by Beth Byers
“Victor, I want to go to America. And Greece. Or perhaps we can spend the rest of the winter on the Amalfi Coast? Please say yes.”
“Yes, of course,” Victor replied without hesitation. “We’ll sort out Aunt Agatha, find out who is trying to kill her, murder them, maim them, and set them on fire, and then borrow her villa there. Maybe we can get her to come with us and tinker with buying some new wines. We’ll write some stories about rich coves lazing about in the sun.”
Violet grinned at him. They would be those rich coves. Half their stories were exaggerated accounts of their own exploits.
“You are going to need a bigger house, darling, if you keep buying so much wine.”
“Dear Aunt Agatha has been letting me use her cellar. I have it all in hand, of course.”
“Of course,” Violet said, softly.
She arranged her brother’s bottle of Brilliantine and combs. She tucked a few stray cigarettes back into their case, and then straightened the items on his table before she turned back to him and said, “What do we do, Vic? We can’t let someone hurt Agatha.”
He searched her face. It was quite rare for the lion inside of Victor to come out. Most of the time he was a charming spaniel, but she could see the fierceness in his matching eyes at the moment. Could she read him so well because they’d shared a womb, or was it just that they had the same eyes? Did she see the lion in him because she felt the lioness in herself?
“Agatha is brilliant. If she thinks this has to do with her will, it does. Let’s just convince her to leave it all to charity and announce it. Perhaps then, whoever is trying to kill her will stop.”
Violet considered. Who were the real suspects if she ruled out herself and Victor? Algernon. Meredith. John Davies. Those were the only relatives who’d arrived. Had everyone else not believed Agatha’s threat, or had they already accepted they wouldn’t be in the will?
“Oh, this worm!” she snarled. “We shall find him and stomp him.”
“Do you not think it’s a her?”
Violet considered and then shrugged. “Meredith? Maybe. Darling, we hardly know her. She’s an….archetype. The poor widow. Do you know what she likes? Who her friends are? If she even has some old gals she bounces around with? To be honest, I’m not even sure where she lives.”
“I have no idea,” Victor admitted. “I hadn’t even realized I knew nothing about the gel until you pointed it out. She’s just always…Merry.”
“That mean name we gave her. Do you think she realized?”
Victor winced and then asked, “That we called her Merry because she was always so dour? I have no idea. We were terrible children.”
Violet sat back down across from Victor, snatching another chocolate, and then she asked, “Maybe we should just go? Just leave it to the professional Mr. Wakefield and remove ourselves from suspicion.”
Victor considered along with Violet and then both shook their heads in near unison.
“We can’t, luv.”
“We’ll never forgive ourselves if something happens to her,” Violet added for them both. “We have to at least try.”
Victor nodded and said, “I’ll try to talk to her tomorrow and see what I can get out of Algernon. If it is one of us, surely something has changed? There’s some spurring moment that made this happen now instead of before?”
Violet didn’t know. She preferred to avoid Algie whenever possible, hadn’t remembered John Davies, and felt sorry for Meredith. “I need to talk to Aunt Agatha again. I won’t be able to sleep until I do.”
“Be careful, darling,” Victor said. “Whoever is trying to hurt Aunt Agatha has gone mad. None of us are truly safe. Stop by my room on the way back and I’ll walk you to yours and wait until you’re locked in.”
Violet hesitated, hating the rush of fear that struck her before she nodded once and then said, “You be safe too, brother mine.”
Aunt Agatha’s rooms were on the other side of the house in the east wing. Violet headed through the halls alone and jumped at nearly every sound, feeling a lot like a gothic heroine who was about to be strangled in the shadows by some specter. Perhaps she and Victor should consider adventure tales instead of ghost stories.
Violet knocked lightly on Aunt Agatha’s bedroom door and it opened along with the one across the hall. Inside the second room was both James and Jack Wakefield with loosened ties and pipes in their hands. Violet shot them a tight smile and stepped into Aunt Agatha’s room.
