Murder By Chocolate

by Beth Byers

  “Mama will give me money,” Geoffrey said with a wicked smirk. All sign of tears were gone, as if he’d finally accepted that sympathy would not be coming his way when he cried like a baby.

  “Father will send your mother to Antarctica if necessary to keep you from being a milksop. My little flower—” Violet leaned into his face. “This is step one. You can turn it around and start thinking something like, ‘What would Father have me do?’ before you try one of these shenanigans or you’re going to find that Father sends you to work for someone who will be thrice as mean as me and Jack.”

  “Maybe Gerald will be next.”

  “I assure you,” Violet told Geoffrey and smirked. “Our oldest brother has already said no. Father would never ask Jack before Gerald.”

  “He probably just thought a working bloke like Jack was used to assignments.”

  Violet’s gaze narrowed on her brother, and his grin went from smug to happy at her reaction.

  “Why don’t we just clobber him?” Denny asked. “We’ll beat him daily until he fears us.”

  Geoffrey scoffed.

  Violet glanced at the others and then let her disgust appear on her face. “We’ll do what we can. If he wants to spend the rest of his life as a combination of a flower and wart that no one likes, that’s his choice. Eventually his mother will go, and he won’t be able to sponge off of her. He’ll be left with nothing and no one who is willing to cater to him. Our oldest brother has already declined. Tomas won’t let Isolde. Victor isn’t a likely candidate for a sponge when we at least tried to take care of ourselves before we inherited. He’ll have already burned his bridge with us, and the heiresses with buckets of the green are far less likely to put up with his whiny ways. If he could even garner some attention as weak and woebegone as he is.”

  At that Violet looked back to her brother. “Leave if you will. We aren’t going to chase you down again, but if you think Father won’t come up with something worse, you don’t know him very well.”

  Chapter 4

  “How is it that our train was on time and this one is so late?” Denny demanded. “I’m wasting away here.”

  “Good for you, laddie,” Lila told him without looking his way. She shifted on her seat and sighed. “I would have put my novel in your satchel if I had realized we would be sitting here so long.”

  “Why can’t I change?” Geoffrey asked. He sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed, and a look of agony on his expression, but he’d yet to run again.

  “Your clothes made the train that you didn’t,” Violet told him for the third time. “No one has anything for you to put on. Shut your trap about it.”

  “I feel like a fool.”

  “You should,” Jack told him. “Men get up and get dressed even when they don’t want to do what is before them.”

  Geoffrey rolled his eyes and grunted.

  Violet gritted her teeth to keep herself from slapping the back of his head again. She glanced at Jack in apology for possibly the hundredth time, but his expression told her he didn’t blame her for what was happening.

  “What are our thoughts?” Lila asked. “Shall we attempt to make this dinner or just send our apologies?”

  “It’ll depend on how late we are,” Jack said. “I sent a telegram to my father, so he’s prepared either way.”

  The train arrived before Violet could entirely lose her mind. They found seats and before Violet had even taken off her coat, Denny had disappeared to order tea and whatever vittles could be found.

  “How long is the journey?” Geoffrey asked. It was a hot day, and the train sitting in the station was stifling. He adjusted his coat, and gazed longingly at the window. It was open, but no air was coming in.

  “Too long,” Jack told Geoffrey. With a look toward Vi, Jack said, “We should have just motored down.”

  Violet glanced at Jack and back at the clock. The journey from the train station to the country house was adding to the pressure, and then there was still the journey to the family house. Jack’s father, James, had purchased his home deliberately far away from his brothers and sister when he’d distanced himself from the business as well.

  Jack smiled, but it was tight, and Violet realized—for the first time—that his family made him tense. Why, she wondered. Was there some story there he hadn’t told her, like the time he hadn’t told her about being engaged previously? She’d just stumbled across the history and then been hurt by the things he hadn't shared.

  Now, she thought, was the time to work out her feelings about him having a life before her and not thinking to share things with her. She knew, without question, that he loved her. Because of that, she told herself, he deserved the benefit of the doubt when it came to whatever was happening with his family.

  “Would you like to walk?” Jack asked her. He sent Geoffrey a look that said to run and hide if he dared.

  Violet agreed and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. There was noise inside and out, with the trains coming and going past them, the people hurrying to reach their seats or their destinations, the general bustle of many humans all engrossed in their own business.

  “My family isn’t like yours,” Jack said after a man in a suit squeezed past them in the aisle. “They aren’t impressed with my work.”

  “Why?” Violet demanded, instantly outraged.

  “They think I should have gone into the family business.”

  Violet snapped her mouth shut. Jack must have journeyed the thought process a thousand times before. He didn’t need her rehashing. Instead she said, “I disagree and am proud of you.”

  To that Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They won’t be impressed by your family. If anything, they’re—ah—anti-nobility.”

  “Not fans of old, established money?”

  “Decidedly not. Especially when the money is so old no one seems to recall where it originally came from.”

  “Mostly hops and apples and trade agreements,” Violet answered immediately. “With too rather a ridiculous amount of things like cattle and horses and, of course, investment ventures that turned out rather well. I come by my business acumen rather honestly, you know.”

