by Beth Byers
“The who? No. Lila handed me the little one when we arrived, and I was juggling my angel. She was in a full-blown fury and, of course, Nanny was handling all of Lily’s things. The station bloke could have been a monkey, and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Why didn’t you leave when you were told there was an illness in the village?”
“I would have,” Denny said, “but we couldn’t leave Vi and Jack, could we? Thought we’d leave right after they got here. Only, snow.”
“Snow?”
“Ham and I were barely able to get them from the station with the snow.”
“So you stayed, so they wouldn’t be alone?”
Denny nodded.
“Even with your little one?”
“Well I wasn’t going to hand her over to some bloke passing by with a fever, was I? We kept to ourselves and waited for Vi and Jack.”
“Why do you think Mr. Drummond was in the house?”
Denny knew of course who the constable was referring to, but he had a bit of devil in him and it was so fun to see the exasperation. He might not have been the mastermind of all their childhood hi-jinx, but he hadn’t stayed back and wrung his hands either. “Who now?”
“The dead man.” Constable looked ready to strangle.
“Right. Right. Of course.” Denny didn’t answer the question. He tapped his fingers against his thigh and just waited until the constable had to bite back a curse.
“What do you think he was doing in the house?” The even tone was lined with frustration.
“How the devil should I know? This place sounded all right in the advert, but look at it. Telephone doesn’t work. Even I know the stove is an antique. The servants didn’t show up. Everything is old and grubby. Why would anyone break in here, in the middle of the night, during a snowstorm? Makes no sense. It’s not like they’re going to trip over a pot of gold.”
“That’s Ireland.”
“It’s a fairy story,” Denny replied easily. “Like whatever brought that fellow here, I’m sure.”
“So you’d never seen him before?”
“The first local I saw was that delightful Mrs. Anderson. Do you know she’s making a lemon chicken dish? I should have told her we’re half-starved and to make more than expected.”
Constable Livingstone was crossing the line from irritated to murderous and Denny held back his triumphant crow.
“Did you believe there was an illness in the village?” the constable asked Lila.
Lila shrugged and then asked, “Why wouldn’t I believe that? Who lies about people getting sick and the danger to your child?”
“Why didn’t you insist on leaving?” the constable demanded.
“We couldn’t just take off without our friends, could we? Vi and Jack had been delayed. Could you imagine showing up at the station, the dead man not there to do his work, and them just left to themselves? You don’t abandon your friends, Constable.”
The man lifted his brow. “You didn’t hear anything? No one heard the broken window?”
Lila yawned and then leaned in, “I rather try not to hear things, you know. Having a baby makes you hear phantom crying. If I can’t hear her cry, then I won’t interfere with Nanny.”
“I fear I must ask a rather indelicate question.”
Lila lifted her brow and then said, “We’re both adults, Constable. I promise not to faint if you promise not to expect me to faint.”
“Deal,” he told her, his lips curving up slightly. “Do you and your husband share a bed?”
Lila just nodded. “Even at home. Here, certainly. It’s a spooky old house. Feels like there would be ghosts creeping about. I never expected it would be some local instead. Also, my feet tend towards being ice blocks, and Denny is a rather convenient foot warmer.”
“The earl’s daughter has nightmares? That’s why she didn’t go into the office?”
“She’s an author, you know. Rather tends towards imaginative. We shared a room in our schooldays. She woke me up screaming quite often really. Poor Vi.”
“And your friends, do they share beds?”
“You mean the couples?” Lila laughed and then said, “We’re all love matches and rather newlywed at that. If you want to know if some of us are full of regrets, the answer is no.”
“Even Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?”
Lila leaned back and smirked. This fellow was taking on the desire for a good gossip. Lila winked and said, “The difference between Mr. Barnes and the rest of the gents who threw their cap in the ring was that Ham always saw Rita first. Everyone else just saw moneybags.”
“The same with Lady Violet and Mr. Wakefield?”
Lila laughed. “Lady Violet was not wealthy when she met Jack. Mrs. Davies, her great-aunt, had a slew of nieces and nephews to leave the money to and didn’t tell a soul who her heir was. Vi and Victor were both benefited, but of course, neither of them knew that.”
Lila tilted her head and smiled charmingly just as she used to do with her father. Father, of course, knew that look meant trouble. “People always forget Jack has money himself. Nothing like Vi, of course, but enough that he didn’t need to chase her down. If anything, Vi was the one who was a harder sell. Her stepmother is a nightmare, and everyone thinks Jack married her for the money.”
“Why did he marry her?”
“She’s lovely, kind, witty, and fits him perfectly.”
“Even though she’s a bit hysterical.”
Lila had to fight to hold back one of her husband’s giggles as she drawled, “Well, with women, with newlyweds, is hysteria a result of her general nature or a result of other things?”
The constable lifted his brows and made a note. He had to be wondering if Vi was expecting, experiencing her cycle, or possibly just over-sexed and tired. Lila could not wait to see the look on Jack’s face if the constable dared to dance around these subjects with him.