She was sitting at her dressing table, slowly taking off her jewelry. She still wore a little rouge on her cheeks, but the flush from her own heightened fear or worry made her far more red than any cream makeup product.
Violet crossed to her and said, “Perhaps I won’t offer to get you a drink, but may I put your jewelry up for you?”
“Martha will do it,” Aunt Agatha said, voice tight. Her lips were pressed together as soon as she finished speaking.
“You know I rather like putting things away,” Violet said softly and waited for her aunt’s nod before she took the jewelry, opening the locked jewelry box. It was a carved, silver box with scrolled detailing. Inside, Martha had allowed it to become a jumble of bracelets, rings, and earrings. The mess made Violet’s fingers itch. “Did Martha allow this to become so very unorganized just for me?”
“I doubt it,” Aunt Agatha snapped. She was furious. It was evident in the tense line of her shoulders, the way her neck seemed almost brittle in its movement, the way her lips pressed together and her eyes were narrowed on Violet’s face in the mirror.
“I’m not trying to kill you,” Violet said, pulling out a tray of rings and taking up a cotton cloth to wipe them down and put them away properly.
Aunt Agatha said nothing as Violet carefully pulled out the jewelry, organized it by sets, and returned it to the drawers and boxes inside of the jewelry box. These were just Aunt Agatha’s favorite pieces. The riches just in the box were the very reason that someone was trying to kill Aunt Agatha. Suddenly, Violet hated the sight of the shining diamonds and rubies.
“This brooch has a loose stone,” Violet said, hoping that with patience and stubbornness Aunt Agatha would explain.
“I’ll have to send it with Hargreaves to be fixed,” Aunt Agatha said.
Violet nodded and put the piece into a velvet bag and into a compartment at the top of the jewelry box.
“This earring set is missing one,” Violet said a moment later.
“Yes, I know. I lost it when I was in the garden. I had hoped it would turn up.”
Violet put the pearls that Aunt Agatha had worn that evening away, carefully arranging them in their case and then said, “Won’t you tell me what has been happening?”
Aunt Agatha placed her brush on her vanity table and met Violet’s gaze through the mirror.
“I know you’re upset and have to consider everyone who might want you dead,” Violet said carefully. “Victor and I consider you a mother. I know I can only protest our innocence, but it isn’t us.”
Violet’s lips trembled and she noted that Aunt Agatha’s fingers were shaking on top of her brush. She slowly curled them into a fist and placed it in her lap. This distance between them was the fault of the would-be killer, and Violet just might commit murder after all. She’d hunt up who was doing this to them and finish things.
Chapter 8
“About two months ago, I went for my daily ride,” Aunt Agatha said finally, the tension between them fading. “Someone had cut the girth and I fell. I was lucky that it gave when it did and that I wasn’t jumping that day. It was pure luck, Violet. Normally my ride is through the woods as fast as Hercules can go. You know how I ride. I strained my wrist instead of breaking my neck.”
“I do,” Violet agreed. “You were very lucky to have not hurt yourself in the woods. If that fall hadn’t killed you, the elements might have before you were found.”
“I had decided to visit Hargreaves’s mother that day,” Aunt Agatha said, “She’s been doing quit
e poorly and I was bringing her a basket. It was entirely out of my pattern.”
Violet settled down on the cushioned stool near Aunt Agatha, feeling the rising tension. She tightened her jaw to keep a slew of curses from escaping. “Was that it, or was there more?”
“That would have been enough. It was clear that the girth had been cut, not that it was an accident.”
“But,” Violet prompted. She closed the newly organized jewelry box and took up Aunt Agatha’s brush, working through her long hair.
“A few weeks later, I had gone for a walk. It had been storming for days beforehand, and it was the first clear day in ages. I felt as though I’d been locked inside. You know how I am after that type of weather.”
“I do,” Violet said. Was she the only one? Or did some of the others know how Aunt Agatha would have certainly gone for a walk after such weather?
“As usual, I went down by the stream. I love to hear the water.”
