Summary

Jack and Ham are facing the loss of a dear friend. A final visit, a final goodbye is ahead with that friend’s numbered days.

Soon, however, they realize they’ve been reeled in by lies, and far more is afoot than a goodbye. Will they find out what is happening before they face yet another loss?

Chapter 1

“No.” Jack’s voice was low, having shifted from relaxed to devastated.

Vi’s gaze jerked from her teacup to his face. His usually impenetrable expression was lost, and Vi could see pain and sadness. Her heart clenched, and she asked, “Jack?”

She wasn’t sure he heard her when he didn’t look her way.

“Not yet,” Jack said, clutching a paper in his hands, and she realized whatever was upsetting him was in that letter.

She had her own stack of letters next to her, but she also had the most recent updates to the manuscript she and her twin were working on, along with three new novels. She anticipated a long day, curled in a chaise lounge, with a high likelihood of grapes and chocolates. That was all finished now.

“Poole, damn it.”

Vi’s gaze jerked to her husband. There was an edge of anguish in his tone that had her flinching deeply with sympathy even if she didn’t know why. “Pool? Did something happen in a pool?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Jack—” Her voice was tender. “What is going on?”

“Daniel. Daniel Poole. By heavens, Vi, he’s seven months older than me.”

“Is he all right?” Vi asked, speaking low, knowing he wasn’t, but needing to ask. Her tone was gentle, delicate even.

“He’s…he’s dying.” Jack’s voice was wooden and his eyes shuttered against her.

He looked broken at the admission, and even though Vi had never met this Daniel Poole, she regretted his loss immediately. She had so many questions, but she pushed them all to the back of her mind to focus on him.

Taking his hand, she asked, “What do you need?”

“I—” Jack shook his head and rose to his feet. “I—need a minute.”

Then he left. Vi paused, uncertain if she should follow, but she knew she was too meddlesome to leave it be. Instead, she let him get ahead of her and then followed slowly.

He stalked directly to the library, leaving the door hanging open. She leaned against the doorjamb, watching him grab the telephone.

She waited, watching quietly, as he stood with the receiver to his ear. It had never felt longer for the lines to be connected. Finally, Jack shifted. “Ham?”

The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t nearly so broken as Jack’s. Maybe he wasn’t as close with this Daniel Poole. Or maybe Ham had spent the morning in his bed lingering with his wife or in the nursery with their two babies. Maybe he had a stack of letters waiting beside his desk or his plate in the breakfast room. Maybe he had no idea what he was about to learn, and grief had yet to descend upon him as it had Jack.

Vi watched anxiously and felt their butler, Hargreaves, come up behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and then put her finger to her lips. He knew her well, so he must have seen the distress in her gaze.

Voice very low, Hargreaves asked, “Is all well, Mrs. Vi?”

She didn’t answer because Jack was speaking again.

Jack’s voice carried to them lurking in the hallway. “It’s Poole. He’s going.”

There was the slightest of cracks in his tone, the only thing reflecting the pain he was hiding. Poor Daniel Poole. Poor Jack. Her fingers curled into fists, and she stared at her big, strong husband with no idea of what to do.

She would be there for him. It was all she could offer and felt like far too little.

Jack looked up, and his voice was back to entirely emotionless when he said, “Ham and Rita will be here soon.”

Vi nodded, daring to enter the library then. Hargreaves had heard what she heard, so he knew that Jack and Ham were upset and that someone was going. She’d explain more later, if necessary. Given the brilliance of Hargreaves, she didn’t think he’d need much information.

Jack slid into a chair next to the fire, and Hargreaves silently crossed to her husband, poured a glass of bourbon, and placed it next to Jack’s hand. None of them said anything.

Vi didn’t know if it was better to stay or go. She could see Jack’s clenching and unclenching jaw. His shoulders that were too stiff. The way his hand clenched at the thick glass while he never bothered to sip.

She wanted to ask him what he needed, but she also didn’t want to pressure him further when he was hurting. Agonizing over the choice of what to do, she kept silent, poured a second glass of bourbon, and took the seat near him. She kept just out of his view. Not to hide, but to give him the permission to say nothing and do nothing—to hide his feelings if he wanted to.

Normally, she’d never question if he knew she was present. With his distraction, she found herself swirling the bourbon, desperately debating what she should do and finding herself paralyzed into doing nothing.

It was a mere twenty minutes before Ham appeared in the doorway with Rita just behind him. Vi rose, pressing her untouched bourbon into Ham’s hands and then took Rita’s, pulling her from the library and into the hall.

Vi and Rita stood just beyond the doorway, watching Jack and Ham like avid spectators. Neither man said a word. They had one of those silent conversations that only long-time friends could have. It seemed as though worlds of emotion and conversation passed in mere breaths and then Ham slumped across from Jack.

Vi bit her lip, not wanting to leave yet, but she let Rita tug her away when their husbands just sat in the same, sad silence.

Vi whispered, “Did Ham say anything?”

Rita’s big blue eyes were flooded with tears for Ham, and she cleared her throat. Rita and Vi were polar opposites. While Vi was all dark coloring and sharp angles, Rita was a lush golden goddess, Despite their differences, they had the same agonized worry over their husbands.

Rita’s voice was hoarse and low as she replied, “A friend from the war. Nothing more, but he sounds terrible, Vi.”

Vi blinked rapidly, considering the situation. “Are they friends like Ham and Jack are friends?”

Rita bit her bottom lip. Being friends like Jack and Ham meant being almost brothers. With the war behind them, the two men had bonded through horror and loss. If so, however, why hadn’t Vi and Rita heard of this Poole person before?

“I think so,” Rita muttered. “Ham said Poole had been ill since the war. I got the picture it was probably from an injury. I think there was hope for a while—”

They stared at each other again. Neither of them had known their husbands during those days, both of them barely out of school, but the idea that their loves could have been lost before they had fallen in love was a horror. It wasn’t necessary to put words to their retroactive fear. Vi shivered and then wrapped her arms around Rita.

They remained hugging until Hargreaves appeared. Gently ushering them to their favorite parlor, he pressed a teacup into each of their hands. Vi was desperate for some coffee, but the growing baby seemed to generally object to her favorite drink.

One of the servants had already put a tray of food in the parlor. She felt their compassion, as though Jack and Ham were falling apart and needed to be tended carefully. Vi wasn’t sure the servants were wrong even if she’d eaten most of her breakfast before Jack had gotten his terrible letter.

Over the course of the morning, Beatrice appeared from the back office she’d started using again. It wasn’t long until Vi’s twin, Victor, and his wife, Kate, appeared. They took up silent seats in the parlor. Within another half-hour Lila and Denny arrived. Which left only Smith, who appeared at noon.

Vi wondered who had told the others that Jack and Ham were distressed, but she was certain that Hargreaves had been the engineer once she gave it a moment of thought. Smith appeared with Vi’s footman, Reggie. Maybe that was why Smith was later.

Slowly the tray of food was picked over and silently refilled. Both the teapot and the coffee carafe were emptied and replaced. At some point, towards mid-afternoon, Victor pressed a glass of ginger wine into Vi’s hands. He silently made favorite cocktails for the rest of their friends, setting them at elbows and refilling plates.

One by one, the other women disappeared and reappeared. Vi guessed they’d brought their infants and the nursery was in use. Something of a nanny reunion upstairs, and Vi was sure that their cook was relishing in feeding everyone. These were the moments he rose to, and given the small fruit tart she was eating, he had been inspired.

Beyond occasional low murmurs, the room was silent as they waited. No one was quite sure what to do when they didn’t know the details of Daniel Poole. All Vi could be sure of was that Jack and Ham were hurting, and she needed to be on hand for them.

Sometime before evening Jack and Ham appeared in the parlor. They took in the silent crowd waiting for them, and not one expression crossed their faces. Vi hoped they weren’t feeling pressured but supported, but she couldn’t tell.

Her usually impervious husband was even more closed off than usual and Ham wasn’t any better. Their gazes darted around the room, and Vi hoped they weren’t so inside of their emotions that they couldn’t see and feel the love.

Vi’s gaze hadn’t moved from Jack for long moments and there was an air of tension, but then Smith—of all people—rose and slapped them both on the backs.

“Whatever you need.”

It was so shocking that their amoral, almost heartless friend was the one who stepped in that Denny burst into the worst of inappropriate giggles and the tension in the room snapped into something else.

“I—” Denny squeaked and then tried to apologize but stumbled.

“Oh laddie,” Lila muttered. She shoved her hand over his mouth to stop whatever he was going to say next.

“We love you,” Kate told them both. She crossed to Jack, hugged him tightly and then turned to Ham to do the same. Whatever you need.”

Ham nodded and Jack did the same.

“Perhaps some time,” Ham said for them both, but Vi caught the flash of relieved agreement in Jack’s gaze. In moments the friends who had arrived silently faded away and it was just Ham, Rita, Jack, and Vi.

“Are you all right?” Rita asked, her gaze fixated on her husband.

Just behind Jack, Ham nodded once. His jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff, and no one would have believed that lie. The quiet glasses of the bourbon by the fire had not softened their news nor the growing sadness. And, the simple truth was that their friend was dying. Clearly neither Jack nor Ham were prepared to let go.

Somehow, it seemed that this death was even more tragic than all the ones that came before. Jack’s only statement on reading the letter that had brought Ham and Rita to the door had been, “Not yet.”

Jack had the air of a man who was pretending to be fine. Vi knew too well it wasn’t true. He was not fine. He had a blank face on as normal, rarely reflecting any of his thoughts, but Vi knew him well. In that even expression was a brittleness, and in those dark eyes was a hint of sadness.

It wasn’t quite the same with Ham. He let a few more emotions through, so you could see the air of sadness that Jack was trying to hide. Rather than talking, the two men had disappeared into the library with a decanter of bourbon.

“He would like us to come next weekend,” Jack said. His voice was slightly hoarse, and everyone pretended to not notice.

“Of course,” Vi said. “Is the ‘we’ everyone? Just you and Ham is fine.” She was a little frantic in getting the assurance out, so he knew that she would do whatever he wanted.

“I’d like him to meet you,” Jack said. “I’d like him to see our family. To know that we are all right.”

Vi knew that family meant everyone in the room and their children. They weren’t the typical family, but their friendships and the things they’d been through--the excess of murders and investigations--had sealed them into something more. Something special.

Ham nodded. “I want him to meet everyone. I want—” Ham cleared his throat, coughed, and then he had to almost grind out. “Let’s all go.”

“Of course,” Vi agreed immediately. “Give me the address, and I’ll have Beatrice find somewhere for us to stay. We can go as long as you need.”

Jack didn’t agree or disagree. He carefully seated himself in the chair near the fireplace and put up his feet. Sipping lightly from his glass, he swallowed more thickly than the drink required.

Vi wasn’t the only one who noticed. She glanced at Ham and Rita who were fighting their own flood of emotions. Rita took Ham’s hand, gently pulling him up. She wrapped her arms around Ham, snuggling into his chest, and Vi heard, “Darling, why don’t we go home?”

Ham didn’t object as Rita carefully tugged him from the parlor.

Chapter 2

When they were gone, Vi took in the sight of her husband. He was a large man. Bigger than nearly everyone Vi had ever met. His wide shoulders had often taken on all of her burdens, but at the moment, they curled down.

