by Beth Byers
“Of course.”
“Are things in order?”
“I haven’t found everything yet,” Beatrice said, “but I had worked through my to-do list yesterday, so it should all be fine.”
Violet nodded. “Well, do what you can then for Hargreaves and do me a favor and contact my man of business, Mr. Fredericks. Have we upset anyone recently with our investments or lack thereof?”
“Perhaps, he might have some good ideas, but I don’t think there was anything.”
Violet sighed. “It doesn’t make sense that this is happening. And whoever is doing it is a right fool. Ham and Jack can pull in constables.”
Jack appeared in the door as if he’d known that they’d been speaking of him. “Smith has already found a lead.”
Vi looked up.
“Someone put an advertisement in the newspaper, Vi. For pranks to be executed at a fee.”
Vi stared.
“He’s seeing what he can discover at the newspaper office and will be back.”
Beatrice started to speak and then snapped her mouth closed.
“Speak,” Violet told her one-time maid.
“That doesn’t quite make sense,” Beatrice said. “It might be connected, but whoever is engineering this must know something about your life. They were able to judge when you ordered your auto or when you’d be home for the mice or when the servants’ evening off occurred.”
Jack nodded and Violet groaned. There weren’t many places that had all of those things written down. Especially—Violet shook her head and crossed to the table next to her bed, pulling it open.
She sat down, closing her eyes. Her journal was missing. Jack and Beatrice had both seen her open the drawer next to her bed enough times to understand the sick expression.
“Oh, my lady,” Beatrice said softly.
“Vi, I swear, I will choke the life from this fiend, myself.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Vi said. “The only person I’ve truly angered lately is Mrs. Partridge, but—I can’t imagine…”
“We’ll investigate. I’ll set Smith on her.”
“I told her I’d sell her back her part of the school,” Violet said. “She can go on torturing girls. I’m not going to just donate the money, but asking for a return is reasonable.”
Vi bit down on her bottom lip. She had written so many of her thoughts in her journal. It was in her writing that she discovered her thoughts. She had written about Jack and wishing that he’d stop working for Scotland Yard. She had written about loving Jack but missing her life with Victor before they’d married.
She’d written about being uncertain about becoming a mother. She’d written about her concerns over Ginny. Vi had written about her frustration with Lady Eleanor and how it still hurt that Vi was never good enough for her stepmother. She’d written about business thoughts and her concerns with an auto company she had invested in. Every piece of her life had been written starkly in her journal without a single concern that anyone would read it but herself.
She’d written out her struggles with her blue days and her notes on how she had been fighting them. She needed that information. It had guided what she decided to do on every side.
That journal was a guide to Vi’s life. She was sick, painfully nauseous at the realization that this person who clearly despised Vi knew all of her private feelings. What would a person who would leave a poisonous snake in your house and destroy property so wantonly do with Vi’s thoughts? What it was—it wouldn’t be good.
Chapter 9
Violet wasn’t sure if the universe was looking after her when the day of All Hallows dawned without incident. Her perspective that edged too often towards the bleak seemed to declare that she was being dim. There wasn’t some benign god that had stepped in to save Vi from further aggravation.
If there were, in fact, a fairness-balancing god, Violet knew she had been too blessed. Born to an earl? Vi’s thoughts continued to wander as she dropped a black silk slip edged in lace over her head. Her ancestors had used the idea of some sort of “chosen by God to rule” to justify their great wealth and excess while everyone else suffered. It felt as though generations of karma deserved to land on Vi.
Times had changed, Violet thought. The reality was that Vi had been born to an earl and Beatrice to a small farmer. They were, both of them, simple human women. The differences in their statuses were nothing more than luck.
If anything, Violet thought, her true luck had been in her associations. A twin to a brother such as Victor, being raised by Aunt Agatha, falling in love with Jack.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Jack told her.
Violet considered him and then turned to her costume. It was a cross between a traditional witch’s dress with short sleeves and a long skirt, adorned by a classic pointed hat and a typical evening dress for Violet with embroidery, beading, and being perfectly fitted to Vi’s form. It gathered about her waist rather than giving a long, straight line like most of her dresses.
However, the fabric was embroidered with spider webs and sparkling black beads. She’d added her slew of new jewelry. She’d wound chunks of her hair into spiky little knots and held them in place with her new hairpins. She put the new choker about her neck, added her gold bangles and the new bracelets and her wedding ring on her finger and her spider ring on her opposite forefinger. Vi rang the bell for a maid to come and put her things away.
They were being careful now, with all their small valuables locked up when they weren’t being used, including Violet’s new manuscript.
Vi started with her cosmetics. She left off all rouge and added a heavy layer of powder so she was sickly pale. Then, she drew a large mole on her cheek quite near her lips. When she was satisfied with the mole, she added dark shadows around her eyes so they seemed to fade into darkness. The final touch was her lipstick. Unlike her usual red or pink lipstick, Violet had bought a berry color so dark, it was almost black.
When she was finished, she turned to Jack and spun in a circle. The boring man that he was, he wore only a very handsome suit with a domino mask. His eyes glinted with appreciation and humor, and he asked, “Is this the frivolous purchase?”
