Death by Blackmail

by Beth Byers

  It was, Georgette thought, a not-unhappy murmur of noises. Could it be that only she and a few others were experiencing the crime of blackmail? Georgette wasn’t there to help with whatever project was occurring. She knew that Harriet Lawrence, Mrs. Yardley, and she were being blackmailed, all women. If Georgette were to lay a wager, she’d bet that the blackmailer was also a woman. Her gaze was alert and focused as the women gathered from their private conversations, arranged themselves around the table, and discussed the schedule of flowers for the church.

  Chapter 4

  Georgette Dorothy Marsh

  “There has been a rash of letters sent without postage,” Miss Hallowton announced. “Ladies, tell your gentlemen that all future correspondence issued in this manner will be rejected utterly.”

  Georgette’s gaze narrowed and she asked, “Perhaps you can tell us who has been receiving these letters, Miss Hallowton, so we can narrow down the issuer.”

  “I hardly think so,” Miss Hallowton snapped back. “As I’m sure you’re aware there are rules and standards about privacy.”

  Georgette smiled vaguely as Miss Hallowton hissed, “Simpleton.”

  Marian shifted at that, but Georgette didn’t react. She found she hardly cared what they said towards her in the last few weeks. It wasn’t that they’d become kinder or—for that matter—crueler. It was simply that she knew her days were limited in Bard’s Crook.

  Harriet Lawrence, however, cleared her throat. “It seems a reasonable suggestion to me. If you want the letters to stop being posted in such a manner.”

  “Do my ears deceive me?” Marian muttered. “Finally.”

  “Hush,” Georgette said mildly. “Hush.”

  Miss Hallowton, however, would not be moved, and the rest of the meeting moved quickly along.

  At the end of the meeting, Georgette crossed to Mrs. Yardley. “I have gotten a blackmail letter.”

  Mrs. Yardley’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Her gray hair was pulled back into a low bun, and she wore no hat, so the alarm in her gaze was apparent. Mrs. Yardley’s gaze turned to curiosity a moment later, and Georgette was sure the woman was wondering just what Georgette was being blackmailed over.

  “Are you still being harassed?” Georgette asked.

  Mrs. Yardley shook her head. Her mouth opened a little, and she started to speak before she shook her head. “No, I won’t ask. But Georgette, I cannot imagine that whatever it is—let me mother you. I would advise you and help you.”

  Georgette felt a flash of pain for her younger self who would have appreciated such assistance. There was no reproach in her tone as she said, “I suppose I’ve become accustomed to finding my own way. Thank you, however, Mrs. Yardley.”

  Her expression fell. “We haven’t been very good to you, my sweet Miss Marsh. I will regret that. Your mother was always a friend to me, and I suppose she placed greater faith in her friendships than she should have when I consider how Bard’s Crook has treated you. I don’t know why it took until you were helping me to realize that we’d placed you in a rather tight little cage. I am grateful indeed to have heard of your uncle and the help you’ve been receiving through these hard times.”

  “Indeed,” Georgette said, a sudden revelation striking her. “I am very fortunate in my uncle.”

  Mrs. Yardley nodded and then sighed. Her youngest daughter was at the door and her gaze was fixed on her mother with shining eyes and a mussed dressed, proclaiming that something was wrong.

  Georgette watched Mrs. Yardley leave, thinking of her uncle. He was the lie Georgette used to explain the differences in her income and comfort after her books were a success. What if it was the money and changes in her life that had left someone to believe Georgette was the author? It was rather obvious, Georgette thought. If she used that change as the criteria for why someone had realized she could be the blackmailer, Georgette still felt certain the blackmailer was a woman.

  Who would have noticed the changes? Marian might have mentioned the new sofa and chair in the parlor to her aunt. Harriet, Georgette supposed, might have noticed the changes. So few other people had been inside of her cottage.

  Miss Hallowton, Georgette thought, turning her attention to the librarian. She would have noticed Georgette’s purchases, such as tea from upscale suppliers instead of the local tea shop. In fact, Georgette’s letter had come through the mail without postage. What if it was Miss Hallowton who was sending those letters? What if, in sending them, she was making a fuss about the lack of postage to hide that it was her who sent them?

