by Beth Byers
It was family legend that Meredith had been chosen because he figured she was the least marriageable of his daughters. Cecil had hoped Meredith might get the money from his aunt that he’d lost. Violet winced at the memory, almost certain it was true. Meredith’s sister Gertrude had never shown up at those summers with Aunt Agatha.
Instead, poor Meredith had appeared at the door with a maid and a small handbag. She’d been well aware that she hadn’t been invited and had burned with shame of it.
“Algernon,” Aunt Agatha said sourly. “I trust that you continue to be useless and too-often drunk.”
“Hello dear Aunt,” Algernon said, smiling charmingly. “The last time I saw sweet Violet, she was in her cups. As for me, I suppose I am yet the same. Father sends his regrets at missing your little party. He couldn’t get away from his business.”
Aunt Agatha’s head cocked to the side and her gaze darted over Algernon before she humphed and took another sip of her drink. “Did he get my letter?”
“He sent me to represent, so to speak.” Algernon’s smarmy smile tempted the worst in Violet and she wanted more than anything to swipe it off his face.
“That wasn’t the terms of my letter,” Aunt Agatha replied.
Algernon paled a little and then whined, “Aunt…”
Aunt Agatha simply rose and crossed the room as the Wakefield gentlemen entered the room.
“Who is that?” Algernon hissed to Violet.
“An old friend of Aunt Agatha and his son. Their name is Wakefield.”
“Do you think she’ll keep her threat?”
Violet turned to him. He didn’t look much like her, though they did have the same colored hair. She’d despised him since she was 11 years old and he’d cut off her braids. “What threat?”
Algernon paused and his head jerked a little bit, and then he turned to her and said, “Didn’t you get a threat?”
“I have not been threatened by Agatha. What is all this about?”
“Show up or get cut out of the will? Only me? Or Meredith too?” He cast a nasty look at Violet and then his gaze considered Meredith.
Violet touched her lips and then tucked a stray hair of her bob behind her ear. Her mind was racing, jerking ahead in leaps and bounds. She and Victor hadn’t been threatened. Instead, Aunt Agatha had pled with them to show up early to their regular visit. What if they weren’t suspects to Aunt Agatha? What if she trusted them? A rush of hope filled Violet. She had almost been unaware of how painful it was to be suspected by her aunt
“Well?” Algernon snapped.
“Vic and I have spent every Christmas with Aunt Agatha since our mama died. She didn’t need to order us here. She knew we were coming.”
Algernon snarled. “Well? Do you think she’ll cut us out of the will?”
“I don’t understand,” Violet said. “She’s always maintained that none of us should expect to inherit.”
“That was always bunk,” Algernon snarled. “She refused to say so we wouldn’t only think of her as a pile of gold.”
Jack Wakefield crossed the room to them and handed Violet a fresh drink as Algernon said, “She obviously changed her mind now that she’s a foot in the grave.”
Violet took the drink, smiling brightly at Jack while she shot Algie a quelling look. But she couldn’t hold back her feelings. She snapped, “She’s only just 60. She could live for decades. Grandfather and Aunt Agatha both.”
“By Jove, I hope not,” Algernon said. “I’ll have to get a job soon if one of them doesn't keep their promises.”
Violet gasped and Algernon stepped back, stumbling a little and then said, “Only joking, of course.”
He stepped away and Violet stared at Jack Wakefield with horrified eyes. “He…seems rather drunk.”
“He does indeed,” the younger Mr. Wakefield said almost kindly. His gaze was sharp and penetrating, however, as he followed Algernon as he crossed the room, saying something to Theodophilus and then something else to Aunt Agatha.
“He wouldn’t say such things if…”
“Yes,” Mr. Wakefield said. His gaze flicked over her, but when he looked at her, she didn’t feel like an injured gazelle in front of a hyena like she did with that animal Theodophilus. “Would you mind introducing me around very much? I fear my father and your aunt have left me rather at loose ends.”
Violet followed his gaze to the far side of the room where Aunt Agatha and the elder Mr. Wakefield were whispering together.