She crossed slowly to him, uncertain of how to help him. It was so rare that he struggled. Vi wanted to pick him up like one of the children and rock him, but he was far too big for such a thing. Instead, she tiptoed to him.

When she stood in front of him, and he didn’t notice, she turned and left him for a moment. Long enough to tell Hargreaves to leave them undisturbed and to order Jack his favorite supper.

She turned the wireless on low with something that was calm, piano music with violins and cellos, and then she returned to her husband. It wasn’t cold outside, but she’d gotten her favorite cashmere throw, and she wrapped it around him. She took the glass from his hand carefully, and then she curled into his lap.

His hands came about her, and his fingers were tighter than usual, but she didn’t mind. The specter of death played in their lives far too often, but it wasn’t quite as common that death came for those they loved.

Time passed and the music shifted, but they stayed curled together. When Vi was too stiff to stay still, she turned to face Jack, noticing that he’d been sitting with his hands clenched. She pulled one fist into her lap and rubbed her palm over his fingers until they relaxed.

Once she had his hand open in hers, she massaged her fingers into his palm and rubbed his fingers until he had fully relaxed and then she worked on the other hand. He leaned back then, letting his head droop against the chair.

“Do you want to tell me about him?”

Jack sniffed and shook his head, but a few minutes later, he said, “Poole is the reason I’m alive.”

Vi stilled, her eyes wide.

“There was this investigation we were doing during the war. A suspicious death. The theory was friendly fire. An accident. Except a few different men reported they thought it was purposeful. Any death in a war is horrible, but it’s entirely different when you start to think it wasn’t an accident but a brother-in-arms murdering someone already so likely to die.”

Vi didn’t know what to say, so she pushed up on her knees to press her forehead to his. She nuzzled him softly, hoping that it would provide comfort when she didn’t have the words. Maybe there weren’t any words for this kind of pain. Their fingers ended up threaded together, and she eventually shifted, leaning into his chest, making a blanket of herself.

He had wrapped his hands around her waist, clutching her tightly.

“What happened next?”

His fingers dug in for a moment and then relaxed. “The rumors were true. You already know killers will kill again to save themselves. That was almost me.”

“So, you found evidence?” Vi asked softly, against his cheek. She pressed a kiss to his temple and then dug her fingers into his neck and tried to soothe him.

“I was following the trail. It probably would have led to the truth, but instead—the killer decided to stop me.”

“Friendly fire?”

“Poison.”

Vi shivered. Big strong Jack was not so strong that something like cyanide or hemlock wouldn’t kill him. She was the one too-stiff now. She was the one who was haunted by what could have happened.

“How did Poole save you?” Her voice was the hoarse, haunted whisper now. She cupped his cheeks between her hands. “How do I thank him for that?”

Jack’s eyes warmed just the slightest. “He had been eying our villain. Poole had been good friends with the man who had been murdered. When Daniel realized what was happening, he forced the cup down the man’s throat.”

Vi’s eyes widened in shock.

“Those men were pretty feral by that point. It was the middle of a war. Their friends—brothers really—were dying all around them. The trenches were hell, Vi. Actual hell on earth. I was so lucky to have the position I had where I wasn’t in the trenches all the time. So, when Poole went for the killer, no one stopped him. No one reported it. Even their superior officer just eyed me, said he saw nothing, and went back to business.”

“And what did you do?”

“I told Ham the truth, and then we wrote the report in a way that made Poole seem a hero rather than a vigilante.”

Vi’s brows lifted.

“Then, Poole was injured. Injured enough to pull him from the trenches, and Ham added Poole to our team to keep him from going back to the trenches when he was better. Paperwork, really, versus fighting, but he—Poole I mean—he—” Jack shook his head. “He never forgot where Ham took him from. He never stopped doing everything he could t0 help us. You know as well as I do that investigations have a whole lot of thought and paperwork, and Poole could do that with his injury.”

Vi placed her chin on Jack’s shoulder, massaging his neck and snuggling into him as though her warmth would somehow make it all right that his friend wasn’t going to live much longer. “Is that what is killing him?”

“A long slow decline from that injury. The war doesn’t stop taking. Not even all these years later.”

Vi shivered. She’d lost two brothers, and her twin had been injured while training. If he hadn’t been, would he have died? He’d have had to go back if the war hadn’t ended before he’d left the hospital. She might have lost Victor, and the sheer idea left her panicking.

Her other brothers were far older and—well, they hadn’t been her twin. She’d rather lose almost anyone except Victor. But she didn’t like to think about that. She pressed her face into his neck, seeking comfort now. “I—”

Jack pressed his own kiss to her temple and said, “It’s ok, Vi darling. There aren’t words for this. It just is what it is.”

* * *

Violet had been without a maid for a few months, so she was the one who was packing her bags. Jack had a man. A quiet little fellow who faded into the background and took care of everything Jack needed without ever seeming to appear, and honestly, Vi forgot about him a fair amount of the time.

Vi supposed Jack must see him often enough to ask for things, or maybe he just paid the fellow and waited for his suits to appear in perfect order. Vi faced her closet and was uncertain of what to do. The man wasn’t dead. So there might be a supper? Or a tea?

Perhaps she wouldn’t see him at all and would need to have some sturdy boots and something to wear for long walks. The man’s house was right on the downs, as was the place they were taking for the month.

Beatrice had arranged for the oversized place for a full month, since it was big enough for all of their friends, close to Poole’s home, and they didn’t know how long they’d need.

Vi considered a few sensible black dresses. One had a high collar and long sleeves. It was flattering because it was made for her. But it was something she’d wear when she didn’t want comments from her stepmother. Was it going to somehow make the death happen if she brought a dress for a funeral?

She wanted to leave it, but she found herself carefully hanging it in her trunk with the corresponding undergarments, stockings, and sensible black shoes. She refused to look at it again even though she added a black hat with a black net veil. Hopefully she wouldn’t need it. Hopefully she could leave it in the trunk when she unpacked the rest of her things. To avoid looking at the dress, she added a vibrant blue evening dress, a silver one, and then one that was black and gold.

She sniffed and looked through her kimonos, night gowns, and pajamas and packed those. They were so much easier to pack. Vi considered her lingerie and wondered if she should add something that might distract Jack.

Before him, she didn’t know how much it hurt to watch your loved one hurt. She was deeply mourning a man who had not died and who she had never met because Jack was mourning him. Violet tried to push the thoughts away, but it was hard to turn her attention from Jack.

Her twin, Victor, had appeared for Jack that mourning and taken him to a boxing club. Vi had watched them go, muttering under her breath about men, but she might have cried a little when she saw Victor doing what he could for Jack. She wasn’t as much of a fan that her brother and husband would probably come back with bruises.

Vi had little doubt that they’d left their house to pick up Denny, Ham, and Smith. And she had little doubt that the step after the bruising would be heavy drinking. She’d be pouring Jack into the auto the next day to start their journey to the South Downs.

That was fine. Vi would be happy to motor them from London to the house. She finished packing quickly and then turned to the library, adding books to read. She wasn’t sure if they’d be playing or at the ready, so an excess of books seemed to be the right choice. In fact, playing or not, an excess of books was always the right choice when she didn’t have her personal library at hand.

Once she’d packed a small trunk of books, she added her journal, her current manuscript, and her typewriter and then turned to the bed. It was empty of Jack, and she had no one to distract her from her sadness.

Vi left her house and made her way through the back path between her home and her twin’s. Her child hadn’t arrived yet, but her brother had a houseful of children, and nothing was more likely to brighten her day than a child running towards her, arms up, calling her name.

It took only moments of Vi standing in the doorway for little Ethy to catch sight of her. “Vi!”

Like a flock of birds, all of the small heads spun towards Vi, and she heard her name called over and over again. Vi knelt, opening her arms as tiny body after tiny body threw themselves at her until she keeled over with them, giggled echoing in her ears.

“Oh dear!” Vi’s sister-in-law, Kate, put her hands on her hips and laughed down at them as she reached down and started pulling children off of Vi. “Do be careful, Ethy. Let go, Vivi darling, Auntie Vi isn’t leaving.”

They were babbling at Vi, offering to share their tea and biscuits, asking her to come see their art and listen to their songs, and Vi dove in until the sadness faded.

Once the little ones were laid down for a rest, Vi joined Kate in the parlor below. It was an odd thing to have tea in a parlor that Vi used to reign over, but it felt so right to be there with her sister-in-law.

“How is Jack?” Kate asked the moment the tea arrived. Vi scowled down at her cup of chamomile and mint tea and wished it didn’t help her stomach so much.

“Not well,” Vi murmured sadly. The sadness came back, and Vi’s mouth twisted. There was nothing to do but carry it and let it fade. But she knew better than that. She sighed and then asked, “I wonder if you’ll walk with me.”

Kate nodded immediately, and they finished their tea before stepping across the road to the park together. They wandered through the paths, letting the sun beat down on them and the fresh air flow over them.

“Why does this help?”

Kate shook her head in answer.

Vi tucked her arm through Kate’s and asked, “Do you remember when we met?”

“I don’t think I’ll forget those days.” Kate shivered. “Half-in-love with Victor and also terrified from the letters and the sense of being hunted.”

“We got past them,” Vi said.

Kate agreed, letting her head drop against Vi’s shoulder for a moment. “Jack will get past this too.”

Vi nodded. “I just wish there were something I could do.”

Kate squeezed Vi’s arm lightly. “Violet, love…” Kate trailed off, and Vi caught the irony of it.

“That’s how you feel about me when I’m sad.”

Kate nodded, squeezing Vi yet again. A moment later, Kate pointed out a bird and Vi followed the sight. It was lovely. The sky was lovely. The feel of the air on her face was lovely, and the sadness had faded.

“Maybe just drag me protesting into the outdoors and throw me down.”

Kate snorted at the suggestion and said, “I’ll definitely have Victor do that.”

Vi fiddled with her wedding ring when they went to circle the park again. “Do you ever miss the old days?”

“I miss reading all day sometimes. Especially when the children are particularly rabid.”

Vi nodded. “I miss waking and having Victor all to myself. Even though I love you to pieces.”

“That’s all right,” Kate said with sheer simple acceptance. “I understand.”

Vi laughed at her sister-in-law and then said, “I just was thinking how wonderful Victor was when he showed up to drag Jack out today and how much I love him, and then I was missing him.”

Kate didn’t seem bothered, so Vi let the guilt of missing the different versions of her life go. She wouldn’t trade Jack for anything, not even those old days with Victor. But she did miss them.

“Do we know why Mr. Poole is dying?”

“A wound from the war, I think,” Vi said. “Jack said Mr. Poole had been declining since then.”

“That’s a long slow decline,” Kate murmured. “What a terrible thing to die slowly.”

Vi agreed, but she didn’t want to talk about that. Instead she said, “Mr. Poole saved Jack’s life.”

Kate’s head whipped around, eyes fixated on Vi.

“I know we can’t do anything to give him his life back, but we could bring him tempting things.”

“Chocolate of course,” Kate said immediately.

“Something warm to wrap around his shoulders,” Vi said, thinking of the cashmere wrap about Jack yesterday.

“Some of Victor’s favorite drinks,” Kate suggested. Her fingers were ticking, and Vi guessed that Kate was making a mental list.

“Let’s go shopping,” Vi suggested, wanting to be distracted while Jack was gone. Victor would distract Jack and Ham. And Vi and Kate would distract themselves.

