by Beth Byers
Violet gave Kate a smile, but Vi wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t given her feelings away. Kate was too observant to get away with hiding much from her. She was also, however, much kinder and far more polite than Violet. Kate might let Vi have her secret feelings when Vi couldn’t be counted on to do the same.
The cottage was a nice place for what it was. She was self-aware enough to know she was spoiled and that her life of living in mansions changed her outlook. But—for a gardener—it was quite nice. Larger than most would have with a snug little setup. Violet could see being happy in this place if you were in love. She bet that something along those lines was what the young Meredith Freckleton imagined.
If Jack were a gardener, Violet wouldn’t even hesitate to join him in this house. Though Jack might want to second-guess such a thing, as Violet’s practical household skills were almost non-existent.
Poor Mrs. Jones, she must have been head over heels like the young Marie, persuaded to believe in a happily-ever-after with the man of her heart and had it all snatched away when he ended up being a philandering scoundrel.
Approaching the woman, knowing it would further burden her, made Violet despise herself. Even still, she lifted her hand and knocked firmly and precisely.
Chapter 14
The woman who opened the door was older, uniformed, and clearly did not belong in the small cottage where Violet was intending to bully her way in.
“We’re not at home,” the woman said, starting to close the door before she’d even finished her sentence. Violet was certain that this woman did not work for the gardener. Who had lent Mrs. Jones a housekeeper? Violet was betting it had been Mr. Freckleton.
“My name is Lady Violet Carlyle,” Vi responded snobbishly. “I am here representing my brother, Victor Carlyle, who—I’m sure you’re aware—employed Mr. Jones. We come with an offer of assistance.”
The woman paused, and Violet could see the offer of help fighting with what were no doubt strict instructions to turn everyone away. “One moment.”
The door was shut in Violet’s face. She glanced to Kate.
“We’re bad people,” Kate said, “intruding on the poor woman like this. Even if we are paying for the funeral.”
“I know.” Violet took Kate’s hand and squeezed as the door opened. They’d already told the dogs to lie down, and both of them snuffled a little when Kate and Violet were led into the small front room. Violet took a seat at the housekeeper’s direction with Kate squeezed onto the small seat next to her.
Could the housekeeper belong to Meredith Jones? That seemed unlikely. Violet considered for a moment and then bet herself that the woman normally worked for Mr. Freckleton.
The two of them glanced at each other. The room was empty and there was no sign of the widow. Violet pressed her mouth closed. The cottage was too small to get away with whispering about the murder, and Violet did not want to be caught being heartless.
Violet crossed her fingers in her lap. They were digging into the back of her hands, but it gave her a little balance against what she was doing. She took in a deep breath as the widow moved into the room. The housekeeper placed a pillow on the seat for the woman, and she moved like she was brittle. Violet wanted to search Mrs. Jones face, to read her expressions as they spoke, to hold out her hand and somehow bond with her. Meredith Jones was, however, wearing a black net veil over her face.
Violet blinked at the sheer shock of seeing a gardener’s wife wearing something like that. Her dress was nicer than Violet would have expected. Though, now that she thought about it, Mr. Jones did have nicer clothes than the typical gardener. His pants weren’t so worn, his shoes were of finer quality. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but the dress Mrs. Jones was wearing had been carefully made.
Could she, Vi wondered, make her own clothes? Many women did who couldn’t afford to buy clothes as Violet did, so they could be better dressed by simply making their own.
“Hello . . .” Mrs. Jones let her voice trail off.
Violet nibbled at her lip before she decided to be overly familiar. “Hello.” Violet reached out her hand and took Mrs. Jones’. She stifled a whimper as Violet took hold, and Vi realized Mrs. Jones wasn’t hiding her face because of the tears. It was the beating. Violet gently cradled the woman’s hand.
“I have come to tell you that my brother, Victor, will be paying for your husband’s funeral.”
“Oh, my lady!” Mrs. Jones didn’t object, and her voice shook with the reaction.
“Victor would also like to give you a little something to help you get started without your husband.” Violet wanted to question the woman further to find out more. It wasn’t going to happen though. She was going to leave this woman be for the moment. “We’ll send over a care basket with some goods. We wanted to extend our condolences and let you know that you aren’t alone. If you need additional assistance, we’d like to help.”
“Why?” Mrs. Jones sounded baffled. “I won’t pretend not to need your help, my lady. It’s most appreciated, but I don’t understand why your brother would be so generous with a man who barely worked for him. Philip was no long-employed retainer leaving behind a houseful of children.” Her voice cracked on that last comment, and Violet pretended not to notice the widow’s grief.
Instead, she admitted, “You are quite right. Mr. Jones wasn’t a long time employee and it would perhaps be understood if we left you to your lot.”
“It would,” Mrs. Jones said.
“But we aren’t going to do that. We might be believed to be frivolous good-for-nothings, but I would like to think there is a little something to redeem us.”
Mrs. Jones’s hand was shaking, and Violet wished she could somehow say something to make her burden easier. What was there to say? Perhaps this was a woman who accepted that her husband was a philanderer and still loved him. Perhaps this was the final loss that would break her. Perhaps she was already broken and didn’t have it in herself to care. Perhaps she was relieved at his loss and unable to deal with the effect of those feelings.