“Of course.” Violet’s mind was reeling as she started with her friends and introduced Jack to them. He asked them all to call him Jack, and she was grateful for it. Separating the Mr. Wakefields in her head was making her a little dizzy. Or perhaps that was the alcohol and the empty stomach. Or perhaps, even worse, it was the idea that someone might be trying to kill Aunt Agatha.
Violet looked over at her aunt. Her hair was white, but it was pulled back and elegant with a jeweled comb tucked into her chignon. Agatha’s earrings were long and beautiful and drew attention to her still sharp jawline. She had brilliant dark eyes, very much like Violet and Victor’s. Agatha’s sparkled with wit, sheer cleverness, and vibrant life despite her evident exhaustion. Aunt Agatha was a powerful woman. She rode her horses daily and played tennis often. She’d purchased a car and learned to drive it early. She even owned an airplane, though after a few lessons she’d decided to have Hargreaves learn rather than fly it herself.
“Vi?” Victor said, watching her stare at their aunt. “Are you all right, love?”
“Yes, of course,” Violet answered. She smiled at Jack and their friends. Only Jack seemed to realize that she was not all right. His penetrating gaze saw rather more than she was used to from a stranger.
Chapter 6
Dinner could only be described as awkward. If the vittles weren’t so very good, it would have been an entire loss. Jack was seated next to Violet, and she was too well aware of him. He was a large man—not fat—not fat at all, but his shoulder still edged into her space. On her other side was Theodophilus, who seemed to be trying to mostly hide behind Violet. Usually, the swine demanded her attention whenever she was around him, but he was focused utterly on Lila.
Jack, on the other hand, had Meredith on his other side and she was nearly silent as she examined the table. Her food ended up nearly untouched as plates were placed in front of her, the food shuffled around, and then removed.
“Do you live in London?” Jack asked. “Or perhaps with your family in the country?”
“Oh,” Violet smiled at him and then said, “I’m afraid my father and stepmother rather despair of my unwillingness to live with them. Victor and I share rooms in London.”
Somewhere between the fish and the entrée, Meredith sighed into her wine glass and Jack turned to her, leaving Violet unattended for a moment. Her gaze darted around the room and she suddenly remembered who the man in the pinstripe suit was. John Davies—Agatha’s husband’s nephew. No wonder he hadn’t been reintroduced. They’d shared a few holidays together when she was quite a bit younger. He’d been off to war for much of her school days and she hadn’t seen him since then. If she recalled correctly, he’d been in supplies with his father helping more from behind the scenes.
It was possible full eternities had passed by the time dinner was over. The roast was moist, the wine flowed freely, and by the time little cakes were served, Violet wanted to run screaming from the dining room. The idea that someone would kill Aunt Agatha for money she’d never revealed who was receiving was shocking. Could it be true?
She’d watched her cousin, Meredith during dinner. She’d seemed the same as ever, a little too solemn, a little too sour. Surely no changes in Meredith’s behavior, despite the long gap in visits meant that Meredith was unaware of the undercurrents and not plotting murder?
What about Algernon? He had always assumed he’d receive an inheritance from Aunt Agatha. An allowance too, as Violet recalled. When they were at Oxford, every time she’d come across
him he’d made some comment about being poorer than expected and having thought Aunt Agatha wouldn’t have been so stingy.
Was his expectation of money moving things along for him? Had he decided to escalate her death to inherit early? He had referred to the vibrant Aunt Agatha as having one foot in the grave. Was it her white hair and few wrinkles that prompted that or was it that he was imagining the benefits her death might bring?
Violet glanced over John Davies. He had chatted with Aunt Agatha as though they’d been in contact all of these years. Knowing Aunt Agatha, they had been. She’d probably written to him often while he served during the war and helped him get established in whatever career he was pursuing currently. Did he expect to inherit? He was the male heir of her husband and often money followed that blood line. Had John been threatened to arrive for the holidays or else? If so, was he angry about it?
Violet followed the ladies to the drawing room while her brother winked at her and lit a cigar. She shot him a quelling look and decided that a gin rickey might be what she needed to get through the evening.