  Miss Hallowton had seen the furniture, noticed the changes in Georgette’s wardrobe, seen Georgette’s purchases, knew—in fact—that Georgette associated with those London men. And while the entire town had been set on reading the first Harper’s Bend story, creating a list of requests for the library, which Miss Hallowton also ran, Georgette had not. What if Miss Hallowton had realized that Georgette was Joseph Jones?

  She didn’t see how anyone else would know. Georgette had used most of the funds to turn her bank account positive and to correct some necessities that had lasted for years. New-to-her furniture and shoes weren’t something that the average gentleman would note. Especially because so few would have any reason to take note of her at all.

  The meeting hall had mostly emptied in the moments since Georgette had taken Mrs. Yardley aside. Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Thornton were speaking quietly in the corner and Mrs. Thornton’s face was passionate with whatever tirade she was on, but experience had taught Georgette that such a tirade could be over anything.

  Georgette glanced about for Harriet, hoping to speak to her when Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Wilkes were not present, but Harriet had disappeared with the other women. Georgette had, however, seen her once in the wood and thought that even without finding Harriet, a walk to clear her mind would be welcome.

  “I need to see if I can find Mrs. Lawrence without an audience,” Georgette said quietly to Marian.

  Marian grinned. “I am to take the afternoon train into London with my aunt. We’re having dinner with my parents and Joseph.”

  Georgette’s gaze filled with suspicion, and Marian’s smirk did nothing to alleviate it.

  “Try to keep some of my secrets,” Georgette suggested.

  Marian shook her head in an overt denial. “You’ll see that you love Charles back when you have enough time. I’ll do whatever gets you to that revelation, Georgette. Once you recognize it, we’ll be family officially.”

  Georgette sighed, but she couldn’t quite turn away the bright gaze. Georgette leaned in and pressed a kiss on her friend’s cheek and whispered, “Travel safely.”

  “Don’t let them make you feel sad,” Marian said in return.

  It was advice that was too late for Georgette’s purposes. She supposed it would have been good advice for that younger version of herself that had been on her mind lately. She supposed if she could go back in time and change the way things were then, she wouldn’t be who she was now, and Georgette had come to rather like herself.

  Georgette left the hall and made her way towards the wood. On the way, she heard, “Oh Miss Marsh! I say, Miss Marsh?”

  Georgette turned and found Harrison Parker hurrying towards her, satchel in hand. She had allowed her mind to wander down the path of what else she needed to do to finish her books, and he brought her back to her present.

  “Hullo there,” he said with a charming grin. “What a lovely day and to find a lovely woman, I am lucky indeed.” His white teeth and square jaw made her suddenly self-conscious of her lack of beauty. There was something in having a handsome man lie to you about your beauty that made one rather more aware of all of her flaws.

  “Ah,” she said awkwardly. “Good day.”

  “You know,” he said with that same charming grin that made her want to adjust her suddenly ill-fitting skin. “I have been thinking about what a good friend you’ve become, Miss Marsh. May I call you Georgette?”

  She wanted to decli
ne, but instead, she nodded.

  “You must call me Harrison. You know,” he said as though struck by an unexpected idea. “I once knew an Antoinette who went by Etta. May I call you Etta?”

  Georgette had to hide the flood of horror before she shook her head and tried to smile. “Perhaps just Georgette. I wouldn’t know who you were speaking to.”

  That charming grin appeared again, and Georgette had to hide a scowl.

  He held out an elbow she’d rather not take. “I was thinking on your feedback. I rewrote the first three chapters of my book with far more struggles for Alaric. Even I could tell it was much better. You were completely right.”

  “Oh, did you?” Georgette asked, her mind straying from the talk to wonder if that was Harriet in the woods just ahead. A few more steps showed it was one of the vicar’s daughters.

  “I wondered if you’d be willing to read my work and give me feedback on it.”

  “Your work?” Georgette yanked her attention back to Harrison and his dark, handsome eyes.

