The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Boxset 2

by Beth Byers

  Chapter 2

  Violet lied through her smile. “Who doesn’t enjoy playing with words? My brother and I have been telling each other stories since we were in short-pants. Terrifying tales to horrify our poor nanny.”

  She glanced at Jack, setting the pages of the manuscript face down on her lap in what Vi hoped was a casual manner.

  He immediately tried to sidetrack Miss Allen from Violet’s blunder. “Ham, did you read the conclusion of the strangler case near Chinatown?”

  “Nasty business,” Hamilton said. “One of my best men worked on that one and nearly got side-tracked a time or two. This is what I’m talking about, Lady Carlyle. All the learning in the world, all the experience you could possibly have, and you still find yourself derailed by the humans who are fighting against you. They are fighting, you know? Fighting to keep you from finding out what they’ve done. Struggling to…”

  Violet stopped listening. Miss Allen’s gaze was fixed on Violet’s face, and there was enough of a smirk that Violet felt certain the woman was nearly as clever as Jack and Hamilton. Violet’s blunder might have revealed her and Victor’s hidden identity as V. V. Twinnings, author of the fantastical and ridiculous. Especially with their pseudonym and title of the current work on the cover page, resting face down in Violet’s lap.

  The best she could do to excuse herself was to blame being off-her-game with Miss Emily Allen, Jack’s former betrothed, sitting across from her like a horror-filled phantasm.

  Violet loved a good pulp novel. The Tarzan books, the Bulldog Drummond books, even the old Varney the Vampire. They were so fun in their intent to be nothing more than a way to pass an afternoon.

  Her stepmother, however—what would she say if she found out Violet and Victor had supplemented their allowance with writing books that she didn’t even want them reading? What would Father say?

  “You know,” Miss Allen said, in the lull in the conversation. “I also like to play with words. I’m a reporter for the Piccadilly Press. I find that when one wields the pen, women can be equals, don’t you think?”

  Violet shrugged as though she weren’t panicking at the realization that this woman wrote about people like Violet for a living. The Piccadilly Press loved stories about the rich and well-connected. And Violet had exposed her status as an author. Both hers and Victor’s.

  With an even expression, she said, “There’s a reason that Miss Evans published under George Eliot and the Brontës under Bell. One would hope that with our fight for equal rights, we will eventually see women who only write with a man’s name because they wish to and not because they feel the need to do so in order for their work to be received. Perhaps even the day will come when a man will choose to use a woman’s name for the same reasons women currently use men’s names. Some genre that they wish to write in that is dominated by female writers. What a lovely fantasy!”

  Neither Jack nor Hamilton laughed, but Miss Allen did. She lifted a condescending brow. “I don’t approve of women pretending to be men to create a career. Better instead to be a pioneer for the women who follow.”

  Violet didn’t agree, but she didn’t wish to get into a debate. Not every decision needed to be made simply to forge the path for those who came behind. Sometimes a woman—or a man—needed to make their choices based upon what was best for them and what was right for them, despite the larger implications.

  Violet crossed her ankles and noted the passing scenery. Thankfully the journey wasn’t all that long. Perhaps she and Jack could find a shady spot to cool off when they arrived? She felt after the fraught conversation and morning, she could use some time in the open air before they went to a stifling lecture hall, let alone having to dress for Hamilton’s lecture. She could only hope that the ceilings were high, they had fans near every window, and that the hall wasn’t too crowded.

  “Been receiving a rather odd series of letters from one of the lads at Oxford. He’s been making claims about a possible murder,” Mr. Barnes told Jack as they neared the town. “I should have you take a look at them later today if there’s time. I was thinking of looking up the boy tomorrow. Do you have plans?”

  “Indeed, I have promised Violet some time on the water,” Jack started.

  “A promise I am physically incapable of rescinding,” Violet told Hamilton. “In this heat, I may need to trail my fingers in the water or expire.”

  “I’d be happy, however,” Jack continued, “to look at the letters with you, Ham. What’s so odd about them?”

