Murder on All Hallows

by Beth Byers

  “What can we do if it is school girls?” Violet demanded.

  No one had an answer.

  They had dinner and then waited for the earl to arrive. He came in wearing a fine suit with a cigarette already lit as though he needed it to face them. When he took a seat, he met Vi’s gaze. “Now, Vi.”

  Violet said nothing.

  “It’s not like you use kid gloves for things like this.”

  Violet licked her lips and took a sip of the ginger wine that Victor pressed into his hand.

  “I don’t know which one it is, but I have it narrowed down to two. I’ve had a word with both of their fathers. It should come to an end and that’ll be it.”

  Violet felt the rush of fury roll up the back of her neck as she stared at her father. He met her gaze and glanced away. “You have to understand, Vi. These are my cronies.”

  Vi sipped her wine to keep from lashing out and considered all the different reactions she could have. She could be shocked and horrified. She could simply laugh off the burning betrayal she felt that her father had chosen cronies over her and Jack. She could find out which of the she-devils that Ginny went to school with had done it and seek her own retribution.

  Violet said nothing.

  “Violet?” her father asked. He looked at Jack. “You understand.”

  “No,” Jack replied flatly. “I don’t.”

  The earl turned to Victor, who had the same even expression that Violet had.

  “Vi, it’s settled,” the earl said. “Geoffrey is going to need all the help he can get. These are the folks who could provide it. These are the connections that will get him a position. Your mother is friends with these women, Violet.”

  “My mother is dead,” Violet told him coldly. She rose and left the parlor before she unleashed the full contents of her fury on her father.

  He, however, followed. “Don’t do anything stupid, Violet. I’m taking care of it.”

  Violet stopped half-way up the steps and faced him. “I don’t trust you to look after my best interests.”

  The earl stared in utter shock. “Vi—”

  “Or even,” Violet said flatly, “to give a damn.”

  “Don’t be emotional,” he snapped. “You can’t expect people of this caliber to face Yard detectives at their door.”

  “That snake could have killed Vivi and Agatha.”

  Her father rolled his eyes as though he didn’t think it was a possibility.

  “Beatrice and a constable were hit over the back of their heads. A man’s remains were moved as a joke. A significant and expensive amount of damage has been done to my house and Jack’s auto. And things that can’t be replaced have been destroyed.”

  “You can afford it,” her father started, and Violet turned from him and rushed up the steps. “Violet!”

  She paused without turning. “You should leave.”

  “Violet!”

  Violet didn’t stop that time. She hurried into her bedroom, changed into her jiu jitsu clothes and made her way to the ballroom where she practiced the forms she’d learned. She knew she was angry, and she knew she’d been overly emotional since before the pranks had begun. She wasn’t sure where the line was between hurt and madness, so she was trying not to think about it at all, throwing herself into her practice with single-minded focus.

  Jack was waiting with a glass of wine when Violet finally stopped moving. Her gaze met his, but he was a book she couldn’t read. She was just so angry. Practicing jiu jitsu hadn’t helped diminish the rage, it had only left her tired.

  “Your father loves you, Violet.”

  She scoffed.

  “He’s trying.”

  “If he had said what he knew, you’d already have identified this criminal.”

  Jack didn’t argue.

  “And,” Violet shot out, “why isn’t he bothered? Geoffrey might be too young to realize that someone could have been hurt by that snake, but Father isn’t. My goodness, Jack! It was poisonous!”

  Jack nodded as Violet paced.

  “He has to know that despite being able to afford something we shouldn’t have to pay to fix our house after some brat destroys things in it! Or your auto! He would be enraged if it was him!”

  “I agree,” Jack said gently.

  “He should care more about you and me than that.”

  “I agree with that as well.”

  “I can hear the ‘but’ in your voice,” she accused.

  “But,” Jack said precisely, “to your father, with his different perspective, he thinks he’s protecting you.”

  Violet scoffed. “I didn’t want to sleep in my own house!”

  “I know. I don’t agree with him. I think it’s ill-judged caring.”

