by Beth Byers
“Hullo,” Marian said. She took his hand, but the focused gaze of her father had Marian doing nothing more than squeezing his hand. The moment her father’s gaze turned away, Marian whispered, “We need to speak without my parents.”
“Is all well?” he asked.
She shook her head, and he examined her carefully. Her color was good, her eyes were bright, her conversation was happy enough. Joseph knew that he would be visiting his uncle later that evening. If whatever was wrong wasn’t wrong with Marian, it was Georgette.
“I think I might leave Bard’s Crook,” Mrs. Parker announced during dinner, and Marian choked on her wine. Joseph put his hand on her back as she recovered herself.
“Why?” Marian’s father asked. “You’ve lived there your whole life.”
“Two murders, people being cruel to each other, my children moved on. Hannah is expecting, and I think I shall move nearer to my daughter. Life isn’t worth living when your loved ones aren’t around.”
“Maybe I’ll buy your house from you,” Harrison said. “I’ve started to think I’d rather like to live in Bard’s Crook full-time. I am entranced with the occupants. Your friend, Georgette. Thornton’s a good fellow. It’s close enough for the business with an auto.”
“When?” Marian asked her aunt, ignoring her cousin, her gaze darting to Joseph and then back.
“I’d have thought you’d be returning home soon,” Mrs. Parker said. “Why would you be interested in Bard’s Crook because of Miss Marsh and Thornton, Harrison? Makes no sense.”
“Georgette is an excellent woman,” Harrison said. “A bit squirrelly and not used to attention, but excellent.”
“I never said she wasn’t,” Mrs. Parker replied. She sipped deeply from her wine. “She’s a much better influence on Marian than the Enoch girl or Clara Montrose, but what does that have to do with you?”
“I like her,” Harrison announced grandly.
Marian’s jaw dropped open and her gaze shifted frantically to Joseph and then back to her cousin.
“This is the creature you like so much, Marian love?” her father asked.
The table had gone silent and everyone turned to Marian.
“Georgette is my closest friend.”
“See,” Harrison said, vindicated. “A good woman. A bit older than Marian but took the girl under the wing, so to speak.”
“Did you offer for her?” Marian demanded, grasping Joseph’s hand.
“Things haven’t gone quite that far. Alluded to it, as it were. Asked her to look at my books.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” Mrs. Parker demanded, leaning towards her nephew, “that you alluded to marriage to a girl who has been ignored most of her life.”
“I didn’t ignore her.” Harrison shuffled and then took a deep drink of his wine. “I told you I like her.”
“Harrison,” Mrs. Parker said, “you’ll break her heart, making her think you might want her. Reason will strike you, and you’ll have stolen her happiness.”
Harrison blushed. “She knows I wasn’t offering.”
“You’re a lucky man,” Mrs. Parker snapped back, “that Georgette Marsh is a sensible woman well aware of her attributes and probably didn’t take you seriously in the least. Otherwise, I’d expect you to do the right thing. You don’t play with people’s emotions. Not even someone like Georgette Marsh.”
“I wouldn’t hesitate to offer for her if it seemed the right thing.”
“You obviously would,” Mrs. Parker shot back, “if you only asked her to read those fool books of yours. Why Georgette of all people. I say, Norbert.” Mrs. Parker turned to Marian’s father. “I am shocked at young people today. Marian living in Bard’s Crook when she could be closer to her betrothed. Harrison daring to half-lead on an old maid. It is shocking.”
Marian’s mother, Jerusha, asked, “Marian, darling, do you believe that your friend has been led on by Harrison? Will he break her heart?”
Marian shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t believe Georgette would be led on by Harrison. Or, for that matter, to be tempted by his offer. She has learned to be happy with the life she has. I know she’s plain on first glance. On the second glance, for those with discerning taste, she’s lovely. Beautiful even.”
“You’re a good friend, doll,” Marian’s father said. “I’m sure your Miss Marsh is quite nice.”
Marian hid her anger as she added, “Harrison Parker, you fool! You’ll ruin everything.”
“What am I ruining? Is it so wrong to see her charms? Like you said, she’s almost beautiful.”
Marian groaned. “You’re lucky Georgette is aware of her worth. You’re lucky she needs to believe in her deepest heart that any offer she receives will be better than the life she’s crafted for herself. While all you gents were too stupid to realize what a treasure she was, she was figuring it out for herself. She has a good life, and being your book secretary is not a better offer. I can’t believe you alluded to marriage and then asked her to read your books. I hope she said no.”
Harrison was blushing deeply as he muttered, “She said she has a project that she’s working on.”
Marian sighed and leaned back, hissing to Joseph, “Idiot.”
“That’s enough now,” Marian’s father cut in. “No more fighting at the table. You’re acting like school children.”
A moment later, Joseph changed the subject. They slipped out into the garden after the dessert and Joseph said, “Tell me what’s happening. While you’re at it, please explain to me how Bard’s Crook continues to be more scandalous than London.”
She told him.
