? Some piece of jewelry? What was it that he was seeing in the object? Some piece of history that explained its use or significance?
Violet took a deep breath in. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Parker, I don’t really care who is setting these fires. I’m not emotionally attached to any of the destroyed objects, and I’m not obsessed with the past. The losses, whatever they are—”
“They’re priceless!”
“Are they? While I do find what you are doing here interesting, I am far more intrigued by why you care more about what you discover than exactly what you uncover. I suppose I’m more intrigued by the living than those who have gone before.”
“Then why did you offer to finance my work? Why are you here to find out about this? Are you just pulling my leg?”
“What if I were to tell you that I would donate to your next dig as long as you took on one of Greyly’s men?”
“I would tell you that my work is more important than your money.”
“What if I were to ask you simply to give him a chance?”
“Has he published?”
“I believe so.” Violet took a deep breath in and then admitted, “I’m very rich, Mr. Parker. May I share with you that I can donate to your cause, or I can finance a dig. A dig that comes along with Wendell Lancaster. Perhaps you’d like to go to Greyly’s Bonfire Night party and see what you think of the lad?”
“I wasn’t invited.”
“Would you like to be my date?”
Lila choked, biting down on her lip.
“I—” Mr. Parker nodded once.
Handing Parker a card, Violet winked at him and said, “I’ll see you then, my friend. If you want to have a dig financed, you should be prepared to astound me with what I’m seeing and bond with Wendell Lancaster.”
“And if I don’t?”
“But you do.”
Chapter Six
Rouge licked Violet awake the next morning. Vi shoved her spaniel back and then shoved back her eye mask. She blinked blearily towards the window and saw that Beatrice had been in the room. Violet must have been pretty tired for the maid to succeed in sneaking in, lighting the fire, cracking the curtains, and escaping. The rain was pounding against the window panes, and Violet smiled at it.
She felt a rush of pure joy. She hadn’t had one bad dream the previous night. Was that why she felt amazing this morning? Or was it because she’d returned to find a telegram from Jack that he was on his way.
Violet smiled over the very simple message.
WILL RETURN ON 4th. JACK
The back of her mind was in a full duel about whether she should be so happy he was returning if she was an independent woman. Maybe it was more that the despondency she’d been experiencing was gone as well. What if her blues had gone because of Jack? If so, was she terribly dependent upon him? She had to remind herself, however, that her spirits had lifted when her interest had been piqued by the fires.
“Girl,” Violet told Rouge, “you’ve got to do something about these blues.”
She pulled out her journal and started flipping back through the pages to see when they’d struck this last time. It took a few minutes to realize that they’d started two days after everyone had left. She frowned, feeling rather weak to realize that being alone had pushed her into such melancholy.
What was she going to do about it? That ennui was driving her mad. She flipped through her journal, looking for the days she’d felt better, searching for what had been different. It took her a long while to realize she felt better when she had her jiu-jitsu lessons and when she took Rouge out for walks.
“Walks are the answer?”
Rouge’s tail flapped frantically against the bed, and Violet realized she’d crossed rather a terrible line with the poor dog.
“Walk?”
Rouge yipped, wagging her tail frantically with wide, pleading eyes, and Violet sighed. She was committed now, she thought, as she quickly dressed
in a warm dress, wool stockings, boots, and her coat. She added a raincoat and hat and then said, “Well, come on then.”
Thankfully, the small spaniel would be happy with a short walk. Violet and Rouge hurried out the door and into the rain. Victor’s house was in a nice neighborhood of over-sized houses that surrounded a small park. Vi and the dog rushed across the street into the park and the dog yipped and bounced in the puddles as though the sky was raining just for Rouge to play in.
After one lap around the park, Violet headed back towards the house and saw a black cab stopping. A very large man with quite broad shoulders got out of the black cab, and Violet stared as he stood up. He, too, was wearing a raincoat, and his gaze darted around the neighborhood with those dark, penetrating eyes.
Violet had little doubt that he noted the local bobby making his way through the beat of the neighborhood. The nanny from three doors down who was trying to get the children back inside from their own splashing in rubber boots. He didn’t walk up the steps to Number 7 where Violet and Victor lived. Instead, he crossed the street to the park and stopped in front of her.
Rouge barked a frantic hello, and Violet said, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be back so quickly. It’s early.” She studied his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, and the overall exhaustion. He looked haunted and sad. It was a state he hadn’t shown after most of the other murders they’d seen. This last case must have been quite a bad one. She reached out her ungloved fingers to his and tangled them together.
“I took the night train down.” He sounded husky, as though he hadn’t spoken in hours.
“Are you all right?”
He shook his head. Violet stepped into his body heat, ignoring the rain and their own drenched coats.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He placed his index finger under her chin, his gaze moving over her face before he tilted it and pressed a kiss on her forehead. There was something in his gaze that made it seem as though ghosts were chasing him.
“No, darling Vi, there is nothing to be done.”
Violet’s mouth twisted, helpless to know how to help him. This must be how Jack felt, she thought, when he found that she was having nightmares. Or when she’d gotten herself involved in another murder case. Helpless and worried.