“Let’s get Rita,” Kate added. “Lila. Everyone. We’ll feel better when they’re all there.”

“Wrap ourselves up in family,” Vi said. “Wrap ourselves up in love.”

Chapter 3

“Why is it so beautiful?” Vi asked Lila. It felt like there should be a storm rolling in, dark skies, and a drizzle to match the mood of her family. Instead, it was as though heaven were smiling down on this house and those who were staying there.

The sky was blue, dotted with big fluffy clouds that just made the hills of grasses seem even greener. The trees that dotted the landscape seemed to have been planted by God himself trying to make a masterpiece because the beauty that lay before her was nearly of the most intensely lovely thing she had ever seen, and Vi had been many, many places.

The house they were staying in was at the edge of the downs with rolling hills of green and long grasses ahead. She desperately craved to throw herself into those hills and find a spot to just be, but she couldn’t leave Jack.

He had woken that morning, dressed, and then disappeared. She had found him sitting on the side of their shared bed, elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands.

“Darling?” she said low, trying to draw him from the gray days that were sucking him into the depths, but he hadn’t even heard her. She’d finally curled up on the bed behind him, holding his hand, and waited.

She wasn’t even sure he’d realized she was there until he let go of her hand and turned. He’d been gone from the house moments later, still without saying anything, and she was sure he’d gone with Ham to find their friend.

“I don’t know.” Lila had the same careful tone that Vi had been using with Jack. Only this time it was directed at her.

“I don’t know what to do, Lila,” Vi murmured.

She had felt helpless when Jack left. Trapped when the others had taken the children and disappeared into the distance. And now she was alone with her lifelong friend and was both helpless and trapped again.

“What can you do?” Lila asked with the simple clarity of someone who had a little distance. “You know already. You can just be there. You can just help. There is nothing more to be done than to love him, and I know you know that.”

Vi nodded, hugging Lila tight. “I never realized how hard my gray days are for you all. I knew, but I didn’t know…”

Lila didn’t comment beyond another hug and a kiss to her cheek. “Come, come. If you are going to be the sunny one, you’ll need to have some good things to eat and maybe some time outside with your book.”

The two of them found their way to the kitchens where Hargreaves, Reggie, and the chef were. Hargreaves met Vi’s gaze as she walked in, seeming to read her needs in advance, since Turkish coffee and Beatrice’s mix of chamomile and mint tea were on hand.

“We’re going to walk,” Lila said, “but we’ll take a sturdy mug along the way.”

Vi knew better, with the baby, than to fill the mug with the thick bitter coffee, but she did all the same. She took up the offered breakfast sandwich and followed Lila outside.

The rolling hills were begging for Vi to dive into them. “If I were ten, I would roll down this hill.”

“You know why we stop doing that at ten?” Lila murmured.

Vi glanced her way and then asked, “Why?”

“Because it hurts, there are rocks, animal feces of some kind, and hidden crevices. You don’t want to roll through that.”

“And the baby,” Vi muttered. “I suppose I have to contain myself since there’s a child on the way.”

“Supposedly marriage is the ball and chain, but it’s really children. They’re like millstones around your neck, dragging you down from all of your fun.”

Vi was surprised by the burst of laughter that exploded from her. “You have staff that cleans, cooks, stays up through the night, and a nanny who is utterly devoted.”

“I know,” Lila moaned. “It’s a trial.”

Vi laughed again and then admitted, “There is something magical about this place. I feel better.”

“Perfect. I’ll stay here. Go for a walk, and while you’re gone, I’m going to put away all of this overwhelming maturity during my nap.”

Vi turned back to get a book and a blanket and decided to find herself a tree to sit under while she gave Jack the time she needed. The walk down the first hill was something glorious. But climbing back up the next side made it clear that Vi had been walking in parks for too long.

She’d also stopped her jiujitsu classes too long ago. It took three times as long to climb the hill as it had to get down it, and when she reached the crest, she decided to wander along it, instead of going down and up and slowly killing herself by the hilly downs. The wind whipped through the trees and the grass, and you could see the movement of the wind over the grasses like you could see the wind move over waves.

Vi stopped several times just to appreciate the sound of the birds and the shocking beauty. Why didn’t they visit places like this more often? Quiet little villages with quiet people. As she went along, Vi noticed sheep in their fields. How did they convey so much peace by just existing?

Vi moseyed on until she found a small farmhouse with a large apple orchard. The scent of the blossoms and apples was enough to have her finding a spot under a tree, putting down her blanket, and breathing deeply.

Vi cracked open the book she’d brought and realized that it was the third book in the series she was reading, and she was on book two. She stared down with complete dismay at the cover. She couldn’t possibly read this book out of order. It was intrinsically wrong to step out of the storyline, and she did not want to walk all the way back.

Vi ate her breakfast along with the apple she packed. She was in something of a situation. If she walked back, she would be tempted to curl up into the bed until Jack returned. If she didn’t, she would be able to walk and explore, but she wouldn’t have her book.

Vi threw her apple core to join the other fallen apples under the next tree over and then considered if it would be worthwhile to wander to the village and see about finding the second book instead.

Vi looked back at the hilly downs and then towards the orchard and decided to find her way through the orchard and hopefully to a road. Crossing her fingers that she’d find the book she’d left behind, Vi wound through the trees, pausing here and there to admire a few hares and to explore more.

How long would Jack be gone? Vi rather thought it might be a while, but what if Mr. Poole was too ill to have visitors that lingered? Maybe she should go back? Vi glanced behind her and paused. A woman stood under one of the apple trees with a basket full of fruit.

“Hullo, hullo,” Vi called cheerily. “Do pardon me, I fear I’ve welcomed myself to walk through your orchard.”

The woman nodded, setting down her basket. As she stepped from under the tree, Vi saw that she was a bit older. Perhaps in her early sixties or even into her seventies. Her hair was entirely white and thin enough that you could see her scalp in the sunlight. There was something rosy cheeked and sweet about her with her pale blue eyes that seemed to be able to see right through Vi.

Though the woman’s face was solemn as she faced Vi, the trespasser, she didn’t sound unfriendly as she said, “I don’t believe I know you.”

“No, no.” Vi tucked her hair behind her ear. “Just visiting the neighborhood and went for a wander. When I saw your orchard, I thought I might find my way back to the road and to our temporary home a bit easier.”

“Where are you staying?”

Vi explained and the woman nodded. “Not sure it’ll be easier. But there’s a bus that comes by around 1:00 that’ll get you to the village. From there, you can catch the evening bus. Bit of a long ramble if you stick to the roads.”

Vi considered the options and then thought she might be better served by hauling herself back to the house and then using the auto to get a book. Or, possibly, using a telephone to be retrieved. She looked down at her sore feet and then over to the woman. “Is there any chance you have a telephone line?”

To Vi’s surprise, the woman did. She looked like a woman who would be offended by the very idea of such nonsense. However, she led Vi into a small house just beyond the crest of the next hill. The woman looked back and said, “Do forgive me, I’m Myrtle Whitehead.”

“Violet Wakefield,” Vi replied. “I so appreciate your help.”

Vi inquired after the woman’s family, what she thought of the village, recommended walks in the area, and then she was led into the back kitchen of a house that looked as though it had stood for generations.

“Is this a family home?” Vi asked.

Mrs. Whitehead nodded. “My grandfather planted the orchards. My grandmother started the eggs business. We provided eggs to quite a few families. Our milk is the same. Then there’s the pies. Apple pies, hand pies, cakes, cookies. Nothing like a wonderful caramel apple walnut cake to have with tea.”

“That does sound lovely,” Vi agreed, wanting some in that very moment.

“I’m somewhat partial to apples and apple baked goods. Apple marzipan rolls, apple dumplings, apple cinnamon hot cross buns, topped with almonds.”

“Oh, my.” Vi found herself putting her hand to her lips. Was she drooling? The scent of cinnamon and almonds hung heavy in the kitchen air, and the walls were lined with jugs of cider. “How do I order for my friends and myself?”

Mrs. Whitehead smiled, her dumpling cheeks rising with the sweet smile. “Well these marzipan almond rolls are made for a sickly friend of mine, but I can offer you some apple cake?”

Vi nodded and made the phone call to Hargreaves to be rescued from her walk home, begging for anything that Mrs. Whitehead had available.

Mrs. Whitehead started filling a box with a cake and muffins while Vi sat her kitchen table, discussing the sights in the area. There was something entirely homey about a country kitchen. A bucket full of apple scraps sat near the end of Mrs. Whitehead’s worktable. A motor and pestle was nearby with a bowl of herbs, and a small jar of apple seeds sat next to another jar of almonds and walnuts.

“What is your favorite apple item?” Vi asked. “We’d like to bring some to the friend we’re visiting.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were here to see someone; perhaps I know them.” Mrs. Whitehead laughed cheerily. “I certainly know them.”

“Daniel Poole,” Vi said. “I don’t know him personally, but my husband and our good friend served with him in the war.”

Mrs. Whitehead’s expression and hands stilled as Vi spoke, and then the woman reached out a hand and took Vi’s. “It’s very sad. He was a strong young man once. So handsome.”

“You do know him!” Vi curled her hands together and admitted, “I haven’t met him yet. I didn’t even really know of him until we heard that he wasn’t doing well.”

Mrs. Whitehead nodded, and her eyes glanced to the distance, focusing on something Vi thought wasn’t there. After long moments, she said, “My daughter and he were close before the war. His mother and I were good friends. The closest of friends really. He—”

The woman’s mouth turned down, and she pressed her lips together. “He was a good boy once. It is terrible what happened.”

“Maybe you know his favorite things then?”

“I already bring him something every day,” Mrs. Whitehead said. “It’s the least I can do.”

Vi’s eyes burned and then she asked, “Maybe you know what else he might like.” Vi’s lips quivered as she said, “He once saved my husband’s life. I don’t know him, but Daniel Poole is a good man.”

Mrs. Whitehead covered her face with her hands, but she was utterly silent until she had herself in control again. “Perhaps something that isn’t food or drink. I think he’s got the things to tempt his appetite provided.”

“Tell me about him,” Vi suggested. “What does his suffering look like? Jack didn’t know….”

“He…he’s just not doing well. He wasn’t strong when he came home, but in the last year—he’s got chest pain, he’s dizzy, nauseous, he’s weak. I think his body is just failing. I’m not sure he wants to live since he’s been home. It’s been years, but he—he just doesn’t want to be here.”

Chapter 4

Jack was at the house when Vi returned with her huge box of baked goods. She laid it all out and then got Jack a slice of the caramel apple walnut cake, an apple hand pie, and the largest mug of coffee she could find. He was in a chair in the parlor, across from Ham.

Both of them had a book on their laps, and neither had turned a page since Vi arrived. She took the chance to examine them both and realized that they were going to show her nothing. Instead, she went back to the kitchens to get Ham a plate as well, only to find Hargreaves bringing one for him.

Before they returned to the room, Vi asked, “What do I do?”

Hargreaves’s gaze warmed and he shook his head. “Mrs. Vi, I don’t know that there is anything we can do.”

Vi bit her bottom lip deeply and then let Hargreaves go ahead of her to see to Jack and Ham. Maybe it would be better if she weren’t there? She knew that men often wanted to keep their feelings hidden. Was it better to let them do so?

Her mouth twisted and then she walked to the back of the house where the downs rolled out in front of her. Another walk wasn’t a great idea, and she was a bit sick to her stomach at the idea of Jack’s pain.