Charles Aaron
Joseph walked into Charles’s club and he sighed at the expression on his nephew’s face.
“Is someone dead?”
Joseph shook his head. Charles reached for the tobacco pouch and pipe.
“What is it then?”
“The blackmailer discovered that Georgette is the author.”
Charles groaned. He supposed it was too much to expect that Georgette would have sent for him. He had written to her three times. To his shock, she had written to him each time. Her letters had been chatty and would have been something that Joseph might have written to him, but they’d been letters.
Was he grasping at straws to find hope in that? He considered upon it, that first vision of her with nervous chatter, her too-thin frame, her ancient, threadbare clothes. She had been trained to think she was unwanted. What else could he expect?
He nodded. “To Bard’s Crook again?”
Joseph paused. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I suppose it’s karma for me to fall for a woman and have her sidestep me.”
“Marian believes that Georgette won’t even consider that you’re in earnest. But she’s been trying to wear down Georgette’s resistance to considering you.”
Charles snorted and lit his pipe. “Listen to us, gossiping like ladies. I bet Georgette doesn’t gossip at all.”
Joseph laughed, then sobered. “How did they realize she was the author? In that town, I’d have expected pure resistance to the idea that she was anything other than the least favorite old maid.”
Charles lifted a brow. “I thought you were a detective. It’s the money of course. Georgette’s books are doing well. She has far more money than is reasonable for her station and her lie about an uncle? That only works if no one assumes it’s a lie.”
“All you’d really have to do is make a list of anyone who has more money than before. Given the economy that might well be only Georgette.”
“Exactly,” Charles agreed. “She really does need to leave Bard’s Crook.”
“Marian says Eunice is in full packing and sorting mode. They have the debris of generations in the cottage. It will take time.”
“Time we don’t have. I don’t trust either of our ladies’ health and safety to a village that had two murders and shrugged them off so easily.”
They shared a quiet pipe and cognac
and Charles watched his nephew.
Finally Charles asked, “And the rest?”
Joseph’s gaze darted to his uncle and then back again to his glass. “Harrison Parker apparently alluded to possibly marrying Georgette. He didn’t propose so much as talk about proposing.”
Charles’s gaze jerked to his nephew and then he stared at his own cup.
“He’s younger than me.”
Joseph huffed.
“Handsomer too.”
Joseph started to speak, but Charles held up a finger.
“I think, however, he might just be the thing. I need to head into the office so I can catch the early train. I’ll see you there?”
“I’m going to accompany Marian and her aunt shopping tomorrow and then return with them on the last train. We’ve been invited to stay with Mrs. Parker this time.”
“Lovely,” Charles said. His mind was already beyond the train ride and onto Georgette’s problem. He had little doubt she could solve it on her own, but he’d like to help all the same.
Charles went into the office that evening to gather up work for the day and found his partner working late.
“Is all well, Luther?”
“Just Ursula Blythe again. She drives me mad. Sliding in comments about her children needing things before she asks for a larger advance. She wants an advance larger than her last book earned. I don’t want to say no, but by Jove, we can’t just give her money she’ll never earn.”
Charles considered and then suggested, “Offer her an essay spot for the book we’re publishing about writing. It might be enough to see her through.”
Luther ran his hands through his hair and nodded.
“I’ll be heading to Bard’s Crook again in the morning,” Charles told Luther, watching his partner for a reaction.
Luther’s gaze sharpened and he demanded, “Will you have the new Harper’s Bend story when you return?”
“I believe so,” Charles agreed. “I will take the manuscripts that need to be examined, the contracts for the Harper’s Bend story and the new novel, and some work to see me through the next few days. I don’t know how long I’ll be there, but you can send Robert if you need me and I’ll be back for the meeting on next Monday.”
They arranged business and then Luther suggested, “This Jones fellow might be just the thing for the final essay in that book on writing, you know. It would be interesting to have the perspective of a rising star. If you could get the new series from this Jones fellow and the newest Harper’s Bend and an essay for our book on writing, we might well sell more copies of that collection than we would without Jones. Especially if we overlap the publication. Perhaps you could persuade him to reveal her true name in the collection? Her true history? Bloody hell, Aaron, if you could work that charm of yours and get the girl to reveal herself, so to speak, we could triple our sales.”
Charles’s focus narrowed beyond Luther as he considered the idea. It wasn’t terrible. It was, in fact, just the thing.
“Not in the book. In an essay in the next weekly rag.”
“The cutoff for that was yesterday.”
“We could make it happen still,” Charles said, mind racing. “We could make it happen. Yes, by Jove, yes. I’m certain I could persuade her. We could turn this on its head.”
“What?” Luther asked. “Why not just wait for the essay book? This female masquerading as Joseph Jones will be revealed soon enough. Why you insist on keeping her true identity secret even from me, I don’t know.”
