by Beth Byers
“Under John Smith. What about under your real name?”
“The only thought I have of being married is in the future.”
Her jaw dropped and he laughed, laying another sweet kiss on her forehead. Then he stepped back from her, winked, and moved away from the ticket counter. She swallowed thickly and turned to the ticket woman, who shook her head.
“You’ve got your hands full with that one, missy.”
Beatrice glanced to the side and admitted, “My hands are too busy clutching onto the last shreds of my sense to handle him.”
The woman chuckled and said, “Care for a cuppa? It’s my break time.”
Beatrice nodded and followed the woman to a small room connected to the ticket office. A small burner was on and the kettle was already whistling. The woman poured them both a large helping into sturdy tin cups and then handed over a box of teabags. Beatrice took an English breakfast tea, dropped it into the cup and introduced herself.
“Sally Manning,” the woman replied. “Why are you looking for those kids?”
“The woman I work for asked me to help track them down. They were supposed to come home for the holidays.”
Sally shook her head, blowing on her tea and then adding sugar. She set out a tin of digestive biscuits and muttered something about spoiled rich kids. She wasn’t wrong. Geoffrey was as spoiled as they came. Ginny, however, was well aware of the things she’d been given and she didn’t fully trust her status. That was a girl who had lost too much to trust that anyone would stick with her, and generally, her carefully good behavior reflected it. Occasionally, she snapped, but when Lady Violet stuck by Ginny, the girl relaxed a little bit more.
Beatrice worried over Ginny while she sipped her tea, sighing. The ticket woman came and went, allowing Beatrice to linger in the slightly more comfortable chair at the table.
Beatrice could see through the window when Smith returned, and he seemed to supernaturally sense her. He looked through the ticket window, lifted a brow, and then rounded the entrance on his way.
“I suppose he’s found something.”
Sally nodded. “Looks like he’s got the bit between his teeth and is ready to take you for quite a ride.”
“There were no reins to start with,” Beatrice told Sally, thanking her for the tea.
The door opened and Smith lifted a bag in greeting. “I’ve got fish, chips, more tea—I can see you started without me, and I’ve got a fellow I need to chase down before we leave. With a bit of an idea of where the brats might have gone.”
“Where are they?” Beatrice asked, rising to leave.
“You mind if we use your table, love?”
Beatrice flinched as Sally shook her head and Smith eyed Beatrice.
“Didn’t like that, did you, Beatrice my love?”
She didn’t reply but retook her seat and opened the chips. He’d drowned her fish and chips in malt vinegar before he’d left the shop, just how she liked it. Beatrice squeezed the lemon wedge heavily and took the fizzy soda he’d gotten along with the tea. She could use the double pick-me-up from the tea and the soda.
“Thank you for the food,” she said, ignoring his question.
His smirk was enough to sour her first bite, but the second was better. She ignored his maddening expressions and made short work of the food. When she was finished, she discovered he’d not bothered to eat at all and was watching her.
She wasn’t going to demand why he hadn’t eaten, and she wasn’t going to play his word games. Yet again it seemed he’d read something into her impassivity that she didn’t understand. With another satisfied smirk, he dug into his fish while she crossed her hands in her lap and used the skills she’d earned as a lady’s maid. Paste an even expression on your face and wait.
Chapter 3
“There the bloke is.” Smith glanced at Beatrice, handed her the overnight bag, and then darted into action. Before Beatrice was even prepared to react, Smith had a nearly grown boy by the arm and was rushing him into the alleyway between the train station buildings.
Beatrice gasped, picked up the bag, and followed more slowly. She nearly didn’t enter the alleyway when she heard the thump and the grunt. She told herself to be brave and dared to edge around the corner.
“You stole from the schoolchildren who were traveling alone.”
The lad’s face was pressed into the brick and he laughed low. “Plenty o’ them about. All the darling flowers o’ England going home for the prezzies and puddings.”
