by Beth Byers
“Why Cuba?” Mr. Morgan asked, changing the subject back.
Violet grinned merrily. “It was an article my brother read about rum cocktails. I suppose we’re just—”
“Delightfully frivolous,” Hamilton finished for her as Jack returned.
His evening jacket was askew, and he straightened it before taking the seat next to Violet and accepting a cocktail. “El Presidente? I’ve had the memory of its flavor for a few weeks now. I should have had Victor make me one.”
“He’s moved through quite a bit of the rum,” Violet told him. “I think he’s about to send poor Hargreaves all the way to Cuba to retrieve more.”
“You bright young things—” Mr. Morgan bit off the term and shook his head. “Going to Cuba for cocktails.”
Jack crossed his leg over his knee. “They had sun and sand too, Daniel. Cuba’s quite a lovely country, and I’d recommend a trip given the chance.”
“But cocktails, Jack, by Jove, man. At least come up with another reason to visit a place.”
Jack shook his head and clinked his drink with Violet. “Don’t be confused, my friend. Many of these bright young things are as clever as Violet and her brother.”
“The cocktail man? Not intending to be offensive, Lady Violet. Not at all…”
Violet laughed and lifted her cocktail to Mr. Morgan. “I am not offended, Mr. Morgan. We are frivolous. Lazy, even.”
“You aren’t lazy, Vi.”
“We can be,” Violet told Jack. “I was quite lazy in Cuba.”
“You wrote a novel in Cuba, sharpened your Spanish, made friends with several young urchins and assisted their mother with that issue.”
“I also drank too much rum and ate my weight in torticas de Morón and ropa vieja. Don’t make up attributes for me, Jack. We can’t pretend that I’m not a spoiled toff who gets drunk more often than I should and attends far too many middle-of-the-night treasure hunts or fancy dress parties. Tell me what the fisticuffs were about. These fine fellows are protecting my delicate sensibilities.”
Jack lifted a brow at Violet. “Fine. Violet is frivolous and lazy. She has little, if anything, to recommend her. The boys…who knows? Young Allen was pretty upset and kept trying to get me to take a few minutes to listen to him, but he was also so angry he was incomprehensible.”
Violet’s mouth twisted. “The poor kid. Everything was so serious back in our schooldays.”
“Did you go to university?” Mr. Morgan asked, sounding surprised.
Violet nodded and took another sip of her cocktail.
“She’s leaving out the first she took.” Jack sounded as if he were bragging about her, and Violet shot him a surprised look.
“It’s of little import.” Violet set her cocktail aside. She was looking forward to a morning on the water with Jack and their picnic and didn’t want to do it with a headache. “And now I believe I will leave you to your cocktails and cases.”
She left the gentlemen to make her way to her room.
There had been smoking through the evening along with the press of bodies, and she wanted to remove the scent, and the sweat, from her skin. She missed having her maid Beatrice with her as she filled her bath and dug out her nightgown, bath items, and kimono. She had to laugh at herself at the thought and quickly scrubbed away the scents of the evening, rubbing lavender oil into her skin. She got out of the bath, wiped away the cold cream on her face and removed the last remnants of her makeup before preparing her hair for the next day and laying out her clothes.
She folded the coverlet and blankets to the end of the bed and crawled under only the sheet. As she placed her eye mask over her face, she recalled the look on her brother’s face as he asked what she and Jack would be doing on their trip. Why had he asked? What had Victor been up to? Her eyes would have narrowed if she’d had them opened. Instead, she turned onto her side.
The day flashed through her mind. The lovely Miss Allen, who—Violet now realized—regretted the loss of Jack. The young Mr. Allen, who had asked for help in the worst possible way. If only he’d been less abrasive.
Mr. Morgan, who had been both kind and a bit condescending. The lovely Hamilton Barnes, who had taken her side. Violet took in a long breath, blanked her mind and let sleep claim her.