“Is there anything else we can do?”
Mrs. Jones said no, so the purpose of the visit was over, at least for the time being. Violet and Kate left, allowing the poor woman to return to her bed.
“She’s in a great deal of pain.” Kate sounded as sick about it as Violet felt.
“She is.” Violet licked her lips. Her hands were shaking, and the realization that someone had beaten that woman and then she’d lost her husband—it was more than Violet could imagine. “I can’t decide if it’s only physical or if she’s mourning her husband as well. We should send a doctor to her.”
“We should. And, her husband did seem like a snake in the bosom.” Kate let her fingers trail over the picket fence as they walked away. Flowers were starting to bloom at the base of the fence and beyond the Jones’s house, and the rest of the fences in the line of cottages were painted and cared for. “Still, he was her snake in the bosom.”
“Let’s go back to the house.” Violet looked towards Higgins house. She refused to think of it as Victor’s. “I could use a large cuppa and perhaps something to eat.”
They walked towards the house for a few minutes, letting the dogs range in the field near the road when an auto pulled up alongside them. Jack got out of the vehicle, tapped the top of it, and the driver moved on. He met their gazes, lingering on Violet before holding out an arm to both of them, while they walked on together.
Luncheon had long since passed, and Violet felt terrible. She was tired and she didn’t much like the way she’d behaved that day. Her head was hurting, and the sun was too bright in the sky even though the renewed chill and the snap of the wind proclaimed another spring storm was on its way.
“Were you able to keep her out of trouble?” Jack asked Kate as he tucked her hand through his second arm. They continued with each lady on an arm as they strolled towards Victor’s house.
Kate’s mocking laugh was all the answer he got.
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br /> “Did you find the killer?” Violet asked.
“Not yet, I’m afraid. We’re pursuing several avenues, but there’s no reason to believe any one is more likely than the other.”
“No details for us?” Kate asked lightly, and Jack was the one who laughed mockingly. In previous investigations, they’d been able to draw information from him. The last had ended, however, with Violet hurt. Since then Jack’s instincts were to wrap her up in wool and set her on a shelf. That she didn’t let him was a nearly endless source of frustration.
“Were they able to get the lights back on?” he asked, rather than answering Kate.
“We left before it was done, if they were successful.” Kate was the one who answered as Violet stared into the distance, thinking over the day.
Violet leaned into Jack’s side. She had a bad taste in her mouth, and it wasn’t just from her behavior. There was the painful way that Mrs. Jones moved and the sound of the young Marie taking Philip’s part. Maybe there was something to the theory about the unfair blame that had been laid at Philip’s feet. The truth was no one could say for sure if the children would have survived if he had been there. It could, however, be said rather clearly that he hadn’t been there. If the children had been sleeping, well—that didn’t mean that Philip would have been sleeping. Being there and awake would certainly have saved at least some of the children.
The murmur of Jack’s voice cut into Violet’s thoughts, and it took a second to realize that he was repetitively saying her name.
“Oh, yes?”
He grinned down at her, frowning a moment later. “You look pale.”
“Realizing how awful people are will do that to you.”
“What did you find out?”
“What did you find out?” she echoed.
Jack shook his head a little bit, but there was enough of a smile about his lips to tell her that he wasn’t all that bothered by her hijinks. Though to be fair, very little about the day felt actually boisterous or fun.
“I should like to partake of some actual hijinks,” she said.
Both Jack and Kate stared at Violet, and it took her a second to realize she was talking to herself aloud.
Violet giggled at the look on their faces. “It’s just…I felt like I intended to be engaged in a sort of hijinks today. The idea of meeting the locals and sleuthing seemed sort of fun when we left the house.”
Kate lifted a solitary brow. “Today was not fun.”
“Exactly,” Violet nodded. “Hijinks are fun and frivolous. Today left me sad for humanity. I find John Donne running through my head.”
“Donne?” Jack asked.
“Not the poetry. That sermon. You know the one. I memorized it once. Ah…let me see. ‘No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less…any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.’”
“What are you trying to say?” Kate asked, cocking her head and tucking her loose hair behind her ear.
“She’s saying that the loss of even such a man as Philip Jones has left us the lesser.” Jack’s gaze had softened on Violet. “He was hardly the best example of mankind, Vi. Thinking that we have lost so very much is generous.”
“True, I suppose.” Violet wasn’t convinced.
It wasn’t that Jones was wonderful. She very much despised him. It wasn’t that she mourned him so much as she mourned what he could have been. She mourned for the man who had entangled himself in so many lives. The lives of the young Marie, of Joseph Freckleton, of Mrs. Jones—they were the lesser despite Philip Jones’s nature. They had lost something. Something not all that positive, it was true. But they had lost a vital, lively piece of their lives. She didn’t know how to explain, so she shrugged and glanced back to the rolling fields they were passing.
Rouge was chasing Gin through the field, but he bounded around back at her. She leaned back from him, tail-wagging, and then barked furiously before leaping forward and racing ahead.