  Jack blinked, and Violet laughed. “We know, of course. And more of us have done nothing at all to deserve it, but I don’t see how that’s any different than any other rich family. We just have more generations of folks who have done nothing more than sit about on their laurels with their noses pointed to the sky.”

  Jack’s eyes were amused but his mouth twisted. “They won’t let themselves be impressed by that.”

  “Does your father feel that way?”

  “My father likes you more than me,” Jack said with an amused huff. “You are, however, the placeholder for the grandchildren he intends to adore.”

  “That’s all that matters then. I can deal with your Lady Eleanors and Geoffreys if you can deal with mine.”

  “I’ll be counting on that.”

  “Where did he go?” Violet asked after the train had been rolling for about twenty minutes. She glanced around and then groaned. “That little wart is going to wake every night to me dumping water on his head.”

  Jack snorted. “I don’t think we should hunt him down. He’ll come when he comes.”

  “Maybe he jumped train. Then we’d just be wandering about for nothing.” Lila bit into the scone that Denny had purchased and then scowled. “These taste like they were baked a week ago.”

  Violet sighed and stood. “If he did jump train, I want to be able to tell Father I looked for him.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jack said, starting to stand.

  Violet shook her head. “Drink your coffee, Jack. I’ll take care of this.”

  Violet walked through the train car and then started towards the caboose. She figured if she didn’t find Geoffrey before she reached Jack again, she’d stop for another cup of coffee before she bothered checking towards the front of the train.

  She wove her way
through the first class section without sight of her brother. In the second class section, Violet spied him trying to talk some kid out of his second pair of clothes. Rather than argue with Geoffrey—who was probably promising that Violet would pay—she took an empty seat and scowled at her brother.

  He didn’t see her.

  “Hello there,” a woman said across from her.

  “Hello.”

  “Is that boy in pajamas yours?”

  “My brother objected to being sent out of London for the holidays.”

  “He needs a good spanking,” the woman said. Violet met her gaze and noted the golden brown eyes fixed on the two boys. The one with a suitcase in his lap was shaking his head over and over again, while Geoffrey attempted to wheedle.

  The other woman had dark curled hair tucked about her head under a quite fetching cloche hat. She was older than Violet by a good two decades, but her hair was either hennaed or she was exceedingly blessed. Her figure had just edged past lush to plump, but she was so lovely, Violet felt certain she still caught every roving eye.

  “I’m tempted,” Violet admitted. “Never mind that he’s approaching manhood.”

  “Manhood is more than an age.”

  “Agreed,” Violet said, grinning. “He needs to work or something. Do manual labor. Discover he’s only the shining star of the world to his mother.”

  “Mmmm,” the woman agreed. “But what business owner would want to hire such a clearly useless lad?”

  Violet snorted in laughter at the wry tone in the woman’s voice.

  “I certainly wouldn’t,” the woman added.

  “What kind of business do you own?”

  “A chocolatier.”

  Violet gasped and leaned in. “Where is your business?”

  “In Lading.”

  Violet’s eyes widened and she held out her hand. “I am so very glad to meet you. Do you have samples?”

  The woman’s eyes shone with humor. “With me?”

  Violet nodded.

  “I do, actually, as I was trying to get a loan to expand my business.”

  “For what?”

  “Shipping,” the woman said. “The bank cared little that my chocolates and baked goods will melt in your mouth and transport you to heaven.”

  “I’m Violet Carlyle,” Violet said. She paused and then laughed. “Wakefield.”

  “Mrs. Mariposa Jenkins.” Her eyes sharpened as she asked, “Violet Wakefield of the Lading Wakefields?”

  Vi grinned happily. “Jack Wakefield is my husband, but those are his people.”

  The woman’s expressive eyes widened. “The earl’s daughter?”

  “Sadly.”

  “You aren’t what I thought an earl’s daughter would be like.”

  Violet laughed again and then her head tilted. “What did you imagine?”

  “Well,” Mrs. Jenkins said merrily, “rather like your brother”—she nodded at Geoffrey—"but in a skirt.”

  Violet nearly brought herself to harm as she both snorted and laughed at the same time. She held a hand to her face. “He is the most horrible wart.”

  Mrs. Jenkins stood and pulled a basket from the overhead compartment. She opened it and Violet caught the scent of chocolate as though carried on angel’s wings. The woman pulled a white box from the basket and handed it to Violet. “Enjoy.”

  Violet breathed a thank you and opened it. Inside were perhaps a dozen small squares covered in a light-colored chocolate, with white dollops of either white chocolate or frosting and topped with curls of a deeper chocolate. She pulled one out slowly and bit down. The creamy sweetness hit her mouth first, followed by the taste of orange. Violet closed her eyes and let the flavor linger in her mouth until it revealed all of its layers.

  Violet swallowed and opened her eyes. “Do you know where Jack lives?”

  Mrs. Jenkins nodded.

  “Come in two days with your business plan at ten in the morning. Do you do events?”

  She nodded again and then said, “No one wants anything more than a delivery.”

  “I want a display table. The best of everything you have. Trays of chocolates, petit fours, layer cakes, all of it. Whatever you can do. I want it to be jaw-dropping.”