By the time the cheese tray had been set to the side, the tea cart had been rolled in, and cocktails were made, the gentlemen had come in. Violet selected coffee rather than tea or a cocktail. She was seated in a corner, sipping her coffee as Victor approached.
“Victor,” Violet hissed, “Distract Algernon and his hound.”
Victor didn’t even ask why, just made himself a drink and then offered cocktails to the others, calling Theodophilus and Algie by name. Victor started a story of a light-fingered dancing girl who’d tried to take his cigarette case and got Meredith and John Davies to join in with drinks of their own.
With their friends joining Victor, Violet was able to approach her aunt, unencumbered by listening ears.
“Aunt Agatha,” Violet said, “May I get you a sherry? Or would you like to live a little and try a grasshopper? Maybe a stinger?” Violet grinned at her aunt, and tucked her arm through hers, squeezing a little. “Why not try something new?”
“Just a sherry, darling,” Aunt Agatha said, squeezing Violet back.
“Mr. Wakefield?” The elder Mr. Wakefield nodded at Violet, his expression solemn. The two of them were seated side by side and seemed happy in their chatting, but Violet wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew more about Aunt Agatha’s worry that someone was trying to kill her. Did Mr. Wakefield know Aunt Agatha’s worries? Did he believe someone was trying to kill her? What had happened to make Aunt Agatha scared? By Jove, Violet wanted it to all be a faradiddle.
“A sherry is fine,” Mr. Wakefield said with an expressionless face. He was so impassive, Violet wasn’t sure he’d react if a pig took flight right in that room.
Violet grinned, forcing a bright expression, and crossed to the drink cart while Victor led the others out the French doors to the garden. He winked as he passed her and promised the others a sight for sore eyes.
Violet noted that Algernon had managed to drink so much wine throughout the long dinner that he’d climbed to new heights of drunkenness and had been easily led, unusual for him to say the least. She checked for Theodophilus, concerned he’d stayed behind to catch her, but the room was empty except for Hargreaves silently collecting an empty port glass and putting out a still smoking cigar.
Violet wished she could shoo the elder Mr. Wakefield after the others, so she could grab a private word with Aunt Agatha, but it seemed she’d have to wait to hunt up her aunt later that evening. That might be better, as Aunt Agatha always lingered over her makeup and dressing. Many an evening had been spent with Violet brushing Agatha’s hair.
“Thank you dear,” Aunt Agatha said as Violet handed them both drinks. Mr. Wakefield lifted his to his mouth as Violet stepped back. He sniffed and then a shocked expression came over his face. He grabbed Agatha’s drink and snarled, “Bitter almonds.”
“What?” Violet gasped. “What? No!”
Terror for her aunt struck Violet speechless and frozen like a mouse before a snake. Bitter almonds? Bloody hell, it couldn’t be!
Aunt Agatha took her drink back from Mr. Wakefield, lifting it to her nose, breathing deeply and then she said, “Yes. Certainly bitter almonds.”
Aunt Agatha’s voice was flat and her face was shocked as her gaze fell on Violet’s. There was a look of reproach and, could it be, suspicion in Agatha’s face.
“But…I would never.” Violet’s mind stumbled. Shock, more than anything else, made her utterly useless. Bitter almonds! Bitter almonds delivered by Violet’s own hand. What madness was this?
“I hadn’t thought you would,” Aunt Agatha said, her emphasis on the past tense. “I had thought that you of all people could be trusted.”
“I wouldn’t!” Violet’s hands were shaking. She wanted to sniff the drinks for herself. How had this happened? Could it be true? “Of course I wouldn’t.”
“There’s rather a lot of money on the line,” Mr. Wakefield said. “I hear that people have bets placed that you’re her heir. That is rather a lot of motive isn’t it? All Agatha’s money is quite compelling even for the most virtuous of souls.”
Violet slowly licked her lips, her brain stuttering back to life. “I may not be the most virtuous of souls nor do I claim to be a saint; however, I have no expectations that I am Aunt Agatha’s heir. I have not bet on her death. Nor have I bet on her will.” Each statement was said precisely. “To be perfectly clear, if I wanted money, I could get it without descending to murder.”