Or maybe her worries were combining with her morning sickness. But, she was tired. Rather than chasing Jack down again, she went up to their bedroom and lay down. Maybe, if he needed her, he would come and find her where they could be alone.

It didn’t take long for the efforts of her walk to catch up with her, and she slipped into sleep. It must have been late afternoon when she woke up, and she was relieved to find Jack wrapped around her. His even breaths almost lulled her back to sleep, but she wanted to see his eyes.

She slowly inched onto her back and then her side, hoping to not wake him, but when she dared to look at his face, she found his dark eyes fixed on her. She both loved and hated that they were filled with so much sadness.

He wasn’t hiding his pain from her—a relief in and of itself.

“What can I do?”

Jack shook his head slightly, saying nothing.

“Is there anything we can do for Poole?”

Jack shook his head again. “He seems to have good friends. I—I never thought his injury would haunt him like this, but Vi—it’s like he’s just given up. I can’t help but wonder if he gave up and then he’s just slowly….let himself go.”

“Was his injury not deadly?”

Jack paused and then said, “Well no. He survived. He came back to work in the war. No one is the same after time in the trenches, Vi. He had nightmares the whole time he served with us. He had trouble breathing from the mustard gas, but—it was manageable.”

“What does his doctor say?” Vi asked.

Jack just shook his head, so Vi wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t know or he didn’t like the answer. She threaded their hands together and pulled them up to her mouth, so she could press a kiss on his knuckles. “As much as you might like to come in and find a reason for why your friend is dying and save him, that might not be possible, Jack.”

Jack’s voice was hoarse as he replied, “I know. I just—”

Vi let him stay in his thoughts until he focused on her again.

“I’d like to meet him,” Vi said, “But I don’t want—”

“He’s having a hard time. He wants to meet you and Rita tomorrow. If he can, he’d like to meet everyone.”

“Did he ever marry?” Vi asked, hoping to focus on something better.

Jack shook his head. “He wanted to once.”

“Did she marry before the war was over?”

Jack’s frown deepened and he shrugged. “Poole didn’t stay in touch like that.”

So what had he been doing? Was it wrong to appear on the doctor’s doorstep and ask for ‘advice’ in what they could do to help Mr. Poole, while also trying to get details from the man? She rather thought it was, and there was no question where Jack wouldn’t know what she’d been up to. Other thoughts of how she could find out what she wanted to know crossed her mind, but she kept her face expressionless.

Jack wouldn’t think that interfering in the guise of good deeds would be acceptable. She curled into his chest, hoping that it would help him like it helped her when she was distressed. Maybe, Vi could offer to do some work around his house?

That didn’t provide comfort though, did it? Even sick, Vi wouldn’t like a stranger, even one married to a friend, to be going through her things, mending socks or whatever it was that women who regularly provided charity did.

When Jack’s eyes closed, she noticed a wrinkle between his brows and asked, “Headache?”

He nodded slightly, so she rose to get him aspirin and then slipped from the room. Surely the others were back? Vi started towards the stairs and had to put a hand up to the wall.

Morning sickness was really doing a number on her body, she thought. She felt light-headed and dizzy and took several moments to get herself in control. The last thing Jack needed was to go back on high alert just when things had been calming down.

Vi fiddled with her wedding ring when she was sure she was steady again and took tight hold of the banister when she’d normally just trail her fingers along it. Slow steps this time, deliberate ones when she made her way downstairs, only to face her twin who’d watched her careful descent.

His gaze narrowed on hers, and she dug through her mind for lies, each rejected immediately. He knew her too well for any of it, and she was sure he’d known exactly what she’d been doing in just the searching for a plausible lie.

Her gaze narrowed back on him, and they stared each other down.

“Confess.”

Vi lifted a brow at Victor and then glanced behind her on the off chance that Jack was somehow eavesdropping. He wasn’t there, so her voice was a near-whisper when she said, “I was just a bit light-headed.”

“You looked like you were clinging to the banister like a life raft.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she shot back.

“Vi—” His mocking tone made her want to elbow him hard in the side.

Instead she lifted a silent, challenging brow.

“Don’t lift your brow at me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Or that.”

Vi’s head tilted and she examined her twin carefully before she said, “I know all of your darkest secrets.”

“So does Kate; you can’t get me in trouble like that.”

“But does Father?”

Victor shot Vi such a dark, betrayed look she felt terrible, but she didn’t shift her stance or expression in the slightest. “You’re a demon.”

Rather than continuing to challenge him, she gave him her big eyes and told him softly, “I just don’t want Jack to worry.”

It was Victor who rolled his eyes then. “As though I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Her gaze narrowed on him again, and she hissed, “He has enough on his plate.”

“He’ll kill me slowly if anything happens to you.”

“Then you can be the overbearing one in his place.”

True shock crossed Victor’s face before he muttered, “It’s moments like these that I realize how much you love him.”

Vi had glanced away, but she was sure he could feel her mental eye roll. Even still she scoffed before admitting she needed some of that tea mixture Beatrice had inflicted upon them. It really did help upset stomachs, and Vi’s had been rolling for a while.

Probably she shouldn’t have had that Turkish coffee even if it had tasted so good going down. Vi found the others in the parlor where she’d left Jack and Ham earlier. This time only Jack and Ham were absent.

“How was your walk?” Denny asked, with such a wide grin, she knew he must have heard she’d asked Hargreaves to retrieve her.

“Lovely,” Vi said. “Did you see that I found baked goods?”

“We ate them already,” Denny admitted.

She’d have been offended if she hadn’t had one of the apple cinnamon hot cross buns in Mrs. Whitehead’s home.

“She’ll be bringing some by every day we’re here. She promised apple walnut turnovers.”

“She must be the woman who supplies Mr. Poole,” Rita said. “The only thing I got from Ham was that they shared a glass of apple brandy and had some pie.”

Vi nodded and suggested they visit the village tomorrow. She let her eyes land on Smith just long enough to convey a silent message, and she was almost certain that no one but Beatrice noticed. Bea glanced down to her teacup and then reached over to pour Vi a mug as well.

“I hate this tea,” Vi told Beatrice almost fiercely.

“And yet—” Beatrice said.

Vi’s gaze moved to Smith again and she said, “I wonder if the doctor might have other ideas.”

Smith caught her hint immediately. “Bea’s doctor suggested ginger. Maybe you can get some ginger candy.”

Vi nodded. “Doctors can provide a lot of insight.”

Denny’s high-pitched giggle caught Vi’s attention, and her gaze jerked to him. HIs eyes were alight with mischief and knowledge, but he just smirked at them. In her mind, she was asking herself how Denny could have caught their exchange when the others hadn’t, but then she saw Lila’s lips twitch and Kate shake her head.

Rita and Victor hadn’t let their knowledge cross their faces, but Vi knew Victor well enough to read through his lack of expression.

“I just thought we could find them answers.”

“And talking to him directly isn’t enough?” Kate asked almost gently.

“Not when Jack is so upset,” Vi said defensively.

“I agree,” Rita replied. “Even if we can just tell them what is happening. I think Ham thought we’d be able to offer pricey London doctors and expensive treatments, and his friend would be all right.”

“But we can’t,” Vi said.

Rita nodded, but she finished with, “But we can tell them we did what we could. We can ensure it, so they aren’t haunted when he dies.”

Vi nodded and then sipped from the teacup, wishing the nausea would fade again. She might have to give up coffee until the baby was here. It seemed to be landing viciously today, but then she remembered how stressed she was for Jack, and how sad she had been about Poole dying, and thought that maybe the sickness to her stomach was from those things rather than the coffee. Maybe she’d try again after things here had finished.

Vi fiddled with her wedding ring again, rising to pace the too small parlor. She knew her friends were watching her movements as she wove among the outdated sofas and the worn chairs. She bypassed the fireplace and only glanced out the windows without seeing.

When she glanced up, she saw that only Victor was watching her without pretense. She shot him a look, and he was the one with the challenging brow. Vi wanted to throw something at him, but she had given him permission. Instead, she gestured to herself. No weaving on her feet, no swaying, she’d had a little light-headedness that had passed.

Hopefully he couldn’t tell that she’d been sick to her stomach too. That had lessened after the tea, but it wasn’t entirely gone, and she wouldn’t say no to the ginger candy Smith had suggested. But she’d get that tomorrow with her missing book, and then she’d find something for Daniel Poole even if it was useless claptrap.

Chapter 5

“Wakey, wakey,” a voice said soft in Vi’s ear.

It wasn’t Jack, so Vi jerked upright with a gasp. Her gaze narrowed on the too-beautiful face of Smith and she scowled darkly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he hissed. “If you want to meddle, you have to help.”

Vi closed her eyes and then swung out of the bed. She wasn’t surprised to see Beatrice and her two babies lying on the end of the bed. Ella was Smith and Beatrice’s daughter naturally, and Calliope was recently adopted.

“What kind of friend lets her husband wake another woman?”

“The kind that knows you see him as your most irritating brother.”

Vi ignored Smith and Beatrice to scoop up Calliope and tuck her against her chest. Vi swayed back and forth as she asked, “What’s the plan?”

“Well you are with child,” Smith pointed out. “And not feeling well.”

“So I see the doctor?”

“Tell him your woes, Vi. Tell him all your woes and keep his attention.”

“So you can dig through his files?”

Beatrice laughed as she lifted Ella to rock that baby. “Why did you even ask? You knew already.”

Smith didn’t shift in the least, but Vi could see the mocking humor in his eyes. Vi took a few minutes to love on Calliope and then switched with Beatrice for Ella, before leaving Ella on the bed next to her father. Then Vi dug through her baggage to find a dress for that day.

If she was going to see the doctor, she’d have to find something conservative to wear. Vi hadn’t missed how Kate presented herself differently when she was being a mother versus when she was just being herself. Would Vi feel the same way when she had her own child?

Vi shrugged to herself as she picked up a gray dress with a pleated drop waist and three-quarter sleeves before she found a pair of stockings, matching shoes, and a sensible hat. She dressed quickly and found that while she was in the bath to change, Smith and Beatrice had taken the babies to their nanny and were waiting for her near the breakfast room.

“Victor said you had to eat before we left.”

Vi scowled. Her nausea from yesterday had faded some, but she wasn’t in the mood for more than ginger candy and chamomile and mint tea. Vi joined them for breakfast and realized she’d slept so late. Mrs. Whitehead had already delivered her baked goods, and Jack and Ham had left hours before.

Vi frowned with disgust and then flopped onto one of the chairs. Her whole body gave a very big no to the roasted tomatoes, the beans, the kedgeree, and all of the meats. Vi held her stomach, a little surprised to see so much of the regular food was untouched until she noticed much of apple cake, hot cross buns, and turnovers nearly gone.

Even that didn’t appeal to Vi, and she found her way to a bowl of fresh apples, a platter with other fruits, and some toast. Tea, toast, grapes and apples would, hopefully, be enough to give her the energy she’d need for the day.

Even after she ate, Vi took two aspirin to try to shake the last of the headache she’d had since her walk yesterday. She picked over her food until Victor ordered, “You have to eat at least one full piece of toast, all of that tea, and some orange juice.”

Vi narrowed her gaze on him.

“You said I could look after you or—” Victor’s expression finished the threat he didn’t say. Or he’d tell Jack that she hadn’t been feeling well.