“I know you do,” Violet murmured, carefully smoothing her aunt’s hair. “You went down to the bridge? Where we used to throw rocks in with Algie and Merry?”
Violet hated that she felt the need to point out that she was not the only one who knew about Aunt Agatha’s propensity for walking there.
“Yes, there,” Agatha agreed. If she noticed Violet’s assertion, she didn’t say anything. “The bridge has needed to be replaced for some time, but I crossed it like I always do. It was Tuesday afternoon and my book club gathers at Mrs. Lavender’s home. I was walking that way for tea, gossip, and possibly talking about the book.”
Violet nodded. She’d accompanied her aunt a few times on her visits.
“Someone came up behind me and shoved me into the railing. It broke, as it’s been rotten for ages. Since it had been raining for days, the stream was flooded and busting with rage. I barely got out. Thankfully John Lockwood had been playing in the woods. He saw me struggle to the bank and pulled me out. He helped me home. Vi,” Aunt Agatha trailed off. She shivered in her remembrance and Violet put down the brush to wrap her arms around her aunt.
“I was in bed for days. That’s when I decided it was time to confront whomever was doing this to me. To find them and make them pay. That’s when I came up with the plan for the holidays and James Wakefield. I left until just yesterday to protect myself. Went to Bath and didn’t tell anyone except James.”
Violet couldn’t speak. She got up and paced around Aunt Agatha’s massive rooms. There was a stack of books on Agatha’s bedside table. She had a journal on her desk and there were letters stacked nearby. Violet passed by the table and caught sight of her own writing.
Violet muttered under her breath as she paced, feeling her aunt’s gaze on her. Aunt Agatha slowly turned around until she faced the raging Violet, who came to stop and turned. “I didn’t even know about your husband’s want to leave money in the family. I thought you’d leave everything to a school or something.”
Agatha sighed and then admitted, “Without Henry’s wishes, I might have left everything just as you say.”
“You still can,” Violet told her. “Why don’t you? He wouldn’t want to see you murdered for that money. He loved you.”
“But I can’t,” Agatha whispered. “You don’t know what it was like in my day. In my day, a man such as Henry who saw my mind and admired it instead of feeling emasculated. We used to talk at night about how we’d create this gift for our family. It was supposed to be our children.”
Aunt Agatha’s face crumpled for a moment, but it smoothed out soon after. Violet dropped to her knees in front of her aunt again, taking her hands. “Henry and I worked together at making money. It was this game for us. We’d read about companies and types of investments. He always talked about building an empire for our children. A gift for them, he said. Keeping that up is what got me through the early years after his death. Since we weren’t blessed with children, I just shifted our dream of the empire to you children. In many ways, you all were my children.”
Violet felt as though that specter from the hall were chasing her through Agatha’s rooms. She could almost feel the ghost of her uncle Henry, the feel of death himself, haunting the halls, the threat that someone she loved would be taken. All for what? What was supposed to have been a gift!
“Whatever money you have is not worth the risk of life in jail or being hanged!” Violet declared. “Who could be so…evil?”
“Does Tomas’s marriage proposal still stand, Violet?” Aunt Agatha asked, changing the subject.
But not really changing it at all. The question stabbed Violet right through the center. She had to take a breath before she could even answer. “Yes, Aunt. Tomas hasn’t withdrawn his offer. I don’t imagine that he will anytime soon. He has pinned his hopes on me and probably will until I marry or he meets the right woman for him.”
“I’m sorry I have to ask it,” Aunt Agatha said.
“As am I.”
“You are rather poor compared to many of your friends, Violet. One misstep for you or Victor and you two will have to get work. Gone will be the days of private rooms, eating at restaurants, jazz clubs, dancing, and drinking.”
“We do work,” Violet said, telling their secret for the first time. “We’ve been writing a series of stories for one of those pulp magazines. Combined with the money from Mama and the allowance from Papa, we’re doing quite well.”
“I wasn’t aware of the writing.” Agatha seemed to doubt it.
