Death Misconstrued

by Beth Byers

  Georgette gasped and then bit down on her lip to prevent another tirade. Charles sent a dark look at Joseph, who got rid of Kaspar moments later.

  “Octavia,” Georgette announced once Kaspar was gone. “The spinster who matters to a few. She’ll be like Edna who helps others.”

  Georgette rose and glanced back at Charles. “I’ll bring her into Bard’s Crook and then move her to a new village. What do you think?”

  “I like it. Will you give her a baffled lover?”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t answer on purpose. As the evening finished, Joseph and Charles left—entirely unbothered that Georgette got sucked into her story. Marian went to bed. Harrison and Aunt Parker came back and went to bed without even noticing Georgette scribbling away with a pen and paper, wishing for her typewriter.

  Chapter 14

  Georgette Dorothy Marsh

  “Motive,” Georgette muttered. She’d been sketching out ideas for Octavia’s backstory and had stood up to pace. What did Octavia do? Was she a childless widow like Betty? Was she a school teacher like Edna? Did she have a bit of family money? Who did these days? Perhaps Georgette should set her story earlier. What about a Victorian woman who…who…solved mysteries rather like Joseph?

  Her lips thinned into a line. Motive, Georgette thought. That was the problem with all of this as far as Edna and Betty went. When someone murdered a person who was young and beautiful like Anna Allyn, you assumed she’d have a romance. When someone murdered an older man, you assumed he’d been dishonorable.

  Georgette frowned as she paced, losing track of Octavia for Edna and Betty. Why had Edna survived? She’d lived because she held her breath and faked death. And why could she do that? Because she despised her life as much as any young, pretty Anna Allyn might.

  “What if Betty had a lover?” she asked the empty room. The fact that Georgette hesitated to believe that Betty might have been in love had her scolding herself. You could fall in love at any age.

  Georgette immediately thought of Mr. Page. He was an odd man. Really, he was also the last one left. The last of the possible killers. Edna had so few friends. Mr. Page lived just there on the same street. He’d been offended that Georgette had turned down Harrison Parker.

  What if, Georgette wondered, Mr. Page had asked Betty to marry him? What if Betty turned him down, sidestepped the love he proffered, and not been grateful? It was mad to think of a man murdering a woman for turning down his marriage offer. And yet—women were most often hurt not by strangers but by those who pretended to love them.

  He’d seemed close to Edna during the tea, Georgette recalled. But then what about Mrs. Parker? Mr. Page seemed to be pursuing her, not Edna. Georgette was ashamed that she’d assumed they were only looking for card partners, but if she’d witnessed the same pursuit for someone young and lovely like Marian, the man inviting himself to dinners, stopping by unannounced, Georgette wouldn’t have just thought, ‘oh, he’s interested in her.’ She’d have thought he was a little uncomfortably interested in her.

  Without thinking about the lateness of the hour, Georgette hurried up the steps to Aunt Parker’s room, careful not to trip in the dark. She tapped on the door lightly so that if Aunt Parker wasn’t awake, she wouldn’t be disturbed. Instead Georgette heard, “Come in.”

  Georgette sidestepped into the room. Aunt Parker was wearing an old plaid nightgown with a white collar and a kerchief over her hair but was sitting in a chair in the room, the bed still neat.

  “I have the oddest question,” Georgette said.

  “Distract me,” Aunt Parker said. “I am quite encompassed in my thoughts, my dear.”

  Georgette pressed her lips together before asking, “Would that be because of Mr. Page’s pursuit?”

  Aunt Parker blushed furiously. “How did you know?”

  Georgette didn’t want to offend Aunt Parker, but the worry was rising. The fact of the matter was, Georgette thought, there were really only a few likely suspects for who might have killed Betty and hurt Edna and they’d ruled out all of the obvious ones. Only Mr. Page was left.

  “Why?” Aunt Parker demanded again with more than a little concern. “How did you know?”