“You stole from the schoolchildren who were traveling alone,” Smith repeated flatly, meanly.
Beatrice shivered and clutched the bags all the tighter.
“I don’t know what yer on about. Gerroff me!”
Smith pulled his fist back and slammed it into the young man, and Beatrice squeaked. He glanced up at her, saw the expression on her face, and ordered, “Leave. You don’t need to be here for this. I’ll be out in a moment.”
Beatrice didn’t, however, leave. She stepped back, leaned against the brick much farther down, and closed her eyes. Smith had been a different man in that moment, feral and merciless. Not even handsome. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find he was death personified. She was cursed and being haunted by Death.
She was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of a high-pitched squeal.
“Tell the truth.”
“Yah. I did.” The young man’s voice was raspy and breathless. “The stuff’s gone, man. Gerroff--” He squealed again, then groaned. Beatrice leapt inside her skin, clenching her fists, and then biting her bottom lip.
“Where’d they go?” Smith demanded.
“Don’t know, do I? Didn’t follow after I got what I could.”
“Did you hear where they wanted to go while you were hunting them?”
“A couple spoiled little lambs? Why d’you care?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Smith said, and the pained squeak was back.
Beatrice’s jaw was clenched now along with her hands fisted on the bags, and the nausea was rising.
“Clacton-On-Sea! They said Clacton-On-Sea.”
Beatrice darted her head around the corner to see Smith step back, rubbing his hands on a handkerchief.
“What about their things?” Beatrice asked.
“We’re hunting children, not school uniforms.” Smith shot her a dark look, took her arm, and pulled her from the alley, releasing her as soon as they were on the street. His usual persona wasn’t back and she wasn’t sure what to do. He looked her way, laughed darkly, and muttered, “It’s not all sunshine and roses hunting up wayward brats, Beatrice.”
She blinked and suddenly understood that her expression was upsetting him. She knew her face was white, she guessed her cheeks were flushed, and she would lay a wager that her eyes were wide and horrified. She swallowed thickly and handed him the overnight bag. He took it with a scowl, but it faded when she put her hand through his arm. He glanced down at her, no doubt feeling her trembling. “You’re afraid of me now.”
“I was always afraid of you.”
He snapped his mouth shut.
“Do I need to be?”
He shook his head. As he crossed to Sally and bought tickets, Beatrice believed him utterly. She might have feared him, but maybe what she should fear is what she felt when he was around. She left him to the tickets and the bag and crossed to the telegram station.
If Lord Gerald hadn’t realized that they’d gone to Clacton-On-Sea, it might be down to Beatrice and Smith to find the children. She sent a telegram to Lady Violet with as much as she knew.
FOR SOME REASON THEY’RE ON THE TRAIN TO CLACTON-ON-SEA. FOLLOWING. WILL TELEPHONE. B.
Beatrice found Smith sitting in the station, waiting for the train, and approached him. She’d given him time to calm down by going back to the teashop, purchasing buns, chocolate bars, and coffee for them both after sending her telegram. She handed over the bounty and took the seat directly next to him.
He noted the
difference. She would have sat across from him or left an empty seat between them before she’d found him tormenting a criminal lad in the alley. It seemed that nothing about her was reasonable.
“See me rough up some thug and now you’re comfortable?”
She paused and then shook her head, sipping her coffee. Was she comfortable? No. Of course she wasn’t. She just felt…safer, sitting next to him.
“How do we know where they went? We know that they wanted to go to Clacton-On-Sea, but they were robbed. If they don’t have the money to make it there, surely they’d just call for help.”
“That’s what you’d do, Beatrice,” Smith said flatly. “You’d ask for help, make a phone call, and be rescued by your family. That boy is twisted inside by his family, and he has Ginny with him.”
“Ginny?”
“Don’t forget, my love, Ginny is like me. What would I do? Because that’s more important.”
“Would you rob someone?”
He scoffed darkly. “I’m not a monster, Beatrice. I’d hop a train.”