Violet sniffed and then took Victor’s glass of orange juice and swallowed it down. She gagged before she was half through but persevered. Once her stomach stopped roiling, Vi followed the orange juice with the last of her toast and then stared her brother down.

“That’ll do,” he told her arrogantly, eyeing her mostly finished plate.

Knowing that he had her for as long as she was protecting Jack from worrying about her too, Vi let Victor run wild with controlling things, but her eyes promised that he’d be regretting his actions once she was free from worrying over Jack.

Victor considered Vi and then shrugged. His expression said he wasn’t worried. She’d have to remind him otherwise. She smacked Victor lightly and left him behind to follow Smith and Beatrice to their auto.

* * * * *

Violet eyed the small white sign outside of the doctor’s home. It simply read, Dr. Fred Worrall. Apparently that was all that was needed for this small town. Smith rolled the auto past the house and then drove a few roads over, left them, and Beatrice took over driving.

Beatrice gave Smith time to get in place and decide how he would scope out the home before she moseyed her way back towards the doctor’s office. She stopped the auto outside of the house, and they approached up the brick, flower-lined walk.

Vi and Beatrice arrived a few minutes before the appointment Beatrice had made, apparently before Vi had even awoken. The door was opened by a woman in a smart dress, her gaze moving over both Vi and Beatrice before landing on Vi again.

This time, Vi put on a smiling face. She had to remember to catch the doctor’s attention long enough for Smith to dig through anything that might be available to help Jack and Ham find peace about their friend dying.

The goal was to put Jack and Ham’s minds at ease, but Smith couldn’t be counted on to keep his sleuthing to just that. He would find out anything that interesting about the doctor, Daniel Poole, and half the village just for the fun of it.

“So you’re feeling ill?”

Vi nodded, pretending she didn’t recognize the condescending edge to his tone.

“Very sick.”

“Talk to me about what you’re feeling.”

Vi described her symptoms: light-headedness, nausea, headache.

The condescending tone was joined by a slow, mocking smile. “These are quite common symptoms for a woman expecting to have a baby.”

“Indeed.” Vi gave Beatrice a look that demanded a prize after this nonsense. Then Vi started whining. “But I just feel so bad.”

“Mmm,” the doctor said, clearly ignoring everything Vi said, but pretending to listen. He felt Vi’s pulse and listened to her heart. “Perhaps your pulse is a bit fast.”

Was that real? Vi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Was her pulse fast? Was something wrong with the baby? Vi felt a rush of worry, despite how she was also certain the doctor wasn’t taking anything that she said seriously.

Vi let her gaze go wide and tears fill her eyes. Neither Vi nor Beatrice missed the doctor’s very quiet snort or the way he went to make a note. Vi waited until Beatrice started talking before she pushed herself up a few inches to see what notes the doctor had made. Her brows lifted when she saw: hysterical female, imagined problems.

Vi’s worries faded, and she was flooded with a rush of anger. It was so thick and bitter, Vi could taste it in her mouth. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

“Good, good,” Dr. Worrall said. “Calm down. Try to focus on happy things like baby booties. Smile more for your husband. You want to keep him happy as your body changes.”

Vi started to reply, but Beatrice cut in before Vi lost control of herself.

“There was this one friend I had,” Beatrice started. “She was pregnant, and she was about five months along, and the baby just fell out.”

“That didn’t happen,” Dr. Worrall said flatly, his eyes fixed on Beatrice.

“It did,” Beatrice squeaked with panic. “My mother told me about it. She was there. The woman had been horseback riding and it just jiggled the baby right out.”

Even Vi was gaping until she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Smith slithered by and the puzzle pieces were put together. Smith paused long enough to stare at Beatrice with such love Vi blinked for a moment before focusing on Beatrice again.

“I assure you,” Dr. Worrall told Beatrice, who had leaned into the hysterics and was fluttering her hands near her face. “No woman has ever had a baby fall right out of her, though I’m sure many women would have wanted that by the end.”

Beatrice’s gaze darted to Vi, and Vi’s eyes widened. She’d seen childbirth more than once, but listening to the derision in the man’s tone infuriated both Vi and Beatrice.

“Do you look after many mothers?” Beatrice asked.

“Of course, I have extensive experience. I know you ladies sometimes prefer to have a midwife, but old wives’ tales are why you thought your mother’s story was true.”

At this point, Vi knew that Beatrice was enjoying every moment of mocking the doctor, and she let the tears fall.

“She’s going to die, isn’t she? She’s going to have this baby, and she’s going to die, and then the baby will be an orphan—” Beatrice let her voice get more and more high-pitched and with every syllable, she cemented the doctor’s belief that women were irrational creatures.

Dr. Worrall was patting Beatrice’s hand, and Vi leaned back enough to watch from behind Beatrice, rolling her eyes at her friend.

Honestly, they shouldn’t have been that surprised that Dr. Worrall was such a misogynist. They were young, acting like idiots, and feeding into the lies so many men told themselves about the capacity of women.

Beatrice sniffled into a handkerchief and then dabbed at the corner of each eye as she pretended to appreciate the things that Dr. Worrall said and did. They continued to distract the doctor, becoming hysterical every time he started to look away from them.

Dr. Worrall finally snapped, “Your friend is young and healthy, and she’ll be fine.”

It was a promise that no one could actually give, and in reality, Beatrice was more offended by that than anything else. Women did die in childbirth. Pretending otherwise was just…even more condescending.

Chapter 6

Smith was sitting in the auto when Vi and Beatrice returned. Violet saw him blithely reading the contents of a document folder.

“Smith, you were supposed to read it and leave.” Beatrice scolded.

“But I didn’t want to,” Smith told her. “I wanted to read it all and then criticize.”

Bea snorted and then leaned her head back against the seat. “I’m not sure how much faith I have in that man.”

“He did give me iron pills.”

Bea started to reply and then said, “Those will make you even more nauseous.”

Vi looked down at the jar of pills that she’d received and tossed them to the side of the back bench seat. “He said my pulse was fast.”

Smith shot Vi a look that refused to indulge her. Instead he asked, “Were you lying?”

She nodded, hating him already.

“Were you planning on helping me break into his home and pry into his privacy? Perhaps that might have been why your heart was racing even though your expressions and tones were showing the perfect actress.”

Vi groaned. “Oh, be quiet.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

Bea elbowed Smith and told Vi, “I’ll make him pay later.”

“I’d prefer you make him pay while I’m watching.”

Smith grinned at Vi. “There’s a reason you’re my favorite of Bea’s useless friends.”

“You might pretend that you don’t love us, but we know you do.”

With that comment, Smith remained expressionless. But Bea grinned at her husband, and Vi suspected that her friend saw something in Smith that Vi missed.

“What did you learn?” Vi asked.

Smith shrugged. “Lots of symptoms that seem to reflect he’s sick.”

“What is his diagnosis?”

“Generalized weakness.”

Vi blinked and then glanced at Beatrice to see if her friend had heard the same nonsense.

“That can’t be right,” Beatrice murmured. “Who would even accept that diagnosis?”

“Maybe someone who knew he was dying.” Smith didn’t seem that surprised, but he was frowning as he glanced over the notes again.

“What?” Vi asked him.

Smith didn’t answer. But the smallest wrinkle between his brows made Vi wonder if Smith was seeing something Vi didn’t.

Was it shell-shock? Maybe what he was seeing was someone who didn’t want to live? Maybe Smith didn’t want to tell Jack and Ham that their friend had given up. Surely he must have if Daniel Poole had received such a nonsensical description for why he was dying and didn’t seek out another doctor.

Vi stared out the window, seeing the rolling hills of the downs as they reached the edge of the town and then followed a barely familiar winding road towards the house they had taken. They paused when they saw that Ham’s auto had returned, which meant that Ham and Jack were also back at the house.

Vi popped a ginger candy into her mouth, and she knew that she had shifted from amused to upset. She didn’t want to see Jack’s eyes full of grief, but they hadn’t found anything to help Jack’s friend, Poole, or to ease their guilt.

Vi suspected she was going to have to go meet Poole, knowing he’d accepted the foolish diagnosis from a man who clearly wasn’t the best doctor that England could offer, and in fact might be one of the worst.

She went into the house and saw that the parlor was empty. There was no sign of Jack in the dining room or any of the spaces meant for gathering. Violet paused when she met Reggie and realized that the house was unusually empty.

“Did they all go for a walk?”

“I don’t think so,” Reggie said. “I suspect an illness has come to the house.”

“Oh no.” Vi bit down on her bottom lip, immediately worried for Daniel Poole. The last thing Jack and Ham needed was to be the person who brought the final illness to the man’s door.

“Where are Jack and Ham?”

Reggie might have been their footman, but he was also Bea’s cousin and halfway to one of their friends. His grin was wide and evil as he answered, “They’ve taken to their beds.”

“Your uncle would not be pleased.” It was meant to be halfway a threat, but Reggie didn’t even blink.

“Too true, Mrs. Vi.” His grin faded halfway and then he leaned in to whisper, “However, he too has taken to his bed.”

Vi blinked in shock. In the years she had known Hargreaves, and she’d known him since she was a child when he had been working for her great aunt, he had never taken a day. “Do we need to get the doctor?”

It was only after she asked that she realized they did not need Dr. Worrall. That man was a fool.

“I don’t think so.” Reggie shrugged. “It seems to be mostly nausea and headache. Uncle Hargreaves said he felt a bit weak and his heart was racing, but he’s never ill. I don’t think he knows how to be ill. I had to essentially force him to bed.”

Vi sighed, worried for Hargreaves. Those who were never sick were the worst of patients. “Tell him I don’t want to see him out of his bed for at least three days, unless it’s to sit in the sun.”

Vi couldn’t imagine that either. Their butler was the type who kept the lines between employer and employee with how he behaved, even if they all knew it was more than that.

“Keep him in tea, books, and toast or whatever he wants. Broth?” Vi asked.

“Broth,” Reggie agreed, but his expression was amused. “There is nothing I’d like more than to bring Uncle Hargreaves one of your books and a mug of broth.”

Vi eyed Reggie’s amusement, knowing there was some inner joke running that she was left out of. “What?”

“Mrs. Vi—” Reggie was almost gentle. “Uncle Hargreaves packs as many books as you do when he leaves. There’s a bit of a running joke about which of you packed more for each trip, and a regular—small—pot of winnings.”

Vi’s gaze narrowed and then she couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Who brought more this time?”

“He did. It’s nearly always him if you have a new manuscript or expect to write. And it’s you if you aren’t working. The cheaters among us—” He gestured at himself. “—might pay attention to where you are in the process of passing your pages between you and Mr. Victor.”

“Hmmm,” Vi murmured, but she laughed before she threw out nonsense orders just to watch him react. “Set up the plague sign. Order up chicken soup and beef broth. Bring in the fresh fruit and afghans. Call up the nurses. The midwives. The dairy delivery.”

“Of course, Mrs. Vi,” Reggie said as Violet jogged up the stairs and found Jack in their bedroom.

He’d taken off his suit coat and his tie and shoes and he was laid out on the bed. With an elbow over his eyes, he didn’t move when she tiptoed into the room, and Vi leaned towards him, placing light fingers on his forehead, seeking signs of a fever.

“I’m fine,” Jack said.

