by Beth Byers
Violet fled the area while the two of them were clearing their stomachs on the road. Otherwise, she just might have joined the lineup of the ill. Lila and Victor, who had rather stronger stomachs than Violet, attended the downtrodden while Meredith remained in the car.
“Miss,” the driver said, “There is a car coming if I don’t mishear. Perhaps a step to the side of the road?”
“Thank you, Peters.” Violet selected the side of the road without people sicking up and turned her face up to the drizzle. “Am I mad to enjoy the smell of the rain in the countryside?”
“Perhaps a little, miss,” he said kindly. His craggy face spread with a grin and a wink and he said, “But then again country rain is better than that dirty London rain.”
“Too right you are, Peters,” Vi said.
A few moments later a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost paused beside the road. The driver’s door opened and the glorious man from the train stepped out.
“Oh hello,” Violet said, smiling at him. “If it isn’t my train friend, the punching bag.”
“You are rather too small to do much damage. Don’t worry too much.”
He grinned at her. His companion, the suspected father, stepped out of the other side of the car. “Is all well here, my dear?”
“Well,” Violet said, “Our automobile is well and the journey proceeds afoot with but a small hiccup.”
They turned and saw the sick Gwennie and Denny. A smile flitted across the face of the son who said, “And you are no nursemaid?”
“Alas,” Violet laughed, “We’ve already got one who is sympathetically ill and I have no desire to add to that number.”
“Wise, wise,” the older man said. “I believe you are Violet Carlyle.”
Violet placed her hand on her chest, a little surprised, and said, “I am, indeed. You, I fear, have the better of me.”
“Not for long,” he said, “I am James Wakefield and this is my son, Jack.”
“Misters Wakefield,” Violet said, waiting for the rest of the explanation.
“My father is great chums with your aunt,” the younger Mr. Wakefield said. “We are to be part of this holiday party.”
“Oh, hullo,” Violet said, holding out her hand to each of them in turn. “That does explain it. Victor and I had heard dear Aunt Agatha had invited most of the family and rather expected her interesting friends as well.”
“I don’t know about interesting,” the older Mr. Wakefield said. “Lady Agatha’s husband and I were school chums through Eton and Oxford. Her invitation forced my poor son to listen to too many tales about the good old days.”
“I’m sure he enjoyed every minute of it,” she laughed. Victor joined Violet and she introduced her twin to her aunt’s guests. They were a bit stiffer with her brother and Violet was suddenly sure they’d heard the discussion of the betting book. Oh, her brother was a dunce! She wanted to take him aside and lecture him about his poor taste again but knew it would do no good.
A rather contemplative silence crossed the group and Victor said, “Well luv, we should probably get back on the road and hope that poor Gwennie can make it the rest of the way. I imagine crossing the channel will be even more exciting for our little group.”
“It was a pleasure, my dear,” the older Mr. Wakefield said, with a boiled glance at Victor. The younger Mr. Wakefield took Vi’s hand and squeezed it. She admitted, if only privately, that her attention was well and truly caught. She pushed the thought aside by imagining the victorious crowing of her stepmother should Violet succumb to these softer feelings.
“Gentlemen,” she said brightly, as they stepped back into their car, waiting for her companions to get their car out of the road and on with their journey.
“That old guy is a rather phlegmatic old bird, isn’t he?” Victor said as they joined their friends.
“Victor! They heard your conversation about betting on Aunt Agatha’s will.”
He cast her a green glance and then said, “Oh. Well. Oh dear. You don’t think…”
“That he’ll tell Aunt Agatha? I simply have no idea, my dear. But I did tell you.”
“There it is. That blighted and deserved, ‘I told you so.’ How you love to tell me, ‘I told you so.’ It is a good thing I adore you, sister mine.”
“What’s this now?” Meredith queried imperiously.
Violet disguised a sigh with a yawn and said, “Victor’s humor is sometimes in rather poor taste.”
“Well! He is a man,” Meredith almost snarled.
Violet cracked the window to disperse the remaining smell of sick that lingered on. Perhaps someone had it on their shoes? She really must be sure to tip Peters particularly well since he’d be cleaning this mess out.
