Hijinks & Murder Page 4

  “I’m fine,” Violet told him. She cast Jack a harsh look and then sipped her water once again to avoid speaking further.

  “That was a telling glance your way, Jack. What did you do? Can’t you buy her flowers or jewelry and move this stage along?”

  Jack winced as Violet’s gaze narrowed on her father. He didn’t seem to feel the effect, but Jack knew her too well to not see what was happening behind her even expression.

  “I’m afraid it’s not so simple,” Jack said and then added, “and best not discussed over drinks any more than what happened to her aunt.”

  The earl lifted his brows, glanced between them, and then said, “My apologies.” He stood and then leaned down, dropping a casual kiss on Violet’s forehead. “I’ll see what I can find out. Meet me at my club later, Jack, and I’ll fill you in.”

  Vi’s husband nodded as her father left. She didn’t miss that he’d ordered her husband to the gentlemen’s club rather than coming by their house or sending for them at his home. Violet hid her hurt and turned to Jack.

  He had also turned her direction. “Did you sleep at all?”

  Vi bit down on her bottom lip. “It seems that telling yourself to calm down and let things go isn’t as easy as doing so. My nighttime mind completely ignored my instructions.”

  Jack’s laugh didn’t make her feel better, but the twinkle in his eyes did.

  “Why do you love me when I’m full of madness?”

  “It makes life spicy,” he grinned evilly and she nudged his leg under the table.

  “Does it?” She scowled at him, but she meant it for herself.

  Had she slept? No. She’d tossed and turned and worried and hated him and loved him and wondered why things seemed so dark all the time when they were endlessly bright for others. Lila never saw the gray days. Victor—who had shared a womb with Violet—never felt the gray days. Jack seemed to see the darkness and yet it never touched him the way it suffocated her.

  Why did she wake on days where she should be happy and feel as though she were in a black cloud? Why did she suffer when so many others didn’t? And how did she find her way out of it? Instead of pouring all of that on him, she forced herself to grin. “Just because my mind, heart, and imagination don’t align as I tell them to.”

  “You never were one for following orders,” he told her, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it, “not even from yourself.”

  They lingered over drinks before Jack excused himself for some appointment or other. He was probably stepping into Scotland Yard for a meeting that Violet would just as soon not hear about. She let him go without asking him further questions, and for doing so, he pressed a kiss on her head and whispered his love.

  Chapter 5

  Jack took Violet home and left to join her father. She considered going back to bed and pulling the blankets over her head, but she was afraid it would take her weeks to get out of bed again. So, she paced the drawing room, putting things away, rearranging little knick-knacks and eyeing the valuables they left causally lying about.

  “Was that what killed Olly Rees?”

  No one was there to answer her and Violet felt keenly the lack of her friends. Lila and Denny were at Victor’s country house, refusing to move until their baby was born. Kate and Victor were held captive by poor Kate’s endless sicking up. Rita had returned to Scotland with her father and taken Ham along. Even her ward, Ginny, was back at school.

  “Did some poor relative, struggling to survive,” she said aloud to her non-present friends, “walk into the man’s home and see the casual wealth? See a way to escape their poverty? Is our killer someone who didn’t love Olly and was simply jealous?”

  Violet could imagine it too easily. She had been the poor, struggling relative, but the idea of murder would have never crossed her mind.

  It could as easily be that Olly Rees knew of a crime that the murderer kept hidden. Maybe he was murdered over what he knew? Maybe he was murdered for God knows what reason. How could she guess? The Reeses were complete strangers, so guessing might as well be trying to figure out the killer at the end of an Agatha Christie book she hadn’t read.

  Violet called for Hargreaves and asked him to telephone Phoebe Rees. Perhaps a girls’ day of shopping would be enough to pull Violet from the megrims and give her an idea of what in the world had been happening at the Rees home during the holidays that had led to the death of an energetic old man.

  Violet invited Phoebe to her favorite boutique and the woman came despite being large with child, a shape the boutique didn’t cater to.