Chapter 7
The day dawned bright and beautiful and hot. Violet dressed accordingly with a long, loose skirt, a loose sailor’s style blouse, and a wide-brimmed hat to protect her complexion from the sun. She didn’t bother with powder, but she did apply a light layer of pink lipstick, a little rouge on her cheeks, and a ring on her right hand, so she could fiddle with it. She slipped a couple of simple bangles on her wrist for the same reason.
After she dressed, she arranged her bedroom, sorting it out. She couldn’t abide messes, and it was a quick few minutes to return her manuscript to her satchel, put her dress from the previous evening into her suitcase, and lock up the jewelry she wasn’t wearing. She and Jack would return for their bags before they left Oxford to take the last train back to London.
Violet glanced around the bedroom and started. Her copy of The Black Mask magazine had fallen from the bedside table to the floor under the bed. She’d have been distressed if she hadn’t been able to finish the detective story she was halfway through. She placed that in her satchel as well. She scanned the room a final time, then gathered her handbag with her lipstick, powder, house key, and money.
Jack was waiting with a basket when Violet joined him. They ate a quick breakfast alone, for Mr. Morgan was already off to his office at the university and Hamilton had either not left his room or had already left the house. Violet rather thought it was the latter.
Jack had arranged a boat for them, and they made their way to the river through the town with Jack carrying the basket and Violet walking at his side.
“It’s so lovely here.”
Jack nodded silently, and she wondered once more what, if anything, bothered him. Was he thinking of Miss Allen? She had been upset the evening before when she’d left, but Violet had stuck to the sidelines, watching the university people interact. When Miss Allen had left in a huff, Violet hadn’t been part of the conversation, and she hadn’t had a chance to ask Jack more about it.
She decided to shake off her worries. Surely some fresh air and the coolness of the water would cheer him and return Jack to his normal self.
“I’ve been thinking about making another young ingénue for our next books,” Violet told him, trying to draw him out of his thoughts. “Maybe two or three about the same girl? Victor wants to write about a young lad who gets shanghaied. I think we might actually fight about our story. Though, I do confess I am becoming more and more intrigued by a detective story. I do love reading them.”
Jack laughed at that and Violet felt as though things were right again. “You two don’t fight.”
“We do! Don’t pretend like you don’t know how fierce we are. You were a witness last time. What did Lila call it? The titans rumbling?”
Jack grinned but refused to agree with Violet. “Lila is almost as dramatic as Denny is lazy. Are they still dealing with that sister of hers?”
“Martha? Intrepid and slightly villainess. Ooh, that is an idea. We could turn Martha into a villain and then write her as a foil for our heroine. I shall have to bring it up to Victor. I believe he should like to torture young Martha on the page.”
Jack grunted, seemingly not listening again even though he replied readily enough. “He should be grateful to Lila’s bedamned sister. Without her, you’d not have asked Kate to rescue Victor, and he wouldn’t have tripped so easily into love.”
Violet grinned at that. She was swinging her free hand as they walked, enjoying the cooler morning air, even if Jack insisted on being distracted. As they approached the boathouse, she found that Jack had arranged for things to be fully ready. He stepped into a waiting boat, lifted her down, and they were on the water a moment later. The boy who had been hired to get the boat and make it ready
was paid, and they were on their way.
The breeze picked up and Violet sighed into it.
“What a perfect day,” she told him. “If we have so many more hot days, I may be unable to continue living. Has Hades found its way to earth?”
Jack only nodded. Violet fought to keep a frown off of her face as she watched Jack row the boat. She decided she must let the worry go and enjoy the breeze off the water and the refreshing feel of being on the river.
Jack rowed the boat while Violet relaxed, letting her fingers trail in the water while they made their way past the few others on the river. It was a weekday, so it wasn’t as crowded as a Saturday or Sunday would have been even though it was also the holidays, and there were few students who were rowing. Violet appreciated the solitude of the river in general.