The long drive up to Aunt Agatha’s house was lined with oak trees that spread naked branches over the lane. Those ended with a parade of hedges clipped into whimsical animal shapes. Then the drive circled around a large fountain that housed a Greek statue some distant relative had acquired from ancient ruins.
“Who is the statue?” Gwennie breathed. “Oh, this house. It’s just lovely.”
“Another of the family bets,” Vic said blithely. “Violet says it’s Nyx. Everyone else says it’s a random Greek woman. But I find Violet to be invariably right.”
Violet grinned at Victor who knew all too well she’d stated Nyx, using authority in her tone, only to make their cousin Algernon second-guess himself. She winked at Victor and then saw Algernon and Theodophilus’s faces in the window of one of the front rooms.
“Oh look.” Vic glanced at the others and then jerked his head towards the window. “The reasons we needed to rally the troops.”
“Reporting for duty, Captain.” Lila leaned forward to push Denny’s hair back. He still looked as though he’d jogged through a jungle and was green to boot. “I’ll need a sidecar to see me through.”
“Or two,” Denny added. “With a gin rickey chaser.”
“Aunt Agatha always has a well-stocked bar, and Giles is bringing some of my own collection as well. We’ll have options, dear ones,” Victor said, eyeing Gwennie’s heaving with concern.
“You won’t be drinking anything, my lad,” Lila told Denny, “Until you’ve returned to your normal ruddy self.”
The Wakefield car pulled up behind them as Peters handed Violet out of the car. The Wakefields’ driver opened the door for their car and they were joined on the steps up to the house.
Agatha’s butler opened the door as they approached and Violet said, “Oh, Hargreaves! Suddenly all is well in the world. How are you?”
“Delighted to see you, miss. Mrs. Davies is waiting in the violet room. She said to feel free to freshen up before you come down. There’s tea and sandwiches when you’re ready. If you’d rather, we’ll send some up to you.”
“Oh, you are simply the best, Hargreaves!” Violet said and glanced at Victor, who took her hand and led them inside.
They were followed by their friends and led off to their bedrooms. Aunt Agatha was in the east wing and Violet and her friends were led to the west wing. Violet had the room she always used, with Meredith down the hall and Gwennie next door. Lila and Denny shared a room across the hall and Victor was directly across from Violet as per usual.
Violet saw her friends to their rooms and disappeared. Poor Gwennie—and probably Denny—needed to rest up a bit and maybe eat some dry toast. Violet requested the offered tea to their rooms so that her friends could recover, and the maid, Hargreaves’s niece Beatrice, nodded and darted off. She was a sprightly thing for a housemaid.
“Did you see that the Wakefield gentlemen were taken directly to Agatha?” Victor asked as Violet opened her bedroom door. “Odd that. Seems like she’d have them freshen up, but I heard Hargreaves tell the gents Aggie wanted to see them right away.”
“That is odd,” Violet said. “Perhaps they’re better friends than we knew.”
“Surely we’d have heard of him after all this time?”
Violet
wasn’t so sure of that. Aunt Agatha had many friends through her business dealings. When you added in the artists she patronized and the family connections, Agatha was rarely alone in her home.
“Even still,” Victor mused, “It isn’t like dear Aggie to not let her friends get comfortable.”
“She’s been acting odd, really. It’s not like her to push the other relatives into Christmas. How long has it been since we’ve seen Meredith? Since her husband died? And yet…she’s here. Along with us and Algernon and who knows else. Something is up, my lad.”
Victor and Violet met gazes and he shrugged. A rush of worry crossed through Violet and she wondered why the Wakefields? The man and his son seemed an odd addition to a family party. Maybe Violet would be less concerned if she’d met them before, but she and Victor had come to Christmas with Aunt Agatha since they’d turned five years old, and Violet was certain she’d never heard the name Wakefield before.
Chapter 5
“Is it true, my dear?” Aunt Agatha asked as Violet entered the violet room after she’d brushed her hair, freshened her makeup, and changed out of her traveling clothes.