  “I am sorry about Aunt Stevens,” Phoebe said as she took a seat near the dressing room. “She was quite awful. Sometimes I think she’s a little batty, stirring up trouble and seeing things that aren’t there.”

  Violet stepped out of the room in a dark blue dress edged with gold. She turned in the mirrors and looked at the shop girl. “No. It’s too big.” To Phoebe, Violet said, “I can’t really say it’s all right, can I? I won’t. She jabbed me right where it would hurt the most while she popped a petit four into her mouth.”

  Violet didn’t, however, agree with the batty assessment. Perhaps, past feeling sympathy for those who were struggling, but not batty. It was a clever woman who knew where to jab and make it hurt.

  “She’s a hateful old thing. Grandfather Rees was lovely. His sister is sour and likes to watch you squirm. Then just as quickly she turns and is kind. So you never know what to expect. It makes one quite twisty. I would rather she be cruel all the time rather than kind then cruel then kind then back again. If you knew she was going to be awful, you could go in with your shield raised.”

  Violet took a deep breath in, glancing back as she asked casually, “So who do you think killed Olly Rees?”

  Phoebe’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. “Killed him? He was old.”

  “But showing no sign of illness.” Violet realized that as she pursued a puzzle, the greyness faded. Her heart lightening at the coming dawn of happiness that felt selfish considering she was discussing a man’s death. It had begun earlier when she paced the drawing room, talking aloud to no one. Her mind had found a focus and she wasn’t going to let it drop easily. “If someone were to have killed him, why would they do so?”

  Phoebe stared at Violet as though she’d gone mad and then slowly answered, “I don’t know.”

  “Oh just guess,” Vi prompted. How hard was it to throw out an idea during a gossip session.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think he was murdered. Why would I ponder on that?”

  Violet’s mouth twisted as she faced Phoebe. “But you did like him?”

  Phoebe nodded as if Violet were stupid. “Of course I did. He was a kind old man. My husband has endless stories about how wonderful he was. Grandfather Olly would take his grandsons out for these long hikes and talk to them about his early days. In fact, he never left out his granddaughter. You can be sure that everyone else isn’t as careful to love my Alice as they are to love my sister-in-law’s sons.”

  Violet lifted a brow and Phoebe shrugged.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Phoebe snapped. “I’d be happy to just have a couple of daughters.”

  “But your husband? he adores Grandfather Olly?”

  Phoebe nodded, clearly bored with the conversation. “Yes, yes. Olly would walk and talk and tell the stories of his parents and grandparents. Harold loved the stories. He couldn’t wait for another long walk with Olly. When he missed that final walk with Olly when Olly went with Charlotte and not Harold, he was jealous like a small child.”

  Violet took the next dress from the shop girl. “Olly sounds wonderful.”

  “He was,” Phoebe sniffled not losing the edge of boredom. “I miss the old boy. He used to call me ‘my pretty.’ Hello my pretty,’ he’d say. Then he’d take my hand and kiss me as if I were stepping out with him onto a ballroom floor.”

  “What a lovely memory,” Violet said quietly. “I do think I’d have
liked him.”

  “Harold wants to name the baby Olly, but I th-think it’s a girl.”

  Violet took a breath in. She didn’t want to get drawn into a discussion of babies and pregnancy. “Olivia is an excellent name. Olly would be an adorable nickname for her.”

  “I hate being pregnant,” Phoebe moaned. “My sister loves it. She glows. She’s a shining star of beauty who doesn’t seem to feel the burden at all. I feel like I’m being suffocated by my own body.”

  “What about Grandfather Olly?” Violet asked, disregarding Phoebe’s list of woes at her state. “Is there any reason to believe someone could have killed him?”

  “Won’t you let it go?” Phoebe groaned, rubbing her belly and then scowling around the shop that didn’t cater to her needs.

  Violet shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Why?” Phoebe stared at Violet. “You have everything. Why dig into our mess when you can do whatever you want.”