“So you didn’t hear anything?”
Chapter 13
“You don’t fit the rest of them,” Constable Livingstone said, leaning back. “A private investigator, did you say?”
“Yes,” Smith said easily.
“Your wife doesn’t fit either. She works for Lady Vi?”
“She’s Vi’s business manager.” Smith watched the man take a note and then look back up. There was a long pause, but the fellow should have made an actual note rather than just write down nonsense to intensify the threat.
“What’s that mean?”
“Vi is stupidly wealthy, have you heard? It’s like gold bullion rolls out in front of her and paves her paths.”
“Inherited I heard,” Constable Livingstone said, as though affronted that anyone could be so unfairly wealthy for no work at all.
“There’s the rub,” Smith told the fellow. “Lady Violet Carlyle was the niece of a woman named Agatha Davies. That woman inherited a bit of money, but nothing to take particular note of until her husband died. To family legend, she turned that inherited seed money into a fortune that gave her the notoriety of one of those American timber barons.”
“That’s not true though.”
“It is true,” Smith said. “Perfectly true, and then she helped to raise a pack of nieces and nephews, teaching them what she knew. You want to know why Vi got as much money as she did? She was the only one who bothered to actually learn. Vi will tell you she was hungry for her aunt’s approval, but whatever the reason—Vi has taken that money and made it grow.”
“Where does your wife come in?”
“She was Vi’s maid. Vi started teaching Beatrice to help with the business and then, when Beatrice was ready, she took over for the day-to-day. Vi has more time now to enjoy herself since she can afford to work less. Writes odd little books with her twin. Meddles in whatever Jack is involved in and generally makes a nuisance of herself.”
“You don’t like her?”
“Outside of my wife, Vi is my favorite.”
The constable lifted his brow and then asked, “Who inv
ites a one-time maid and P.I. to the holidays?”
Smith didn’t bother with an answer.
“What do you know of the station master, Lewis Camdyn?”
“Nothing.”
“Why didn’t you take your new bride and leave when you heard of scarlet fever?”
“We don’t have a little one. We were tired, and we aren’t nearly so spoiled as our friends. Neither home nor here would have servants, so what did we care? Especially with my brother and his wife being ill.”
“They’re sick?”
“As I said, they’re the reason we didn’t just dart off.”
“But you could have left,” Constable Livingstone added. He was forceful, and he intended to intimidate. Novice. Smith didn’t react.
“But you could have left,” Constable Livingstone said forcefully, this time to Beatrice. “Why didn’t you?”
Beatrice eyed the constable and then kept her face impassive. “I’m confused.”
“What is so confusing?”
“What motive you think we might have in killing a random man that none of us could have known. You, certainly, know this man better than the rest of us could possibly know him. Does he have enemies among the spoiled bright young things of London who have never been in this village?”
Constable Livingstone’s gaze narrowed. “Careful, girl.”
Beatrice lifted a brow and said, “My name is Mrs. Smith, not girl.”
“I’m not done with my questions.”
“But I’m done answering them. You don’t have a shred of evidence against any of us. None of us have a motive, and you’re treating me poorly. If you want to speak to me again, I will have my husband and Mr. Wakefield present.”
“Your husband is my main suspect, Mrs. Smith.”
“And yet we have all told you that we were together last evening.”
“You practiced that?” the constable demanded.
“That’s just what happened,” Beatrice said easily and then stepped from the parlor. Vi was on the other side and she took in Beatrice’s expression and winced.
Constable Livingstone followed Beatrice from the office and said, “Ah, Mrs. Wakefield. I had hoped to speak with you.”
“Your friends are rather protective of you.”
Violet’s head tilted. The man had a flush on his cheeks and Vi guessed that Smith had well and truly set the man off and then Beatrice had refused to fully engage. Not fighting with powerful men was the easiest way to disable them. Vi had taught Beatrice that and Vi had to admit to a flash of pride.
“I suppose we’re all rather protective of each other really. Tell me, have you discovered why this train man decided to break into this house in the middle of a snowstorm? What an odd fellow he must have been.”
The constable had tried to put her off with the Mrs. Wakefield. The poor man didn’t know she pulled out the honorary title only when it was convenient. She supposed he rather had a picture of her based off of the boxes it seemed liked she fit in. Spoiled, earl’s daughter, probably useless.
Before he could get his feet back under him, she laughed—ensuring it had a bitter sound. “What a strange circus of events. Clearly, the man behind letting the house isn’t involved or he’d just have said the house was taken when I wrote to him.”
“You and not Mrs. Smith?”
“Oh, Beatrice is far too busy to find houses. She’s not a secretary. She manages rather a lot of business interests and does it brilliantly.”
“How do you define that brilliance?” the constable asked. He seemed prepared for her to say something stupid.
“In the most obvious of ways,” Violet told him flatly. “By the bottom line. She’s taken over for me, and things continue to thrive.”
No argument could be made with that statement, so he asked, “Tell me about the evening. Start from the beginning.”
