by Beth Byers
“I understand you need me, Lady Violet?”
“Mr. Barnes, thank goodness!”
“Are you all right? I confess—”
She shook her head to cut him off and help up a hand. “Jeremiah Allen is dead. Jack says it’s murder. The body was in the shallows on the river. I sent the local police, but Jack said to get you, too.”
Mr. Barnes moved with speed at her words, demanding what information she could give, and then he was gone. Violet sank into a nearby chair, staring at the wall and seeing the bloated face of Mr. Allen once again. She shuddered at the memory, wishing she could scour her mind.
“Lady Violet?” The butler’s smooth, even voice cut into the terrible memory, and she looked up with gratitude. “I thought tea? Or lemonade? I’ve brought both.”
Violet stared at him for too long, blinking stupidly until she finally pushed herself to her feet. “In my room, I think.”
The butler nodded and followed her up the stairs with the tray. He placed it on the vanity table and asked, “May I get you anything else?”
Violet considered. What she wanted was Jack, but she knew she wouldn’t be getting him while he was dealing with atrocity.
“My brother. Mr. Victor Carlyle.” Violet added the telephone number and begged the butler to send for him. She was assured that her brother would be contacted, and Violet returned to the chair in front of the vanity, pouring herself both a cup of tea and a glass of lemonade. She stared at it stupidly until she forced herself to drink it, and then she crossed to her packed satchel, removing her journal and her favorite pen.
She wrote out what she’d observed regarding Mr. Allen for the last few days. She wondered what he’d done to engender so much hatred towards him. Surely he couldn’t be an innocent victim of circumstance, not after the tensions had been running high. Not after his sister had asked for help on his behalf.
Violet flinched at the thought of Emily Allen. She rose to pace as she thought about Miss Allen. She knew about being a sister. She was a twin sister, a younger sister, and an older sister. Violet supposed that given their ages, Miss Allen losing Jeremiah was akin to Violet losing Isolde. She ached at the idea. She’d be devastated to lose her younger sister.
When would Jack tell Miss Allen that Jeremiah was dead? Violet had no doubt it would be Jack, who didn’t know that Miss Allen had tried to blackmail Violet into getting help for her brother. Would he be furious with Vi if he found out? She’d intended to tell him on the way back from the river. She hadn’t wanted their day ruined by Miss Allen’s intentions.
Violet had already decided that, as for herself, she would not have pretended to bargain with Miss Allen. Sooner or later, someone would out the twins. Violet was only grateful it had been her who had slipped instead of one of their friends. Too many knew that Violet and Victor were V.V. Twinnings. It was a secret that was bound to be revealed.
She paced the room, fiddling with the ring she’d placed on her finger earlier that day. Back and forth, back and forth she went, not able to grasp the details. She knew she’d had a shock. It wasn’t that she was helpless against what had happened so much as she needed some time to gather her thoughts, to process through all the things assailing her. She needed to clear and organize her mind. She’d gone through this far too often.
Often she could do that through writing, but Violet didn’t think that at the moment she’d be able to gather her thoughts with a pen yet. Instead she removed her shoes and started to practice the Jiu-Jitsu forms that she’d been learning.
Victor had found both Violet and Kate a teacher. He’d even found a female one. Violet moved through the forms until her body was covered in sweat and her muscles were shaking. When she finished, she hadn’t managed to put her thoughts in order, but she was less stunned. Violet sighed and walked to the bath off of her bedroom. If nothing else, she’d have a cool bath and examine her dress options for the evening. She’d intended on traveling for their return in the clothes she’d been wearing and hadn’t packed additional options.
Violet dug through her clothes, wrapped up in her kimono with her hair in a towel. She dressed herself in the clothes she’d worn that first day on the train. They were a little worse for the wear, but they were the best option she had. She sighed as she dressed, then rang the bell for the butler.
He arrived after a few minutes. It was late in the evening, and no one had returned. She’d have been upset if she didn’t know they were all occupied by what was truly important.
