by Beth Byers
“Deal,” Charles agreed.
The two of them looked at each other and then shook their heads in unison.
“How the mighty have fallen,” Joseph muttered.
Charles laughed and inhaled deeply on his pipe again. He was not, however, all that amused with himself.
Chapter 4
Georgette Dorothy Marsh
Georgette took a long deep breath in and then slowly let it out. Edna Williams’s gaze was fixed pleadingly on Georgette in a way that she wasn’t going to be able to say no to, but she knew better than to say yes.
“You want me to come to tea tomorrow?”
Edna hadn’t let go of Georgette’s gaze, begging with such utter entreaty that she was succumbing despite her good sense. Edna was a slender woman and her eyes were large in her narrow face, which maximized their capacity to beg.
Georgette had agreed to meet Edna only because Charles’s letter had referenced delicious tea and it had occurred to her to send some to him. A sort of daily reminder that she wished he were here. Instead, however, Georgette’s stomach was turning at what the woman was asking. The schoolgirl in Georgette wanted to please the ‘teacher,’ but her rational self reminded her hat she didn’t have to comply.
“Please, dear?” Edna implored. Her eyes were starting to swim with tears and Georgette placed her hand over her heart to shield it, but it wasn’t working. What was it about a woman asking Georgette for help? Was it because she had lost her own mother? Georgette’s mother would have been of an age with Edna.
Thoughts of her mother had been on her mind since she’d left her mother’s cottage, her grave, her friends, and the village she’d raised her only child in. Georgette had done so with a good riddance as far as the village and friends had gone, but she felt her heartstrings pull at leaving all remnants of her past and family behind.
“With my friends?” Georgette could just imagine explaining to the honest and stalwart Mrs. Parker that a short-term acquaintance wanted them all to come to her house, partake of her admittedly delicious tea, and lie through their teeth.
“Just for tea—”
“And lies?”
Edna winced, but she nodded gamely like a woman who knew what she wanted was irrational and wasn’t afraid to want it all the same. There it was, Georgette thought, the difference between Edna and Georgette’s mother. Her mother would never have expected anyone to lie for her, never would have asked it of another, and would have been appalled by Georgette considering such a course of action.
“So you want me to bring my friends to your home, pretend to be this Jane, and lie to your nephew about staying with you and about who I am, all because you don’t want your nephew who has taken time off work to see you to stay with you.”
“Ah—” Edna winced but tried to hide it as she sipped the fabulous cherry marmalade black tea. “Please, dear. Just come to tea. Bring Marian and your Mrs. Parker. Are they any good at lying?”
Georgette shook her head and Edna laughed. “Well, we can’t have everything can we?”
“But why don’t you want your nephew to stay with you? Surely you can tell him that ‘Jane’ accepted an invitation to stay with friends when it was discovered that your nephew had arrived?”
Edna looked aside and blushed furiously before she said, “I am somewhat uncomfortable with gentlemen in the home. He’s my nephew, but he’s loud, somewhat smelly, and rather demanding.”
The way she was blushing made Georgette certain that Edna Williams was not sharing the whole truth. Georgette had to wonder if there was any reason at all to help the woman.
Edna looked up at Georgette with tears in her eyes and Georgette slowly asked, “Why? Please, why? No prevaricating this time. If you want me to ask the very upright Mrs. Parker to lie to your nephew for you, I need to know why.”
Georgette lifted her brows and Edna slowly said, “It’s my cousin, Betty.”
“The one who passed away?”
“She was quite fond of Kaspar, you know. He seemed quite fond of her as well, but the last time he visited before she died, they had quite the row. He stormed out furiously and while he was gone, she died. I—well, I suppose I’m being rather imaginative, but I can’t quite shake the idea that something might have happened. That…that…caused her death.”
Georgette shivered, staring at Edna, her mind skipping around like a rabbit being chased by a fox. There was something so terrible about looking at a woman who imagined that her nephew had killed her cousin.