“Of course you weren’t. It isn’t like we’ve told anyone. Can you imagine my stepmother’s reaction? But Victor and I have fun writing them. They’re all in good fun. You know how he scribbled stories when we were younger? Somewhere along the way, I started helping.”
Aunt Agatha’s gaze searched Violet’s and Violet said, “We both have degrees from Oxford. We could both get work. I could find work as a secretary. One of father’s many chums could set Victor up. If we really wanted something different, we don’t need to kill you to make it happen.”
“You were never my main suspect,” Aunt Agatha said. “You and Victor are the only ones who have never alluded to an inheritance or told me your story of how you need help. You’ve never tried to beg or borrow money. In fact, you’re the only ones who show up with gifts like the sherry.”
“The unpoisoned sherry,” Violet added, knowing that Aunt Agatha had every reason to feel as she did. She knew that Aunt Agatha had to be careful. She’d already survived three attempts to take her life. When would her luck run out? “Must you face off with this person? Surely, with Mr. Wakefield working the case and three instances to track down, we can figure out who is doing this?”
“Like you said, Violet. None of you are really poor. What does it cost to pay someone to cut Hercules’s girth? Or to push an old lady off a bridge?”
Violet’s jaw snapped shut. She hadn’t thought of that, and she ought to have. It was time to set aside the booze and the fun and focus on this dilemma.
“To be honest with you, Aunt Agatha, if someone murders you while you are determined to track them down instead of being safe, I will hold a grudge into the afterlife.”
On another night, Violet would have offered to get her aunt some warm milk to help her sleep or suggest she take a little something. That wasn’t something Vi could do at the moment. Not with suspicions running high. Instead, she kissed her aunt’s cheek and left the bedroom.
Chapter 9
Jack Wakefield stepped out his bedroom as Violet stepped out of Agatha’s. It seemed he had been waiting for her.
“Did you want to ensure she yet lives?”
His jaw tightened and Violet, in a spur of anger, threw open her aunt’s door and called, “Have you been stabbed, aunt?”
“No, you indomitable brat.”
“Have I given you anything to drink? Or slipped a snake into your bedsheets?”
“We chatted and she left, Jack. Thank you for checking on me.”
“Lock your door,” Jack said, reaching in with on
e hand and an averted gaze to close Aunt Agatha’s door. He waited until he heard the lock click and tested it before he turned to Violet. “She asked me to rule out you and Victor first. She told me she doesn't really believe it is you, but feels she has to be sure.”
“Wonderful. Fabulous. We’re suspected, but less so. I wish I could say that made me feel better.”
“It should. Your aunt didn’t want to suspect you at all, but felt like you needed to be ruled out.”
“I feel like you just reworded what I just said.” Violet fisted her hands and wished she could pound on something with them, but she was too well schooled in manners to hit him or the wall.
Instead she gritted her teeth and sped up her walk. Jack followed without a problem. If anything, he was just walking normally now with his giant legs while she was skipping along like a tiny dog next to a horse.
“Perhaps,” he said calmly.
Oh! She wanted to just turn and give him a good shove. It would probably be like shoving against a mountain. Useless and foolish.
“Why are you following me?”
“I am ensuring you arrive at your room safely.”
She shot him an infuriated glance, darted down the stairs of the east wing and up the stairs of the west wing. She stopped at her brother’s door, pounding her fist against it.
The clicking of his typewriter cut off and he opened the door.
“Hullo, darling,” he said, and then scowled at Jack.
“I’m fine. Mr. Wakefield has determined to ensure that I neither murder anyone on the way to my rooms or am murdered by Aunt Agatha’s tormentor.”
Jack growled at the back of his throat and Victor’s gaze widened, darting between the massive Jack and the much smaller form of his twin.
“Well…I….do you really think it’s quite the thing to antagonize the sleuth, luv?”
Violet’s answer was to leave her brother and Jack standing in the hall and cross to her own room, slamming the door in their faces.