“Look at them,” Violet said, nodding towards an older couple. They were in a similar position as Jack and Violet, with the woman reading to the man while he rowed on the water. They were decades older, but Violet felt as though she was looking into the future, if she were very lucky.
“Violet…”
Vi looked up. Jack…by Jove! Was he blushing? His face was actually flushed. His ears were red. Was he sick? Surely the rowing hadn’t been too much.
“Violet…”
“Jack?”
“I…” He pulled his collar away from his neck and cleared his throat. “I…I’ve been looking for the way to…put this…”
She blinked rapidly, sitting upright. “Are you all right?”
“It doesn’t come naturally to me.”
“Rowing?”
“Words. Ah…emotions. I was trying for romantic like Lila ordered, but I fear I’ve failed. And now, here we are, and I don’t think I can return without telling you…”
Violet reached out and took Jack’s hand. “It’s all right, Jack. Is there anything wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, darling. I only…I wanted to ask you…”
Violet suddenly understood. Her mouth dropped open for a moment and then she took tighter hold of his hand, suspecting her own cheeks were flushed and her own ears brilliantly red. Her heart was racing, and she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to stop the trembling of her hands if she hadn’t been holding onto his hand quite so hard.
“Marry me? Will you marry me?” He simply stopped talking and stared at her, but he raised his hand to cup her cheek. “Don’t say no.”
He rubbed his thumb along her chin as she started to answer, leaning forward until their foreheads were pressed together. She’d have told him yes immediately, but her heart had seized and her voice was stolen. She could feel the tears in her eyes as she tried to find the breath to tell him yes.
“I—”
A scream rent the air and they jerked apart, turning to face the older couple. The woman was grasping her chest and the man was leaning over the side of the boat.
“Help! By God, someone help us!”
Violet gasped, twisting to see. She could see the older man getting out of his boat. He was struggling with an object in the reeds while his wife looked conflicted by whether she should be crying or screaming and was alternating between her options.
Jack swung the boat towards them as quickly as possible, and they both rowed to get to the other couple. Violet reached out and took the woman’s hand as they pulled their two small rowboats together. She followed the woman’s horrified gaze to the water where her husband was standing in the shadows. A moment later, Jack cursed and stepped out.
He was, perhaps, merely better prepared for what they had found. Violet had expected, well, she hadn’t been sure what to expect. Having Jack thrust the oars into her hands as her mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing wasn’t it.
She noted the hand first. Her mind hadn’t been able to make it anything other than a man’s hand. The fingers curled towards the palm, the skin swollen, water-logged and wrong, but still a hand.
She squeezed tightly on the hand of the older woman, the two of them transfixed on the sight of the men they loved working with the body. The man’s dark jacket was floating, his riotous hair tangled with the reed.
“We just…stumbled across him,” the woman said.
Neither Violet nor Jack answered. Carefully, Jack turned the body over with the help of the woman’s husband.
All of them gasped at the sight. Violet turned aside, choking back her emotions and wishing—wishing so hard—that the face was a stranger’s. After seeking help and being sent away, Jeremiah Allen was dead.
Chapter 8
“Vi, I need Ham,” Jack said. He paused long enough to meet her gaze, regret in those penetrating eyes as he added, “and the local boys.”
“Of course.” She glanced at the woman. “You should come with me.”
Her husband looked up at his wife, taking in her trembling lips, her shaking hands, and the tears on her face. “Go with her, Margaret. The young woman will see you home after she gets the bobbies.”
Violet inclined her head, and the woman carefully shifted from her rowboat to Violet’s. Jack approached Violet, leaning in to whisper to her, so only she could hear.
“Vi, there’s signs of a struggle on the body. The bruise has compatriots now. His eye is swollen. There’s a wound on the back of his head as though he’d been hit with a heavy object and scratches on his hands. I doubt very much this was an accident. Tell Ham.”
Jack pulled back, his gaze weighted. Violet nodded silently. The other couple had been watching Jack whisper to Violet, but she was fairly sure that they hadn’t heard.