“It’s so easy, then?” Mr. Wakefield demanded, grabbing Violet’s arm. “If only the rest of the world knew how easy it was to acquire money. Hargreaves, my son.”
“Of course, sir, but if I may…” Hargreaves stepped forward quietly.
Violet cut in, “Aunt Agatha, you know well that I could simply accept Tomas’s offer. I wouldn’t have to kill my favorite aunt to be rolling in the green. Jewels, cars, money, they could all be mine by giving myself to a man I care very much for.”
“That is true, James,” Aunt Agatha said. She sounded as if she’d been beaten down. Violet’s eyes welled in tears for her aunt. How was this happening? To her aunt of all people? She had always been generous with their family, seeing to their education, sharing her home, taking them on trips.
“If I may,” Hargreaves said again, politely cutting in, this time with more insistence.
Mr. Wakefield and Aunt Agatha turned to Hargreaves who said simply, “Most everyone knows that Mrs. Davies drinks sherry after dinner. It’s been her pattern for years. A glass before dinner. A second after. I believe, in fact, Violet is the only one who has persuaded you to try other drinks.”
“That ghastly grasshopper the last time you were here,” Aunt Agatha admitted. Her dark eyes were fixed on Violet’s face and Violet was staring back, searching the face of the woman she loved so well. Was it too easy to destroy years of love?
“Indeed,” Hargreaves said. “I believe you have been gifted several types of alcohol from your niece as a running joke between you.”
“That is true.” Aunt Agatha turned again to Violet as if searching for guilt. The sight of it was painful beyond understanding.
“It’s well known, ma’am,” Hargreaves inserted. “Miss Violet’s teasing ways have, in fact, drawn attention to the fact that you always drink sherry. Just last month, one of the new servants was dismissed for sampling the port. He thought he could get away with it if he left your sherry alone. I believe it is presumptuous to jump to the culprit being Miss Violet. The drink cart has been unattended much of the day. Anyone could have added the cyanide to the sherry decanter.”
Mr. Wakefield crossed to the decanter where the sherry was housed and breathed deeply. “Bitter almonds. Does no one else drink this?”
“Very rarely, sir,” Hargreaves answered. “Mrs. Davies stocks her bar with the modern drinks and the young people almost always choose those. If someone wanted to poison just Mrs. Davies the sherry is an…excellent choice. The only thing unusual ab
out the sherry is that Miss Violet made Mrs. Davies a different drink before dinner. If Miss Violet had not done so, perhaps we would have lost Mrs. Davies before dinner.”
“The sherry is a terrible choice! Poisoning is a terrible choice!” Violet snapped. She hadn’t wanted to believe that this thought of murder was real. She had wanted to believe, instead, that Aunt Agatha might have become imaginative in her advanced age. It would be far better than someone stealing Violet’s aunt away. “Why would anyone poison you? It doesn’t make sense.”
“For the money,” Aunt Agatha said simply. “Don’t be simple.”
“But you have never named your heir. Killing you is a gamble for money that you could have easily left to a house for wayward girls.”
“The general presumption is that I have enough money to spread among all of you. Among much of the family it is well known that my husband didn’t believe in leaving money outside of the family except for servants or smaller gifts.”
“Is it? I didn’t know that.” Violet stepped back and shook her head. “You aren’t going to die, Aunt Agatha. Why did you call us all here? If someone is trying to kill you, why not take a trip? Hire someone to find out who and spend some time in the sun.”
“I did advise that,” Mr. Wakefield said, looking no less suspicious. It was as if he wanted her to be guilty. Or perhaps he thought she was just an excellent play actress. She was, in fact, a pretty good liar, but she rarely employed the talent. “Hargreaves, get my son. Do it on the sly.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Please, Aunt Agatha,” Violet said. “Please. Just pack your bags and go somewhere nice. You liked Greece as a girl. Go again. Rent some place by the sea and let it warm you up. What about your house on the Amalfi coast? That’s a lovely place to spend the winter. Go enjoy the sun and we’ll figure out who is doing this before you return.”