  He grinned a little sheepishly. “I have three novels done so far, but I thought with specific feedback, I’d be able to work through the changes more quickly.”

  Georgette gaped for a moment, not even his charming grin able to hide her horror. He wanted her to stop everything and read his books providing detailed feedback? Had he gone mad?

  “Well I—” she started, struggling for how to phrase her denial.

  “I suppose,” he said disarmingly, “it’s rather a lot to ask. I have such a hard time finding time to write and work. I fear I haven’t been as dedicated to my work in the last weeks as I should have, and I rather fear that if I didn’t work for family, I’d be out of a position. But as you don’t work, you seem to have more than enough time to assist me.”

  Georgette’s expression faded to a mask of vagueness before she cleared her throat. “I’m honored that you’d—”

  Before she could finish her rejection, his charming, infuriating grin appeared again, and he started to open his satchel.

  She snapped, “Mr. Parker! I’m sorry, you didn’t let me finish. I am in the middle of a project myself and I cannot spare the time or attention your work deserves.”

  His charming grin faded. “Come now, Etta. I feel we’re on our way to being good friends.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from thoroughly scolding young Parker. How he struck her as so young when she knew he was at least two years older than her, she wasn’t sure, but she was tempted to box his ears.

  “I’m sure we are friends,” Georgette lied, knowing if she never saw him again she wouldn’t miss him in the least. She wasn’t quite sure why he was paying her attention at all. She supposed she could understand why Charles had given her a second look, so to speak. She was one of his writers, and as much as she felt she didn’t deserve his respect for that writing, even she knew that he was earning money from publishing her books. Inexplicable as it might be, the money spoke for itself.

  It was the thought of Charles in association with Harrison that paused Georgette in her tracks.

  “Of course we’re friends,” Harrison agreed. “My cousin adores you, you know.”

  Georgette did know.

  “And my aunt likes you quite well as well.”

  Georgette blinked at that, surprised that he could lie with so little change to his expression. If Mrs. Parker had a nice thing to say about Georgette, she’d be tempted to eat her hat.

  “I’m sure I like her as well,” Georgette said woodenly.

  “I think we’d rather suit, you know.”

  “I—” Georgette stared and then demanded, “What?”

  “I think we would suit. We’re both fans of books.”

  “I—”

  “We both like to write.”

  “I—”

  “I noticed you like tea, and I like it too.”

  The whole of England likes tea, Georgette thought. He couldn’t possibly be…

  “I’m not proposing, of course. We’re just new friends, but I’ve started to think we’d rub along together quite well.”

  “I—” Georgette said, gaping.

  “Just thinking that we’d suit. I suppose I shouldn’t have said that but sometimes my tongue runs on wheels. I expect my father would tell me I was leading you on a bit, but I’m not doing that, am I?”

  “I—” Perhaps at some point, she would have the chance to say more, but Harrison would not let up.

  “Friends, maybe something more someday.” The charming grin tempted Georgette to curl her hand into a fist and sock him a good one. “May I leave you one of my manuscripts then?”

  Georgette cleared her throat. “No. I’m sorry, Mr. Parker, but I couldn’t possibly.”

  She didn’t clarify what that possibly entailed, but she very much hoped that he realized she meant everything she’d said.

  Chapter 5

  Georgette Dorothy Marsh

  “I need tea,” Georgette told Harriet after being shown into her parlor. “I know that…I just…I fear I’ve been shocked to my bones, and I need tea.”

  Harriet was alone with a book in her lap and a cup of tea at her elbow. She sat forward and rang a bell for her housekeeper.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Georgette said, realizing she’d lost her usual mask and had no desire to put it back on.

  “I’m happy to have you,” Harriet said. “Are you all right?”

  Georgette blinked stupidly, staring at the floor. She felt the need to jiggle her own ears as if to see if they’d been working properly before. Had that just happened? What did it even mean? Surely Harrison Parker wasn’t seriously intending to make her think that he was considering marrying her?