“That you find something to mourn in Jones is one of the things that I love about you.”
Jack’s steady voice normally steadied her, but she almost tripped at the word ‘love.’ He’d never officially said he loved her. That wasn’t even a statement of love, not really. Violet could say something similar about Kate.
As hard as her heart beat to hear it, it wasn’t quite what she longed to hear. And it didn’t drive away the melancholy of her question. Was there really a loss in the death of a man like Philip Jones?
“If Marie Bosch were my daughter,” Violet started, “Or even one of my little protégés, I would probably have considered murdering him myself. There are too many people who had a reason to kill Philip Jones. And yet, I think that if he had been all he could have been—if he had been true to the promises he had to have made to his wife—if he had used his power over the young Marie to turn her mind to things beyond his woeful state, well, he could have been a great man. That is what I mourn about him, what he could have been. I feel very melancholy, I suppose. My outlook is grim since I’ve been ill. I can’t quite shake it.”
“Murder will do that to you, Vi. Look on the bright side, love. There is so much to see that is good. People like Kate, like you, like Victor when he isn’t being a blackguard of a brother.”
Violet forced a laugh. “I suppose if I give up on mankind, I will always have my sweet Rouge.”
The dog barked once at her name and then went back to sniffing the flowers.
“There is more to you than cocktails, jazz, and face powder,” Kate told Violet. “Even if this town does not see beyond your surface. There’s no need to be grim. We’ll discover this murderer and be back to normal. Don’t let the way these people have been treating us push you to being blue.”
Jack frowned. Perhaps he hadn’t caught the way people looked at them. He had spent most of his time out and about as a Scotland Yard man more than the sister of the person who bought a house drunk. Rather a large difference, really.
Chapter 15
“My lady,” Jack said as Violet left her room before dinner. “I believe you’ve asked for hijinks.”
Violet stopped. She glanced around, noting the lights were on and the house seemed to be running smoothly despite Victor being bed-bound and both Violet and Kate having left for the day. Violet had intended to go check on Victor before dinner, but Jack was blocking the door with a twinkle in his gaze. He had dressed in dinner attire. Not regular dinner attire, but what must have been his nicest suit. She blinked up at him with his pretty outfit and felt a flash of heat as she took in his grin.
Jack was not one of those smoothly handsome men. He was too large for that with a too-sharp gaze and an aura that declared he was taking note of everything that was happening.
Despite his rugged face, Violet wasn’t sure that she’d ever found anyone more attractive. She enjoyed his massive size and how he made her feel small. He made her feel dainty. She loved the way his intelligence focused on her. The way that when everyone else saw yet another bright young thing, he saw her. The part of her that was intelligent, the part of her that was frivolous, the part of her that was loving, and even the hateful pieces of her. He saw all of her and still seemed to find her worth wanting. That might be the most intoxicating feeling she’d ever felt.
Jack lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on the tip of her first two fingers.
“Hullo.” She tried for cheery but wasn’t sure she pulled it off.
“Your brother is fine,” Jack said. “I gave him the option of staying in bed on his own or pouring more laudanum down his throat. He took the first option. His fever is broken, his man got him to eat. Given the yawning I witnessed, he’ll be sliding back into sleep before long.”
Violet laughed, relieved. She placed her hand on his arm, feeling a little underdressed. She’d chosen the first
dress in her closet. It was navy blue with beading and a drop waist. It was by no means a dress she didn’t like, but she hadn’t put any effort into her wardrobe that evening.
Violet glanced up at Jack. “Hijinks?”
“Carousing even. Perhaps a bit of boisterous nonsense.”
Violet laughed, the last traces of her mood fading as Jack winked at her. He led her down to the parlor where Denny had made drinks.
“Just a G&T, I’m afraid. I don’t have Victor’s brilliance.”
“I’m not sure I’d use the word brilliance.” Violet’s barb made Denny snort as he pressed a drink into her hand.
“You need this, my friend. Your venom is showing.”
Violet pretended to gasp.
She joined Jack on the chesterfield as she sipped her cocktail. “What’s this promise of nonsense?”
“It’s for after dinner.” Jack had selected a brandy rather than a cocktail, and he sipped it with relish. Why did he need that drink? Brandy was like ginger wine for him. The drink he wanted when things had been rough.
Vi glanced him over. He was tense at the corner of his eyes and mouth. Had things been rough for Jack while working or had something else happened? Violet wanted to invite him to pour his problems into her lap, but she knew he wouldn’t when he was worried about her.
It was the naps that kept him on high alert, she thought. It wasn’t that she never napped before she got ill, but she suspected that the frequency and length of them had him eyeing her like an infant instead of a grown woman who was shaking off the last of her illness.
Before she could inquire further and before either of them were halfway through their drinks, the dinner gong rang. The dinner was one of the simpler meals they had. Roasted chicken and veg. The cook was adequate but not brilliant.
“Tell us what you learned, laddie?” Denny refilled his plate while Violet pushed her own away. They all turned to Jack, who shrugged. He considered, and Violet felt his gaze on her face, but she deliberately sipped her wine to avoid pressuring him with her wants.