Clue of Affection Read online

  They took her onto the floor for their own gains, to show the Duchess that they were still interested in her family, even if Violet did not reciprocate their attentions. Violet knew she would have to spend an hour or so listening to her mother recount every gentleman Violet had stepped out with, Marie providing her with a list of their accomplishments and qualities. It would not do for Violet, of course, who had never believed that one dance with a gentleman meant that they would somehow make a suitable husband.

  The ballroom was resplendent. Her eyes caught her younger sister being whirled around the floor, looking as though she was having the time of her life. If only she could be as free!

  Her sister Polly’s fair amber blonde curls were intricately pinned to her head, her smile bright as she threw her head back in laughter. Violet smiled at her sister but self-consciously raised a hand to her dark chestnut locks, simply pulled back into a loose chignon. She did love the dress she was wearing that evening. The lilac of her satin slip peeked through the white lace gown, and around her neck she wore a sapphire jewel Thomas had brought her as a gift from the Caribbean.

  Growing somewhat tired of her own thoughts and melancholy mood, Violet rose quietly and made her way, as unobtrusively as possible, along the side of the ballroom until she reached the French doors. They were wide open, thankfully, and the cool night air reached in to welcome her, wrapping itself around her shoulders and drawing her further outdoors.

  There were bound to be couples walking along the paths, and Violet absolutely did not want to stumble onto an improper embrace, so she decided, therefore, to wander into the lush sprawl of greenery extending from the balcony. Her slippers made no sound on the soft grass, as she walked further into the lamplit gardens, finding them quite beautiful in the dim light. Rolling green lawns were framed by hedgerows, while the lamplight shone on bridges, statues, and flowerbeds. Alone once more, she thought to herself, a little ruefully. You should be used to this by now. In some ways, she envied Thomas, able to free himself from the shackles of societal expectation and pursue his own path. If only she could do the same! Her life lacked adventure and excitement, turning into a regular, staid routine that consisted of staying out of her mother’s way and losing herself in books. Books that told her of life that was meant to be explored, of so much more waiting for her, should she only be willing to go in search of it.

  The difficulty was that, no matter how much she was willing to seek a different life, she simply could not. Thomas was able to do what he pleased because he was a gentleman, and gentlemen held all the power. In addition, he had funds of his own and could spend them as he pleased. Of course, Violet had some wealth also, but it had to be carefully controlled, just in case she was never to marry. She could not simply spend what she wished on whatever she desired, for then she would be a pauper in her elder years, should she live that long. Of course, she could throw herself on the mercy of one of her siblings, should that happen, but the thought was not something Violet could stomach. That was completely unfair and she would not allow herself to become a burden. That meant that, for the time being, she was stranded in this life, stuck between an interfering, determined mother and her dreams of an exciting and fulfilling life.

  Sitting down heavily on a stone bench, Violet looked up to the night skies, letting her eyes wander over the heavens. When she saw how wide and dark the sky was, she thought how small she was in comparison, and felt more than inconsequential. Perhaps she should simply give in and live the way her mother wanted, accepting whichever of the gentlemen seemed the least difficult. It would be a sad state of affairs to give in now, however, when all was not completely lost. Yes, she would soon be classed as a spinster, but was holding out for love too much to ask? Bess would be disappointed should she marry for anything else now, but one must also do what she could with whatever opportunities presented themselves.

  A murmur of voices had her tensing at once, dropping her head to gaze around the gardens. Was she about to find herself in the way of an embracing couple? No matter how improper the liaison was, Violet did not want to find herself viewing such a thing. It would be quite mortifying for all parties involved.

  Glancing around her, and grateful for the lanterns that lit the paths, she looked for a place to sit alone, and as she hurried down the path to find such a place, she was relieved when she stumbled upon a small gazebo. It was recessed in the corner of the gardens, enclosed by trees and shrubs with vines trailing over the latticework of the wooden walls, sheltering a small bench. It was exceedingly dark, well hidden, and as she circled it, Violet found her heart hammering in her chest. Was she about to meet some terrifying ghost within? Would there be some poor kidnapped girl held inside, and it would be up to Violet to free her from her captors?

  Laughing to herself at her vivid imagination, Violet walked inside and stopped dead, waiting until her eyes adjusted to the gloom before finding a place to sit down. Unfortunately for her, there were neither ghosts nor a kidnapped girl, meaning that her life was bound on the same dull trajectory it had always been.

  Your imagination is much too wild, she told herself, sternly. Get a hold of yourself, Violet.

  Shaking her head slightly, Violet sat down on the small wooden bench and hoped that there were not too many spiders about. Her mother would be almost apoplectic with rage should Violet return to the ball with cobwebs adorning her hair and gown! Keeping as quiet and as still as possible, Violet could do nothing more than hope that the couple walking in front of the gazebo would soon return to the ballroom so that she might escape from her confines.