Vi tilted her head and asked seriously, “Should I start then from the first terrible dinner or the second less-terrible dinner?”
“You ate in the kitchen and then went up to a room you hadn’t used before.”
“Yes,” Vi agreed. “We danced a little, chatted a little. There were drinks.”
“How long were you up there?”
Vi shrugged. “No idea. It didn’t matter then. My brother and his wife went down to the master bedroom around midnight. They aren’t feeling well. The rest of us definitely stayed a long while after that.”
The constable looked irritated. “You didn’t hear anything downstairs?”
“What would we hear?” Vi shook her head. “We aren’t familiar with this house and wouldn’t be able to identify sounds that weren’t quite right. Also, we were playing records and talking.”
“So you didn’t hear breaking glass?”
Vi shook her head. She couldn’t help but flash back to the moment Beatrice hung by the ankles, breaking the glass into the room the floor below. “I certainly didn’t hear anything like that last night.”
“How much do you and your friends drink?”
Now that set Vi right off. She lifted an imperious brow and channeled her stepmother, the countess. “We all had at least one or two. It’s possible some had more. We are on holiday, Constable.”
“Did anyone leave the room other than your brother and his wife?”
Violet did not like that turn of tone about Victor and Kate. No judge in his right mind would look at this group of friends and think they had a reason for murdering some random train station master that none of them had ever met before. Why the devil was this man focusing on them for so long?
“No one left the room.”
“Were you sober enough to be certain?”
Violet paused just long enough and with just enough attitude to ensure that this man knew she was answering questions of her own volition, and his attitude was unacceptable. She hated moments like these where she felt as though the shade of her stepmother was hovering over her shoulder. “Yes.”
“Would you swear to that before a judge?”
“Are you accusing me of lying, Constable Livingstone?” Her tone was so cold it could have given the man frostbite.
“I am just verifying.”
“I realize you have to have a picture of what we did last night. After all, a housebreaker was killed while we were having cocktails and playing records. The crime, however, wasn’t how we were spending our holiday.”
“I didn’t say that listening to records was a crime.” He sounded disgusted. Almost offended.
“Then what exactly is your problem with us?”
“It’s rather convenient, isn’t it? All gathered into one room, everyone has an alibi?”
Violet narrowed her gaze on him and thought he might have realized that they were lying. Had one of them given them away? Vi didn’t think that they would have made that sort of novice mistake. They were, in fact, rather clever liars. It was something they could put on a letter of recommendation if they were applying to some sort of criminal gang.
“It’s why we’re here together,” she said innocently and let her lashes drop only once. If he knew, he knew. What could he do? Arrest them all? That court case would never succeed. “We wouldn’t have traveled across the country, taken a house, and then lingered in separate rooms. Otherwise we could have just stayed in our separate homes.”
The constable eyed her and then said, “I understand you’re rather famous.”
Vi just lifted a brow.
“I don’t want you meddling in my case. I am not your husband, and I won’t tolerate dabblers.”
Well that was just throwing down a gauntlet, wasn’t it. “Then you should probably stop making such a mess of things, shouldn’t you?”
His gaze narrowed and fired at the same time. If looks could kill and all that, Vi thought. “Lying about a murder is a crime.”
“Who said I was lying?”
“I think you are.”
“I think you should focus on the fact that none of us have a motive and the locals
intended to get rid of us. Why did they work so hard to get us to leave? They’d have been successful if we had arrived together.”
The constable lifted his brow and said, “And where’s your proof of that?”
Vi admitted to herself later that she saw red. That an actual haze of fury descended over her vision and almost blinded her. She only just held back that first burst of fury and then she rose slowly and began pacing the parlor.
“Mrs. Wakefield?”
“Lady Violet,” she snapped just to irritate him.
“I can’t imagine your father would be happy that you’re involved in something quite so gruesome. Why don’t you work with me and stop protecting those among you who don’t belong?”
Vi paused, the fury-haze blinding her again. “So you want me to lie to you and pretend that we weren’t together? To choose a sacrificial lamb and we’ll all lie about who was where, just so you don’t have to do your job? I suggest that you look for another target. We are too strong for that.”
The constable rose. “I suggest you stop lying and accept that one of you killed that man. In protecting each other, you are all villains.”
Violet met his gaze and there was a clear order in it. If she were anyone other than who she was, he might have successfully bowled her over.
“You selected me, didn’t you? Not the earl’s son. He has to be used to throwing out orders and being obeyed. But the earl’s daughter. The right rank, and a woman to be manipulated. What an interesting course you’ve chosen.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the constable lied. “Think about your father. Think about what you owe your family. ”
Violet smiled evilly at him, allowing an utter lack of concern to fill her gaze and attitude. Her family included those she’d traveled with, and she knew exactly what she owed them.
“I think we’re done here.” She gestured imperiously to the door and then waited, making him leave rather than her. The fact that she was successful implied a rather interesting few days ahead. They had a fool on their hands. The question that remained was whether he knew who the villain was and preferred to target Vi’s family, or was he just inept?