The lie was so clearly obvious, Vi didn’t bother to do anything more than trail her fingers over his face again, and lean down, kissing his forehead above where his arm covered his eyes. She guessed the headache was fierce if he was covering his eyes like that, so she crossed to the windows and closed the curtain, casting the room into darkness.

She left him and found Rita doing the same just down the hall.

“Ham is sick too?”

Rita nodded. She sighed and then said, “I think we might need to have the nannies give the babies goat milk and express our own, so we don’t pass it to them. The nursery is so far safe for the little ones.”

Vi only nodded. That was a decision only the mothers could make for themselves. Rita was paranoid after losing her first pregnancy, and she protected her son and daughter like a rabid tiger. Smith was the worst of all the parents, so it would probably be the same decision that Beatrice made. But then again, little Calliope was delicate, and she did better on Bea’s milk now that they were looking after the little one.

Vi left the others and went to get Jack a cup of her tea. Half chamomile, half mint, a squeeze of lemon for Jack and no sweetener. When she returned, she cajoled him into drinking the tea, having a ginger candy, and taking two aspirin.

Once she’d done what she could for him, she curled up next to him and held his hand as she thought about what she’d learned about Daniel Poole. The thing was, Vi knew about dark days. Those gray seasons where everything was blurred, sounds and people were too much, and all you wanted to do was to curl up with your pillow, pull the covers over your head, and let everything fade into naps.

If you were sick and you had gray days, would you accept a diagnosis such as Daniel Poole had received? She rather thought you would. Vi rubbed her brow and looked at her husband. He was already burdened with her gray days. She wasn’t in a dark place at the moment, so she knew that he’d rather have her and her gray days than not have her at all.

She knew that he loved her, and she was blessed with family and love to see her through those times.

What did Daniel Poole have? Who?

The vision of the sweet woman with her pink round cheeks and thin white hair. Her baked goods wouldn’t be enough to bring a man out of the gray days. Not with no one else to help. How many times had Jack or Victor or Kate of any of the others come into the darkness with Vi and refused to leave her alone to it.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know that they made sure she walked or they walked with her to help. It wasn’t like she didn’t know that they kept an eye on her and did what they could to keep her from falling too far. And it wasn’t like she didn’t know that she was better now than she’d been before all of her friends looking after her.

Those dark days when she didn’t have any of her current people except for Denny and Victor and Lila, and the boys had been in training for the great war. Those had been days where everything had been clouded and dark, and there had been no hope at all.

She needed to see Daniel Poole for herself. She needed to know if in letting their friend come home to nothing, Jack and Ham had missed that their friend needed them. Vi hated to think it might be true, but she also had a pretty good idea of how those things felt, and she could too easily imagine it.

She needed to know if it was true. And then she needed to make sure that Mr. Daniel Poole, one time saver of Jack’s life, and dear friend of two of her most important people, made sure that those two people never, ever knew.

Vi pressed another kiss to Jack’s forehead, and he didn’t move this time. The aspirin and the stomach help seemed to be enough to let him slide into sleep, which gave her a chance to sneak out of the house and confront the poor, dying Mr. Poole. Whatever it took to keep Jack from those same gray days. He could have as many as he needed to grieve and not one more.

Chapter 7

Vi wandered through the house and found that Victor had also taken to his bed. Along with Lila and Denny. Rita was a bit better, but not entirely well. Beatrice and Smith and Vi, along with their cook and Reggie, were the only ones who were entirely all right outside of the nursery.

“So odd,” Beatrice said as she promised to look after the house while Smith and Vi went to persuade Daniel Poole to keep anything from Jack and Ham that would hurt them later.

“I think I already had it,” Vi told Bea. “Rita wants everyone to stay out of the nursery to keep the babies from getting it.”

Bea frowned and glanced at Smith, who hesitated as well. With Calliope doing so much better on Bea’s milk, it was a difficult choice. “You were sick just for a day?”

Vi nodded.

“Let’s see where we are tomorrow,” Beatrice said.

As Vi and Smith motored away from the house, Smith said nothing. His jaw clenched and unclenched, and his hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard, she could see the strain. Beyond those signs, it wasn’t possible to tell how upset he was.

“I would tell you that all will be well,” Vi started, but she knew she should stop.

“I know,” Smith growled. “I have seen so many people die, Vi. I thought I lost Bea and Ella for a while there, but it feels even more possible with Calliope. It feels like she probably should have died already, and we’re on borrowed time.”

“She’s doing better,” Vi told him gently. But she knew. She’d lost a lot of people too, and that wasn’t even the murders. They had seen so many of those. But she’d also lost two brothers to the war, her mother, her great aunt. Strong healthy friends from the Spanish flu. It felt like sorrow was always just around the corner, even before people started killing each other.

“For now she is,” Smith said. To Vi’s surprise he added, “I never wanted to love her.”

Vi didn’t reply to that. She knew that Smith saw himself as the villain. If, anything, he was a bit of a dark hero. The man who got things done and protected those who needed him and passed his somewhat secret internal scale.

“You are not as bad as you think.”

Smith scoffed. “I was there when the first mustard gas canisters flew. Those contributed to Poole’s state if his breathing issues and the history Dr. Worrall are to be relied upon.”

“I’m sure they are,” Vi said. “It’s not like the man doesn’t know if he was there or not. Jack said Poole was in the trenches.”

“Before he worked with Jack and Ham?”

Vi nodded, rubbing the back of her neck. “Daniel Poole saved Jack’s life during one of the war investigations.”

Smith’s jaw clenched again. The shift in topic from his delicate daughter to the war was what Smith needed to relax, if only a little. Vi shot him a look and then said, “I need your help for Jack.”

“I know.”

“I know you love him, and you love me, and we love you and Bea and your girls.”

“It’s a circle of love and light,” Smith said darkly. “Let us now sing a song of praise and then have a moment of silence.”

Vi grinned at him and then said, “I can’t make Calliope survive, but I can promise you that she’s better now that you’ve loved her.”

Smith scoffed.

“You know it’s true even if you don’t like it.”

“Fine,” Smith said. “What are we going to do here?”

“We’re just going to visit him and then we’re going to make sure he doesn’t tell Jack or Ham anything that would make them feel guilty about—”

Smith wasn’t a man who felt guilty for things in the same way as the rest of them, but at least he knew others felt that way. He nodded and then turned towards the little village.

“Let’s bring him one of those baskets full of nonsense like you do for sick people. We’ll pressure him into eating and then pin him down.”

“Pin him down?”

“Like a butterfly on a display board.”

Vi’s lips twitched even though she wasn’t a woman who found it amusing. It was more Smith leaning into the theory of darkness that made her laugh at him. She left him in the auto and then found her way through a few little shops, gathering up a thick afghan, some of her favorite ginger wine and ginger candies, and fresh fruit. Vi added sweet champagne, chocolate, and strawberries because if she were dying those would be the last things she’d want to taste.

Then she returned to the auto, and they made their way to Daniel Poole’s house just as Mrs. Whitehead was also arriving. To Vi’s surprise, she found that they were let immediately into the man’s home. Mrs. Whitehead was placing a tray full of her special apple treats and a glass of apple brandy in front of him, while Vi approached with her own gifts.

“Do let me leave you to them,” Mrs. Whitehead said, nodding kindly at Vi and squeezing her hand lightly. Speaking low, Mrs. Whitehead whispered, “Bless you and your friends for coming and giving him something—”

Mrs. Whitehead pressed her lips together and blinked rapidly before she hurried from the room. Vi paused as Mr. Poole pushed the tray to the side and slowly rose. He was nearly as tall as Jack, but spindly. Tall, and beyond thin to gaunt. Honestly, the poor man was almost skeletal with dark circles under his eyes.

Vi took his hand between hers, wishing it didn’t feel as though she were holding leather covered bones, and then she helped him to sit. She carefully arranged his pillow behind his back, wrapping it around his curled shoulders.

Vi showed him the things they’d brought him, and his eyes lit with interest on the strawberries and champagne. Smith opened the bottle while Vi dumped out his apple brandy, rinsed out his mug, and filled it to the brim with champagne.

Mr. Poole lifted the mug to her, and she laughed at him. “The things we come to.”

“I’m not sure there is a better way to drink champagne than in a mug with relish,” Vi told him.

Her eyes raked over his face and she looked for some sign of a man like Jack. There was nothing there. Even his eyes were watery, and he almost flinched from the lights. Even still, he sipped from his mug and grinned at her.

It was a bit creepy, since the specter of death clung so fiercely to him. But he didn’t seem overly depressed. He was good, she thought. He was so very good at pretending.

“How nice to have something new,” Mr. Poole said.

“Mr. Poole,” Smith started, and the man laughed.

It sounded like a raspy choking, and it took a minute before Vi realized he was laughing and not dying in front of them. She lifted the mug to his lips, and he sipped carefully before he said, “Don’t worry. There’s life in me yet.”

Vi did not believe him. In fact, she felt that if she came at him with a feather, he might well succumb from the shock.

“Do call me Daniel. I feel as though I know you.”

Vi and Smith glanced at each other in surprise and then back at Daniel.

The man smiled, a baring of yellow teeth. “Your husband and Ham entertained me with your exploits. They write often.”

Vi blinked and Daniel laughed again, and she almost died to hear it.

“Surprise.” His cackle turned into actual coughing this time, and when he’d caught his breath he said, “I didn’t want anyone to know this sad tale.”

“This isn’t how you left the war.” Unlike Vi, Smith wasn’t horrified.

Daniel shrugged and then ate one of the strawberries, chewing slowly. “I was stabbed in the side during the war. Caught a fever. I’d taken a good bit of gas, and I shouldn’t have lived.”

“But you did,” Smith said, without any sympathy.

“I did. Then I went back to work. I couldn’t fight the same. I have a limp and a weakened arm. But Jack and Ham let me help my brothers-in-arms.”

Vi licked her lips and let him talk.

“They all died. All of my unit. Not one survivor but me.”

Vi closed her eyes against the blankness. The numb acceptance was worse than pain. “Is that why—”

“Why what?” Daniel asked when Vi didn’t finish her question.

“Vi wants to know why you accepted such a stupid diagnosis when you could have asked Jack and Ham for help. Were you trying to die?”

“Suicide by not giving a damn?” Daniel asked.

To Vi’s surprise he wasn’t offended. There was something in his tone, but it wasn’t offense.

“Maybe.”

Vi looked at Smith, but he was staring at Poole.

“Why not just shoot yourself?”

“Weakness,” Daniel Poole told Smith flatly.

To Vi’s surprise, Smith’s head cocked and he lifted a brow. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Daniel swallowed and then asked, “Why are you here?”

Smith leaned back, crossed his fingers on his chest, and ignored the question. He examined Daniel Poole as though he were an insect under the glass after all, but something didn’t quite add up for Smith.

“What is it, Smith?”

“He’s Jack and Ham’s friend,” Smith told Vi.

“Yes,” Daniel agreed, looking between the two of them.

But Vi and Smith were staring at each other. Jack and Ham. Vi slowly turned to Daniel and her head tilted as she considered what Smith was seeing. Jack and Ham wouldn’t have added just any man to their team during the war. It wouldn’t have mattered how much they liked a fellow or how sorry they felt for him. Not during the war. Not with so many lives.

“You are not a quitter.”

Daniel laughed again. That raspy horror-filled sound that would make the dead turn over in their graves. “But I am.”

