Death Witnessed

by Beth Byers

  “You must sleep,” Eunice told her.

  “I’m too energized to sleep.”

  “Then you must walk until your mind settles down and then sleep. This isn’t good for you, Miss Georgie, and I won’t watch you write your health away.”

  Georgette stared for a moment and then nodded, giving the woman a tight hug. “I can always count on you, Eunice. I don’t…” Georgette teared up at the woman, who scowled in return.

  “Enough of that.”

  “But…”

  “This is the lack of sleep, Miss Georgie.”

  “My love for you is not from the lack of sleep,” Georgette said with a smirk, “but the tears might be.”

  “Walk,” Eunice ordered.

  Georgette started to and then turned back at the doorway. “What if we left Bard’s Crook?”

  “Left?” Eunice frowned. “Why?”

  “Something Harriet Lawrence and Mr. Aaron said.” Georgette placed her hand on the doorway and sighed deeply. “If it becomes well known that I am Joseph Jones, living here might be untenable. Harriet’s friends would stick with her, I think. But me? I don’t have the same loyalty, and I caused so much more mischief than she could possibly have done.”

  Eunice frowned at the idea. Slowly, she answered, “We might not be giving them enough credit. However, could we do it? Financially?”

  Georgette paused, twisting her mouth. The sheer idea made her stomach and her head hurt. It was why she hadn’t gone to bed. She’d known she’d only toss and turn. At least by working through the night, she’d been productive.

  “Mr. Aaron wants to buy the two books I finished. I think if we saved it all and if we were able to sell the cottage, we’d be well enough off anywhere else. I was thinking of writing a sequel to Josephine Marie. I could write a final Harper’s Bend and then maybe, we’d have enough.”

  Eunice considered. “Might not be a bad idea. I will start going through things and making sure we’ve fixed everything that might need it. Even if we don’t go, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to clear out the old things and ensure we do the work over a longer amount of time.”

  Georgette reached back to squeeze Eunice’s hand and then hurried to her bedroom. She’d walk over to the teashop and enjoy a pot before returning to her bed. Maybe she’d even drink chamomile or mint, so the tea wouldn’t keep her alert. She’d have a nap when she returned, make herself get up and work, and then go to bed at her usual time.

  The walk through the village was quiet enough. A few people called hello and went about their way. Georgette watched them go and wondered if she’d miss any of them.

  Would she miss Mrs. Wilkes? Georgette had always liked the doctor’s wife well enough. And she’d always admired Harriet Lawrence’s grace in her lot. Georgette enjoyed the quirk of the baker who scolded her customers, and the way Dr. Wilkes listened to every old woman’s woes. She liked the way the creek rolled right through the two hills outside of town and made her think of the Olympic gods come to visit this common village.

  “It’s true enough,” Georgette told herself, “that many a village in England is going to have a quirky proprietress. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to start again. Somewhere where everyone didn’t know I had stuttered for so long.”

  “Miss Marsh,” a voice called.

  Georgette turned and found Harriet Lawrence standing nearby. “I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time.”

  Georgette smiled at her, hoping the sweet adjective would be used once again for her after being found talking to herself in the street. Otherwise, the adjective just might be ‘mad.’

  “I was just going to have tea,” Georgette told Mrs. Lawrence. “Would you like to join me?”

  Harriet nodded, and they stepped into the teashop. Mrs. Yancey nodded at them and offered the table near the window where the morning light was coming into the room. They both ordered scones and jam and tea. Mrs. Yancey talked Georgette into trying a raspberry lavender tea, and Harriet stuck with the Lapsang Souchong.

  “I was wondering,” Harriet said carefully, “if you saw what happened to the letter I was reading?”

  Georgette hadn’t expected the question. “I—” She frowned, thinking back. “I folded it up and put in the envelope.”

  “I remember that too,” Harriet said. “I just don’t recall what happened next.”

  “I don’t remember. Perhaps I put it in my pocket? Or did I give it to you? Did I drop it while we were talking?”

  Harriet frowned, playing with her fingernails. “I looked along the path and where I was sitting and didn’t see it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lawrence,” Georgette said. “I will search for it as soon as I return home. If I have it, I will bring it to you.”