“Is what true, dear aunt?” Violet crossed to her aunt and kissed each cheek before saying, “You look smashing, darling.”
“Don’t lie to me, brat. I know I look awful. I haven’t been sleeping well and it shows. Is it true that you turned down Tomas St. Mark’s invitation to marriage?”
Violet leaned away from her aunt, still keeping Agatha’s hands in her own and then nodded. Violet squeezed Agatha’s hands once again, let them, go, and dropped into an arm chair near the fire. “Seeing you is always a joy, my love. Even if you aren’t feeling quite the thing. As for Tomas, I don’t love him like he deserves.”
“He’s very rich,” Aunt Agatha said with a raised brow. There was something in that statement that didn’t sound quite like Agatha. That was something Lady Eleanor would say, not Aunt Agatha. Lady Eleanor had expected Violet to marry for connections and money. Aunt Agatha had taught Violet to manage her own money and saw to her education, so she could work if she chose.
“Darling,” Violet sighed, “I need a drink if we’re going to be discussing my status as a pauper and why I should marry for money.”
Violet crossed to the drink cart and made herself a sidecar and another for Aunt Agatha. Violet handed the drink to her aunt and then slid back into the seat by the fire.
“Yes, Tomas is simply swimming in cash. Not just as compared to myself but as compared to most of the human race. The thing that drives me utterly up the wall is that I can be quite comfortable with the money Mama left me. Why should I sell myself? For what? A pretty car? A mansion? Jewels? Surely happiness is worth more than a castle in the back of beyond. Besides, I love Tomas. I just don’t love him, and I couldn’t promise to be his, knowing I could never give him what he really wants.”
Aunt Agatha raised a brow at Violet, who huffed before adding, “Not that. My heart. He wants me to love him above all. Maybe in time I would love him that way, but what if I didn’t? I can’t promise to fall in love with him.”
Aunt Agatha sipped the sidecar, shuddered, and set it aside.
Violet laughed at the look on her aunt’s face and then added, “I won’t trap him, be unable to give him the love he wants, and then see him broken further by me. I won’t do it.”
Aunt Agatha leaned back, crossing her fingers over her stomach before she asked, archly, “And how does Lady Eleanor feel about your decision?”
“Don’t be daft, dear Aggie. I haven’t told her about the offer. It is, unfortunately, a standing offer. If Eleanor knew…well…she and Papa might lock me in my room and beat me until I said yes or something else as Victorian.”
“I’m concerned you’d be right about that. Your father….” Aunt Agatha cut off her statement and then said, “Well…we have our differences. Tell me, has Victor decided to get a job?”
Violet flinched for her brother. She paused and then said, “Victor doesn’t need the money either. At least not while he isn’t supporting a wife and children.”
“Does he still feel guilty for living?”
Violet sighed and nodded. Victor had been called up to duty in the war. In training, his shoulder had been broken. By the time he was healed, the men Victor would have served with were dead in the trenches and the war was over. Survivor’s guilt colored his thoughts whenever he allowed himself to think too much about it. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d shown up for duty and done his best. No one blamed him except himself, but he couldn’t quite shake it. Tomas had been with Victor and he’d ended in the trenches. He carried scars and waking nightmares from a few short months.
Victor had loved those men who had died. They’d been brothers in their hearts. An accident of fate had saved Victor. Violet wouldn’t deny she was grateful her twin had survived. Of her four brothers, she only had two left. Their eldest brother had been the heir to the earldom. He’d served, but in an office where there was little threat to his life.
Their brother Peter had died weeks into his service when his plane had gone down. Their brother Lionel had contracted the Spanish Flu in the trenches and never come home. There wasn’t a day that went by where Violet wasn’t just grateful that Victor had made it through.
Agatha ignored the burden of the war for Victor—they all knew he’d been lucky. “He needs to build a career now if he wants to support the woman he loves later.”
Violet didn’t argue with Agatha but she didn’t agree either. Victor was an adult. He’d heard all the arguments, and they had their secret project, their investments, and they were more frugal than one might expect of them.