  A slight frown appeared as she realized that the voices she heard were not that of a gentleman and a lady, but that of two men. Perhaps they had some secret business to discuss, which meant that Violet should absolutely not be listening. However, it was not as though she could press her hands to her ears, for the rustling of her skirts as she lifted her arms could easily attract their attention. And, were she truly honest with herself, she was slightly curious. They were just outside the gazebo’s open window, forcing Violet to press herself into the shadows and pray that they would not see her.

  “This cannot go on,” she heard the first man say, his voice harsh and loud. “We have been waiting for too long.”

  “Please, I beg you,” came the second man’s response. “I just need a little more time. A day or two at most!”

  A guttural laugh came from the first man, as a rattling fear ran down Violet’s spine. This did not sound like a pleasant conversation, for the second man sounded quite terrified.

  “It has been quite difficult, you must understand,” the second man continued, sounding as though he were begging the first for some sympathy. “I have my family and my own reputation to think of!”

  The first man sneered. “You have no reputation to speak of any longer, believe you me. The moment you decided to become involved was the moment your reputation was torn to shreds.”

  “You know very well I did not have a choice,” the second man responded, his voice growing slightly higher pitched. “You know that I had no other alternative but to accept. And, as it stands, you are simply going to have to wait.”

  He is trying to show courage, Violet realized, her heart going out to the second man, whoever he was. What bravery in the face of such cruelty!

  Her eyes turned to the open window, trying to make out the figures outside. From the little she could see, she could determine there were two men standing opposite one another, although one was at least half a head taller than the other. He appeared to tower over the second, the moonlight shining down on his slightly balding head. The second man stood as tall as he could, and Violet felt her heart go out to him as the men continued arguing. He was trying so hard to state his case, to prove to the first that he was not about to back down and give in to his harsh demands.

  “I think I have grown tired of waiting,” she heard the first man say and, to her horror, she saw a small pistol being pulled from the man’s pocket, glinting
in the moonlight.

  “No!” exclaimed the second man, backing away slowly. “You cannot mean this, Roberts! You need me.”

  The first man snorted, as though the second man was speaking utter nonsense. “No, Sir Whitby. You are dispensable. We have others that can take your place, others who can do the job better and faster than you have done.”

  “Please,” the second man begged, as the first man took some steps forward. “My family, my wife –”

  “Will be left to deal with the consequences of your failure,” the first man said, calmly, before firing a single shot.

  Violet gasped, pressing both of her hands to her mouth to cover her silent scream. She knew she could not make a sound for fear that she would join Sir Whitby, yet everything in her was screaming at her to run. Her entire body began to tremble as the first man let out a low whistle and, soon, three other men walked past the gazebo window. Violet pressed her back against the wall of her shelter in desperation to hide herself completely, praying that no one would see her. She had to remain perfectly still, although she forced her eyes to remain open so that she would not miss what was going on outside. Not that she knew to whom she would speak of what she had seen – the constable, perhaps?

  “Off with him, then,” came the gruff voice of the first man. “Dump him in the Thames or something, but make sure to fill his clothes with bricks so that he will not float to the surface in a couple of days time.” A grim laugh escaped from his mouth. “We don’t need anyone asking questions, now, do we? And no one needs to know he was here either.”

  “Do you think anyone heard?” asked another man, only for the first man to chuckle darkly.

  “No, they’re all too busy either dancing or taking liberties elsewhere in the gardens.” He snorted in derision. “Besides, I scouted the place beforehand. I’ll check it over again but I doubt there’s anyone else here.”

  “Good, good,” came the reply, the voice then giving orders to the rest of the men who were busy wrapping up the body.

  Violet began to tremble all over, the threat of her demise suddenly growing a lot more probable. The first man was to do a check of the gardens, to ensure no one had heard the shot. Did that mean she was about to be discovered? Her eyes, wide and staring, made out four men lifting a cloth-wrapped bundle and, in the distance, she heard the sound of a horse and carriage.

  “Off with you,” the first man said, gruffly. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  3

  Violet’s mind was screaming, her hands clawing into the wooden bench as she tried to think of what she could do or where she could go. The murderer, this Roberts who had shot Sir Whitby, was now wandering around the gardens to ensure that there were no witnesses to his actions. Violet did not have to wonder what would happen to her if he was to find her, for his callousness had already shown her the kind of man he was.

  She could not leave the gazebo, for fear that he would find her, nor could she remain here indefinitely. She had to find someone, to tell of what she knew.

  A sudden scraping sound had her heart racing, her hands going to her mouth to stop herself from screaming out.

  “Come on, now,” came a low mutter, as someone stumbled into the gazebo. “Let’s see you.”

  Violet did not know who this man was, nor who he was speaking to, but his voice was not that of the first man, which allowed her to breathe a little easier. However, that did not mean that he did not work for the murderer, the thought of which sent panic straight through her veins once more.

  Staying as silent as she could, Violet watched as the stranger made his way to the side of the gazebo, bending low and looking out of the window frame as though watching for something.

  "Not here yet," he muttered, making Violet realize that he was talking to himself. "Or I've missed them."