She hadn’t even thought of that. Ginny had run wild on the streets of London, feeding herself and her grandmother with whatever she’d done to help sustain them. Ginny would have thought of it. She’d probably hopped a hundred trolleys before she had money from Lady Violet to do the simple things like pay for your tickets.
“Would Geoffrey be able to hop a train?” Beatrice asked. “He’s not you or Ginny.”
Smith laughed and suddenly the angel-devil was back and that…that…demon was gone. “I think his pride would force him to it, but if he cramped in his side on the floor of the train, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Beatrice could imagine that too well, and she laughed, biting her bottom lip. “Can you see Ginny standing over the heaving boy, holding his side and gasping. Telling him to buck up.”
“Trying to talk herself into not being disgusted,” Smith said wryly. His head tilted at her, and he slowly reached out his hand to cup her cheek. “Are you talking yourself out of being disgusted?”
Beatrice shook her head slowly, and to her surprise, he inched towards her. His face coming closer to her face, their breath mingling. He didn’t, however, kiss her.
The moment went from surprising, to wanting, to something else. She couldn’t help but giggle. Then he kissed her and all desire to laugh fled in one massive gasp.
Chapter 4
Clacton-On-Sea was adorable. The sound of the sea made Beatrice want to do nothing but sit in the sand, but Beatrice owed her employer more than a stolen holiday on the coast.
“They’re here,” Smith said as Beatrice stared longingly towards the water. “The ticket man saw them. He’s not quite as snotty as our Sally. But he also saw them jump just before the train stopped, so they couldn’t be caught for not having paid.”
“All right,” she sighed and stretched. Her gaze was fixed on the sea still, and the sound of it made her feel as though everything would be all right.
“Are you with me, Beatrice? Or off in a fairyland?”
“I want to walk in the sea,” she said, suddenly. The desire burned in her eyes. She wanted to dip her toes into that water and let herself sink to the bottom, like a mermaid. She’d swim as far as possible and when she came up, she’d no longer be worried about telling Violet that she had failed to find her ward.
He lifted his brows. “We can do that. I don’t really care about the brats.”
“I do,” she said. “The worry is growing and growing, and I can only imagine what it’s doing to Violet.” She surprised herself by how easily Lady Violet’s name came to her.
“Well, they went that way,” Smith said, pointing down High Street. “Do you want to walk in the sea, dive into the water, or chase down the delinquents?”
“Yes,” she said since she really wanted to do all of them. “Let’s find those brats and go back to our lives.”
Smith laughed, taking her hand and putting it on his elbow. “There’s no going back, but you take up a place on High Street and keep watch, and I’ll follow after them.”
Beatrice nodded, and as he left her at a tea shop, she called, “Don’t hurt Geoffrey.”
“Ginny won’t let me,” Smith called. As he left, he winked at her, and she would have sworn that she saw his face morph back into that angelic mask. You had to know him to see the devil there, and she was beginning to know him. Beatrice turned to the woman behind the counter and asked for the telephone.
“Oh those poor lambs. They do look downtrodden, don’t they?”
Ginny had dirt on her cheek, her skirt was ripped, and she looked half-dead with exhaustion. Geoffrey looked like he’d faded into nothing as though the life had been sucked out of him.
Beatrice hurried to pay and leave the teashop, but the children disappeared before she could catch them. Oh! She’d had one job. Beatrice rushed down the street, heading the way they were going, and saw nothing. She’d been mere moments behind them.
She retraced her steps and started glancing down alleyways. The first was empty. She rushed to the next one. Nothing. The next. Nothing.
“You all right, miss?”
The boy who asked looked at Beatrice as if she’d gone mad, and she felt as though she had.
“Did you see two students? They looked the worse for wear.”
“Went down the garden path towards the sea,” the boy said. “Arguing about what they were going to do.”
Beatrice followed his pointing finger, rushing ahead. She started shouting, little caring she looked as if she’d gone mad. “Ginny!”