“Were you able to reach my brother?”
“Yes, my lady. He said he’ll be on his way. He had me find a hotel for him, which I have done.”
Violet realized she should join her brother and sighed as she gave instructions to ensure a suite of rooms with a sitting room and a bedroom for each of them, if it was possible.
The butler left, stating that the servants would have dinner for Violet soon. Should she change back into her evening gown? But no. She expected she’d be dining alone and that Jack would get back to her as soon as he could.
She settled into the chair at the desk and found herself staring. Her mouth twisted as the butler returned to say they’d been able to find a suite of rooms at a nearby hotel. Violet nodded. “Did you know Jeremiah Allen?” she asked him before he could leave.
He hesitated. “He was around quite a bit with the other university lads up until Miss Rachael died. Mr. Morgan stopped inviting the lads over after her death. I haven’t seen much of them since those sad days.”
“Was he well liked?”
The butler considered before speaking. “He was awkward, my lady. The older lads had worked hard for their positions, and he was very young to be included.”
“What about Miss Rachael?” She wasn’t quite sure what made her ask, but the perfect evenness of the butler’s expressions were finally challenged.
“Miss Rachael was beloved by all of us, my lady. She was good and kind and friendly, and those lads—like everyone who knew her—loved her.”
It was apparent that Violet had bothered the butler, so she said, “Thank you. I suppose I’m trying to make sense of it. It’s not fair, losing Miss Rachael or this boy, Mr. Allen. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times we lose someone. It strikes a blow every time, even though I didn’t know either of them. I never had the pleasure to even meet Miss Rachael, but I shall always regret that now.”
It was the right thing to say, and it was the honest truth for Violet. Mr. Morgan’s butler accepted her comments and seemed to forgive her for too overtly meddling into the life of his beloved mistress.
“It’s hard for all of us, my lady. She was sunshine in this house. You’re the first young woman we’ve had among us since she died. She…this was her room. Simply having someone in it again is bittersweet, I suppose.”
Violet would have reached out and squeezed his hand, but she was sure that her touch would be unwelcome, so she let him press fresh tea on her despite the nearness of the dinner she’d be eating alone. A daily maid brought up the next tea tray, and Violet took it with gratitude even though she didn’t want it. She made herself a cup of tea as she looked around the room with new eyes.
Miss Rachael Morgan’s sanctuary was a lovely room. Violet had noted it when she’d been placed into it, but she hadn’t realized that there was personality to the room. The pretty little vanity table had been bought for someone. The linens and coverlet had been chosen for her specifically. The room was sweet and friendly and welcoming, as Violet understood Miss Rachael had been.
Violet examined the desk again, opening the drawers, but there was nothing to be seen. The vanity drawers had been empty when Violet had unpacked her belongings. The bureau of drawers had been empty as well, though Violet had only glanced over them and then placed her case in the armoire.
Was it idle wishing that made Violet want to search the room and—for that matter—Mr. Morgan’s library and office? Wishing that Violet could somehow uncover a clue in the house she’d been left i
n that would bring matters to a close? Or was it more that she wanted to be useful? There was little reason to believe that Mr. Morgan or his niece had anything to do with Jeremiah’s death. And yet… she did need to do something with her time.
The dinner gong rang for the lone Violet, who ate by herself and returned to the bedroom. She had no expectation of finding anything, and yet she decided she might as well put on the meddling hat of one of her ingénues and pass her evening by searching Miss Morgan’s bedroom.
Chapter 9
Violet expected to find nothing searching a dead girl’s room. The truth was she wanted to distract herself from what she’d seen. Every other time she’d faced this sort of horror, she’d had family and friends. The first time—when her sister Isolde’s soon-to-be-jilted fiancé was killed, Violet’s twin had gotten her drunk. He’d given her whiskey and tea until she was sleeping and weeping, transferring between the two states without even realizing what was happening around her.
