by Beth Byers
“Those titles,” Violet said brightly, as though she wasn’t bothered by how the woman referred to Jack, “refer to their skill and experience. Mr. Wakefield is quite a brilliant investigator. I’m sure he’ll have this case wrapped up even though who would kill a gardener?”
Even though she’d scolded herself quite thoroughly earlier that day, Violet used the same presumptions she’d despised herself for quite on purpose.
“Yes, well,” Mrs. King’s lips pursed and then she said, “he wasn’t the most ordinary of gardeners.”
“Oh?” Kate sipped her tea with her spine ramrod straight, turning her bright, clever eyes on Mrs. King. The woman clearly favored Kate over Violet and her friend was using the feeling to their advantage.
“He did marry quite beyond his class. His poor wife. She gave up everything for him and then he spent the next decade and a half moving among any woman who’d give him the time of day. I told Mrs. Jones she should take advantage of the new marriage act. If any woman deserved to escape the life she created, it was Mrs. Jones. I suppose someone else freed her instead.”
“They had children, I saw. I found the poor little mites’ graves…what a terrible tragedy.”
“Oh yes, the children. They are why I pushed Mrs. Jones into divorcing her husband. Normally I wouldn’t endorse such a scandalous action. Who God has put together and what not…”
Violet and Kate glanced at each other, and Vi guessed her own expression was as alarmed as Kate’s. “What happened to the children?” Kate’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
Mrs. King’s pursed mouth flattened into an angry line. “Indeed. It was terrible. Even after all this time, I can’t help but feel heartbroken over it. Truthfully, poor Meredith has never been the same. And who can blame her?”
Violet glanced at Kate, who carefully asked, “But what happened to the children?”
“Well, Mr. Freckleton—that’s Meredith’s brother. He was married at the time. Married a sickly little thing and they hadn’t been blessed with children. Only she was expecting. Rather far along and feeling quite poorly. Mr. Freckleton asked his sister for help. She’d had four children and knew what to expect. So, Meredith got her children to bed, left them tucked up tight. Mr. Jones was there if they needed anything. They mostly looked after themselves when their mama wasn’t around. Even the little girl. A little angel, she was.”
Violet bit her lip. The shock of pain didn’t help. Her fingers were digging into her palms. Little Rouge seemed to sense Violet’s feelings and placed a paw on Violet’s foot. It didn’t help. Nothing was going to better the end of this tale because it ended with four graves and four deaths on the very same day.
“That cad Jones left the children. There must have been a spark or something. The cottage caught fire. Maybe he left something too near the fireplace? Maybe one of the little ones got up and caused an accident? Whatever happened, those babies died in a house fire. All on one day. If that weren’t bad enough, Mr. Jones was seen out with one of the local loose girls. He’d left the children to step out on his wife and all while she was helping others.”
“Oh my heavens,” Kate said.
Violet didn’t say anything. She couldn’t find the words. Her fingernails were digging into her palms and the pain demanded she loosen her grip on her own hands, but she couldn’t. Violet hadn’t wanted children, not really. Not before meeting and falling in love with Jack, anyway. Even still, she couldn’t help but put herself in Mrs. Jones’s shoes. To have them and lose them—Violet didn’t see things getting better after that.
Of course the woman had to have been head over heels in love, swept off her feet in love to marry a gardener when she could have had an easier life. She had fallen in love and right out of the life she was accustomed to. It was a right she had—to marry whomever she chose! Violet wouldn’t take that from her. Never.
But Mr. Jones! That cad hadn’t honored what his wife had done. Hadn’t appreciated her. He’d stepped out on her and left her heartbroken. As if that wasn’t enough, his philandering had cost them their children.
“I suppose,” Kate said softly, “we can never know if his not being there saved his life or cost the children theirs.”
“Just what the vicar said.” Mrs. King didn’t sound convinced. “That being true, I can’t say I didn’t wish he’d died with them than to leave his poor wife wondering. It would have been a mercy to lose him rather than have him live and wonder.”
