The Loves of Violets

Four women, seated around the table. The one at the head: young, rich, and beautiful - her tresses coiled into a crown of midnight upon her head. At her right, the eldest of the four: her abundant auburn hair grey-streaked, laughter lines at the corners of her shrewd eyes, her cheeks freckled like a plover's eggs. Opposite her, a tall, blonde young matron, straight-backed and firm-chinned. At the foot, the youngest: pretty, soft and anxious, wringing a tissue between her hands.

"What should I do?" she beseeched. "I don't want to be untrue to Arthur."

The beautiful one heaved an impatient sigh. "Arthur has been dead for years. Forget him."

The young one gasped; then burst into tears. The blonde patted her hand. "She did not mean to be so curt, dear. It's just her way."

"But she is right," the wise-eyed one said. "Mr. Cadogan-West won't hold you beyond the grave. If you love John, Miss Westbury, marry him."

Miss Westbury's head shot up. "You don't understand? You've never married!"

"But I have been in love."

"With whom?" two of the three women started in their chairs. The beautiful one examined her cuticles.

"With a man I wanted to marry, and would have married, if he had ever wanted to marry."

"Marry you?"

"Marry any woman."

Miss Westbury's eyes widened. "Mr. Holmes?"

The other looked enigmatic.

The blonde woman snorted. "I don't believe you, Miss Hunter."

"Believe what you please, Mrs. Morton."

"Was he ... interested?" Miss Westbury ventured, her tissue abandoned in her lap.

Miss Hunter looked coy. "Doctor Watson thought so."

"Doctor Watson wished it so," Mrs. Morton said decidedly. "He was the one in love with you, wasn't he?"

Miss Hunter smiled another enigmatic smile, and scrutinized her gloves. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But my past is not relative to Miss Westbury's future."

"Whose past is?" posed the imperious looking woman.

"Certainly not yours, milady," riposted Mrs. Morton. "None of us would have married a libertine and murderer."

"You did."

"I did not! I was gagged; and if I wasn't, I never would have said, 'I do'. Mr. Holmes stopped that, just like he stopped your marriage to Baron Gruner, and you should be grateful he did, Violet DeMerville."

The imperious woman now smiled. "I am - and I am not."

"What!" The other three women started from their chairs.Violet De Merville looked around the table. "I intend to marry Baron Gruner."

Her three companions gasped and goggle-eyed her.

"Your seducer?" Violet Westbury squeaked out.

"Almost seducer," said Miss DeMerville, with an ice-creamy smile.

"'Almost' thanks to Mr. Holmes," Violet Hunter retorted.

"He murdered his wife!" exclaimed Miss Westbury. "And he had a 'lust diary' as thick as the Bible!"

"And his face!" Violet Morton squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. "It's … It's… ."

Violet DeMerville gave her a wilting glance. "More hideous than your husband's?"

Mrs. Morton's eyes opened wide and angry. "Cyril is not hideous."

"Merely homely," Miss DeMerville sneered.

"And honest," Violet Westbury bit her lower lip and looked down at her hands. "Like Arthur was."

Violet Hunter put her arm around her shoulders. "Brace up, dear. Your Arthur would not want you to grieve."

"I know. He was so fearless." She gave Miss Hunter a watery smile. "Like you are."

"Nonsense!" Miss Hunter smiled back. "I never could resist opening locked doors. But Jethro Rutcastle frightened me." She turned her full headmistress glare at Violet DeMerville. "And Baron Gruner should frighten you."

"Why marry him?" Violet Morton demanded. "You're King Edward's pet."

"And he's horribly mutilated," added Violet Westbury.

Violet de Merville smiled a fraction colder. "And horribly rich. That is why I will marry him."

Miss Hunter regarded her steadily, then pushed up her glasses and tucked a wayward auburn lock behind her ear. "I wouldn't do it."

"Why not? I'll be a rich baroness and do what I please. He's rich enough to pay for all I want; lustful enough to pleasure me when I want; and ugly enough that no one else will want him for a lover." Miss de Merville shrugged and laughed. "The perfect man."

She turned to Mrs. Morton. "You have your Cyril. Miss Hunter has her school. Miss Westbury has her youth. She'll marry her swain or find another good man or an charitable purpose for living. Why shouldn't I live my life as I choose?"

"By marrying a wife murderer?"

"That was not proven." Miss DeMerville retorted, raising her chin. But the fire in her eyes flickered.

"He attempted to murder Mr. Holmes," Miss Hunter pressed. "He disfigured that unfortunate Winter woman. Why on the green earth marry such a man?"

The flame rekindled. "He's rich, and titled – and he can't get in my way. I can go where I want. Do what I want. Throw parties. Champion causes. Fly an aeroplane. Cruise the world."

"And he'll let you?" Miss Hunter scoffed.

"He can't stop me. He can't show his face in public."

"He could wear a mask." Miss Westbury argued. She shuddered. "He could lock you up, or he could lock up his money."

"He'll give me his money for what I'll give him."

"Which is?"

"My company – on my terms. He needs what I can give. I need what he has. What woman wants him now?"

"Not me, for all his money, if she didn't love him and he wasn't a worthy man," said Violet Westbury. "My Arthur had very little, but he loved me and I loved him."

"And my husband and I are very happy with what we have, even if it is a simple home," agreed Mrs. Cyril Morton.

"Royalty makes such arrangements," Miss DeMerville said haughtily.

"And pay heavily doing it," Violet Hunter sniffed.

"We would have been happier than most princes." Miss Westbury choked back a sob.

Miss De Merville looked down her nose at her. "I was meant to live a life beyond your comprehension."

Violet Morton sighed. "It's your lookout, then. Do you want orchids or lilies on your grave?"

Miss De Merville smiled. "Violets, of course."