  “Better to see for yourself,” Mr. Barnes replied. “Be nice to get a set of fresh eyes on them and see if I’m seeing ghosts where there are only shadows. Too much time amidst crimes, you know, and suddenly every statement is a lie and every passerby a criminal.”

  “Oh, Mr. Barnes.” Violet reached out and touched his wrist lightly. “You must focus on the good men in your work, those like Jack who are honorable, to find your hope. Otherwise you shall be very grim indeed. Perhaps you should take some time off. A little time on the Amalfi Coast? Or Cuba! Don’t you think Cuba, Jack?”

  “Not everyone is delighted by odd flavors, sandy shores, and rum cocktails as you and Victor,” Jack told her. “I think our Ham here would like nothing more than a few weeks in his childhood home. He grew up near your father’s estate. Did you know?”

  “Did you?” Violet asked. “Did you really?”

  “Used to see your brothers gallivanting about quite often, to be honest,” he said.

  When Violet’s grin dimmed, it was Mr. Barnes who touched her wrist. “We are the worse for their loss, Lady Vi. Very much the worse. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

  She shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly. “I think you simply caught me unaware, dear Mr. Barnes. I did lose greatly in the war, as did we all. It warms my heart to know that it is not only those of us who were related to them who miss Lionel and Peter and regret their loss.”

  “Heard of your Lionel during the war, actually,” Mr. Barnes said. “Never wanted to bring it up to you given…well…he was a good man, Lady Violet. A truly good man. He died a hero and was loved by those who served with him.”

  Violet was blinking even more rapidly as the train rolled to a stop. None of them moved. The aisles would be crowded, and it was often better to let those passengers in a rush leave first and follow at a more reasonable pace.

  “Tell me, Lady Carlyle,” Miss Allen said, after the first rush of passengers left. “What do you do when you aren’t following Jack about the country?”

  “Oh, all the normal things,” Violet lied, noting the glint in Miss Allen’s gaze. This woman probably saw right through Vi’s lie, which was downright astounding. Violet had lied her way through many an uncomfortable situation without being caught, and this woman seemed to sense every single half-truth. “Fancy dress parties, shopping, naps, treasure hunts.”

  Those were all activities that Violet actually did and did often. The bulk of her time, however, was spent writing with her twin, with random good works, managing her late aunt’s business interests, and mentoring two young girls—one being Violet’s actual ward. How many bright young things were raising a former street urchin or looking after a fortune as Violet did? She already knew the answer—none of them.

  Many of her generation were brilliant, but Vi was well aware that there were far more layabouts than stalwarts.

  “Shall we then?” Jack said, standing to take down the cases for himself and Violet. Mr. Barnes followed a moment later.

  “We’ll be seeing you, Emily,” the older man said.

  “This evening,” she told him in a merry voice. “I was sent down to cover your lecture for one of the boys who can’t make it tonight, Ham. His mother or sister or second-cousin is ill and when they discovered I actually knew you, well, I was the obvious choice. I’ll spend the afternoon with my brother and join you all for the evening.” Miss Allen’s gaze darted over Violet, and her smile was a cool, snake’s smile. “Lady Carlyle, a pleasure. Gentlemen.”
She took her case from Mr. Barnes and disappeared after the others.

  Violet blew out her breath in a rush. “I’ve spoiled things, haven’t I?”

  “Your books aren’t anything to be ashamed of, Vi.” Jack’s voice was careful, which told Violet that yes, she had exposed herself and her twin.

  Mr. Barnes shot her a commiserating look. “We can hope that she’ll be kind.” Violet lifted a brow, and Mr. Barnes’s expression shifted. “Well, perhaps not. She was rather territorial even after…well…it doesn’t help that you’re with Jack.”

  “I suppose Victor will forgive me. Perhaps I shall hunt up some sort of magical liqueur or wine or other concoction to bolster him before the countess descends on us. Wrath of the mighty et cetera, et cetera. One should quake in advance of what is to come.”

  “Warning your brother is, I think, an excellent plan,” Mr. Barnes said gently. He stepped back so that Violet could proceed him.