Being in a stranger’s home alone, with the sight of poor Mr. Allen’s dead body in her head, was extremely unwelcome for a woman who nearly always had people around her. She was realizing that she was, perhaps, more dependent on her brother than she’d prefer to admit. Violet opened the window seat and stared into it, wishing for her brother.
“You are a wet blanket, Vi,” she told herself. She should have curled up with her detective magazine. “Perhaps not a wet blanket. You are a delicate flower. Those militant female types who have been working for the vote would be disgusted with you, my dear.”
The evening had lengthened into the dark hours when she heard the front door open. Her joy at realizing Jack had returned and she was no longer alone with the servants electrified her, and she forced herself to stay on her knees near the window seat until she’d gathered control of herself.
It took a few minutes for footsteps on the stairs, and Violet was ready by that point. She opened her door to see Jack with bags under his eyes and a tight expression. Hamilton was behind Jack, and Violet’s gaze flicked from one to the other. They both looked exhausted and perhaps sick by what they’d experienced that day.
“Did you eat?” she asked.
Hamilton shook his head. “Daniel is having his servants bring up a tray for the each of us.”
Violet couldn’t stop from asking, “It was murder?” Jack nodded once while Hamilton hesitated.
Jack cursed and muttered to his friend, “She’s a magnet for murders, and she’s too clever for us to pull the wool over her eyes.”
“It’s hardly her fault that you took her on the water where they dumped the body,” Hamilton said. It was clear by his statement that Jack had discussed his intentions with Hamilton. Had they discussed how the proposal had been interrupted at just the wrong moment?
Violet wasn’t sure how to answer him now. She could see murder at the forefront of his mind rather than love. She was selfish enough to admit that when she finally told him that she loved him and that there was nothing she wanted more than to be his, she wanted to be the only thing on his mind.
“True,” Jack said. He tangled his fingers with Violet’s, squeezing them lightly. Perhaps they were having a moment where they agreed to wait on the proposal? Or was he wishing she’d answer him now? She wasn’t going to satisfy that desire if he did. Murders had intruded on too much of their lives as it was. She wasn’t going to allow one to ruin this momentous part of their lives, even if it meant they had to wait.
Jack finally spoke again, telling Hamilton, “She’s a meddler. I suppose I should get used to her being in trouble. That last case didn’t have anything to do with Violet and yet there she was…involved.”
Violet gasped, trying for a merry sound and only partially succeeding. “I am innocent! Alas. Woe. Cruel, cruel fate.” She sobered before asking Hamilton, “Were you asked to assist on this case?”
“We were,” Hamilton said. “I think we both feel…”
“Guilty,” Jack finished. “That boy had been trying to get both of our attention, and we ignored him, and now he’s dead.”
“It’s not your fault,” Violet told them, as though she didn’t feel as guilty.
“It’s the killer’s fault,” Hamilton agreed, “but we’re always going to wonder if there was something we could have done. It’s simply the nature of it, Violet.”
Jack didn’t nod, but Violet was sure that he felt the same. She knew she did.
“I sent for Victor,” Jack told Violet.
It wasn’t as though Violet needed a man to look after her, but she knew that Jack was trying to protect her. And probably keep her out of his case. She admitted, “As did I. I assumed you’d be asked to assist and didn’t want you worrying over me.”
“Thank you, Violet.” There was an intense feeling behind that statement that warmed her.
There was a click, and she realized that Hamilton had stepped into his bedroom, leaving them alone. She opened her arms to Jack, and he took the hug she offered. It was a comforting thing. The press of their bodies against each other, the placing of her cheek on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear—they both needed it.
“Are you all right?”
He tensed in her arms. “I’m still thinking what-ifs.”
“As am I,” Violet told him. “Miss Allen tried to get me to convince you to help him. I intended to tell you after our time on the river, but…”
“It was too late,” Jack said.
Violet nodded.