  Violet huffed and then returned to pacing. “He left us wondering!”

  “He did,” Jack said. “He should have told you that he had a clue and was looking into it. He should have given us the information he had instead of leaving us in the dark. He didn’t realize we were staying here. He didn’t realize that you couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know, Vi.”

  Violet spun on Jack, who held up his hands even though her rage wasn’t directed at him. “He didn’t know because he doesn’t care.”

  “You don’t believe that, Violet.”

  “What I know,” Violet shot back, “is that Victor and I have always been in last place with my father. I don’t expect to be his favorite child. I never have. I’m not even looking for anything other than an acknowledgement that I’m something more to him than his crony’s brat-criminal daughter.”

  “Ham will have a name soon, Violet, but I don’t know what we can do with it.”

  She turned away from him.

  “We don’t have evidence,” he continued patiently, “and no friend of your father’s is going to let us question his child into a confession.”

  “We proceed with the plan,” Violet told Jack. “We use Lady Eleanor’s party to try to trap the brat who is—obviously—Dorothy Poppington.”

  “Who?”

  “The one who taunted Ginny until she washed Dorothy’s mouth out with soap. Her father is Reginald Poppington. Father’s long-time poker friend.”

  Violet took in a slow breath and let it out as she paced. Once they trapped the devil, what was she going to do?

  Suddenly, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

  Violet patted Jack’s cheek as she rushed past him. She hurried out the front door and towards her own house where Beatrice would be working.

  The man at her front door stopped her. “You again!”

  “This is my house, idiot,” Violet told him. Naturally, she hardly looked the part, still dressed in her jiu jitsu uniform as she was.

  “Sure it is,” he snapped back.

  The door opened and Hargreaves started at her appearance. “Mrs. Vi. Get out of the way, Kal. This is the mistress.”

  “I need Beatrice and coffee in the parlor,” Violet said as she entered. “We’re looking for a braided school girl with freckles. Look for the sign of the devil on her forehead.”

  Hargreaves’s mouth dropped open, no doubt at the idea the prankster was a school girl. He knew Violet well enough to know the last was an over-exaggeration. Of sorts.

  “Are you sure, madam?”

  “Unfortunately,” Violet said. “If my father or Geoffrey arrives, we’re not at home until I tell you otherwise.”

  Hargreaves’s expression had evened out, but his gaze was poleaxed. He simply nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Coffee, Hargreaves! I need it desperately. Put something strong in it. Whiskey, bourbon, gin. I really don’t care what, but I want it to burn. Oh, and tell that fool at the door to let Rita in.”

  Chapter 19

  The day of the party dawned gray and drizzling. The fact that they were having a party at all was utterly ridiculous. The fact that Lady Eleanor had agreed to a tasting party for Mariposa Chocolates sent all of Violet’s warning signals flying. Lady Eleanor? Help
ing Violet with launching something she cared about? The chances of that were very slim. So slim, in fact, that Violet was concerned the favor she promised in exchange was either going to be expensive or illegal. And certainly something Violet would never choose to do on her own.

  One of Violet’s most recent investments—Mariposa Chocolates—was a business run by a woman to support her family. It was against everything that Lady Eleanor believed in since it meant that a woman could support herself and craft her own life.

  The chocolatier was opening a second location in a small boutique in London. Violet had strongly suggested using expensive boxes and gold leaf detailing. They weren’t looking to crack into the cheap, chocolate bar market. They wanted to take over a portion of the spoiled artisanal market.

  The fact that Lady Eleanor had bypassed her husband’s wants to invite Poppington along with the other snobbish, elitist parents of devil daughters from Ginny’s school was enough to enrage the earl. Lady Eleanor only patted him on the cheek and reminded him to wear his new fawn suit for the event.

  They had caught three pranksters in the process of setting up for the party and Mariposa herself had taken one by the ear—a full-grown hulking man—and walked the bloke to Ham.