  Jack paused, still facing her, and searched her face. “Will it be all right?”

  Violet nodded, though she was upset. Victor would forgive her. The books were frivolous but not scandalous, so Jack was right in that she didn’t have to be ashamed of them. That didn’t mean her stepmother wouldn’t both shame Violet and refuse to forgive the twins.

  Violet had long felt a day of accounting coming for herself with her stepmother. The best hope she could find was that she had time to formulate her thoughts before her stepmother attacked. No doubt, she’d move far beyond the books to everything that had ever bothered her, whether they’d discussed it previously or not.

  Jack led the way off the train. His broad shoulders parted the crowd again, and Violet and Mr. Barnes traveled in his wake. They all had small suitcases, so they decided to walk to their lodgings rather than suffer through another stifling journey in an auto.

  As they moved through the streets, Violet pulled both men to a stop. “What magical mirage is this? Can it be? Is it so?”

  Jack followed Violet’s gaze. With a laugh, the three of them changed course and found a table near a window. They ordered their lemon ices. Violet made both men order a scoop of ice cream as well. The mix of the flavors had Mr. Barnes sighing and Jack scrunching his nose and shaking his head.

  “You are broken inside,” Violet told him. Mr. Barnes agreed. She smiled down at her half-melted remnants. “I suppose that these are rather indulgent.”

  “Indeed,” Jack told her with the smallest of smirks.

  She wasn’t repentant and wasn’t going to be repentant, so she simply grinned and handed him the last of her ice cream. He finished it off in one large bite, and they rose to continue to the house of Mr. Daniel Morgan.

  Chapter 3

  They were to stay with Mr. Morgan while in Oxford. As a long-time friend of both Jack and Mr. Barnes, Mr. Morgan had arranged the lecture, dinner, and reception. Mr. Morgan was a professor at Oxford but spent much of his time researching. He had several assistants who stayed in Oxford over the summer holidays to help with his research projects.

  Jack explained that the students fought for that honor, and Violet admitted to surprise. She’d enjoyed her time at university, but she’d enjoyed her holidays too much to stay behind and keep working. She had never been focused on school to the point of missing her holidays.

  Mr. Morgan wasn’t in attendance when they arrived at his home, but they’d known that would be the case. His butler, however, was in attendance and ready to show them to their rooms. Violet immediately freshened up with a cool bath that left her a new woman. With the cooler evening air, she just might make it through the day.

  Violet explored after her bath but before she actually dressed for the evening, noting the large room for the reception already had fans running in each of the windows. With any luck, the room would be chilled by the time they returned from the lecture to enjoy the dinner that Mr. Morgan’s staff were preparing.

  The library was stocked to the extreme, with books sitting on tables and bulging off the shelves, and stacks of books in front of the shelved ones. It seemed that Mr. Morgan could use a library at least twice the size.

  She walked through the house, noting pictures on the walls, with what looked like students from years previous, alongside a man, who Violet assumed was Mr. Morgan himself. In several of the photos and even a painting, he stood with a young woman who looked to be around the age of Violet’s younger sister.

  Violet hadn’t heard Jack or Mr. Barnes speak of the girl. Was she a daughter? A friend? Perhaps connected in some other way? Perhaps she wouldn’t be at the house, so they hadn’t seen any need to mention her.

  Violet returned to her room when the clock rang out, telling her she’d better hurry or she’d be late. She was determined to be on time for the rest of this trip and in the future until the guilt of nearly missing the train had fully faded.

  For the hot evening in a lecture hall, Violet chose a sleeveless black dress with a drop waist, fringy hem, and a long strand of turquoise beads that Victor had acquired for her in Cuba. She wore T-strap shoes with diamond buckles and draped a sheer black wrap around her shoulders.

  She faced herself in the mirror after her makeup was perfected, but was distracted by thoughts of the young woman from the portraits. Her dress and bob proclaimed her a woman of Violet’s generation. Who could the woman be? She was well-aware, through Jack, that Mr. Morgan was a bachelor. This girl couldn’t be his child, could she? Perhaps she was a ward, like Violet’s Ginny? Or the daughter of a friend? Violet supposed that the girl could be cousin or niece.