  “You could?” Violet asked.

  Phoebe scoffed and shook her head. “Your Jack clearly lets you do whatever you want. Harold isn’t quite so generous. He’s a bit jealous to be honest. I suppose I should be happy he still wants me to be his rather than not caring at all.”

  Oh, Violet didn’t agree with that at all, but she hid her thoughts.

  Phoebe’s tirade continued with, “How long have you been married? And you aren’t carrying a baby yet? You can’t do that without his help,” she added as though Violet hadn’t the first idea about how to go about attaining motherhood.

  “We haven’t been married long,” Violet answered simply.

  “Surely…before…”

  “It’s not really any of your business.” Violet took the dress back into the dressing room, dropped the new one over her head and returned to the trifold of mirrors and Phoebe, knowing she was being a hypocrite when she continued her questioning. Surely it wasn’t any of her business, either, what had happened in the Rees family. Except someone wanted her involved. “What about your sisters-in-law? You don’t seem to like each other much.”

  “There’s Delilah and Charlotte. Delilah—well, you saw. Having my daughter made Delilah jealous and it’s worse now. Technically, she’s a cousin-in-law, but they might as well all be siblings. Delilah wants nothing more than a houseful of babies, so of course, I am the one who has one after another while her cradle is empty. Charlotte has four little ones, but her little children are all with her overseas most of the time, so Delilah doesn’t envy Charlotte quite the same way.”

  Violet took a long breath in to hold back a stern reprimand. It wasn’t that Violet disagreed with Phoebe, it was more that her tone was so unkind. “It must be hard to see others have children and want them so badly yourself,” Violet said gently.

  Phoebe shrugged rather callously and then added, “It’s not my fault, but she makes it seem as though it is. I find it harder and harder to care given her nasty asides. She takes every scrap of joy and twists it. She even tries to steal my Alice’s heart. I wouldn’t be surprised if she whispered to Alice that I wanted her to be a boy.”

  “Would she have killed Grandfather Olly?”

  “I don’t know,” Phoebe groaned, clearly tired of the line of questions. “Why would anyone kill him? He gave his children an education. He was a good man. There isn’t enough money to change anything for anyone and spur them into the evil through their greed. He was a good man, who was loved by his family.”

  Violet winced. “Then why?”

  “Maybe,” Phoebe said begrudgingly, “it wasn’t about money.” It was the closest Phoebe came to suggesting his death hadn’t been natural.

  Violet stared at Phoebe and then said agreed, slowly, “Maybe it wasn’t about money.”

  Violet bought dresses almost absently as she gossiped with Phoebe. Her old school friend refused to be pulled back into a conversation about Olly Rees, but Violet was eventually able to ask her about where she lived and what they did.

  “Oh,” Phoebe grinned brightly. “We live here in London, thank goodness.”

  Violet asked about her rooms and Harold’s work and what she did with her days and before asking, “Did your grandfather live alone?”

  “Oh yes, Aunt Stevens has been living with Grandfather Olly for some time.”

  Violet glanced a question that begged for elaboration.

  “When her husband died, she said the empty home made her sad, though Harold and I assumed she wanted to live with her brother because she’s a penny-pincher.”

  “Is she? That house party she’s speaking of doesn’t sound anything like penny-pinching.”

  “Oh,” Phoebe grinned wickedly. “She spends money. She just wants to spend it on being important and lording it around a bit. I don’t mind so much if it keeps her from being too nasty.” Phoebe laughed and then suggested, “That red scarf would go so well with the red dress you bought.”

  Violet examined it before she scrunched her nose and asked, “You don’t mind her lording about?”

  “She does so in a way that’s generous and benefits my family. When she isn’t tossing about her cruel little taunts, she can be a fun old broad.”

  Violet grinned as if she were interested in the gossip and not delving into the intricacies of the family with the intent of trying to determine whether Grandfather Olly had been murdered and who might have had a reason to do so.