Vi grinned. If only the purchase of the sword had been as economical as her spider hairpins.
“They do look expensive, but I suspected something like jewelry. I suppose it makes this piece irrelevant.” Jack handed Violet a slim velvet case, and she gasped.
“Speaking of being frivolous creatures.”
It could have been made to match her spider hairpins and ring. A string of black gemstone spiders, one after another, that would wrap around her wrist to look as though they were climbing her arm. She quickly removed her bangles and tossed them back into the jewelry box, so her diamond and ruby bracelets were on one wrist and the spider cuff was on the other.
“I love it!” Violet jumped into his arms and pressed a very dark kiss to his face.
He groaned while she wriggled to be let down to reapply her lipstick, then put it into a black clutch that was embroidered with white and red silk spiders.
There was a knock at the bedroom door and Jack answered it, wiping her lipstick from his face. “Victor?”
“I—”
It was all Violet needed to know that something was amiss. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly in before she faced him.
His gaze met hers with the extensive worry she knew from her blue days, from when they’d realized Aunt Agatha was really gone, and from the early days when they’d been scraping by in their smelly rooms and something came up.
“Is it the babies?”
He shook his head.
“Kate?”
Another negative.
“Ginny? The dogs?”
Before Victor could shake his head again, Jack snapped, “Tell us.”
“Someone cut out the parts of your journal that pertained to me and delivered them through my letter slot.”
Vi froze. Her throat was thick. She w
as sick at the thought. Her gaze searched his frantically and he said, “I know you, Vi. Don’t worry.”
Her eyes welled with tears and her nose burned, but she bit down on the inside of her cheek with fierce determination not to cry.
“I miss you too,” he said gently.
Violet crossed to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her head into his chest. He was the rock of her entire life, and if she had hurt him while she worked out her own feelings, she’d carry it for too long.
“There was another one,” Victor told her. “It was on the table in your hall. I took it when I came up the stairs.”
“It’s for Jack,” Vi guessed.
“There was one for Ginny too.”
Violet’s mind raced as she wondered what she could have said that would have been worth revealing about Ginny. She took that one from Victor and read it frantically.
Ginny is home again. I find myself staring at her and thinking, my God, what am I supposed to do with her?
The next piece hadn’t actually been written about Ginny, but Violet swallowed with horror as she read it.
…yet again, we’re facing problems with her. I’ve told Jack we should get rid of her, but he seems to think we can find a good place for her. My only requirement is that it’s far from here.
Violet sat down with horror and held her hand out for the ones she’d written about Victor. He handed it over without a word, and she read it through. It was mostly true. She did miss him. She did want her old life back at times. Just in passing whimsies. Not really. Most of it came from her grieving for Aunt Agatha. Vi wanted the past Christmases at Aunt Agatha’s with too much sherry and the same treats that Cook had made.
“I didn’t say that stuff about Kate,” Violet told him, handing it back, but he refused to take her chopped up journal pages.
“When you refer to the tilt of a nose, Vi, it’s always in reference to Lady Eleanor. I had little doubt.”
Violet handed him the bit for Ginny. “The sending her away was about the mean horse who bit.”
Violet had let Jack have the pieces that had been written about him. Instead of opening it, he’d watched her with concerned eyes.
“Aren’t you going to read the horrible things I said about you?”
“Violet,” Jack said gently. “I know you love me. I love you. I don’t need to read some chopped-up version about how you think I’m too protective.”
“You are.”
“Or that you miss the simplicity of your life when it was you and Victor and there wasn’t a fortune to handle and all the rest of this. Do you think I don’t miss the simpler days too?”
Violet stared.
“You’re a handful, Vi.”
With a watery laugh, she said, “You’re no Prince Charming.”
“Agreed.” Despite the presence of Victor, Jack leaned down, cupped Violet’s cheeks, and kissed her breathless. Somewhere in the process, Victor disappeared and Violet found a willingness to have a good evening.
“Ginny didn’t see her devilish note,” Vi told him as she reapplied her lipstick yet again. “Victor knows me too well to be bothered, and you already know my flaws. This wasn’t so bad, I guess.”
The two of them met the other’s gaze and in unison, they winced.
“It feels like the axe is about to fall,” Jack said. “There are guard dogs at our house to go with the cats. We haven’t seen a mouse in days. The constables have triple staffed both here and at the party. That fiend investigator, John Smith, is on the case.”
Violet followed Jack down the stairs. Everyone she knew and loved in London or reasonably close would be in attendance at the party. They had ordered black cabs since Jack’s auto was still being fixed and Victor wanted to avoid the same fate.
The black cabs were waiting and Violet glanced back at Hargreaves.
“Did Beatrice already go?”
He shrugged a little helplessly. “She didn’t tell me she was going to, but she’s not in her rooms.”
Violet’s brows lifted and then she grinned at him. “Just get her another black cab if she appears. I’m sure she’s working. She always is.”
Hargreaves dared to grin as he replied, “I think she learned it from you, ma’am.”
Violet let Jack seat her in the auto and asked Kate, “How are my babies?”