  Violet had carefully left one chance to prank wide open. It was highly illegal and would require the Poppington brat to act for herself. When the devil child arrived, braids in her hair and wearing a pretty pink dress, Violet put a smile on her face and pressed cheeks with the girl.

  “So happy you could come,” Violet lied as she shook hands with Mr. Poppington. To Mrs. Poppington she said, “So nice of you to come early and join Ginny and me for our little party. Ginny suggested that you could bring some of the chocolates back to the other girls.”

  Dorothy’s smile went all the way to her eyes and she nodded, blushing lightly. “I’m so happy to,” Dorothy lied back to Violet with the skill of a profound expert. Her gaze flicked to Ginny, went cold, and then returned to Violet.

  “Wonderful. This way, please.”

  Violet led the way to a large reception room with the most influential guests that Lady Eleanor had been able to persuade to attend. She had a variety of friends who were all quite wealthy, quite well-connected, and quite powerful.

  “Are you not coming back to school?” Dorothy asked Ginny. There was a distinct edge of triumph in Dorothy’s tone that even her mother noted.

  Ginny shrugged and then asked if Dorothy had seen the recent moving picture that Rita had been instructed to attend.

  Violet led them into the room, but rather than leaving them, she kept Ginny and Dorothy at her side. “Let me introduce you to my mother, Lady Eleanor. She said she hadn’t met you, Dorothy, and I know her interest has been piqued.”

  Dorothy paled and hesitated, but her mother shot her daughter a stern look. No doubt Mrs. Poppington would never allow the chance to pass by for a first-name basis with the hostess of such a well-attended party.

  Lady Eleanor had gathered a circle of friends—an actress from America, Rita’s elusive but rich widowed father, Algie’s bride who made Rita’s father look a poor. It was a who’s who of influential people.

  As they arrived to the group, a waiter approached and handed each person a small plate of three chocolates with a napkin.

  “Oh,” Lady Eleanor cooed, “you’ll like these. They’re so interesting. Mariposa is a genius.”

  Violet watched in amusement as Dorothy took her place among the group and watched the others. The American actress, a Miss Seymour, popped the chocolate into her mouth and moaned. It was enough for Dorothy, who imitated the beautiful woman.

  The horrific brat met Violet’s gaze as Dorothy raised the chocolate. A smarmy grin crossed her face.

  Triumph, Violet thought, as Dorothy popped the small chocolate in her mouth. It would only take a moment for the outer coating to melt and the very, very hot Indian pepper to greet the girl’s taste buds.

  A quick expression of horror overcame Dorothy. She choked, and her mother shot her a quelling look that seemed to declare that if Mrs. Poppington were embarrassed, Dorothy would pay. Dorothy tried, Violet had to say. She swallowed the whole chocolate, tears rolling down her face. Lady Eleanor took slow, dramatic note, and cut off her ringing comment midway to lift shocked brows at Dorothy.

  Her eyes had developed red circles and the tears were rolling freely. The girl pressed the napkin they’d given her to her face and then gasped, yanking it away. They had, of course, sewed two napkins together, with chili powder and black pepper in between layers so when Dorothy pressed the corners of her eyes, they burned more.

  Dorothy gasped into the napkin and got a good whiff of the black pepper and then broke into a row of sneezing that left the horrendous brat breathless and choked. The girl grabbed the glass that was offered to her, pure strong vodka that looked like water, and took a huge swallow, only to choke and spray it across the person opposite.

  Lady Eleanor had been told to maintain the position across from the girl, but she hadn’t known why.

  The scream of fury from the chocolate and vodka shower had every single person in the room turning their direction.

  Dorothy’s gaze widened, and she gasped through the pain and coughing and spun, fleeing the room.

  “Oh, dear,” Violet said kindly. “Let me go after her.”

  In the utter silence, Violet followed the girl from the room and was shadowed by Emily Allen.

  Dorothy Poppington had yanked a napkin from a waiter and was wiping her tongue off, crying and snotting in the hallway.

  “Oh my,” Violet said. “That does look disgusting.”