“I’ll have her write a longer piece for that. She’s going to be revealed. Someone figured it out. We’ll stage a coup and beat them to it. It’ll take the wind from their sails, earn her some more money, and help her get restarted somewhere else. Find rooms at a respectable place for a lady and her maid. Or send Robert to do it. I doubt our author will want to remain in Bard’s Crook after we publish her piece. By Jove! We could have her write a series of essays that we put into the collection about what happened after her book was published.”
Charles packed his satchel quickly and possibly more heavily with work than he’d be able to accomplish. He’d learned from the last time of working in Bard’s Crook that it was possible to get rather more work done outside of the office than in it, but there was the blackmailer problem as well.
He went through his desk, his gaze landing on the list of things he hoped for in a house and village. With the sight of it, he let his hand fall on the page and a moment later, he picked it up and tucked it into his coat pocket. He hoped very much that he would be persuading her to take those ideas into account. Those ideas, him, and not Harrison the bloody handsome and charming interloper.
Chapter 6
Georgette Dorothy Marsh
“Do you think I’m stubborn?” Georgette asked as she pulled a book from the shelf, examined the contents, and returned it. Her determination to clear her shelves of the books that they didn’t want to move wasn’t very successful. It was more a trip down memory lane of stories she loved and was determined to keep. In fact, the only things she’d pulled out were books written by Bertrand Lawrence.
He’d been murdered after her first book, but even if that didn’t bring back enough bad memories, the title of the book was: On the Behavior of Women. Georgette had read the contents and only stopped herself from burning the volume out of respect for books in and of themselves.
“Without question,” Eunice said from where she was sorting their linens. “Do you think we should get rid of everything that is in poor shape?”
Georgette stared and then sighed. They had income from her writing. If they hadn’t had to move, perhaps Georgette would have donated the items that were very worn and purchased newer things for themselves. With the outstanding purchase of a cottage, she wasn’t sure what was wiser. Paying to move things that should probably be donated or getting rid of things that she’d have to replace before she was ready.
“How bad are they?”
Eunice’s brows lifted and she said, “They’re near rags, Miss Georgie.”
“I trust you.” Georgette sighed. “Do you think I’m wrong in turning away Mr. Aaron?”
“I don’t think it’s over with Mr. Aaron. He told you it wasn’t, and he’s an honorable man,” Eunice told Georgette. “I understand why you turned him down.”
“Do you think that I should let him rescue us now that we’re in trouble again?”
Eunice’s face gentled for a moment. “You’ve proven yourself more than capable of rescuing yourself.”
“What should I do about Mr. Aaron?” Georgette hadn’t told Eunice about Harrison Parker, and she had little intention of doing so. If anything, the near-proposal had only made her think more seriously on her feelings for Charles. It seemed that somehow Harrison’s inexplicable attention towards Georgette made Charles’s feel…earnest. Trustworthy. What if he truly did love her?
“Do you love him?” Eunice asked in her straightforward manner.
Georgette bit her bottom lip and then rose from the shelves. “I don’t know.”
“Then I don’t know,” Eunice said. “Perhaps you should determine that first, but I will tell you this—”
Georgette turned back and looked at her oldest and most reliable friend, the closest thing she had left to family.
“You can trust him to tell you the truth about his feelings,” Eunice said. “He’s not a man who would speak off the cuff and regret it later.”
Georgette felt a flush of emotion rush over her. Could she trust that? It was almost as if Eunice had been aware of Harrison’s off-the-cuff comments. There was a man who might be regretting his words.
“And being stubborn about pursuing what you want is not a bad thing,” Eunice continued. “Your stubbornness pushed you to find a way to be happy here in Bard’s Crook, your stubbornness pushed you to find a way out of our troubles, and your stubbornness will see us through this next hurdle. When you’re being stubborn against the things that would break another—you’re being s
trong.”
Georgette nodded without speaking because—at that moment—she wasn’t capable of it. She ran up the stairs to her bedroom and pulled out her manuscript. It had only been a few days since she’d received the blackmail letter, but the pressure of finishing her books, getting paid again, and finding where to live was staggering.
Eunice had started the day dividing the list of things that needed to be done before they left Bard’s Crook. Neither of them felt that the time between when Georgette’s status as Joseph Jones was revealed and the day they left Bard’s Crook forever would be a comfortable one.
She worked on the notes that Charles had left with her until Eunice pulled her from her bedroom and to the table for sustenance. Afterwards, Eunice pushed Georgette and the dogs out of the house.
“Stretch your legs and back,” Eunice ordered.
Georgette’s “Yes ma’am” earned her a sniff and a scowl. She made kissing noises for her dogs and made her way to the garden. It had long since been her refuge and she pulled a book from the pocket of her skirt, finding her favorite spot under her favorite tree, and allowed herself to sink into someone else’s words to avoid her own troubles.
Some while later, Georgette glanced up in surprise when she heard her dogs yipping an excited greeting. Marian had told her that she was not coming by until the next day, so Georgette hadn’t expected any visitors at all. To her shock, it was Charles.
His gaze fixed on her face as if he were happy to see her, and his eyes were alight with something she couldn’t identify. He didn’t truly love her, did he? She was starting to think he might, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