Violet did not disagree. Not at all. Kate didn’t seem quite so heartless as the other two women, and they united in their feelings. Violet nodded at Mrs. King who gave her enough of a smile to make Violet feel as though she’d finally shaken whatever it was that Mrs. King didn’t like about Violet.
“What happened to Mrs. Freckleton?” Kate cleared her throat and set down her teacup with shaking hands.
“She didn’t survive childbirth. Mr. Freckleton and his sister lost everyone but each other in only a few months. I don’t include Mr. Jones, of course.”
“Of course.” Violet sipped her tea and considered. “I suppose Jack must be trying to track down all of Mr. Jones’s lovers to determine whether they or possibly their spouses were the killer.”
“You don’t think Mr. Freckleton killed his brother-in-law?” Kate asked, surprised.
Violet shrugged. “He struck me as a gentle man when I met him in the graveyard. Still putting flowers on the graves of those children.”
“Hmmm,” Mrs. King mused.
“Is he not gentle?” Kate asked. “We could hardly know. A few minutes over the graves of children is hardly the place to determine the nature of a person.”
Mrs. King did not answer the question. Instead she turned to Violet and asked, “What advice do you need?”
“I was wondering what I should do to help Mrs. Jones in the loss of her husband.”
Mrs. King’s already straight spine seemed to lengthen as she considered. Her teacup was balanced precisely on her knee and there was nary a wobble in the tea. Violet watched with more admiration than such a skill probably deserved but all the same, Violet was in awe.
“Is your brother inclined to generosity? I wouldn’t have thought it.”
Violet barely kept her eyes from narrowing coldly on the woman.
“He did buy a home in a rather spectacular way. Mr. Carlyle is, however, quite kind,” Kate answered before Violet could. The firmness in Kate’s tone had Mrs. King lifting a brow, but she didn’t argue.
“I can’t imagine that Mrs. Jones could easily pay for a funeral. Though I think it likely that her brother will give her a home if she needs one. I am not entirely sure what she has. She received her current home from her aunt. It has never been clear if there was money to go with it.”
Violet nodded. “Would I talk to the vicar about easing that burden?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Chapter 13
“Of all the…of all the nerve! Victor will never be anything other than a drunk in this village even after helping the poor widow.”
Violet noted Kate’s fury was directed at the reception of Victor rather than at the death of the children. Violet shuddered as she thought of that again. To lose so deeply. It was awful. Victor’s lot was the result of his actions. He should have known better to get so zozzled that he ended up buying a house. Especially one that he hadn’t seen and would not have otherwise bought—at least Violet hoped he wouldn’t have.
Violet tried to smile at Kate, but Vi wasn’t up to it. Maybe it was the walk after a restless night of sleep and being ill for days. She scoffed at herself. Her melancholy was for the house. Perhaps she should work on improving her heart. She should be happy for her brother that he hadn’t been taken advantage of more than he had been.
The vicar was easy enough to find. He had a little house near the church. There was a young woman crying into a handkerchief in the garden. Violet and Kate saw her and then pretended to completely miss her as they approached the door. Violet, however, considere
d the timing of the girl’s tears even as she and Kate smoothed their faces into perfect politeness and knocked on the door.
It was opened a moment after by a uniformed maid who saw them inside. Violet told the dogs to lie down. Victor and Violet weren’t responsible for how well-behaved they were, but Violet had no worries that they’d remain where they were. The vicar was in his office, but they were left in a parlor while the housekeeper inquired if he could receive them.
“What do you think the girl was crying about?” Kate asked.
Vi shook her head. Her answer was so low Kate had to lean forward to hear it, but Violet didn’t want to be caught talking about some poor girl who was trying to have a good cry. “You were that young once. For a bit there, I was crying for no reason at all. Victor or Father looked at me wrong and I was squalling into my pillow, telling myself the most woeful stories. I almost liked it. That being said, someone died yesterday, and I’d bet half the kingdom that her tears have to do with it. Otherwise, why would she be hiding in the garden?”
