A Jolly Little Murder Page 2

  The fire was crackling in a hearth that could have been built two hundred years before. The hearth was made of massive stones and the mantel had been topped with garland and glass baubles. The air was scented with bread, garlic, ginger, mulled wine, and chips. A combination of traditional pub scents combined with holiday spices and flavors.

  Violet glanced at the board where the day’s specials were written in chalk and found that in addition to the stew Violet and Jack were looking for, there were also a few Christmas dinner items, including turkey legs, game pie, mince pie, and fruit cake.

  They took a table and ordered. Violet sighed in relief to be sitting in something that wasn’t moving while Jack’s head cocked and he frowned lightly.

  “Mayor Potter?”

  The fellow turned. His eyes were bulging a bit, and he had a ruddy nose and cheeks, and hair sprouting from his ears with mere wisps on his head. He grinned widely at Jack’s face, however, and stood up, leaning on a thick cane. “Jack, my boy! How are you?”

  Jack shook the man’s hand and turned to Violet. “Mayor Potter, do join us. Maybe we can buy you a pint? My wife, Violet.”

  “Married, are you?” He winked at Violet with a merry gaze and then lifted both brows at Jack in doubt.

  Jack’s burst of laughter was followed by, “I’m surprised by it as well.”

  The age that had seemed obvious before faded away in the light of the mayor’s animated chatter with Jack. He dove into telling Jack what seemed like decades of updates from people that Jack would have known, and Violet listened, watching as her husband leaned in, asked questions, and laughed at stories. The names were all foreign to Violet, but she loved the expressions that moved over his face.

  She lingered over her beef stew while Jack listened and then looked up in surprise when he gasped, “Really? No!”

  Violet bit her bottom lip to keep back the observation that he sounded rather like a duo of ladies gossiping about the girls they liked less. Instead, she focused more tightly when he added, “A fire? Did they live?”

  Violet’s gaze widened and all trace of humor left.

  “They lived. No real hurts. Some coughing that’ll last for a while, but hopefully not too long. Lost everything else really. What’s worse—though—”

  Violet hated to lean forward, so she held herself back with strict self-control.

  “It’s that demmed fool Cowell.”

  “Cowell?” Jack frowned and glanced at Violet as if she’d know. She shook her head, and he winked at her before returning to Mayor Potter.

  “The new mayor. Never would have retired, would I, if I’d known the fools would vote that lad in. This is what happens when you give ladies the vote. Campaigned to him, he did. Targeted the ladies and stole my job.”

  “Here now,” Violet said.

  Mayor Potter hmphed and shot her a dark look. “He’s got half the town’s matrons in love with him. Our little hamlet has become a den of iniquity, betrayal, and broken vows.”

  “It can’t be that bad, can it?” Jack asked, waving over one of the pub lads.

  “Oh, can’t it!” Potter snuffled and thumped his beer mug on the table for another dark ale. “It can indeed!”

  Jack waited and Potter snuffled again, accepting his next mug of dark ale as his due.

  “I tell you what. He started attending the ladies auxiliary meetings. Flattering them. Walking the prettiest home. Pretending as if every word that falls from their lips is brilliant.”

  Violet pressed her lips together to stop herself from jumping to the defense of her sex.

  “Come on now, Potter,” Jack argued, “that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s giving them other attentions.”

  “Perhaps not,” Potter said, taking quite a large gulp of his ale, but then he said, “My Hildy isn’t one to say the worst of other women, but she has nothing good to say of a few of those ladies in that club. The charitable works have fallen off, and since her husband started coming, poor Mrs. Cowell has disappeared.”

  Violet wasn’t sure what to think of the fellow, but she wasn’t going to assume that the ladies club were indulging the mayor. She doubted it fiercely. She had to admit, however, there was a part of her who very much wanted to see this ladies auxiliary club in action.