“Look at that self-hatred,” Smith told Vi without any sympathy. “Who did you quit on?”

“What makes you think I did?” Daniel growled, forcing a cough out and groaning as it racked him hard.

“It has to be a girl,” Vi told Smith.

She wasn’t gentle in her comment, but she was gentle as she rubbed Daniel’s back and helped him to sip from his mug of champagne.

“I have shell-shock,” Daniel told them flatly. “It’s not safe for anyone to be around me. I was doing what was right.”

Vi scoffed, but Smith didn’t. She was sure these honorable arrogant men thought they were right, and for a moment, she was offended on behalf of whomever Daniel abandoned. But wait—it was Mrs. Whitehead’s daughter, wasn’t it?

“Idiot.”

“You don't know,” Daniel snapped, sounding furious.

“You don’t know. If you loved her, you wouldn’t have abandoned her.”

“I was keeping her safe.”

“This world isn’t safe for women. We die in childbirth. We’re murdered by the men in our lives. We’re beaten by those who should love us. We can barely get divorces from those who would hurt us. It’s hard to go to college or reject marriage and support ourselves—even though so many women don’t even have an opportunity at marriage. They’re left in a world that would leave them beggars and alone because they’re the extraneous women. The world is slated against women, and every time you make our choices for us, you keep it that way.”

Daniel stared at Vi, but she wasn’t finished. She was too angry to even think. To see the man who was dying alone and righteous in his choices while somewhere out there was a woman who probably wondered why she had been rejected by the man who loved her.

“She married.”

“Well,” Vi snapped, “let’s hope that man is better for her than you were. Let’s hope he hears her and lets her have a voice, because you didn’t.”

Daniel looked away, and Vi wondered if he knew something about his one-time love’s life that made him regret things even more. Or maybe it was just residual guilt for what he’d done to the woman he was supposed to love.

She sighed before she softly asked, “Did you even tell her?”

He said nothing.

“Lovely.”

“It was easier that way.”

“Because then you didn’t have to hear her tell you that she was willing to try. Or maybe you didn’t have to hear her relief in being released.”

Vi might have said that last part on purpose. She was just so angry at those who thought they knew best for full-grown women.

Vi sounded exhausted as she told him. “You didn’t give her a chance to choose for herself.”

“It was for the best.”

“Of course,” Vi mocked. “Of course it was. You just left her wondering why she wasn’t good enough and left her to put her heart back together without even knowing why she was no longer good enough for you.”

Daniel’s jaw clenched and Vi rose. She paced as she tried to gather control of herself. Jack loved this man. He was her priority. It was time to box up her thoughts about society and the cages it put women in and save her fury for after his death.

It didn’t matter anyway. It was too late and too little for the woman, and maybe—despite Daniel Poole—his one-time love had found happiness.

Chapter 8

“May we presume, then, that you didn’t commit suicide by neglect?” Smith asked Daniel as Vi paced.

“I did not.”

“Why did you allow the diagnosis of generalized weakness?”

Daniel scoffed. “I’m surprised that fool Worrall told you that?”

Smith lifted a silent brow and let it speak for him for a long moment before he said, “I thought you said that Jack and Ham told you about us.”

To Vi’s surprise Daniel laughed. The sound of his laugh hadn’t shifted from horrible, but now that she knew what it was, she wasn’t as bothered by it. She looked at the two men, hands on her hips as Daniel shrugged. “He did. Apologies.”

Vi went back to pacing. Apologizing for not realizing that they’d clearly broken the law and stolen his file.

“I saw another doctor. A family friend. He’s quite good. He didn’t agree with the term generalized weakness, but I am failing. He couldn’t find a cause. I have better bouts and worse bouts, but the decline is there regardless. I’d fight if there were something to do, but nothing I’ve tried has worked.”

Vi stared at him. He was certainly going to die. It was odd to accuse a man of suicide when he yet lived, but she was going to take his answer even if she wasn’t sure she fully believed it. It had been a long time since the war, but that hadn’t stopped other men from continuing to struggle.

For her purposes, it didn’t matter so much if he struggled or if he didn’t. It mattered that he didn’t give even the slightest of ideas to Jack and Ham that they should have done more. She turned to the man and asked, “What can we do for you?”

“There’s nothing to be done.”

She eyed him and she saw resignation, but not despair in his eyes. “Do you want me to find your love and explain?”

He shook his head and Vi lifted a brow. “I don’t want to make it harder for her.”

Vi’s reply was the hiss of fury when she snarled, “Quit making her choices for her.”

Daniel licked his dry lips, and there was no shift in their state. Vi nudged his mug of champagne to wet his poor throat. “Perhaps—”

Vi waited, hoping that he’d do better by the woman he supposedly loved.

“Jack says you are insightful. That you understand people with the vaguest of clues. Perhaps you can assess her and see if she needs to know. If she does—tell her anything. Tell her everything.”

Vi nodded even though she wanted to just decide right then she would tell the woman everything. She wasn’t going to, however, no matter how badly she wanted to. She would do what Jack’s friend asked and assess his one-time love and see if she would be further hurt by the truth.

Daniel asked for paper and pencil, and he wrote out a name and direction. Vi took his hand and promised that she’d do just as he asked. While they sat with him, Mr. Poole finished the strawberries and Vi promised him more.

They stayed long enough to read him a few letters along with chapters from a V.V. Twinnings book. When the man slipped into sleep, Smith propped his feet up on a cushioned stool, and Vi put the things Mrs. Whitehead had delivered in the kitchen.

No one lived with Daniel Poole. Outside of a woman who came and cleaned and left a few things, the man was entirely alone. His house felt as though he were already dead. It felt empty and dusty and haunted, and soon it would be.

Vi didn’t think there was any chance for Daniel Poole. She had wanted to believe that they could swoop in with an expensive doctor and an expensive treatment, but they couldn’t even offer their villa by the sea. There was no question that Mr. Poole wouldn’t survive a journey. He’d be lucky to survive the night.

Before he slipped into sleep he murmured, “Don’t tell them to stay away to protect me.”

He didn’t add that there was nothing to be done, but that was only because it didn’t need to be said. Daniel Poole was going to die. He’d rather die with his sick friends by his side than alone. Vi nodded and knew that when she sent Jack back, he wouldn’t leave his friend again. Not until Daniel Poole was finished.

* * * * *

“We made assumptions,” Vi said as they motored away from the old house.

“We did,” Smith agreed.

He didn’t need to say he wasn’t nearly as burdened by those assumption as Vi. Rather than ponder on it too long, she let it all go. It didn’t matter. She asked Smith to head back to the stores, and she arranged to have champagne, chocolate, and fruit delivered daily to Daniel Poole.

“Make sure that the delivery is brought in and put next to him.”

The shop owner nodded. He didn’t need an explanation. Everyone in the small village knew that the Great War was taking another victim, years later.

“Let’s just go past the love’s home,” Smith said.

“Why?” Vi asked.

“Grim curiosity.”

Vi didn’t argue. She was curious too, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Somewhere in this town was a woman who’d waited for a man to come back from the war. He’d come back, and she’d still lost. She’d seen the specter of the man she’d loved, and it hadn’t been enough.

“She must have thought she was lucky at first,” Vi suggested to Smith.

“I’m sure she did.”

They were quiet for a while and then Vi muttered, “The things humans do to each other.”

Smith flicked her on the ear, and when she turned, he said, “Don’t go gray, Vi. Jack needs you, and for every well-intentioned betrayal, for every man who beats his wife, for every lost child, there are good things, too.”

Vi believed those things, and she listed through good things in her head. The recent addition of Calliope. A friendship that lasted out of the trenches and into the world. The brotherhood of Ham and Jack. The lithe happiness of Lila that lasted through most things. The cheeriness of Denny. The constant loyalty of her twin and his wife. The golden brightness of Rita and her husky humor. The abundance of children, including those who had been brought to them by fate.

In fact, Vi thought, Victor and Vi had adopted Ginny. Victor and Kate had adopted Ethan. Ham and Rita had adopted Ruby. Smith and Beatrice had adopted Calliope. They hadn’t just been given the babies they grew themselves, they’d been lucky enough to find those who needed them.

Vi didn’t think it was more possible to see only darkness when there were so many children around. That being thought, however, she felt sorry for—Vi unfolded the paper with the name and the directions and read it—Goldie Arbor.

Maybe she had been robbed of the children that she could have grown. Those who might have comforted her with the eventual loss of Daniel Poole. Was Goldie Arbor a woman who would have rather loved and lost?

If so, maybe she was across the village from Daniel Poole, knowing the man she’d loved enough to wait through the war for was dying, and she was mourning him already. Vi mocked herself under her breath when she thought about that.

She was putting feelings and emotions on a woman she had never met based on how she’d have felt about it. She would have rather loved and lost than never have had Jack. She would have rather lived and tried and fought until the end. She didn’t want to slide gently from this world. She wanted to go out with strawberries and champagne on her lips. With her loves holding her hand, and with the surety that she would be missed.

The house, when they passed it, was small. Smaller than Daniel Poole’s home. It had a neat garden, chickens behind a wire fence, flowers in pots, and a dog that raced to the end of the drive and watched them go by.

The dog was small, wiry, and looked mean for being so tiny. It was, certainly, an ankle biter. There was no sign of the woman, and there was no sign of a husband, no sign of children, no sign of life.

“I have been imagining her based off of me and Jack.”

“Not everyone feels as you, Vi. Not everyone loves like you and Jack. It’s not fair to assume others will do what you would do, when you’re brave, educated, and supported.”

Vi nodded. She knew he was right, but— She glanced his way, and her eyes glinted with sarcastic humor when she asked him, “Was that empathy I heard from you?”

Smith scoffed. “Surely not.”

“Never,” Vi agreed.

They turned the auto towards the house they’d taken, and despite the windy roads and the rolling hills, the waving grass on the downs, and the scent of fresh, wild air, neither felt better when they had reached home.

They were rescuers, and there was no rescuing to be done.

Chapter 9

The house was quiet when they returned, but people were no longer in their bedrooms. Denny sat a bit bug eyed and bleary by the fire. He had a bag of Vi’s ginger candy next to him along with a glass that clearly had once had sodium bicarbonate in it.

“Feeling any better?” Vi asked while Smith simply glanced in at them and then walked past.

“No.” Denny said, but his feet were crossed and his color wasn’t too bad. “I have died.”

“Oh dear,” Vi muttered and then she crossed to pat him on the head. “Has anyone else expired?”

“Probably.” Denny groaned dramatically.

Vi checked his head for a fever and then got him a ginger beer before she walked through the house to check on everyone else. When she finished, she found that Beatrice had separated the babies in the nursery. They had two unused guests rooms on the top floor, and Beatrice had put Kate’s children and nanny in one.

The next one had Lila’s two daughters and her nanny.

The nursery had been split between Rita’s babies and nanny and Beatrice’s babies and nanny. Their little ones were the least mobile and weren’t like to cross the dividing line. Vi frowned as she saw the less-happy children who would rather have been together, but Vi thought Beatrice had probably made the right choice.

“Are you staying way from the girls?” Vi asked, carefully, trying to keep any judgement out of her tone. She didn’t know what was the right thing to do, but she was certain it wasn’t her decision to make.

Vi let Beatrice talk through her thoughts and then told Bea about the afternoon.

“I want to meet that woman,” Beatrice said.