“I’ll have Ham here quickly,” she promised. Jack gave them a mighty shove to get the boat moving, and she used the momentum to propel them forward.
“That poor boy. That poor boy,” Margaret said over and over again. She was sniffling into a massive handkerchief that Violet suspected was her husband’s.
Violet rowed for all she was worth, chased by the phantasm of his poor older sister trying to get help for her brother. Guilt assailed her as she rowed. If she hadn’t been so angry, she’d have talked to Jack on Miss Allen’s behalf despite their history. Violet would have done most of it differently if Miss Allen hadn’t threatened her. Did Miss Allen’s behavior somehow absolve Violet?
No. It didn’t feel like it at all.
Violet was working against the current on the way back and would have happily let Jack do the rowing if the day had gone as it should.
Violet nearly dropped an oar when she remembered what came before the body. Jack had proposed.
Selfish though it might be, Violet felt a rush of fury that her moment had been stolen from her. She hadn’t even gotten to tell him yes. She hadn’t been able to throw herself at him or even let her tears out.
A tear slipped down her face at the conflict of emotions, frustration for the lost moment, shock at what had happened to Mr. Allen, horror that they might have been able to stop it if they hadn’t avoided him. And the guilt for feeling so frustrated and angry for what should have been one of the happiest days of her life being ruined by yet another body.
Why, by the heavens, why did people do these things to each other? What could a boy, who had been so young, have possibly done to incite someone to murder? He had been irritating. That had been evident. But surely you just threw him in the river and then laughed at the soaked young man. You didn’t murder him.
Violet pulled the boat up to the dock Margaret indicated and they hurried for the police station. Violet burst through the door and declared, “There’s a body in the river.”
The policeman slowly stood up, blinking in shock.
“Someone drowned?”
Violet glanced at Margaret and they both shook their heads.
“My dear,” the policeman said, “don’t imagine the worst.”
“I was with my friend, Jack Wakefield. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s an investigator, and he stated that it was a murder.”
“Wakefield?” The policeman looked blankly at Violet.
He didn’t seem to know the name. A part of Violet smirked, and the rest of her was shrieking in irritation.
“Jack Wakefield. He works for Scotland Yard. Please—”
Margaret cut in with a sensibleness that only someone who had so much experience could add. “It doesn’t really matter, man. Go find the body, talk to her friend yourself. Either way, there’s a dead boy in the river.”
Margaret explained where to find them and Violet waited only long enough to ensure Margaret had the policeman in hand before she excused herself to get Mr. Barnes. She rushed towards the university. Mr. Barnes had intended to spend the morning talking with Mr. Morgan about his research.
Violet debated. Should she run to the house and the servants who knew where Mr. Barnes would be? Or should she rush to the university and try to hunt up the office of Mr. Morgan? She made a decision and ran for the house. She slammed into the door, out of breath and trying to catch it while she rang the bell repeatedly.
The butler swung the door open and Violet didn’t give him a chance to say anything. “Mr. Barnes? Is he in?”
The butler shook his head.
“Send someone for him at once. No…I…I’ll…write a note. I need a paper and pen.”
The butler heard the urgency in Violet’s voice and told her to follow him.
“The master said they’d be back soon, my lady.”
Violet nodded, still struggling to catch her breath. She held one hand to her side and told herself she really should exercise more. Violet cleared her throat, trying to find enough air to speak. “There’s been a terrible accident at the river. Jack needs Mr. Barnes right away.”
The butler’s gaze widened, but he kept that smooth, professional expression that seemed to be inherent to butlers everywhere. Violet began to write a note when there was noise at the front door. “I’ll get Mr. Barnes if that’s him,” the butler said.
Violet continued writing in case it wasn’t him. She didn’t have it in her to make another race across Oxford. She wasn’t terribly out of shape, but she had been in full sprint. She sniffed back emotions as she penned what had occurred and what Jack had said. Then the door of the office opened and Mr. Barnes entered.