  “Please.” Her mouth twisted. “Please. Don’t read it.”

  Georgette reached out. “Of course, I won’t, Mrs. Lawrence.”

  The woman fixed her gaze on Georgette. “I feel we should have long since been closer friends than this, Miss Marsh. May I call you Georgette? Will you be my friend, Georgette?”

  She agreed, but there was the rather unkind part of her heart that noted she’d ached for a friend these long years and Mrs. Lawrence had overlooked Georgette time and again. It wasn’t so much that Georgette was carrying a grudge—she wasn’t. She just didn’t have all that much faith in the offer. Perhaps she was just past waiting for Harriet—and everyone else—to notice her. Now that she was playing with the idea of leaving Bard’s Crook, someone was offering friendship. The irony wasn’t lost on Georgette.

  She glanced around the teashop, noting that Miss Schmitz was sitting in the corner, watching the room. Mrs. Thornton, her daughter, and both sons were sitting at the larger table along the wall. The vicar’s wife was sitting with two of the village’s elderly widows and Virginia Baker of all people. Even Miss Hallowton was standing near the window, picking up a package. Mrs. Hanover from the day before had arrived once again, and she was sitting with a solitary pot of tea and some parcels on the chair opposite her.

  Georgette glanced back at Harriet, who seemed to be lost in her own gaze as it wandered around the room. “Tell me, Georgette. What kind of things do you enjoy doing?”

  “I like to read books,” Georgette said carefully.

  “Do you? Have you read the newest Joseph Jones book about our dysfunctional little hamlet?”

  Georgette bit her bottom lip, avoiding Harriet’s gaze to avoid sharing the sudden rush of humor. “I have.” Georgette cleared her throat as Mrs. Yancey returned and then carefully accepted her pot of tea and plate of scones.

  “I haven’t read it yet,” Harriet confessed. “At the end of the last one, I was a woman nearly but not quite abandoned. I haven’t even dared to ask what happened to my husband.”

  “He died in an auto accident,” Georgette told Harriet, trying to channel that gentleness that Charles Aaron had shown her.

  Harriet nodded, shuddering. “I suppose even this Joseph Jones would have seen it in poor taste to keep him in there.”

  Georgette winced, nibbling on her bottom lip.

  “And me?” Harriet asked. “What happened to me?”

  “Your character wasn’t there as much. The author wrote more about people who don’t match up to our villagers. It’s more…ah…imaginative this time.”

  Harriet’s gaze focused on Georgette’s face. Georgette almost felt as though the woman’s gaze sharpened, and internally Georgette was wincing. “When we spoke about the first book, you said you didn’t think there was a connection between the book and our village.”

  Georgette glanced down at her plate, her lips twitching. She had forgotten that. For a moment, she panicked and then she glanced up and shrugged. “Mrs. Baker prefers me a little dim. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

  Harriet’s gaze widened and darted to Mrs. Baker, and then she placed her hand over her lips to muffle the sudden shout of laughter. “She does. Oh my goodness, Georgette, you are wicked. I had no idea.”
<
br />   Georgette’s smile was as wicked as Harriet’s claim when she added, “Not so sweet, then?”

  Harriet paused before she offered, “Maybe a bit nuanced.”

  Georgette grinned at her, widely and openly. Then she glanced to the side and noted that Miss Schmitz had slid down in her chair. Before she could react, Miss Thornton screamed.

  Dear heavens, Georgette thought, Miss Schmitz looks dead!

  10

  GEORGETTE DOROTHY MARSH

  Georgette stood in a rush and hurried across the teashop. She placed her hand on Miss Schmitz’s chest and noticed that she was breathing. “We need Dr. Wilkes,” she told Harriet. “She’s alive.”

  Georgette unbuttoned the two buttons at the woman’s neck to help make sure Miss Schmitz was breathing as easily as possible. Georgette thought Miss Schmitz was at least somewhat aware. Slowly, the woman opened her eye. There was a look of utter agony in them. She didn’t speak, but she slowly took hold of her jaw. Georgette would have thought that she only had a bad toothache if not for that pain-filled gaze and the fact that she wasn’t speaking.