“How did she die?” Georgette asked gently, taking Edna’s hand. Georgette was attempting to be understanding. She could see how easily it would be for her to sum up the fears of this elderly, spinster, retired school teacher as nothing more than the fancies of an old woman.
Georgette, however, despised when mankind overlooked the plain and extraneous unnecessaries of life—like herself and Edna. Too often the single woman was seen as a silly idiot. And why? Merely because they were unmarried and childless.
“You think I’m a fool,” Edna said, using the exact words that were necessary to sway Georgette to her side.
“You’re not a fool,” Georgette told Edna, completely uncertain of her statement. Perhaps Edna was foolish. Perhaps it was Georgette who was foolish.
“You don’t understand,” Edna said, ignoring Georgette’s assurances and even the gentle hand that Georgette reached out with. “You don’t know what it’s like to be someone like me. How could you? A successful author, nice clothes. I was the teacher everyone disliked because I expected more than silliness and gossip from my students. Yet they all went beyond me, you know. They married and had children. Some found careers while I continue to be the foolish woman that no one believes when I say that dear Betty was murdered.”
Georgette’s mocking laugh paused Edna, who looked up in sheer shock that anyone would be so rude.
“I am the extraneous spinster of a small village who was descending slowly into utter and complete ruin. When I wrote The Chronicles of Harper’s Bend, all I was looking for was enough money for bread and milk. I also do not consider someone marrying or having a flashy career as going beyond someone who lives a quieter or lonelier life.”
“I don’t understand,” Edna replied.
Georgette stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “Yes, you do. Don’t pretend to be silly when you aren’t. You know as well as I do that a good number of those women who crowed about being married are miserable.”
Edna paused, gaze wide, and she laughed. She shuffled a little and then straightened her shoulders as if she had to admit she’d been trapped by the truth Georgette gave the woman unequivocally.
“I understand exactly what it means,” Georgette told her, “when no one even notices that you are around. It is, however, quite a leap to think your nephew murdered your cousin. You know that, it’s why you avoided saying it. Uncomfortable with men? I hardly think that’s the only reason you don’t want him around. He isn’t some random fellow, he’s your nephew.”
“So you think I’m wrong?” Edna’s gaze was narrowed now, and she seemed almost offended, which bothered Georgette as well.
“I have no idea. Are you sure?”
Edna shook her head. “There will be others at tea,” Edna said. “My friend, Mr. Osiris Page. I’ve invited my neighbors though I am not certain if they will come. The Allyn family is an excitable one and not in the fun way.”
Georgette’s head tilted as she asked, “What did the constables think happened to your cousin?”
“They said it was old age,” Edna scoffed. “Old age that killed my cousin. She wasn’t 90 years old. She was a vital woman with decades ahead of her.”
“Was she of an age with you?”
Edna nodded and Georgette barely bit back her own scoff. Edna was certainly older than Georgette, but the woman wasn’t so old you’d expect her to keel over for no reason.
“Was she healthy?”
“We went for long walks daily,” Edna said. “She was
healthy, active, and happy. No one would believe me because she’d had something of a sniffle in the weeks previous and it had lingered. They thought she’d just…just died from the complications of old age and a lung ailment.”
“A sniffle?” Georgette demanded.
“A bit of a cough, a bit of a dripping nose, nothing that kills people.”
Georgette immediately regretted what she said next. “People kill people.”
“Exactly,” Edna replied.
Georgette closed her eyes slowly and leaned back against the bedroom door she shared with Marian, who looked up from the writing desk on her lap. She was sitting on the bed, surrounded by a circle of dogs, all of whom lifted their heads, slapped their happy tails against the bed, and eyed Georgette as though she’d been gone for hours and hours.
“I have the worst favor to ask of you.”
Marian glanced up from the letter she was writing. “You know I love you. I’ll do whatever it is for free, but I do want to name a character in your next book. After me? Will you name the next Josephine after me? Because she’s my favorite.”