  “I was thinking of him and how he might be pursuing you. I wondered if he pursued Betty and Edna the same.” She expected Aunt Parker to throw her out for being so blunt, but she only gave a great sigh.

  “He asked me to marry him,” Aunt Parker admitted. “No, not asked. He said it rather like Marian describes how Harrison asked you to marry him. He started planning our life together without any reference to what I wanted. I mean, I just met the man, and I’m supposed to leave my plans to live near my daughter and join him here? We’d take a week every year on the Mediterranean Sea, he said. I would move into his house and wouldn’t need any of my own things. I would be happier with him instead of living alone. He just…just assumed.”

  “Did you say no?”

  Aunt Parker laughed. “I understood you immediately, my dear. I told Harrison you deserved to be adored like all women do. He told me he tried again.”

  “I didn’t tell him no specifically because he assumed I would be grateful. I told him no because I am marrying Charles, whom I love.”

  Aunt Parker nodded. “My own husband died years ago, but I remember being loved and loving. A pale imitation is of no interest to me.”

  Georgette didn’t disagree. She sagged somewhat in relief that Aunt Parker hadn’t given in so easily, but her mind was already piecing together her suspicions with facts.

  “May I get you some hot milk or something to help you sleep?” she asked Aunt Parker distractedly. She was thinking of how to contact Joseph and Charles this late at night. “Chamomile tea with warm milk? Sort of half and half mix?”

  “That does sound nice,” Aunt Parker agreed.

  Georgette went down to the kitchen to make tea and warm milk. She didn’t have the telephone number of where Charles and Joseph were staying, an oversight she wouldn’t make again. Charles would be irate if she dared to put herself at risk by walking to his hotel so late at night.

  Surely she could wait until morning. She’d take tea up to Aunt Parker’s room and they’d sit and chat until Aunt Parker was too tired to continue. Georgette, however, was determined to stay awake, so when she made tea, she made the chamomile for Aunt Parker and a good, strong English Breakfast tea for herself.

  She poured them both a healthy mug and moved back up the stairs. She stopped short at the top.

  Tea.

  Mr. Page had shared tea with Edna and Betty just before Betty died. He’d been out for a walk with Edna, an easy alibi. And Betty was older and had been ill. No one would think to check for poison.

  Georgette went cold, then hurried onward. As she passed the room she shared with Marian, she heard the dogs whining. She didn’t want them to wake Marian and they’d be welcome company as she kept watch over Aunt Parker in case Mr. Page were to try something. She rather doubted it. It would be too obvious at this point, but she wouldn’t take the chance.

  She set Aunt Parker’s mug on the narrow table in the hall and opened the door to let the dogs out. They darted around her to Aunt Parker’s door. Georgette froze in terror. They had never done that before.

  Surely this wasn’t happening. Not now, when she had just come to understand the truth. Steeling herself, Georgette pushed open the bedroom door. Dorcas and Beatrice darted in, chased by Marian’s dog and Susan. Georgette followed to find all four dogs growling and barking at Mr. Page, who stood over Aunt Parker sprawled on the bed with a pillow held over her face.

  “Mr. Page!” Georgette shouted.

  He did not remove his hand. Aunt Parker’s struggles were weakening. Georgette did the first things that came to mind. She screamed for Harrison and threw the tea at Mr. Page.

  Mr. Page stumbled away as the hot tea scalded him. “She deserves it!” Mr. Page shouted with insane fury.

  Georgette didn’t answer as she darted to Aunt P
arker, grabbed her hand, and hauled her off the bed and into her arms. Aunt Parker was so weak that she sagged to the floor.

  “You deserve it,” Georgette told him coldly. She’d have dropped to her knees to check on Aunt Parker, but the man was too close and too dangerous. Aunt Parker was breathing and crying, but she was alive. “Who do you think you are? A woman doesn’t love you, so you murder her?”