Kate’s gaze widened, and she nodded in agreement.
Then she was unable to hold back a laugh. “I can hardly imagine you crying and bemoaning. Victor must have hated that so much.”
“He used to curse at me and stomp away. I always wailed a little louder after he did. It only spurred him on. You could hear the echoes of his curses as he fled.”
Kate’s shout of laughter escaped as the parlor door opened and the vicar entered the room. He crossed to them as Kate tried to muffle her giggles.
“Hullo!” Vi said brightly. She remembered a moment later why they were there and added, “I am Violet Carlyle. I have come on behalf of my brother, Victor Carlyle, who is ill and has sent me in his stead.”
“I am Father George Bosch.” He held out his hand and greeted both of them while Violet introduced Kate.
“Your brother is the one who bought the Higgins house? I have been intending to come visit you, but I did hear from the doctor that you’ve been ill. My apologies for my tardiness.”
“Think nothing of it.” Violet waved off his apology. “I’ve actually come to speak with you about poor Philip Jones. My brother would like to pay for his funeral and help Mrs. Jones. I was hoping you could help us facilitate the funeral portion of things?”
The vicar’s brows rose and he nodded. “Oh, that is generous. It would be helpful and such a relief. That family has been so burdened. Mrs. Jones and Mr. Freckleton’s parents with the influenza. Then the children, then Mrs. Freckleton. They lost two brothers in the war, and I fear there was some division between Mrs. Jones and her family before they passed.”
Violet didn’t have to pretend to a commiserating face. She was dying inside a little bit for poor Meredith Jones.
“What else can be done for her?”
The vicar made several suggestions and Violet nodded while Kate took notes. They left him in charge of telling whomever was hired by Mrs. Jones to send their bills to the Higgins house. Violet didn’t even argue the name of the house. She hoped it would always be the Higgins house and Victor would unload it to the next drunk fool to pass through the village.
She and Kate left the house after getting directions to Mrs. Jones’s home. The vicar had vaguely attempted to dissuade them from visiting Mrs. Jones. The way he spoke had made it clear to Violet he knew that Mrs. Jones had been beaten. Violet was deliberately dim until the vicar gave up.
Vi clucked for the dogs, gave both of the small spaniels a quick scratch, and picked up the dog leashes.
“He must have thought that we’ll get turned away at the door,” Kate said. “That made me so uncomfortable that it was hard for me to sit still. The vicar must also have thought you were quite the stupidest woman he’s ever met.”
Violet laughed. They turned the corner on the path out of the vicar’s property and ran directly into the girl who had been crying before. He face was red and swollen. “Oh!”
“Oh, dear me.” Violet caught the girl, who had jumped back and wobbled. “Terribly clumsy of me. My apologies.”
The girl tried to escape, but Violet didn’t let her go.
“Oh!” she said again. She blinked rapidly and twisted a little, but Violet took the girl’s hand and squeezed, pretending to steady her even though she’d caught her balance and was trying to avoid eye contact.
“I am sorry. I fear this is the most terrible introduction. We’ve just come to visit, you see. Are you the vicar’s daughter?”
The girl’s manners came into play even though Violet was ignoring her own. “Ye—yes.”
“I am Lady Violet Carlyle. This is my good friend, Kate Lancaster.”
“I—I’m pleased to meet you.” She sniffed and attempted to gather her emotions. “I’m Marie Bosch.”
“I was wondering, Miss Bosch, if Kate and I might beg you for assistance. We’re quite turned around, I’m afraid.”
The girl nodded slowly. Violet was channeling her stepmother’s imperious nature, imposing her will as a member of the peerage so the girl would bend to her. Kate’s expression was shocked at Violet’s behavior. Vi was shocked at herself, to be honest.
Marie led the way to Mrs. Jones’s house with eyes that were becoming more and more frantic. Little sniffles escaped the girl, and Violet demanded, “Have things gone astray with your beau?”