“They’re teething,” Kate groaned. “I’ve already had two aspirin and a cocktail. I couldn’t love them more, but I’m not sure we haven’t made a terrible mistake.”
Violet curled her arm around Jack’s but refrained from pressing her face to him. She had layered quite a lot of powder on her face. It might be better to curl into his arms, risking his fine black suit, after the party.
“Did anyone see who left the notes?” Jack asked Victor.
Vi’s twin shook his head and then muttered, “We hadn’t thought to have someone looking. We got the guard dogs like you said. We changed our locks when you changed yours. We’ve even barred the nursery windows, though we’ll be removing the bars after this is over. My goodness, there’s a maid whose job it is to stay with the dogs so we don’t lose one. This feels like we should just flee south.”
“We are fleeing south,” Kate told Victor. “The moment we convince Vi to go.”
Vi nodded. “Let’s go all the way to the Amalfi coast. It would be good for all of us.”
“It has been too long,” Victor said. “We could get Isolde to go. We haven’t even seen the baby yet.”
“Who knew that being the favored child was so much worse than being the unwanted stepchildren?” Vi’s mean laugh was echoed by Victor. Their stepmother had always despised the two of them while vastly preferring her own children.
It was just that Isolde had become her own person and didn’t share her mother’s views. Of the twins, of parenting, of money, and of status.
“You wrote to Tomas about Danvers?” Jack asked Victor.
“And I sent a wire,” Victor said. “Tomas replied saying they were going to catch a random ship to somewhere else and he’d be in touch.”
“That’s fun!” Violet murmured.
Everyone looked at her, and she said, “Well not fleeing, but just picking a place based upon the first ship available. Letting chance be your guide.”
“What if it was going to Africa?”
“I’d like to see lions.” Vi glanced at all of them and then added, “Rita loves Africa.”
“She’s spent too much time with Rita,” Victor told Jack. “As the husband, it’s your responsibility to nip that before we’re getting postcards from Timbuktu.”
Chapter 10
The museum was lined with carved turnips. They were lit and horrifying. Wrought iron candlesticks that reached waist high stood on each step up the walk, giving a spooky, flickering light. A servant was at the base of the walk, reviewing invitations, while another was at the top of the walk, doing the same. Violet noted the constable in the shadows of the front door and knew that inside there was another wearing a domino and cape while a third was at the back of the museum near the garden.
Violet placed her own spider mask on her face. She’d given her spookier mask to Beatrice because the maid wanted to monitor the party unobserved. Vi placed her hand on Jack’s elbow and walked up the steps with him, meeting Victor and Kate at the top of the steps.
Victor was dressed as a pirate, something she hadn’t even noticed in her earlier distress. Kate was wearing a gown embroidered with tentacles and she held a small trident in her hand and a tiara of shells in her hair.
“You look lovely,” Violet declared, walking in a circle around her friend.
Someone took Violet’s hand and spun her, lifting her into the air and laughing hard. “Violet, you minx,” Denny said, “I am indeed an idiot and a fool whose laziness led to escalating everything in Felixstowe.”
Violet stared at him, realizing that more of her journal had been sent out.
“I love you too!” He pressed a kiss to either ch
eek and then added, “Let’s catch this fellow. It’s time to pull out the chalkboards and do stuff.”
“Stuff?” Lila asked lazily. Her gaze met Violet’s. “I didn’t rate a mean letter from your tormentor, but I don’t disagree with your assessment of Denny. He might have been offended if you, Jack, Victor, and I hadn’t said it all to his face already.”
“I did too,” Ham announced as he joined them. He was wearing a domino mask, but it didn’t do much to disguise him as his beard still gave him away.
“You would have had to shave,” Violet told him, “for the mask to be successful.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t help,” Ham muttered.
“Whyever not?” Denny demanded. “I’ve only just realized that none of us have seen your shorn mug. Are you horrible under your hair?”
“Rather,” Ham said and then kissed Violet on the cheek. “I got one too, Vi. Not to worry.”
Violet stared at him and then said low, “I don’t know what I wrote, but she’s—he’s—whoever—is mixing in words that don’t apply to the subject.”
“Yes, that was rather obvious. It’s also obvious to me that you reveal your thoughts through your writing, Vi. Those first passages rarely match the latter ones you know. It’s why you write things out on the chalkboards when you’re meddling. Your mind needs to see the words. I’ve a detective or two who are the same. To tell you the truth, they’ve taken to using chalkboards since I’ve realized.”
Denny gasped and then tucked his arm through Vi’s. “Vi! Our method is famous.”
“Vi’s method,” Lila corrected.
Denny was dressed like a dog while Lila looked a princess.
“You’ve an interesting costume, my friend,” Violet told him. She wasn’t all that surprised to see Ham in his constable uniform, but she was rather shocked to see Rita leave the ladies and approach. She was Artemis, goddess of the hunt. With a slinky dress made of fine kid leather that dipped low at her generous chest and was torn high on her legs, she looked as though she were a man’s wild dream come true. She had a quiver of arrows over her back and a bow that was placed diagonally over her body. Her sandals were tied around her calves, and her cosmetics were just shadowy and messy enough to seem both deliberate and wild.