Violet drained her drink and debated getting well and truly into her cups, but she couldn’t do that to her aunt. “Tell me what’s wrong, Aunt. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Aunt Agatha examined Violet’s face as if searching for something and then said, “Someone is trying to kill me.”
Violet choked and leaned forward, coughing. The door opened while Violet was hacking into her handkerchief. Meredith, Algernon, and that fiend, Theodophilus, entered the room as Violet recovered. Where were her friends? They were supposed to rally round. She needed them to distract the others, so Violet could delve into Aunt Agatha’s horrifying statement.
Aunt Agatha shot Violet a look when she could breathe again that was an obvious order to keep her trap shut.
Theodophilus crossed to Violet with a glass of seltzer water as she stopped coughing. Violet took it, but she wanted to toss it in his face when she noted his eyes on her chest.
“Would you care for a walk before dinner, Violet?”
Violet smiled charmingly and said, “I’ve brought friends, Mr. Smythe-Hill. I can hardly leave them just as we arrive. Thank you for the invitation.”
She rose and stepped closer to Agatha. Standing had been to keep him from looming over her, but now that she had, she felt as though she’d just put herself on display for him. Theodophilus smirked at Violet, letting his eyes drift down her body, and she shot him a nasty look. He just grinned though, as if she were playing with him instead of disgusted by his attention.
They’d met far too often in London and she’d done all she could to dissuade his attention from her. He seemed to think she was avoiding him to entice him instead of just disinterested.
“Well, my dear, are you well now?” Aunt Agatha gave Theodophilus her own nasty look and he cleared his throat, excused himself, and stepped across the room to accept a drink from Victor, who was playing bartender.
Victor’s man Giles must have arrived with Victor’s stash of his own booze because Violet noticed the tell-tale signs of a grasshopper being mixed.
“What’s all this about, Aunt?” Algernon demanded as he crossed to them, cocktail in hand. He sounded aggrieved as though he had been attacked. “Why did you need us all here?”
Violet glanced around thinking about Aunt Agatha’s statement. She hadn’t been sleeping; she thought someo
ne might be trying to kill her. Why? What had happened? As Violet examined the guests, she realized most of Agatha’s possible heirs were present. Violet shuddered as she glanced around the room. If someone was trying to kill Aunt Agatha, the likeliest motive was money, seeing as how she was notoriously swimming in the green.
She must see them all as suspects. Violet felt a flash of hurt as she realized she was included in that number. Didn’t Aunt Agatha know that Violet would never hurt her? Agatha was a near mother to Violet and Victor. Who had they turned to time and again? Aunt Agatha. Just the thought of losing her made Violet’s heart stutter.
Violet looked around the room again. Everyone had put on their shiny clothes and brushed their shoes. They were all pretending to be happy to be together, but they weren’t. Not really. Violet would never had spent Christmas with Algernon and his friend. Violet might have been happy to have lunch with Meredith, but Merry wouldn’t have been Violet’s first choice for the hols.
Her gaze crossed the room again, noting each person. Victor—both suspect and twin. But Violet would swear on her dying breath that Victor would never hurt anyone, let alone their aunt. Denny, Lila, and Gwennie were only here because Violet and Victor had invited them, and they’d never be real suspects of course.
There was a tall man in a pinstriped suit with slicked back red hair and a slew of freckles over his nose. He reminded Violet of someone, but she couldn’t quite place him. She sighed and looked beyond him to that blighter, Algernon.
They were all cousins. Aunt Agatha was their great aunt. She’d never had children of her own, but her brother had Kingsley, Cecil, and the twins’ mother, Penelope.
Cousin Algernon was the oldest child of Kingsley. As children, the twins had seen Algernon quite often. He had two more siblings, but they were quite a bit younger and hadn’t been half-raised by Aunt Agatha.
Meredith’s father, Uncle Cecil, had quite a falling out with Aunt Agatha years ago. He’d been told once, in no uncertain terms, that he was a nasty piece of work and he would have no more chance at an inheritance from Agatha than he would from the queen. His response had been to throw Meredith at Aunt Agatha and not bother to go along on visits himself.