  Phoebe didn’t appear to notice the subtle direction of Violet’s questions or she surely would have stopped the conversation. Instead she nodded towards a passing woman and asked, “Doesn’t she look like Tara Longfellow? Oh I did hate her in school.”

  “She was a handful,” Violet agreed. “I was always convinced she went through my things whenever I wasn’t in my room.”

  “She did,” Phoebe said with a dark look. “I caught her twice leaving other girl’s rooms. I even started heading up early from lunch to catch her. She finally stopped searching it then, and I never found her new timeframe, but I found my things rifled enough to be sure someone had.”

  “I did too!” Violet agreed. “I thought about trying to catch them, but other than infuriating me, I was busy with other things. I just ended up locking my trunk with anything that was private.”

  Phoebe glanced over at Vi and then added, “I did the same. And I left out nonsense to confuse her.”

  Violet fluffed her hair in the mirror and then asked, “Aside from Delilah’s issue with you—”

  “Which is not my fault, but she makes it seem as though it is,” Phoebe interrupted.

  Violet bit down on her bottom lip and then continued. “What about the other women in your family? Do they upset her as well?”

  “How can they as easily?” Phoebe sniffed. “For me, Delilah and I are both in London. Charlotte, Harold’s sister, is normally out of the country traveling with her missionary husband. Delilah isn’t watching babies grow, is she? They’re just amorphous ideas for the most part. Whereas my little one is in Delilah’s presence, prancing about being herself and Delilah seems to take it as a personal insult.”

  “Are there no other members of the family around?”

  “There was only Olly and Aunt Stevens in their generation. Aunt Stevens didn’t have any children. Olly had two sons and they each had two. Harold and Charlotte on the one side. Joseph and Alexander for the second son. Alexander isn’t married, but you’ve met Delilah, Joseph’s wife.”

  “So Harold’s father inherits Olly’s house?” Violet asked idly as if she weren’t trying to ferret things out. “Will Mrs. Stevens need to relocate?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “No, no. Use of the house was left to Aunt Stevens while she lives. Harold’s father has his own house that is equally nice.” She eyed Violet askance and said, “I’m not stupid you know. I realize you’re sleuthing. I’m just not sure why.”

  “Curiosity,” Violet lied. Was it Phoebe who had left the note in Violet’s house? Was she, perhaps, just pretending to be unaware as to why Violet was so curious?
Violet hooked her arm through Phoebe’s and asked, “Dessert?”

  Chapter 6

  Violet returned to her house thinking she remembered why she’d liked Phoebe well enough and had also never missed her during the holiday breaks. Vi found Jack inside the house, smoking in the parlor, and scowled at him from where she stood in the great hall.

  “I bought oodles of dresses.” Her tone was deliberately sour.

  “Fabulous,” he said idly, reading through her act. “Did you jump in any puddles?”

  Vi had to turn her head to hide her sudden grin. When she had her face under control, she shot him a dark look before letting Hargreaves take her coat. She longed to curl up next to Jack. Spending the day shopping with someone other than Lila, Rita, or Kate was exhausting.

  “Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Vi?”

  She nodded and winked at Hargreaves to let him know she was playing before crossing to Jack. She loomed over him with her hands on her hips. “Puddles? What is this madness? Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  Jack set his cigarette aside. “Is that how you want to play this?”

  Vi tried an innocent expression, but it didn’t work. She tried to emulate her dogs when they wanted a treat, but he was unmoved. He lifted a brow at her and she reached out to push it back down with her forefinger.

  Jack took her by her hips and pulled her onto his lap. “Are you done yet?”

  “Sirrah!” she gasped. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean,” he said gently. He looked her over as though he were reading a book and she noticed the way his jaw loosened and his shoulders relaxed. She was reading him as easily as he was reading her. “You’re feeling better.”

  “Perhaps a puzzle like Olly Rees’ death is enough of a diversion for me to be distracted from whatever else is going on inside my head. Or perhaps the reason why I’m—I don’t know? Broken? Is that the right word?”