Nothing.
The green of the garden path was a blur. It had turned into a grey, rainy day as she’d waited in the tea shop, but a few flowers had been coaxed to life in the winter, giving her slight merry blurs of color between the greyness.
“Ginny! Geoffrey! Hallo!”
She finally saw them as Ginny turned. “Beatrice!”
Beatrice opened her arms and the girl threw herself into them.
“Oh, Beatrice!”
“Darling? Are you all right?” Beatrice pulled back and examined Ginny. She was breathing. She didn’t look overly damaged, but she seemed a little fragile.
“We don’t have any money. We got robbed, and we’ve been gone too long, and Vi has to be worried and worst of all…Geoffrey—”
Beatrice looked up at the pale boy whose dark circles were prominent crevices under pale blue eyes. He seemed broken inside. Beatrice waved him to her and embraced him as well. He shuddered into her side. His eyes squeezed closed, his mouth gritted tightly, and he trembled.
“It’s going to be all right,” Beatrice told him and then saw Smith had found them. He paced forward lion-like once again.
He had that self-satisfied smirk that said he’d be collecting on his wager.
Beatrice shook her head at him. “We can’t take them home like this.”
He eyed her, lifting a brow.
She sighed and then told him, “I need you to get a room with a bath and then get them something to wear that isn’t torn and that looks as though they haven’t been robbed and slept outside.”
Smith gave her a nod and stalked back toward the village.
Ginny shuddered against Beatrice. “Is Violet so angry? Is she quite done with the trouble I cause?”
“She’s worried,” Beatrice told Ginny gently. “Violet’s worried because she loves you.” Ginny glanced to the side and Beatrice turned the girl’s face back to her own. “She loves you, and she is not done enough.”
Ginny’s mouth trembled, and Beatrice tucked the girl under her arm and walked her and Geoffrey to the inn. Smith had made the arrangements in short order and sent off for clothing.
While the children were bathing, Beatrice asked Smith, “What now?”
“What now? The number of hours you have to spend with me, the number of questions you need to ask, the number of kisses I intend to give you?”
She shook her head. “Is that the future you’re e
nvisioning? I have some ideas on that subject.”
Her exasperated response was enough to have him grin devilishly. He kissed her forehead. “I suspect we drag them home, invite ourselves to the Wakefield holidays—they’re definitely going to have the good kind of puddings—and spend some evenings walking alone while I answer your questions.”
“You have a sweet tooth?” Beatrice asked.
“I’m full of mysteries,” Smith told her. “I love a good pudding.”
“Questions?” She eyed him and let loose with them. “Your real name, where you’re from, whether you’re entirely disconnected from the world, why you are a private investigator, what crimes you have committed in the last fortnight—I could keep going.”
“All questions I’ll answer when I have you to myself. What a delightful happy Christmas this is going to be.”
Beatrice felt as though he might be telling the truth. A happy, unexpected holiday gift.
The END
Thanks for diving in and learning more about the wart, Beatrice, and Smith. I hope you loved it as much as I loved writing it. For more books in this series, click here. To read Violet’s side of the events, check out A Jolly Little Murder which is already available.
Silver Bells for Santa
From the Jazz and Gin Cozy Mysteries
By Carolyn L. Dean
Chapter 1
“Um, is that supposed to be that way?” Edwina asked, using her empty pie plate to gesture at the tower of licking-hot flame coming from the dark pan on the stove.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Mrs. O’Doul yelped in horror. She dropped her wooden spoon on the floor with a clatter and leaped sideways to grab a metal stockpot lid, then slammed it down on the cast iron skillet. Fire mostly contained, smoke poured upward from the edges of the lid, as the black contents of the pan hissed inside.
“That should do it! Grab me a kitchen towel, will you?” she asked Edwina, wide-eyed, as she stood back and watched the flickering flames slowly die down and sputter into sooty smoke.