  “It’s probably another of her games.” Mrs. Yancey moved the small, round table out of Georgette’s way and helped as Georgette lowered the woman to the ground, laying her carefully out.

  “Perhaps,” Georgette replied quietly, but with a fierce glance she added, “but what if this isn’t a game and we did nothing?”

  Mrs. Yancey winced as she stood up. “Mrs. Lawrence went for the doctor. I’ll shoo everyone out. If she’s really ill, she doesn’t need an audience. If she isn’t, well—she doesn’t deserve their help, does she?”

  Georgette nodded. She took hold of Miss Schmitz’s hand. “Help is coming. You’re not alone.”

  A tear slipped from Miss Schmitz’s eye, and Georgette gently rubbed the back of her hand. The door to the teashop was ringing as people stepped from the shop, so she didn’t notice when someone dropped to their knees next to her.

  “Are you all right, Georgette?”

  She glanced up and saw Detective Aaron and Charles. Charles was next to her while Detective Aaron crouched down by Miss Schmitz’s head. He was feeling for her pulse as Georgette stared blankly at the two men.

  Beyond the Aaron men, the last few patrons were leaving with their gazes fixed on Georgette kneeling next to the woman. Mrs. Baker took in the scene with callous interest, Miss Hallowton had her hand to her mouth and looked sick, Mrs. Thornton was saying something to her children and had her daughter tucked into her shoulder.

  Georgette heard her name called a time or two before she jerked back to the Aaron men. “I…she just slumped over. It was very sudden. I thought she might be dead.”

  “Someone went for the doctor?” Detective Aaron asked.

  She nodded. “I was having tea with Mrs. Lawrence when I saw that Miss Schmitz had collapsed. At about the same time, Miss Thornton noticed and started screaming.” Georgette continued to hold Miss Schmitz’s hand as another tear slipped down the woman’s cheek.

  “Perhaps a heart attack?” Charles asked Joseph.

  “She would be able to speak if she were having a heart attack,” Joseph replied.

  “Her mouth hurts,” Georgette told them. “Or perhaps her jaw. She is in quite a lot of pain, I think.”

  “Should we take her to the doctor’s house?” Charles asked. He looked at the door. “What is taking the man so long?”

  Georgette let them worry about it while she hummed to Miss Schmitz, trying to make her feel better. She noted that the woman’s muscles were quite tight and seemed to be winding even tighter. It was almost as though every muscle and bone in her hand had turned to a trembling stone. She was gasping as her limbs remained tense as boards. “It will be all right, Miss Schmitz. We’ll get the doctor here and he’ll help you feel better. Go ahead and rest, and I’ll look after you.”

  Miss Schmitz let her eyes close and sighed even though she didn’t relax at all. Charles placed his hand on Georgette’s back as if willing some of his strength into her.

  They were waiting like that when Dr. Wilkes came running up. He asked several questions as he examined Miss Schmitz while Mrs. Yancey looked on.

  “Has she been spasming like this for a while?”

  Georgette nodded. “She seems to be in quite a lot of pain,” she repeated. “Her breathing has been difficult, but I’m not sure if that’s the pain or if she’s not getting enough air.” Georgette smoothed the prone woman’s hair.

  “Gentle with her, Miss Marsh,” Dr. Wilkes said. “Like you said, she’s in rather a lot of pain. I’ll get my auto, and we’ll move her to my surgery.”

  “I’ll stay with her.”

  Dr. Wilkes’s brows lifted, but he didn’t object. “She doesn’t seem to have anyone else. Perhaps the detective can discover that for us. If she has family, they’ll want to come.” The way he said it made it clear that he didn’t think Miss Schmitz would survive.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Georgette asked, taking the doctor’s hand before he could leave.

  “If I’m not very much mistaken, I believe she’s been poisoned. I saw her recently. Listened to her heart and her lungs. She was strong as an ox, and I told her I thought she’d outlive us all. Now look at her. She might linger on, but I don’t think she’s going to come out of this well. Or at all.”

  Miss Schmitz still had her eyes closed, and Georgette didn’t think she’d heard her prognosis. Perhaps that was a small mercy.

  “Poisoned?” Detective Aaron asked. He stood suddenly. “How long ago?”