  “What I was tell you, my boy,” Potter said, cutting into Violet’s rumination, “is that Cowell refused to use the donations for the Darcy family this year. Lost their house, all their things, and their neighbors are being asked to donate for some self-indulgent statue. Wouldn’t have gone like that in my day, I tell you. Wouldn’t have had to have a few of the elders of the church rebel—half because they’re tired of hearing the mayor’s praises sung by the ladies—and organize things instead. Now there’s two sets of folks asking for money, and Cowell leans on the table a bit, doesn’t he? Pressures a fellow. Makes ‘em feel like they’re stingy. The folks who’d have helped the poor Darcys are without funds when the elders turn up asking for a charitable giving that anyone would want to donate to.”

  The rage was enough to have a bit of spittle flying from the man’s mouth, and he wiped his mouth with his napkin, shook his head angrily and then muttered darkly.

  “That doesn’t feel right, does it?” Jack asked.

  “Be prepared, my boy,” Potter added meaningfully, glancing at Violet and then lifting his brows dramatically.

  “I can assure you,” Jack told Potter easily, “some small-town mayor isn’t up to persuading Violet to anything she doesn’t want to do, and for some odd reason—she does love my poor self.”

  “Upon occasion,” Violet told him starchily, “though when I don’t like you, I tend to not like anyone at all.”

  Jack laughed, adjusting his collar, and told Potter, “I’ve been in a bit of trouble lately, sir. The truth is, I might need to take you aside and ask for sage advice on how to get beyond those days.”

  Potter laughed, glanced at Violet, and then suggested, “You’re rich, aren’t you? Jewelry? I hear that solves everything.”

  “Violet is rather spoilt in that category.”

  “I told you I am accepting rubies.” Violet sipped her ginger ale, which she loved almost as much as ginger wine. “However, I prefer jewelry to remind me of good times rather than bad.”

  “Better go with something she can’t just buy herself then.” Potter glanced at Violet. “Afraid you’re gonna have to go with the pretty words, lit candles, flower petals spread on the bed, that kind of nonsense.”

  Violet lifted her brows in challenge at Jack and said, “Rubies? Rose petals? Candles? I’ll take it all.”

  “Oh ho—” Potter laughed. “Well now, careful lad. She’s told you what she wants and it’s when we try to side-step that fellows like that fiend Cowell slide in.”

  Violet shook her head and stood. Jack started to get up, and Violet shook her head. “No, no. Have fun, darling. I’m going to visit the ladies, take the dogs for a stretch, and visit that bakery across the way. Cook isn’t expecting us until tomorrow, but I feel certain that some cinnamon buns and cakes will see us through until she’s cooking again.”

  Jack snorted and Violet winked at them both, shaking Potter’s hand one more time, and escaping into the street.

  Chapter 3

  Violet glanced at Jack as he maneuvered down the wet road towards their country house. Despite the time at the pub, she had yet to explain what was on her mind. Jack knew she was pondering something, but given the manuscript on her lap, he most likely thought it had to do with that rather than Ginny and Geoffrey.

  Violet rubbed her hand over Rouge’s belly, who was lying between Vi and Jack. Holmes had taken up position on Jack’s lap, and the puppies were in the basket in the back. They were nearly old enough to go to their homes, and Violet would be happy to see them gone. She really needed to watch Rouge carefully before another lot of pups ended in their laps.

  Violet bit her bottom lip. “I’m concerned—”

  “What about?” Jack asked, glancing at V
iolet and then back at the road.

  “Ginny and Geoffrey.” She said it with careful weight, and Jack understood immediately. The two were supposedly in love. Students in love. Not as supervised as they would be at home. They went to school near each other. Ginny’s school was lax in attendance standards, allowing the students to take control of their education. Geoffrey was floundering in his relationships given that he’d learned that the earl was not, in fact, his birth father.

  “Had a little conversation with Geoffrey already,” Jack told Violet easily. “You’re late to the party, darling Vi. Geoffrey has been told clearly and precisely with dark threats what will happen if he dabbles with our Ginny.”

  “Didn’t Father have that same conversation with Tomas?” Violet asked him, with a lifted brow. Isolde had eloped and fled the country when she’d turned up expecting a child while still unmarried.

