Murder in the Shallows Read online

  Table of Contents

  Murder in the Shallows

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Also By Beth Byers

  Also By Amanda A. Allen

  Author’s Note

  Copyright

  Murder in the Shallows

  THE VIOLET CARLYLE MYSTERIES

  BOOK 6

  BY: BETH BYERS

  Chapter 1

  Jack led the way through the crowded train station as they hurried to reach the train. They were late—all Vi’s fault, of course. He was too respectable and prepared to be late for the train if she weren’t involved.

  Violet winced as she thought back to her morning. She should have been wiser. She never thought, of course, that she’d spend so much time talking to her wayward ward, Ginny, about her failing classes. Violet had imagined she’d only tell the girl that a tutor was coming, to be good, give Vi’s spaniel extra loves while she was gone, and torture her twin, Victor. Instead, Vi had been forced to listen to the well-justified woes of Ginny, who had been dubbed Lady Guttersnipe by her spoiled classmates and even some of the teachers. The staff would be hearing from the ‘Lady’ version of Violet Carlyle.

  How to handle the rest of Ginny’s woes? Violet had no idea. Nothing had made her feel more helpless than being caught floundering as Ginny poured her troubles out. Somehow, Violet had stumbled through the conversation and had ended it in a flurry of dressing and a need for a stiff drink.

  It certainly didn’t help that Jack had been early to meet Violet, so he had to wait even longer for her as she dressed. Victor had ‘helped’ by harassing her from the moment she had put on her dress to the moment she ran out of her room with her hat and hatpin in hand.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she called as she ran down the stairs.

  “We might miss the train,” Jack said in a tight voice, “but it’ll be fine. There are other trains.”

  “Will you forgive me?”

  His frown disappeared as she stared up at him, and he took her hand, stepping close into her body, and promised, “Always.”

  There had been a change in his gaze in the last few weeks that had Violet concerned, the same one there as he promised to forgive her. It had sent her mind floundering. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of the way he had been acting. The paranoid part of her wondered if something about her was bothering him. Or, maybe he needed to do something that would upset her. She kept waiting for him to out with it, but instead he continued to leave her wondering.

  They had hurried out of the house and to the waiting black cab. The driver loaded Violet’s case and then maneuvered the auto through the crowded streets. They were close enough to make the train if nothing interfered, which only left them worrying rather than leaning back to relax. Jack’s knee was bouncing as he glanced at his pocket watch before looking out the window. His shoulders were tense, and he leaned forward as though he could will the autos in front of them to clear the way.

  Violet felt certain that Jack would have shrugged off missing their intended train if they hadn’t been traveling with his good friend, Hamilton Barnes.

  During the war, Jack had worked with Mr. Barnes investigating crimes committed within the military ranks. When they’d come home, Mr. Barnes had pulled Jack into Scotland Yard when cases came that involved former military men. As Jack’s experience grew and his brilliance at investigating became apparent to more than only Barnes, Jack was asked in on more and more cases. These days, Jack was investigating as often as not.

  It was for Mr. Barnes that they were traveling to Oxford. He had written a recent journal article about modern investigative techniques and the application of recent learnings in science. He had invited them to the lecture along with a dinner and reception in his honor.

  It was a hot summer’s day, and between comforting Ginny and dressing in a hurry, Violet was boiling. She had selected a pale pink sailor’s dress with cream accents and a drop waist. It was particularly loose on her, so she hoped it would cool her off. So far her hopes were being dashed again and again. She fanned herself with papers from her bag, fairly certain they were the first few pages of the manuscript Victor had sent with her to look over, but at the moment, they were the reason she hadn’t fainted from the heat.

  “What happened?” Jack asked as they left the auto. He took both of their cases and hurried ahead before Vi could answer, worried more about getting on the train than an immediate answer, she was sure. She followed after those broad shoulders, keeping easy track of him in the crowd. They already had their tickets, so all they had to do was make it to the train. The whistle was blowing as they ran, but Jack’s massive form seemed to part the seas of the crowd as they ran, with Violet’s much smaller one following in his wake. Jack leapt onto the train, turning to help her, but she was already standing behind him. She gave him a cheeky grin, and he shook his head.

  “I forget sometimes that you aren’t the flower your name proclaims.”

  She winked at him. “Jack, darling, I have a twin brother. I have spent the entirety of my life either chasing or running faster than blokes like you. Though I will say that your long shanks increase the challenge.”

  He snorted and rolled his eye as the train rolled away from the station.

  Even though Violet was tall for a woman, with Jack a few steps above her she’d gone from feeling delicate to downright childlike. She was slim, which made her seem longer, especially with her sharp features. She had dark coloring, clever eyes, and a lively expression that leant additional charm to already pretty features.

  Jack, however, was a hulk of a man. He was taller than most, broader than most, and quite muscular. With those penetrating eyes, he could be alarming for the average person. As for Violet, he generally made her feel both safe and cherished. It helped that he had made it clear he loved her, both with his words and even more with his actions. It was apparent in the way he put her happiness at the forefront of his personal concerns. The fact that Jack was an honorable man was even more comforting. She could entirely trust his word when he declared his love.