  “I can do that,” Mrs. Jenkins said with no hesitation.

  Violet smiled at the confidence. “If you can pull it off and pull it off well, and you have the business plan to show you aren’t a fool, I’ll buy into your business.”

  “Why?” Mrs. Jenkins demanded.

  “This, my friend,” Violet told her seriously, “is chocolate gold, and I do like money.”

  Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you serious? You aren’t playing games with me?”

  Violet reached out and took Mrs. Jenkins’s hand. “I am in earnest.”

  “You have the money? I thought the nobility was nothing more than bankrupt echelons of the past.”

  “Not all of us,” Violet said, “though that’s true enough of yon Geoffrey.”

  He was walking towards Violet. He whined, “Tell the poor boy you’ll pay for my clothes. I can’t wear pajamas like this. It’s…it’s ridiculous. You’ve made enough of a fool of me.”

  “But I won’t,” Violet told him. “You made your choices, and you’ll have your clothes again when we get to the house.”

  “Everyone can see me looking like a fool.”

  “They’ve all already seen you as a fool.” Violet carefully closed the white box and told Geoffrey coldly. “You made your choices. You chose not to get dressed thinking you’d escape your fate by refusing to get clothes on. Jack told me he asked Father if he wanted you to be hauled out or left behind. Father made his choice as you did.”

  Geoffrey’s too-pale skin flushed a brilliant red. He frowned fiercely at Violet. “My mother will hear of this.”

  “All right,” Violet said agreeably. “If you want to be a tattling boy hanging on his mother’s skirts, that’s your choice as well. It’s of little import to me.”

  “You—you—-you!” He just stopped short of calling her a terrible name, but Violet could read his lips, and she’d have boxed his ears if he said it aloud.

  Violet smiled and chucked him on the shoulder. “Look at you. Making good choices. You’ll see, Geoffrey. As soon as you accept that only your mother thinks you hang the moon and no one else is all that impressed with your existence, especially as spoilt as your mother has made you, you’ll be the better for it.”

  “My mother didn’t…”

  Violet held up her hand. “Most mothers think their children are wonderful, Geoffrey. No one begrudges you having one who does. It’s just no one else has the same love-colored vision for you. She can’t be your protector forever. Sooner or later you have to grow up and speak for yourself. Why not try being something other than a blister?” Her voice was nice enough, but the words left him flushed with anger again.

  “She’s right you know,” Mrs. Jenkins told him as gently. “You can only get away with letting your mother smooth your path for so long. Once that day has passed, if you’re not careful, you’ll find you’ve burned all your bridges.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “I have three sons,” she told him flatly. “And I’m the only person in the world who loves my second son. Sooner or later, I’ll die and then he’ll have no one.”

  Geoffrey scoffed at her and Violet kicked him. “Don’t be rude.”

  “To the help? These people are all servants, Vi.”

  “That’s Violet to you,” Violet told him. “Preferably just madam. This woman is a scrapper who created her own business out of her talents. What have you done?”

  Chapter 5

  They were certainly going to be late. They might, in fact, be so late they shouldn’t go. Jack’s jaw was clenching and releasing, and Violet wasn’t sure if she should ask him if they should not go or if she should race through throwing on her evening gown.

  When they arrived at the house, Jack’s fa
ther was dressed and smoking his pipe in the parlor. He rose as they entered. “Grandfather knows there was travel trouble and says to come anyway and not worry about being late.” James Wakefield’s tone was sarcastic at best, and Violet assumed that he didn’t buy his father’s assurance that being late was forgivable.

  Jack glanced at Violet, probably taking in her pale skin and dark under-eye circles after their day of traveling and fighting with her brother.

  “Oh wonderful,” Violet lied. “I have been looking forward to getting to know the family better, and even late—it’ll be better to have the chance now.”

  Jack’s father rose and took Violet by the hand. “You do look tired. I can send our regrets?” It was clear by his face that he didn’t want to send regrets, but he would if she needed it.

  “No,” Violet said, “but my brother will stay home and rest.” The look she gave Geoffrey told him not to argue. To her shock, he didn’t. She felt sure that they’d regret leaving him behind, but that was a problem for her future self. Her present self needed to wash her face, brush her hair, and throw on a dress and some powder.

  Jack led the way to their shared bedroom, and Violet found a dress already set out. She hurried through a quick bath, brushed her hair, threw on a headpiece, and then dabbed powder under her eyes.

  She dropped her dress over her head and then turned to find Jack just finishing with his tie. She grinned at him. “You’re a handsome man.”

  “I expect this day to end torturously because of my family.”

  “It started torturously because of mine.”

  Jack’s shout of laughter made Violet feel better, and she glanced at him. “You’re a good man, Jack. What is the problem with your family?”

  Jack shrugged his coat on and handed her the beaded silk wrap that was set aside for her. “Everyone expected me to come home and work in the family business after the war, but…bloody hell, I was good at catching killers, and everyone associated with manufacturing—even if no one in my family really works in the business directly—it just seemed so…so…pointless after watching my friends die for years. Not when I could do something meaningful with my life.”