Vi took a deep breath in and then she admitted, “I would have disregarded everything Daniel Poole said about this woman. Why should he get to choose what she knows?”

“Except, he’s dying and there’s no fixing it, and sometimes the truth is painful and there’s nothing to be done.”

“You don’t want to choose alone?”

Vi nodded, admitting the truth and then she turned to find Jack. She told him of her visit, leaving out much of the substance of the conversations and focused on the strawberries and champagne and the reading to him.

When Jack was well, and Daniel Poole was gone, Vi would tell him the rest.

* * * * *

The next day dawned grey, and Vi could only hope it wasn’t an omen. Jack and Ham had left, despite feeling ill, and Smith had driven them, so they could keep their eyes closed until they reached the house.

Once they were gone, Vi and Beatrice left next. They had each had fruit and one of the apple buns from Mrs. Whitehead, but most of their friends hadn’t bothered with food at all. Vi drove, feeling like the tension of the death and everyone’s illness was going to wear her down. Her eyes hurt as she looked at the sky and her stomach struggled with the morning sickness, but she pushed through.

Daniel Poole might well want to know what his one-time love has to say to before he died. Once again, Vi and Beatrice stopped in the village looking for an offering to give the woman who’s life they were intruding on.

“What do you get for something like this?” Vi asked, muttering to her friend as they wandered through a boutique.

Beatrice shrugged helplessly, but together they worked through a variation of what they’d brought Daniel Poole.

“Strawberries, chocolates, champagne, and a quite lovely silk shawl.” Beatrice said as she added a pretty basket to put it all in. Vi nibbled her bottom lip and then asked, “maybe we should visit the baker and get her something different than the things her mother makes. I’m already sick of the apple things. In fact,—”

Vi didn’t finish her thought before she led the way into the baker, and she ordered anything that wasn’t apple delivered to Daniel Poole as well. For Goldie Arbor, Vi selected cinnamon buns and a small chocolate cake.

“This was a good idea,” Beatrice said as she put the large cake they’d bought for their friends in the back of the auto. “Just thinking about an apple bun or a turnover makes me feel ill.”

“We became spoiled so quickly,” Vi said. Before she started the auto again, she took out two aspirin and a ginger candy from her re-supplied stock. Between Denny and the rest, everting she’d bought the day previous was gone.

This time, she’d bought two of the largest bags she had admitting to the shopkeeper that they were all suffering from something like dyspepsia.

“A bit of that going around.” The shopkeeper said. “I kind of wonder if it isn’t something in the water.”

Vi suspected that they’d found the source of their illness that was making its way though their home. She’d refilled her aspirin and sodium bicarbonate at the same time and was told they’d taken the last of the bicarb.

Violet bit her bottom lip as they approached the house. Her heart was in her throat and it was partially because she knew that they should not be digging into this woman’s life. That wasn’t going to stop them from approaching. Violet stopped the auto and she glanced at Bea.

“What lie should we start with?”

The door was opened before Beatrice could reply and the two friends shot each other looks that admitted they should have figured these things out before reaching the house. Mrs. Arbor’s hair was mostly gray despite her smooth face. Her eyes were brown, her jaw was firm, and there was nothing animated in her expression or movements.

“Hello.” There was no welcome in the tone, and Beatrice and Vi were eyed as the invaders they were.

Vi looked down at the basket in her hands and the cake in Beatrice and a lie came to her.

“Hello, we’re friends of Daniel Poole, and he asked us to stop by.”

Mrs. Arbor eyed them like the invaders they were, and then her mouth twisted. “The time for that is long since past.”

“I know.” Vi told her precisely. “I agree.”

Mrs. Arbor’s gaze moved past Vi’s shoulder, and her face firmed into a wooden, expressionless mask. She said nothing. Nothing to encourage them and nothing to send them away.

Beatrice cleared her throat and her own lie came. “Mr. Poole has been enjoying strawberries, champagne, and chocolate as his likely last meal.”

Those eyes moved to Beatrice for a moment, and Mrs. Arbor’s lips turned down for a moment, but she said nothing.

“Look,” Vi started. The word was aggressive, the tone was all apology. “I can not even imagine how much you don’t want us here. This is a last wish type of request, so I’m afraid we’re going to be bothersome.”

Mrs. Arbor pressed her lips together and she said, ‘Then get to it.”

Vi licked her lips and then she said, “My husband, Jack Wakefield, served with Mr. Poole during the war.”

Mrs. Arbor said nothing. There was no sign of recognition on her face.

“Mr. Poole saved my husband’s life from murder.”

Mrs. Arbor’s eyes moved to Vi’s for a moment, but there was nothing to be seen in those icy brown depths. “Daniel didn’t come home from the war. A dead man wearing his face has been haunting us.”

Vi blinked, but she said, “He has shell-shock. He was injured.”

“So were many.”

“He’s an arrogant, son of a gun,” Violet added.

With that Mrs. Arbor finally cracked. She huffed out a breath, and then she said, “He is.” Her lips pressed together again, and she added, “He was.”

Vi was shocked at the decision to speak about a man as though he were already dead, but she wasn’t going to challenge that need. Vi fought to find her train of thought and then cleared her throat. “He decided, foolishly in my opinion, that he wasn’t the man who left and that you would be better off without him.”

Mrs. Arbor said nothing. Her jaw was firm, and Vi feared that if there was love behind all that hate, it had died. Or maybe it was the source of the hate.

“He regrets it, I think.” Vi thought the man was arrogant enough to still be sure he was right, and everyone else was wrong. She thought he was one of those foolishly certain of themselves men who knew what was better for the women in their lives. She thought he was well-intentioned, and he might have paved the way for Mrs. Arbor and himself to hell.

Vi glanced at Beatrice who said, “We’re sorry for your loss.”

“Was it a loss?” Mrs. Arbor hissed. “I lost a man too weak to love and csare for those in his life. A person who pretended to be strong and was weak. I married another.” There was nothing that was soft or loving about that last sentence. “And now things are as they are. Is it even different than if he had never come home? Other that my mother would bake less and I would have inherited earlier.”

Vi and Beatrice glanced at each other. Together, they looked at the woman who had crossed her arms over her chest. How much pain did she carry?

“I’m luckier than others,” Mrs. Arbor said. “My puppy love isn’t dead in one of those trenches, lost forever. I don’t have the fairytale lie to cling to and regret, and I could give myself to my current husband. Mr. Arbor works hard. Does what he can for us, and he’s as worthy as any other man.”

“Our apologies for your loss,” Beatrice told her. “I hope you find some joy in the things we’ve brought.”

Mrs. Arbor didn’t take their offerings, but Vi simply bypassed the woman and set it on her front step. If she wanted to toss it all, Vi would rather not see it, and she didn’t want to lie to Daniel Poole when she told him the things were rejected.

Chapter 10

“What do we say to Mr. Poole?” Beatrice asked.

Vi looked at Bea and then back at the road. Who knew what would be the best thing to do was? “I think we tell the kind lie, and hope no one else reveals what we’ve done. Daniel is going to die. He doesn’t need to know that the love story he built in his head isn’t real.”

Bea scoffed. “Maybe he knows. Maybe he tells himself he did what was right, but he knew there was nothing worth fighting for there. “

Well, Vi thought, he was an investigator during the war. Maybe he had realized that whatever had existed before the war hadn’t survived. Maybe he had realized that he had changed and the innocent affection before the war wasn’t strong enough for the shift in who he had been.

“Do you ever think about what kind of man Smith might have been if he hadn’t been through the war, and being a spy, and all of these investigations?”

Beatrice shrugged. “What about you or me?”

Vi thought for a moment. She could have answered that a thousand ways, and they could consider each of them as to who they were before all of the things they’d been through and who they were now, but Vi shrugged off the thoughts and drove the auto towards Mrs. Whitehead’s house.

“Why?” Beatrice asked.

“I’m going to tell her to stop delivering goods. She’s already looking after Mr. Poole. She doesn’t need to bake several things for us everyday.”

“And we’re sick of them.”

Vi nodded. They really did sound unappealing. “We might be so spoiled it’s ridiculous.

“Well if she would make something that didn’t have apple in it.” Bea’s tone wasn’t kind, and Vi didn’t object to it. To be honest with herself, she wasn’t a fan of anything that lingered on forever unless it was ginger wine or Turkish coffee.

Outside of that, Vi needed different flavors. What about a berry turnover? Or a cherry tart? Or butter cake? Every single thing that didn’t include, nutmeg, cinnamon, or apples. They reached the home, and Vi offered to cancel on her own, but Beatrice got out too.

Vi got out of the auto as Mrs. Whitehead left the house. She was followed by a man, and Vi’s brows lifted. Somehow she’d thought that Mrs. Whitehead had been a widow. The man next to her was maybe not quite as old as Mrs. Whitehead, or he was just aging nicely.

“Hello,” Vi said, holding out her hand. “I just wanted to thank you for the things you’ve been bringing.”

“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Whitehead said. “I do love baking.”

“I fear some our household has come down ill,” Vi told her. “We thought we’d better stop for now.”

Mrs. Whitehead nodded easily, but the man froze. He cleared his throat and then held out his hand. “Gervais Arbor. So nice to meet you.”

Vi was a good enough actress to not react to the man who had to be as old as Goldie Arbor’s father and seemed to be her husband. He looked at Violet and Beatrice like they were ghosts come to haunt them.

“You said you were ill?”

Vi nodded. “Some sort of stomach illness.” 

She bit down on her bottom lip, wondering why Mr. Arbor was so upset. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sure Mrs. Wakefield does not want to tell her family’s private business.”

Vi felt as though she’d stepped into an argument that was old, but she didn’t know why how they were feeling would matter.

“Who is sick?” Mr. Arbor demanded.

Violet eyed him and then said, “My husband, my friends, not the children yet.”

“Children?”

Vi nodded slowly.  “Babies mostly with a few young children.” 

“How many?” Mr. Arbor’s voice was a growl of fury.

“My brother has five children.  They’re all under four.  Everyone else has two.  They’re mostly under a year.” 

“How many babies?” Mr. Arbor asked, but now he sounded sad.  He looked sad.  He ran his hands over his face. 

“I have two.  One is quite delicate.” Beatrice’s comment took my instincts and sent them to another level.  She had caught the same feeling that Vi had. 

“Delicate?”

“She was dying in an orphanage when my husband and I took her in.  Being on my milk has helped,  but I have been concerned about being around her since I don’t want to get her sick.”

“Don’t feed her,” Mr. Arbor said flatly.

Vi stared.  Beatrice stared. Then slowly they turned to Mrs.Whitehead.  She looked at Mr. Arbor as though he’d both betrayed her and also had no idea what was happening. 

“Why can’t I feed my daughter?” Beatrice asked.  She sounded fierce.  She sounded as though she were one breath from murder. 

Vi grabbed her friend’s forearm.  But then she remembered she had been sick.  She had been exhausted, her heart had been racing at the doctor, she had been lightheaded, and she been much better with her morning sickness before they’d arrived.

What if it hadn’t been coffee that had made her sick that first day when she’d walked?  Vi ran through the memory of that first day of illness, and she remembered something very important. “You.”

Mrs. Whitehead blinked, but her gaze didn’t meet Vi’s. 

“I am pregnant.” Vi said to Mrs. Whitehead, and the woman shrugged. 

“I don’t know what you mean.  Or what that matters.  Congratulations?”

Mrs. White head