  “Tomas was a former soldier, and they were quite a bit older. Geoffrey understands how difficult that situation would be. I think we’re all right, Vi my love.”

  “Are we?” Violet fought a rush of relief while she examined the idea. The thought that she needed to talk to Ginny regardless of Jack’s conversation struck Vi hard and fast and the relief was gone. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I think I might still need to talk to Ginny.”

  “You should,” Jack agreed easily. “Is this on your mind because Lottie asked you for advice?”

  “Am I late to that party as well?”

  “Darling Vi, you’re slow and out of touch. Old-fashioned as you are.”

  Her gaze narrowed on his smirk. Slowly she reached out to flick his ear, but before she succeeded he caught her hand and tangled their fingers. His hold was just a bit tighter than usual to prevent her from escaping and flicking him.

  “How did you know?” Violet asked him. “About Lottie?”

  “Gerald asked me if we were struggling or preventing a family. When I answered, he asked whether you’d help them prevent too. He’s worried about springing too much on Lottie all at once, you know. Being a future countess isn’t so easy, he thinks.”

  “It shouldn’t be that hard to get this information,” Violet muttered, staring out the window. “Really, though. We can’t be the only couple who isn’t quite ready to dive into a family. My goodness man, you were just shot! There will be no more bullet wounds before we start adding little Wakefields. If you leave me, laddie, I will desecrate your grave and find happiness in being the most spoiling aunt England has ever seen. Being a widowed mum, no thank you. It’s too sad.”

  Jack winced and then turned the attention from him. “Let alone that sort of sick, exhausted look Victor carried for far too long. Given how easy his life is, you have to wonder what the fellows who work in mines do. Babes at home, crying all night, working all day with the heavy labor bit. That’s a bleak fate.”

  “You’re the dim one now, lad. The ladies do all the baby bits. The men probably just grouse about the noise.” With a deep voice she said, “Shut that brat up, woman.”

  “The gents are working.” Jack’s tone was innocent.

  “What I’m saying,” Violet shot back, “is that the luxury of Victor’s life and the good nature of his heart is why he could and did help. I’m sure some of those working fathers would help too, but you have to have your wits in a mine or factory.”

  “True enough,” Jack said, kissing the back of her hand. “I’ll help you when our time comes, darling, and we’ll steal one of those excellent nannies.”

  Violet put down her manuscript, lifted Rouge onto her lap, and scooted closer to Jack. “Parenting Ginny is hard. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

  “Ginny is a different creature than our children will be,” Jack told Violet. “Half-living on the streets, caring for her grandmother, losing her parents, being generally unsupervised. She has been through so much and matured long before you and Victor and then Kate and I were dipping our oars into life. We’re far more likely to have a spoilt brat like Isolde or Geoffrey.”

  Violet gasped and pulled away. “Bloody hell, you’re right. What a day for terrible realizations.”

  “We’ll have to make them work, like servants,” Jack suggested. “To keep them humble.”

  “Or do service,” Violet countered. “We could take them up to the orphanage.”

  “No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “That’s putting our spoilt brats in the faces of those struggling children and making them suffer by comparison.”

  “Oh goodness,” Violet sighed, “I hadn’t thought of that. I am terrible.”

  “You’d have thought of it,” Jack said. “You’re as protective of those poor mites as anyone. Besides, Kate’s mother would have stopped you.”

  “True,” Violet agreed. She and Victor might finance much of that orphanage, but Mrs. Lancaster was the queen there.

  Violet took a long bath when they reached the country house. It was mid-afternoon and Victor and Kate had arrived, Kate declaring that her first order of business was a long soak herself, followed by quite a long nap. She had disappeared up the stairs after kissing each of Violet’s cheeks. The nanny had been on holiday just before they’d arrived, and Kate had dark circles under her eyes from the babies.

  Violet had taken a shorter bath in favor of a longer nap, and then she dressed in a dark green dress, with lace across the torso embellished with the shape of holly leaves within the silk.