  She’d had to defend his character more than once. Too often, people claimed that Jack pursued her only for her status as an earl’s daughter or for her recent inheritance. Violet’s stepmother hated that Jack worked, and liked to mention variations of the scoundrel that Jack must be in every letter.

  “We made it,” Violet pronounced rather unnecessarily. “What a promising beginning to a couple of days! Though you should be warned that tomorrow I intend to let you do all the work on the water. I will simply fan myself, adjust my hat, and trail my fingers in the river. It will be a good contrast, since I was forced to race to the train today. Keeping you and me in good form and all that.”

  “I think that means,” Jack said, as he pulled her into the train carriage, “that you will have to carry the conversation during the gathering after Ham’s speech. Perhaps something like, ‘Oh, the wicked weather.’” Jack grinned as he added, “‘What a lovely dress, Miss So-and-so! Did you get it in Paris? My brother and I were thinking of acquiring some chocolate liqueur and a new wardrobe. I do need a fancy dress for that party Algie is having.’ Or other inanities that pass for conversation.”

  This holiday version of Jack startle
d Violet, reminding her of his teasing during their recent trip to Cuba.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Violet said dryly. “Algie would never throw a party that he had to pay for.”

  Jack laughed, and then his head tilted as he examined her. “It is hot.”

  “Wickedly hot,” Violet agreed, using his word. “My new favorite way of describing the weather.” She fanned herself. “I’ve wilted.”

  She must be horrifically red for him to comment on the heat. She dug out her handkerchief and dabbed at her forehead. Any remnants of her powder had to have already disappeared.

  “Shall we find Ham, take a seat, and dream of ices?” He knew she’d assent, so he closed the carriage door and led the way down the aisle, blocking Violet’s view of anything ahead with those shoulders.

  “Oh!” Longing filled Violet’s voice. “A lemon one. Or ice cream. Or the both. I like to mix them.”

  “You are spoiled, my darling. Two treats mixed together?” His voice changed as he finished the final word, and Violet felt a flare of concern.

  “Em?” he choked out. “Is that you?”

  Em? Violet bit the inside of her mouth to keep a composed expression, which was immediately challenged by the lilting voice that replied.

  “Jack! How lovely.”

  There was the sound of shuffling, and Violet pushed a little on Jack’s wide back so she could see. As he stepped to the side at her prodding, Violet found a simply dazzling woman sitting next to Mr. Barnes. He was sitting near a window—a rotund man with a bald head, sharp eyes, and a suit that had seen better days. Next to the woman, he seemed all the more plebeian.

  It was the way her features were framed that made her shockingly lovely. She was lush with golden brown hair, lovely golden brown eyes, full lips, and peaches and cream skin. Violet hesitated, feeling an unwelcome flash of jealousy that intensified as the woman—this Em—stepped into Jack’s space and pressed a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a smear of red lipstick. Violet found her gaze frozen on the mark. Those perfect lush lips had left behind a mark on her Jack. Her Jack.

  Jack turned to Violet, his expression smooth as he held out his hand. She put her hand into his and let him draw her close. “Emily, may I present my very dear friend, Lady Violet Carlyle? Vi, this is an old acquaintance of mine, Miss Emily Allen. It is still Miss, isn’t it?”

  “I find myself ill-inclined to retire that form of address, Jack. You know that.” Her expression was fraught with meaning, but Violet refused to let self-doubt creep in. The woman turned to Violet. “We were engaged to be married once. I’m afraid it all came to naught. To be honest, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be Mrs. James Wakefield. No doubt there would be little ones running around and summers spent by the sea.”

  “Perhaps,” Jack said quellingly. He pulled Violet’s hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing her claim on him in the face of those musings.

  “Jack,” Violet said lightly, “you would be tortured by little girls, I think. If ever I have seen a man who will melt for a child with his own eyes, it’s this one. I, on the other hand, am melting in this heat. Such a wicked hot day, isn’t it?” Violet winked at Jack, who didn’t miss her reference from moments ago. “Hullo, Mr. Barnes. So happy to see you. And to see you saved us a spot on this rolling oven. It’s all my fault we’re late, I swear. Jack was innocently delayed by my own naughty self.”

  Behind her bright chatter, Violet was grateful for her earlier thoughts about Jack’s honor. If those ideas hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind, she may well have transformed into a jealous ninny, shooting evil glances at the man she loved. With a man like Jack, she reminded herself, there was no question that he was honorable. As such, there was also no question that whoever this woman was, she was his past. Nothing more.

  Violet and Jack might not be officially linked, but she was certain that when he envisioned those little ones in the future, she was their mother.

  Violet smiled to Mr. Barnes, who was sweating in his corded jacket.

  “Oh, Mr. Barnes. I feel certain you will expire on this train before we reach Oxford. Do loosen your tie and perhaps remove that jacket. I promise I will never, ever tell my stepmother or anyone else who would object.”

  “The Countess?” Miss Allen inquired.

  Violet smirked and nodded, waving her face with the pages from the start of the manuscript. “The most stringent of women for propriety, I’m afraid.”