  Georgette’s words were punctuated by Marian’s gasp in the doorway. She was shoved aside as Harrison darted into the room in a striped nightgown. He took one look at them and then roughly grabbed hold of Mr. Page and shook him until the old man’s teeth rattled.

  “Call for the constables,” Georgette told Marian, who went running. Georgette didn’t bother to ask for Charles. She had little doubt that Marian would call for Joseph as well and Charles would appear. Georgette dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Aunt Parker. “It’s all right, darling. Everything will be all right.”

  The frenzy of the evening passed with constables taking away Mr. Page. Marian chased them to the street, scolding them the entire way for setting aside Edna’s fears and her attack. Georgette had little doubt that the constables would not make the same mistake.

  By the time Mr. Page had been escorted away without a fight, Joseph and Charles had arrived. Aunt Parker was sitting between Georgette and Harrison, clutching each of them by the hand while the doctor looked her over.

  “You’ll be all right, Mrs. Parker,” the doctor said after a while, prescribing her sleeping medicine.

  “I am ready to leave Bath,” Georgette told Charles. He nodded as though he would pack her clothes himself.

  “As am I,” Aunt Parker said, her voice weak. “I’ll stay with my daughter if I must.”

  “I do need to get back to work,” Harrison admitted. There was a flash of an excited grin that he quickly shoved away as he glanced at his aunt. “I’m not a dog person, Aunt, but you’re getting a big, protective one.”

  She seemed entranced with the idea. “A dog. And a ready cup of hot tea. Possibly with surprisingly fierce nieces nearby.”

  “This one,” Charles told Aunt Parker with a fond look to Georgette, “is going to go home with me.”

  Aunt Parker smiled at him. “I understand entirely.”

  Charles had obtained the marriage license when Georgette had agreed to marry him, so all they had to do was pack their things, take an auto, and drive back to London. They were married in a small church with only a few guests, though a few more than they’d planned. Aunt Parker refused to miss the event.

  Georgette’s simple dress combined with her happiness left her stunning. The glow of her eyes, her usually hidden smile at the forefront, and the bouquet of pure white roses all added to the effect of her joy.

  Which she didn’t think could be greater until Charles handed her the deed to her Harper’s Hollow house. Her mouth dropped open and Charles laughed as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  “The price was right,” he told her.

  “It felt right, too,” she told him, guessing that there was more than a low sale price to convince him.

  “That too.” The smile he gave her was full of love. “I’m wise enough to look back at my life before you came into it and see that while it had been easier and it had been smoother, it had been far less filled with joy. But you—” He paused to kiss her, then pressed his forehead against hers. “You give me joy, love, brightness, excitement to face the day. I am determined to do the same for you. Surely the first and easiest step is to give you the house you treasure.”

  With tears in her eyes, Georgette laid her head against his chest. She had never felt so loved and cherished. She knew in her heart that together—if they were determined—surely a happily ever after was not just possible, not just achievable, but a certainty.

  So often, those who had followed the normal path of early marriage and children assumed that the long-time singles would be too unbending in binding lives together. How wrong they were—those unimaginative souls. If they took a moment of self-examination, they’d know that they looked at the Georgettes of the world and thought, how nice it would be to not have to deal with my husband’s bad habits. How nice it would be to not have children screaming and dirtying up what I just cleaned.

  The Georgettes of the world knew, however, what the heart felt like before children and after. They recognized the joy of being a mother after having spent so long watching others become mothers instead. They knew the comfort of having someone to turn to and discuss the woes of life, the decisions of life, the simple day-to-day moments.

  Mankind was not meant to be alone, but it was rare for anyone who hadn’t been alone to recognize how nice it was simply to join another in a parlor, work in unison, and then lift up the head, turn to their love, and offer a cup of tea.