  Whatever her connection, she was truly lovely. She had golden blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a dimple in her chin. The artist had caught a lively glint in her eyes and a smile at the edges of her mouth that said this was a woman who was ready for a dance and a joke. Violet felt certain she’d like the woman should she ever have a chance to meet her.

  She checked her watch and hurried from her room to make her way down the stairs. Her goal to be early had been successful, and she descended a good ten minutes before they’d agreed to leave. She tried to hide her flash of frustration when she found Jack and the man from the photographs waiting for her.

  “Just in time,” Jack told her.

  “I am ten minutes early, I’ll have you know. At least, I would have been if you weren’t so abominably obsessed with punctuality.” She said it with a laugh.

  Jack held out his hand and introduced her to an older man with large sideburns and rather delightful eyebrows. They were so dominant that they commanded his whole face, accentuating each expression dramatically. She hadn’t noticed them in the photos, but she supposed that was because they weren’t moving around as if they had a life of their own.

  “Daniel Morgan, my dear. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you.” Violet grinned at him and his eyes flicked over her, taking her in and glinting with approval.

  “Come my friends,” Jack said. “We cannot be late for Ham.”

  Violet placed her hand on Jack’s arm, and they made their way to the lecture. The lecture hall was close to Mr. Morgan’s house. Jack whispered to Violet about his days at school as they passed through the green and along the walks. The sun was yet up, but the shadows were lengthening.

  The evening had cooled enough that Violet didn’t feel as though she’d sweat off her makeup, and she enjoyed the breeze and the conversation between the two men, who were clearly long-time friends. As they spoke, they referenced events that had happened long before, during the war and after, as they’d come home to the changed world.

  Violet had never considered what it must have been like to return from the war. She and Victor both had only suffered in the periphery. Victor had been too young to serve until the final year, and then only started his training, becoming injured, and the war ending while he’d been recovering.

  For Jack though—he’d grown up before the war, served from the first, seen terrible things, and come back to a world that must have been different
in every aspect from his early years. How had she not considered that before? Violet had seen her friend, Tomas, suffer, but Jack didn’t carry his service in shuddering memories and waking nightmares as Tomas did. At least, she hadn’t witnessed anything of the sort.

  She was horrified by her lack of imagination. Did Jack care that she hadn’t realized? Or did he appreciate that she didn’t see his ghosts?

  She shook the thoughts off as they arrived at the lecture hall. It was far more crowded than Violet had expected, and given some of the fellows sitting around, it wasn’t only the intellectual, professorial types here. Many of these lads had to be students. It was the summer. Were there truly this many students doing summer research? Some of the others were clearly police officers. Maybe they wanted to rise through the ranks? The mix of attendees was rather surprising.

  A student greeted Mr. Morgan as they arrived and led them to their seats. Mr. Barnes was near the podium, speaking with several other men, but he nodded slightly to Jack and Mr. Morgan before returning his attention to the men in front of him.

  “Mr. Wakefield?”

  Jack faced the young man, who held out his hand. “I’m Jeremiah Allen. Perhaps you remember me?”

  Jack jerked, startled, before studying the young man. “By Jove, Jeremy! Of course I do. I thought you looked familiar.”

  Allen? Violet examined the lad and didn’t see much if any link between him and the Miss Allen. Were they related? What were the chances? Hadn’t Miss Allen referred to her brother? Though she’d been distracted by her blunder, Violet felt certain that Miss Allen had before she sauntered off the train.

  The young man grinned delightedly. “I’m a huge fan, sir. Just a huge fan. Always have been really. Mr. Morgan asked me to show people to their seats. Yours are right this way. It is so nice to see you again.”

  The nervous, excited chatter from the young man made Violet smile, though she worked to hide the expression. To this young man, Jack was a hero. Violet felt the young Mr. Allen had excellent taste.