  “Then she must not be thrilled by you traveling with your gentleman friend to Oxford,” Miss Allen said, with enough acerbic tone to imply improprieties without stating them aloud.

  Violet said nothing at the accusation. She wasn’t going to defend herself to someone stupid enough to break off with Jack and then be tart with Violet because she wasn’t as dim-witted. Violet was well-aware that the expression in this woman’s gaze was envy. “Tell me, Mr. Barnes, are you quaking with nervousness?”

  Mr. Barnes loosened his tie and removed his jacket. He probably wouldn’t have, Vi thought, without Miss Allen’s comment. In taking off the jacket, he was moving the conversation from whatever improprieties Jack and Violet might have been indulging in. Violet inclined her head to Mr. Barnes, knowing he’d follow her thoughts. Like Jack, Mr. Barnes was almost supernatural in his understanding of the human beast and the environment around them.

  “Ham? Nervous?” Miss Allen laughed, but they were all aware she’d used the pet-name for Mr. Barnes simply to elucidate her status versus Violet’s. Miss Allen, unlike Violet, was on a first-name basis with Mr. Barnes. Vi ignored the implication, keeping her cheery smile in place.

  “Nervous?” Mr. Barnes repeated with a shrug. “Perhaps a bit. The fellows who will be at this presentation are all about language and theory. The realities are far different, don’t you know? Especially when dealing with witnesses who lie or criminals actively working against the police force. It’s much easier to solve the crimes humanity commits on each other based off of theories than realities.”

  Violet nodded, as did Miss Allen. The woman seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. Just what experience did she have? Was she a female police officer? But no…not on a first-class carriage in those custom clothes.

  Mr. Barnes continued. “That’s what makes someone like Jack so valuable. He knows and understands the theories, but he also has vast experience with the vagaries of humanity. These Oxford boys, they judge the in-field fellows like Jack or my inspectors without ever understanding what’s it like walking into a crime scene, taking it all in, and finding the relevant clues while disregarding the irrelevant. You, my dear, are an excellent example. You have more—unfortunate and undesirable—but very real experience than those who will be attending this lecture. You will, I think, get even more from it than they, though I hope you will never find yourself using it again.”

  “As do I.” For a moment, Vi forgot they had an audience. “You know, Victor and I are near fighting over our next book. I wonder if we shouldn’t set aside the plans each of us has and write something rather full of detectives and spies and what did you call it? Ah yes. The vagaries of human nature.”

  Mr. Barnes laughed, as Miss Allen’s head cocked. With her gaze fixed on Violet’s makeshift fan, Miss Allen asked, “Write? Are you a writer?”

  Chapter 2

  Violet lied through her smile. “Who doesn’t enjoy playing with words? My brother and I have been telling each other stories since we were in short-pants. Terrifying tales to horrify our poor nanny.”

  She glanced at Jack, setting the pages of the manuscript face down on her lap in what Vi hoped was a casual manner.

  He immediately tried to sidetrack Miss Allen from Violet’s blunder. “Ham, did you read the conclusion of the strangler case near Chinatown?”

  “Nasty business,” Hamilton said. “One of my best men worked on that one and nearly got side-tracked a time or two. This is what I’m talking about, Lady Carlyle. All the learning in the world, all the experience you could poss
ibly have, and you still find yourself derailed by the humans who are fighting against you. They are fighting, you know? Fighting to keep you from finding out what they’ve done. Struggling to…”

  Violet stopped listening. Miss Allen’s gaze was fixed on Violet’s face, and there was enough of a smirk that Violet felt certain the woman was nearly as clever as Jack and Hamilton. Violet’s blunder might have revealed her and Victor’s hidden identity as V. V. Twinnings, author of the fantastical and ridiculous. Especially with their pseudonym and title of the current work on the cover page, resting face down in Violet’s lap.

  The best she could do to excuse herself was to blame being off-her-game with Miss Emily Allen, Jack’s former betrothed, sitting across from her like a horror-filled phantasm.

  Violet loved a good pulp novel. The Tarzan books, the Bulldog Drummond books, even the old Varney the Vampire. They were so fun in their intent to be nothing more than a way to pass an afternoon.

  Her stepmother, however—what would she say if she found out Violet and Victor had supplemented their allowance with writing books that she didn’t even want them reading? What would Father say?

  “You know,” Miss Allen said, in the lull in the conversation. “I also like to play with words. I’m a reporter for the Piccadilly Press. I find that when one wields the pen, women can be equals, don’t you think?”

  Violet shrugged as though she weren’t panicking at the realization that this woman wrote about people like Violet for a living. The Piccadilly Press loved stories about the rich and well-connected. And Violet had exposed her status as an author. Both hers and Victor’s.

  With an even expression, she said, “There’s a reason that Miss Evans published under George Eliot and the Brontës under Bell. One would hope that with our fight for equal rights, we will eventually see women who only write with a man’s name because they wish to and not because they feel the need to do so in order for their work to be received. Perhaps even the day will come when a man will choose to use a woman’s name for the same reasons women currently use men’s names. Some genre that they wish to write in that is dominated by female writers. What a lovely fantasy!”