  She put on a feathered headpiece with a jaunty peacock decoration over her ear. She wrapped her black pearls around her neck, letting the loop fall to her waist, and followed it with her diamond choker and then emerald earbobs to match her dress. She carefully put rouge on her cheeks, kohl on her eyes, and mascara on her lashes. With a brilliant red lipstick on her lips, she made a kissing face, winked at herself, and tied red bows around both Rouge and Holmes’s necks to add to the seasonal flair.

  Dinner was a beef roast with roasted vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, and potted shrimps. It wasn’t quite on the level of what their holiday dinner would be, but it felt festive being served with mulled wine and a cranberry trifle, and made even more so with her friends and family seated around the table.

  Violet had little expectation before they’d pulled out the decorations after dinner that Lila would help. On the best of days, Lila was dramatically lazy. With a baby on the way? After a heavy dinner? The only finger she’d be lifting was the one to sip her tea.

  Lila’s baby belly was bulging, and she’d had an armchair carried from the parlor to the hall to watch. The baby was due in March or April, they weren’t entirely certain since neither of them had realized she was with child immediately. They just laughed and shrugged and then threw out wild guesses of when their angel would arrive. Even if their doctor had given them a timeline, Denny at least, preferred to change the answer with each subsequent time.

  Vi gestured to Denny with a handful of decorations in silent command. “I prefer to watch.” Denny leaned against the wall in the front hall, eggnog in hand, and glanced at Lila, who simply lifted a brow at him.

  “Get some garland,” Violet told Denny without equivocation, “and wrap it prettily around the banister or you’ll find that the gin has dried up only for you. Add some pretty baubles or tinsel, and be artistic.”

  “That’s no way to Christmas,” he declared with woebegone eyes. “Working! Who’d have thought it would come to this? Isn’t this why my dear aunt left me funds? To laze about and watch others work? No offense, Hargreaves, but I feel certain you have the touch and the eye for such things.”

  “None taken, Mr. Denny,” Hargreaves said idly.

  “No!” Violet snapped. “Aren’t we having a holiday? With the trimmings? Ready yourself, laddie. You’ll be hanging baubles, lighting candles, and making merry. Happy Christmas and all that,” Violet said sourly and then scowled. “I did not want to say that sarcastically. Laddie, you had better watch yourself. I’ve got my mean eyes on.”

  Jack had just tied the mistletoe over the d
oorway to the parlor and he had no sympathy for the whining Denny. “I’m the injured one, yet you see me here, slaving away.” Jack tugged Violet into the shadow of the mistletoe and kissed her soundly. She sighed into his chest and said, “You’re a good lad. Unlike these two.”

  Victor and Denny glanced at each other, somehow transforming from married men into the schoolboys they had once been.

  “My hands are full,” Victor declared, juggling the babies in each arm. While Agatha looked on like the sweetling she was, Vivi grabbed Victor’s ear and wrenched it. Kate had disappeared after dinner stating that she was going to bed early, despite her nap, and Victor had stared after her with concern. He glanced at Violet, and she saw something in his gaze that worried her.

  All was well with Kate, wasn’t it? But if it were truly wrong, he would have said something.

  Violet crossed to take her namesake, Vivi. “Get to work, laddie, and give Agatha to lazy Lila.”

  “I’m a sacred vessel,” Lila declared. “Growing an angel. These things are not done easily, you know.”

  Given Lila was glowing with beauty and health, Violet simply shot her a dark look. Kate had made being with child seem like a journey through the shadow of death long before the final hour. Lila, however, made it seem a bit like a dance of mayday.

  Someone rang the doorbell stridently and then rang it again.

  “Your child will be a demon,” Victor told Lila as he crossed to the front door. Victor swung the door open and blinked in surprise as a telegram boy gestured with an envelope.

  “Telegram for Mrs. Wakefield, Mr. Carlyle, or”—he blushed brilliantly—“any damn person capable of answering.” The boy shuffled and avoided their gazes as he added, “That was a quote.”

  “Gerald does have a turn of phrase, doesn’t he?” Denny asked, leaning against Lila’s armchair.

  “They want to know if you want to answer,” the boy said.