  Her shaking had not stopped but lowered in intensity as she realized that this man was, in fact, waiting for the murderer to walk by. What he did not realize, it seemed, was that he was too late. Violet did not know whether to make him aware of her presence, as she was still entirely at a loss to know who he was. If he discovered her there, would he try to silence her too? Or would he wish to help her? It was too much of a risk to take, so Violet chose, instead, to keep utterly silent.

  Unfortunately, the decision was soon taken out of her hands. The man appeared to crouch down before something clattered to the floor. He muttered curses under his breath, bending down further. Violet could not see him at all, the darkness at the bottom of the gazebo hiding him completely. She could hear him searching for whatever it was he had dropped, although she suspected that he was trying to move as quietly as possible. Her pulse beat quicker, although she tried to breathe as shallowly as possible as the sound of his searching drew closer.

  Without warning, a hand brushed her skirts, and it took everything for Violet not to let out a scream.

  “Who’s there?” the man growled, standing up. “I warn you, it will be the worse for you if you do not reveal yourself.”

  Violet tried to stand but found her legs were not strong enough to allow such a thing.

  “Please,” she whispered, her words ragged. “Don’t hurt me, I beg of you.”

  “Hurt you?” he replied, his voice a harsh whisper, likely after realizing she was a woman. “Why would I do such a thing?”

  Relief flooded her. “You are not with….with them?”

  “No, I am not.”

  She took a breath, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “Then might I ask who you are, sir?” Violet was not quite sure that she believed this gentleman was not with the murderers, for he had very evidently been aware of their presence this evening.

  “My name is Lord Greville, the Earl of Wanfield,” came the surprising reply. “And you are?”

  “Lady Violet Harrington,” she murmured after a moment’s hesitation, unable to think of another response in her shock, although she was now convinced that this man was not who he said he was. An earl did not gad about gardens one dark evening, in search of a murderer! At least, no earls that she knew, and she had met her fair share.

  “You are the daughter of the Duke of Ware, then, I believe,” the Earl replied, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  Violet was not sure what to say, for, in that one sentence, he had at least proven that he knew of her family. That meant that he was likely from within society, at the very least. Growing frustrated with the darkness that shrouded them both, she wished she could make out his features. Could he truly be the Earl of Wanfield?

  “I might ask you the very same,” she replied, feeling a little stronger now that she was no longer alone. “An earl on the trail of a murderer?”

  His swift intake of breath told her that she had revealed more than she had realized.

  “You saw them, then?” he asked, harshly. “When? Where?”

  “Hush, please!” she whispered, loudly. “The man himself is searching the gardens this very moment, to ensure there were no witnesses.”

  He paused, evidently thinking over what she had to say. "Then he will not be the only one searching, for there are more of them," he murmured, after a moment. "This gazebo is neatly tucked away – indeed, had I not known it was here, I might not have seen it, since the darkness of the evening hides it so well. How did you come to find it?”

  “I just…stumbled upon it,” Violet could not help but tremble. “Do you think he will find me — us?” The bench creaked as she shook, suddenly very cold and frightened once more.

  “May I?”

  Before she could respond, the gentleman stepped forward, attempting to sit down next to her. The bench was not all that wide, but he managed it somehow as she swept her skirts out of his way. Apparently, he was telling the truth about being in the gazebo before, for how would he have known that the bench was here otherwise?

  “You are cold,” he murmured, sliding his jacket from his body. Warmth enveloped her as he pressed it around her shoulders, and s
he inhaled the scent of pine that came from him, finding that it calmed her somewhat. “Let us remain here for a few more minutes and then, once I am sure that all is well, we shall return to the ball.”

  “I thank you,” she whispered, fighting the strange desire to lean against him and place her head on his shoulder. “I will admit to being quite afraid.”

  She could feel his breath on her cheek as he dropped his head, whispering quietly in her ear. Her trembling increased for a moment, but not from fright this time.

  “What was it you saw?” he asked. “Can you tell me in detail?”

  Not wishing to recall the horrifying spectacle to her mind but understanding the need to, Violet closed her eyes and quickly sketched out the details, shuddering as she recalled how the smaller man’s body had slumped to the ground, life gone from him in one quick moment.

  "Could you identify the first man if you saw him again?" he whispered, hoarsely. "Think hard, Lady Harrington. This is of great import."

  "I – I do not know," she replied, softly. "I might be able to recognize his voice, although I do recall that the deceased man – "

  “Sir Whitby,” he interrupted.

  “Yes, Sir Whitby,” she continued, with only a slight shudder.“He did refer to this man as ‘Roberts’.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy him, for he looked away from her and did not ask anything further. Violet settled into his coat a little further, pulling it snuggly around her shoulders. Soon she would be back at the ball, and all of this would seem like a dream or something out of a mystery novel.

  “Come,” he said, and helped her walk towards the door, bending suddenly to pick up a pocket watch, which must have been what he was searching for earlier.

  “We must be quiet,” he murmured, as they stepped out into the cold air. “The danger has not yet gone.”