“I have to get up early, Vi. I can’t prevent what happened to poor Jeremy any more than I can turn back time. If I could, I would. But I will find who did this, and they will pay.”
Jack kissed her forehead and left her a moment later. She stared after him, watching the door to his bedroom close before she returned to her room and put on her nightgown. She didn’t like to see the guilt on his face or the way his shoulders were bowing under the weight of this case. She didn’t like to think that he’d always wonder what-if.
She knew he’d called for Victor to keep her safe. She was sure, in fact, that Jack assumed Victor would take Violet home in Jack’s stead. He underestimated both of the twins, if he thought that was so, though that wouldn’t be the first time.
There was her unfortunate capacity to be sucked into—or perhaps meddle—in Jack’s investigations. Had she meddled in the past? To herself, Violet would admit that she had. She would again—this time. If there was something Violet could do to help alleviate the guilt pressing down on him, Violet would do it.
For him. For her. For their future. She knew he wouldn’t want her to. She’d been in danger too often in the past because of her tendency to meddle. That was why she let her Jiu-Jitsu trainer, Mayako, beat her into a more dangerous version of herself.
Violet wasn’t foolish, and she had fallen in love with a man who investigated murders—not for a living but simply because he was very, very good at it. Which was why, when he wanted to add firing a gun to her skills, she hadn’t argued. She had known then she’d get drawn into another case in the future, and she had no intention of being unable to defend herself.
She hadn’t expected the next time she meddled to be quite so soon, and a part of her had wished it would never come. It seemed she was doomed to disappointment.
Chapter 10
The morning dawned bright and beautiful, and Violet woke to the sound of a knock on her bedroom door. She pushed back her eye mask and crossed the room, expecting to see Jack. It was, however, her maid, Beatrice.
“My lady? Are you all right? Mr. Victor said you’d want to be woken up and have the things I brought.”
“I do want clothes! My goodness, I am never traveling without extra options again.” Violet placed both hands on Beatrice’s cheeks and squeezed. She winked as she let the girl into the room. While Violet took the case from Beatrice, the maid arranged the room and put Violet’s things away.
“We arrived yesterday quite late,” Beatrice told Violet. “Mr. Victor said you’d
rather know we’ve arrived than have a lie-in.”
“He was right,” Violet said, dressing quickly. Her dress was another thin one that hung loosely on her body to provide the chance for a bit of air, even though the hot days were making that unlikely.
“You wish to move to the hotel with Mr. Victor?”
Both no and yes was the answer, but she had no desire to stay where she’d be left behind as the gentlemen went about their investigation. Jack was probably already gone and working, trying to find out the events leading to poor Jeremiah Allen’s death.
Beatrice gathered the last of her things while Violet left her bedroom and went down the stairs to her brother. She almost threw herself at him but held back. She pretended a calmness that she was not feeling. He didn’t buy it for a second and opened his arms to her. With the silent invitation, she did throw herself at him.
“You found his body on the water?” Victor’s voice was low and familiar.
Violet nodded. Victor hesitated, waiting, and Violet realized suddenly that he’d known that Jack was going to propose. Of course Victor had. Knowing Jack, he’d asked for both Victor’s blessing and her father’s. In fact, knowing Jack, he’d probably asked for Victor’s blessing first.
Violet punched her brother on his arm for hiding Jack’s play from her.
“You…you…ah! You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Victor smirked and chucked her softly on the chin. “I am on your side, Violet. It’s why I told Jack that a proposal on the water would be just the thing. I know you better and know you’d rather have him give his heart without the fanfare of romance that doesn’t match the man you love.”
Violet considered for a second. He was right. She hadn’t needed Jack to write her a poem that was mostly plagiarized. She’d wanted his words, not someone else’s. She thought back, bypassing the body in the water and made herself focus on what happened before. That nearly desperate, Marry me? Will you marry me? Don’t say no. The final, that order, it was so Jack. Violet wasn’t sure that there was any statement more assuring of his love than his demand that she not say no.