Poor Marie jumped and a tear slipped down her cheek. The girl, Violet felt certain, was crying over Philip Jones. Vi had hoped she could use the girl’s emotional state for a gossip on the journey to the widow’s house.
Violet stopped and took the girl’s hand. “You’ll get through this, darling. There is no way that Mr. Philip Jones was a good choice for you.”
Kate’s squeak was hidden by Marie’s gasp. Her eyes were wide and panicked. “How did you know?”
“I’m spoiled and frivolous, but unlike the general assumption, I am not stupid. You were crying, you’re young, and you’re panicking as we get closer to his wife.”
“Oh, his wife!” Marie almost snarled.
Violet and Kate glanced at each other.
“Tell us about her, would you?” Kate asked gently.
“She blames him for their children dying. Made him the villain for the whole village. People hate him now. Hated him—” Marie sniffled into her handkerchief before continuing. “As though he didn’t lose the children too, as though he isn’t haunted by what-ifs. As though he wasn’t blessed to avoid joining them in death. It’s not his fault that they died. It’s a miracle that he lived!”
Violet felt a flash of rage as she realized what Jones had done to this girl. Using her naiveté to make himself the victim. To make her want to love him and be the one who sees him truly while everyone else was too blind to see.
Kate was biting her bottom lip to hide her reaction to what Jones had done to Marie.
“So…” Kate said carefully. “I’m sorry…perhaps I am struggling with this whole brainwork thing. Let me clarify. Mrs. Jones left her children with her husband in order to help an ill woman, and Mrs. Jones is the villain.”
“It was a tragedy! An act of God. Nothing more. But she turned poor Philip into the slayer of his own children instead of another mourning parent.”
Violet swallowed in order to gather her thoughts. She was scrambling for something to say and coming up dry.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Kate told Marie gently. “I am sure it’s so much the worse when no one can understand what you’re going through.”
Violet’s gaze widened at Kate’s brilliance.
“Thank you for trusting us with your burden.”
The girl wept a little more and Kate wrapped her arm around her shoulders, handing over a fresh handkerchief. They had reached the cottage under the trees where Mrs. Jones lived. The gate was closed and to Violet’s surprise, the garden was a mess. The grass was too long, the flower beds were a riot of weeds, and the hedges were spiky and overgrown.
The house was also nicer and larger than anything a ga
rdener could afford on his own, though it was small and cramped to Violet’s standards. This must be the place that Mrs. Jones inherited from her aunt. It was certainly a nice little place, aside from the garden.
Marie scowled towards the house and muttered, “I have to go.” She escaped before Violet could stop her.
Kate’s and Violet’s gazes met and Kate said, “I could kill him myself, I think.”
“Do you think he persuaded her to anything other than a few kisses?”
The two women stared after the running girl.
“I really have no idea,” Kate answered. “It’s possible. I hate to say it’s possible, but it is—”
“Someone would kill over that,” Violet told Kate.
“The vicar?”
“Anyone who loves that girl would kill over that type of crime.” Violet’s frown was deep and intense, and it almost made her face hurt. “I knew I didn’t like him.”
“It’s unfortunate that Victor chose the gardener over other local servants. It’ll put more distance between him and them.”
“He couldn’t have known,” Violet said. “But I agree. It doesn’t matter. He’ll never be anything more than the drunk fellow who bought a house sight unseen. The loose Londoner who lives a life of endless parties, cocktails, and jazz or whatever else it is that these people hate.”
“You don’t sound like you like it here.”
Violet didn’t answer. She opened the gate and headed towards the house. Yet again, she’d be setting aside her manners to see what she could find out, but she was absolutely determined. Violet wanted to go back to London. She hadn’t enjoyed nearly any part of this trip, and she didn’t like the idea of long weeks here. If things were resolved, she could make up a reason to go home and leave Victor to his home.
Maybe Violet should consider tracking down Isolde and Gerald. They’d left Monaco for Iceland. The twins’ brother and sister had read some article about the northern lights and decided to go see them. Their letters were paintings with words about how beautiful it was.