“Yes, if you’ll help me convince your aunt to come to this tea that Edna wants us all to attend and lie that I’m Jane when I’m not because she’s afraid her nephew killed her cousin.”
Marian gasped at Georgette’s rushed tirade. “I need you to repeat that.”
“No, you don’t,” Georgette snapped. “She looked at me with these big eyes and I saw myself in her.”
“You are not Edna Williams. You are not a foolish old woman who sees a murderer in her nephew. Really? Does she really believe that the fellow hurt his own aunt?”
“I feel like Edna Williams,” Georgette admitted. “I feel like this life is all a lie and I’m supposed to be her. I’m supposed to be the one who thinks, my goodness, this is murder—and no one believes me. I couldn’t say no. It would be like saying no to myself.”
Marian put her pen aside and rose, taking Georgette’s cheeks and squeezing them as if she were a baby. “You are not Edna Williams.”
Georgette’s eyes welled. “Does Charles really love me?”
Georgette knew she’d made a logic leap, but she had spent the walk back to the house thinking of Edna, herself, and Charles. What if she turned into someone like Edna and Charles regretted marrying her?
“You know the answer to that.”
“I do.” Georgette took in a deep breath. “I hate that my life feels like a dream. It feels like too big of a blessing. Why am I the one who falls in love—truly in love—when those like Edna are left alone and friendless? I’m having a difficult time enjoying my life because it feels like it should be someone else’s and that’s hardly fair.”
Marian pressed her lips together. “It’s not fair, but what’s worse is how I’m going to have to hear about the tea where we lied to some poor fool for the rest of Aunt Parker’s life. If Harrison goes to the tea, he’ll bring it up every holiday we share. It’s quite the sacrifice, you know?”
Georgette’s eyes glinted with humor and Marian gasped.
“You like that idea. Me facing off with Harrison while he tells his pretty, vapid, attentive wife and children about that one visit to Bath where I—I—-got the upright, honest Aunt Parker to lie to a stranger.”
“It’s funny,” Georgette said, not even bothering to hide her wicked grin. It wasn’t just funny, it needed to be added to a book for the character Georgette named after Marian. That way Marian’s family could pull out the book and show the younger generation the scene. A…a…word painting of that one time that Marian was wicked.
“Does it feel real now?” Marian countered with the corners of her mouth twitching. “Does torturing me feel real even when Charles feels like a fairy dream?”
Georgette’s mouth twisted, and she refused to answer. “Come on then.”
The two of them walked down to the parlor where Mrs. Parker was reading a book. She lowered it to greet them. “Hello, dears.”
Georgette opened her mouth to ask the question and then paused. Marian was biting her bottom lip to hold in the laughter.
“Marian,” Mrs. Parker asked, “why are you laughing?”
“Um,” she said and giggled, wiping away a tear.
“Marian!”
She laughed, looked at her aunt, and then had to lean over to hold her side.
“Marian!”
“It’s not her fault,” Georgette told Mrs. Parker. “It’s mine. I have the most horrible request.”
Mrs. Parker reached out and cupped her cheek. “My dear girl, whatever I can do.”
Marian burst into laughter.
“I—” Georgette couldn’t say it. She gasped as she tried to say it, but she couldn’t voice the request for Mrs. Parker to attend a tea and lie to strangers.
“Aunt Parker,” Marian said while biting back her laughter. “Georgette needs you to pretend her name is Jane.”
“No,” Georgette said, gathering steam and courage. “My name is Georgette but people called me Jane in school, and you’re supposed to know that. People call me Georgette now because I’m not replying to Jane for some random woman I met in a bookstore who recommended excellent tea.”
Mrs. Parker stared. Her gaze moved between the younger women, noting their giggles, and the way they leaned on each other as they laughed. The dogs were at their feet, staring at the two young women with the same baffled expression that Mrs. Parker felt herself.