  It wasn’t that she didn’t believe her ears, it was just that it was impossible. Georgette didn’t even recognize when the housekeeper appeared or when a cup of tea had been pressed into her hands. She did, more out of muscle memory than awareness, gulp the tea down.

  She finally glanced up from her cup of tea. “I am having the strangest week.”

  “I am not surprised,” Harriet said. “I heard the funniest thing about you.”

  Georgette happily accepted a refill of her tea and apologized for her lack of manners as Harriet shook off Georgette’s murmurs.

  “I heard,” Harriet said, handing Georgette a plate with a slice of cake, “that you were involved in helping to catch Jasper Thornton as the killer. Mrs. Thornton told Theodora in the strictest of confidence.”

  Georgette took in a deep breath. “I did.”

  “You did?”

  Georgette nodded.

  “Theodora supposed that someone revealed something around you not even realizing you were present.”

  “That has happened to me,” Georgette admitted. She’d been the unnoticed cipher of Bard’s Crook for so long that it seemed impossible to be anything else. She considered Harriet’s statement, sipping the tea. “I suppose I did interfere as well.”

  Harriet’s head tilted and she examined Georgette as though she were a bug. Georgette smiled at the look on Harriet’s face.

  “I was thinking of interfering again,” Georgette admitted, fiddling with the collar of her jumper, refusing to allow her mind to turn back to the unaccountable Mr. Harrison Parker. It was far more reasonable and—somehow—normal to think of blackmail than Mr. Parker’s behavior.

  “With what?” Harriet asked.

  “The murderer was arrested,” Georgette reminded Harriet. “Mr. Thornton discovered his secret grandchild, his son was sent away for his actions, and we all went back to our normal lives, forgetting the obvious.”

  Georgette lifted her brows and met Harriet’s gaze. She had paled, and her reaction told Georgette that Harriet was still being harassed. “We forgot the blackmailer. I think we can do better.”

  “Yes, I’ve realized that the blackmailer was forgotten.”

  “You got another blackmail letter?”

  Harriet nodded.

&
nbsp; “Have you been paying?”

  Harriet nodded, red circles in her cheeks and her fingers trembling as she held her teacup. There was the rattle of china on china until Harriet set down her cup.

  Georgette felt a flash of sympathy. For Georgette, it was unthinkable to pay the blackmail. It seemed for Harriet it was unthinkable not to.

  “I don’t think you should pay it,” Georgette told Harriet quietly, reaching out with a gentle hand.

  “I have to,” Harriet said so low Georgette had a hard time hearing.

  “Mrs. Yardley was being blackmailed, and she’s been surrounded in love.”

  Harriet scoffed. “If only I were as innocent.”

  Georgette considered confessing that she was also being blackmailed, but first she needed to decide what to do. The plan was forming, but she had ten days to pay the blackmail, and Georgette intended to use those days.

  “I suppose,” Georgette told Harriet, “that we judge ourselves the harshest. You aren’t alone.”

  Harriet’s gaze fixed on her, and she nodded once to affirm that she—too—was being blackmailed. The whys of it were Georgette’s to keep, but Hades would have to rise to the mouth of Bard’s Crook and Cerberus would have to chase Georgette down before she would pay a single half-penny to the blackmailer.

  Georgette spent much of the afternoon with Harriet and left with as little knowledge as she’d had before she arrived. All she knew for certain was that Harriet wasn’t willing to let her secret come to light, and she had no idea who might have discovered it.

  “No one knew except my husband,” Harriet swore. “I have never told a soul. Bertrand included. My husband discovered the truth on his own and never let me forget it.”

  Detective Joseph Aaron

  “Hello there,” Joseph said to Marian with a wide grin. He might have persuaded her to marry him, but he had to admit that leaving her with Georgette had concerned him. He liked Georgette—he did. But, Georgette was as independent as they came. Poor Charles wanted nothing more than for her to pour her troubles at his feet, and the idea barely occurred to her. Joseph could admit to himself that he’d rather prefer for Marian to pour her troubles at his feet and lean on his arm, and he rather thought she might take it into her head that she could survive without him as well as Georgette had survived alone as well.