  “Your street rat ward did that to me!” Dorothy accused, her voice racked with pain and hatred. “You should throw her back into the streets.”

  “Oh no,” Violet said gently, rubbing the girl’s back and waving a servant over with actual water. “That was me, dear.”

  “You? I’ll tell on you!”

  “Who would believe you?” Violet circled Dorothy and the girl followed, so they were facing off. Only now Violet was facing the reception room door while the girl’s back was to it. “I don’t believe your mother or you will be invited back to one of these events. That is unfortunate. I understand your mother enjoys lording her position over other people nearly as much as you do.”

  The girl guzzled the water, used the soiled napkin to wipe her mouth, and then in the habit born of the well-to-do, checked her dress. Her white dress was covered in snot, chocolate drips, and a bit of vodka. She gaped in horror.

  “This is called revenge, you horrific brat,” Violet said calmly. “Here’s a funny thing. You aren’t as smart or as clever as you think you are.”

  The door opened behind Dorothy Poppington and on the other side, Mrs. Poppington, Lady Eleanor, and Hamilton Barnes stood.

  “I’m not clever?” Dorothy sneered. “I understand they still haven’t gotten the stink of manure out of your husband’s car.”

  “How clever you were in arranging that,” Violet agreed. “Your father isn’t going to appreciate the bill, I don’t think.”

  “I was clever!” Dorothy agreed. “You don’t have proof it was me and you still don’t.”

  Violet shook her head. “It’s illegal to do what you did to that man’s body. You assaulted a police constable and you kidnapped and bound someone.”

  “So? No one can prove it was me.”

  “Proof is much easier to get, Miss Poppington,” Hamilton said from behind her, “once you know what you’re looking for. You were seen by people who aren’t loyal to you, miss. They have already made statements.”

  Dorothy gasped as she whirled around. Her mother stepped forward and slapped Dorothy hard. “You foolish girl!”

  Violet had to admit the sound of the slap was almost as good as Jack’s heartbeat.

  “She deserved it!” Dorothy covered her reddening cheek. “Even you said she shouldn’t have sullied my school with that street rat. You—”

 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Shut your mouth!”

  “But!”

  “Be quiet!”

  Violet nodded at Lady Eleanor and then faced Mrs. Poppington. “You may tell your husband from me and my husband that we will send you the bills associated with your daughter’s hijinks. You can count on our discretion assuming they’re paid swiftly. Otherwise, you’ll be hearing from our solicitor.”

  Mrs. Poppington grabbed her daughter’s arm and yanked her down the hall. Before she got far, Violet called, “If I am the victim of another prank, Mrs. Poppington, all discretion will be lost and you’ll discover just what an enemy I can be. Given that I own fifty-four percent of the Justinian Investment Fund, you and your husband should decide what your daughter’s crimes are worth to your family’s fortunes.”

  Mrs. Poppington paled and sped ahead. Violet had prepared for this moment by buying up shares in that fund just so she could have a measure of control. Morals didn’t seem to be enough but access to their funds certainly would gather their attention. The barely contained tongue-lashing was nearly as good as the slap, but not quite.

  “I would like it noted,” Violet told her stepmother and Ham, “that I refrained from wringing her neck.”

  “Noted,” Ham told her. “I’ll be sure to put that in my report.”

  “Is what she did something she’ll be arrested over?” Lady Eleanor asked, sounding aghast.

  “If she were someone else’s daughter, perhaps,” Ham said. “I’m sure Mr. Poppington is well-connected enough to hush things up.”

  Which was why, Violet thought evilly, Miss Allen was standing so quietly nearby. Violet winked at the reporter and stepped back into the room, crossing to Jack and placing her hand on his elbow.

  “What was all that?” someone asked.

  “It was a thing of beauty,” Denny giggled.

  They were using Victor’s auto as Jack’s was still being decontaminated and the sight of his old auto made Jack glum. They hadn’t gotten rid of it, but going back wasn’t what he wanted, and Violet didn’t want it for him. Victor’s vehicle had been brought around when Violet’s father stepped into the hall.