“So, I’m supposed to be staying with this woman I met at the bookstore whose name is Edna Williams.”
“But you’re staying here,” Mrs. Parker told Georgette gently, as though she’d gone mad.
Marian’s laughter was so loud they had to wait for her to finish.
Georgette nodded at Mrs. Parker when Marian’s giggles faded off. “I am. I need you to lie. Well, she does. She’s asked for our help, and I found I couldn’t stay no.”
“Lie?”
“Just a little,” Georgette tried and then winced at the baffled, confused expression on Mrs. Parker’s face. Georgette tried repeating, “Just a very, very little.”
Chapter 5
Georgette Dorothy Marsh
Georgette found Harrison the next morning in the small breakfast room. He sat at the table with his manuscript before him, pressing his fingers to his temples as he read it once again in a low whisper. Each passage was said fervently, with a drama that few readers would ever imbue into his words.
Georgette had to admit, however, that he had taken every piece of advice, every suggestion, considered it, weighed it, and made changes. Even when he didn’t take the advice Georgette gave, he at least took it seriously. He came to his own conclusions about whether there was an issue in his story, and he did his best to correct, clarify, and enrich.
“Harrison?” Georgette stepped into the room. She wanted to immediately turn around as she had done these last few days, but instead she forced herself to step in. They couldn’t continue to live like this, and she had no idea when he was intending to return to his position. Even with that thought aside, Georgette and Marian were marrying an uncle and nephew and were good friends. There wasn’t a scenario where Georgette would never see Harrison again.
Instead she crossed to the buffet and poured herself a cup of tea. She stirred in a heavy dose of milk and sugar and then sipped, barely keeping the scowl off of her face when she tasted the boring tea that Mrs. Parker served.
“Miss Marsh.” Harrison looked up and smiled so sweetly she felt certain that she was about to crush him entirely. He did have a look of love in his gaze, and it did tug at her. She felt guilty for not loving him, but she didn’t. She liked him. She admired him at times, but she did not love him.
She considered upon Charles, remembering the most enchanting list he’d once written. She’d taken to looking at the list he’d imagined for their life nearly every evening and she had—without shame—memorized it. There were, however, a few pieces that seemed to trot through her head anytime she foun
d herself trying to think of something else.
-Convince Georgette I love her.
-Convince Georgette to marry me
-Create a happily ever after?
-Convince Georgette to share her troubles
Georgette would not have Charles arrive and find Harrison still imagining that he’d be able to persuade her to be his instead. Georgette would also not pretend that Harrison loved her. He didn’t even see her. It was the very fact that Charles somehow saw into her heart that had persuaded her of his love. It was Charles’s steadiness that had convinced her to trust him with her heart in return.
“I—”
Georgette stopped him. “I understand that you felt as though I was not fair in answering your marriage…” She would not use the word proposal, so it took her a moment before she was able to adjust it to, “declaration.”
Harrison looked up with hope in his eyes and Georgette winced. “I cannot give you my heart, Harrison. It has been given to another.”
“Another?” He sounded sick and Georgette shrunk inside. Yes, another.
“I am going to marry Charles Aaron,” Georgette told Harrison evenly. “I am well aware of the kindness you have done me in wishing to have me as your wife, and I have no wish to disregard your affections callously.”
“Etta—” Harrison begged.
“I cannot give you what you seek, but if you will accept it, I can give you my friendship.”
His cheeks were burning as he cleared his throat. “I am well aware of the nature of such a gift, and I will accept it gladly.” His words belied both his expression and his tone. Georgette winced again, feeling guilty once more for not loving him as he desired.
Georgette looked down at her tea, feeling sick, then slowly rose. “Your books are quite delightful.”
His blushed deepened to such a level that Georgette was comforted. Her offer of friendship, her rejection of his love—none of it affected him nearly so much as complimenting his book. “Thank you. That means quite a lot coming from you.”