  “An hour? A half-hour? It depends on how much she was given. I need to care for her, however. I’ll leave this to you. Miss Marsh, stay with her. I’ll be back in a moment. We’ll do what we can to make her comfortable.”

  Georgette remained as Dr. Wilkes left. He returned with a stretcher, and he and Charles moved Miss Schmitz onto it while Georgette arranged her dress to preserve Miss Schmitz’s modesty. She wasn’t sure if Miss Schmitz was aware at the moment, but Georgette felt strongly that they should do whatever was possible to ease her.

  Georgette hurried ahead and opened the teashop door while Charles and Dr. Wilkes carried her out. The auto was outside the door, and the door was opened, so they could slide her into the seat, producing a low moan from Miss Schmitz as they did so. Another tear escaped Miss Schmitz, who whispered as Georgette twisted her body to sit behind the seat on the floor of the auto. “Help me.”

  Georgette took Miss Schmitz’s hand again. “We’re trying, Miss Schmitz. Can you take a deep breath?”

  It was the wrong thing to say. She gasped horribly as she tried and then coughed. Georgette cried with Miss Schmitz as they motored through the village towards the doctor’s home and surgery. Of all the terrible things to witness.

  “Are you all right, Georgette?” Charles asked softly.

  “I’ll be fine.” She sniffed and found his handkerchief was near her cheek. She took it but used it to wipe away Miss Schmitz’s tears.

  They arrived a few moments later, and Georgette let Charles pull her from the floor of the auto. Her legs had become a bit numb on the ride over, and she needed him to hold her up while the feeling recovered but insisted he help Dr. Wilkes when the doctor was ready to move the stretcher.

  Poor Miss Schmitz moaned again as they moved her. Georgette cried along with the woman and followed as the gents carried her inside.

  “Georgette,” Charles said, taking her hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t…”

  “Stay with her while she dies?” Georgette finished. She smiled, feeling as though she were channeling his gentleness. “I won’t rest easy for the remainder of my life if I were to leave her alone.”

  She found Miss Schmitz lying on the bed in the surgery and sat nearby. “May I mop her face? Maybe rub her feet?”

  Dr. Wilkes nodded. “She’s clearly in pain. If I give her morphine, I’m afraid it will kill her.”

  Georgette ignored him. She wasn’t going to advise him on
what to do, obviously. She was sure he didn’t actually want her comments. He was simply speaking aloud and as usual, she wasn’t someone people recognized as being present.

  “There must be something you can do to help her.” Charles’s voice carried from the doorway, and Georgette bit her bottom lip as she realized that Dr. Wilkes was speaking to Charles.

  “I suspect that anything I do will kill her.”

  “Would that be wrong?” Charles asked. Georgette looked up in shock and met his gaze. “I don’t mean that how it sounded. She’s just so miserable.”

  “Perhaps,” Georgette snapped, “you can take this conversation outside.”

  She crossed to the bath as they stepped outside the room and filled a pitcher, then poured that water into the waiting dish by the bedside. Wetting the wash cloth, Georgette mopped Miss Schmitz’s forehead and realized she’d slipped out of awareness. Georgette check her to ensure she was breathing before going to the door to tell Dr. Wilkes.

  “It might be kinder to leave her to my wife, Miss Marsh,” he told Georgette, “and see if you can discover if she has family to call. If there is someone who needs to see her, now is the time.”

  Georgette hesitated but thought the doctor was right. Detective Aaron was a good man, but he might not be the best to explain to family what had happened. “Mr. Aaron? Would you come with me?”

  He answered by holding out his arm for her.

  “Poison?” Georgette immediately asked after they were outside. “Poison? Why would anyone do such a thing?” Charles had that gentle look on his face again. “All right. I suppose I know why, but who could have a secret worth killing over?”

  “What would you do, I wonder, if she actually knew your secret?”

  Georgette stared at him. “Are you insinuating that I poisoned her?”

  “Of course I’m not.” Charles took her hand and set it on his elbow. “I’m only saying that I have little doubt that you’re not the only one with a life-altering secret in this…this…”

  “Dysfunctional little hamlet?” Georgette supplied. She started to smile and then felt guilty for it.