  Atë blinked away tears as her favorite wed. As a goddess, she’d been able to tell that Georgette would most likely choose Charles. As a goddess, she could see the paths that rolled out before them. In the realm of possibilities, there were outside chances for bad ends. The probabilities, however, favored happiness. Especially as each of them determined to put the other first, love the other fiercely, and always remember what it had been like to be alone.

  The END

  Author’s Note

  Hullo, my friends, I have so much gratitude for you reading my books. Almost as wonderful as giving me a chance are reviews, and indie folks, like myself, need them desperately! If you wouldn’t mind, I would be so grateful for a review.

  The sequel to this book is available for preorder now. If you want book updates, you could follow me on Facebook.

  July 1937

  Georgette Dorothy Parker has found her dream home, her dream village, and her dream husband. She and Charles purchase their house, move, and the discover all isn’t as it seems.

  Have they found another village with dark secrets? Is their happily ever after going to fade so soon? Will they be able to uncover what is happening or have they made a terrible mistake?

  Order Here.

  If you enjoy mysteries with a historical twist, scroll to the end for a sample of my new mystery series, The Hettie and Ro Adventures. The first book, Philanderers Gone will be released on August 18, 2019.

  July 1922

  If there's one thing to draw you together, it's shared misery.

  Hettie and Ro married manipulative, lying, money-grubbing pigs. Therefore, they were instant friends. When those philandering dirtbags died, they found themselves the subjects of a murder investigation. Did they kill their husbands? No. Did they joke about it? Maybe. Do they need to find the killer before the crime is pinned on them? They do!

  Join Hettie and Ro and their growing friendship as they delve into their own lives to find a killer, a best friend, and perhaps a brighter new outlook.

  Order Here.

  Philanderers Gone Preview

  The house was one of those ancient stone artisan-crafted monstrosities that silently, if garishly, announced buckets of bullion, ready money, the green, call it what you would, these folks were simply rolling in the good life. The windows were stained glass with roses and stars. The floor of wide-planked dark wood was probably Egyptian wood carried by camels and horses through deserts to the house. The furnishings were as finely dressed as the people gathered in celebration.

  Hettie hid a smirk when a tall, beautiful, uniformed man slid through the crowd and leaned down, holding a tray of champagne and cocktails in front of her with a lascivious gaze. She wasn’t quite sure if he appreciated the irony of his status as human art for the party, or if he embraced it and the opportunity it gave him to romance bored wives.

  She was, very much, a bored wife. Or maybe disillusioned was the proper word. She took yet another flute of champagne and curled into the chair, pulling up her legs, leaving her shoes behind, and tucking her feet under her.

  The sight of her husband laughing uproariously with a drink in each hand made her want to
skip over to him and toss her champagne into his face. He had been drinking and partying so heavily, he’d become yellowed. The dark circles under his eyes emphasized his utter depravity. Or, then again, perhaps that was the disillusionment once again. Which came first? The depravity or the dark circles?

  “Fiendish brute,” Hettie muttered, lifting her glass at her own personal animal. Her husband, Harvey, wrapped his arm around another bloke, laughing into his face so raucously the poor man must have felt as though he’d stepped into a summer rain storm reeking of booze.

  “Indeed,” a woman said, and Hettie flinched, biting back a gasp to twist and see who had overheard her.

  What a shocker! If Hettie had realized that anyone was around instead of swimming in that drunken sea of flesh, she’d have insulted him non-verbally. It was quite satisfying to speak her feelings out loud. Heaven knew he deserved every ounce of criticism.

  She had nothing against fun. She had nothing against dancing, jazz, cocktails, or adventure. She did, however, have quite a lot against Harvey.

  He had discovered her in Quebec City. Or rather he’d discovered she was an heiress and then pretended to discover her. He’d written her love letters and poems praising her green eyes, her red hair, and her pale skin as though being nearly dead-girl white were something to be envied. He’d made her feel beautiful even though she tended towards the plump, and he’d seemed oblivious to the spots she’d been dealing with on her chin and jaw line through all of those months.