by Beth Byers
“Surely you’re just overcome?” he said, starting to sound angry.
“I am,” Georgette agreed. “And shocked. I have no desire to be your wife.”
“But no one else will take you,” he told her simply. “It’s me or no one.”
Georgette leaned back. “Then I’ll be a sad, childless, old maid with too many dogs and no one to love me.”
“Etta,” Harrison tried again. “Don’t be like that. You can keep one of the dogs.”
She laughed and then stood, crossing the aisle and sitting next to another woman. The woman had been staring and her gaze was fixed on Georgette’s.
“Of all the cheek,” the woman said, scowling at Harrison Parker.
“Indeed,” Georgette agreed, shuddering.
The woman continued, “As though any man is better than being alone. The fools. They don’t appreciate the virtue of a nice fire, a sweet dog, a good book, and a cup of tea.”
“Indeed,” Georgette said again, taking a deep breath in and letting it slowly out.
“Now the right man,” the woman said to Georgette. “The right man would be all right. But just any fellow? I hardly think so.”
Georgette remembered Charles putting her on the train, the sweet kiss to her cheek, the promise that she rub each of the dogs on the belly from him and the vow to discover and send her a new magical tea while she was away. She grinned at the woman, holding out her hand. “I like you.”
“I like the look of you too, my dear. Don’t let Mr. Blue Eyes over there wear you down. A marriage offer must always be better than what you have now or the wise choice is to stick to dogs, tea, and books.”
“I think,” Georgette told her happily, entirely uncaring that Harrison Parker was listening, “I think I’ve found all of that. Dogs, tea, books, and a man who loves me as well.”
“Oh that is nice,” the woman said, patting Georgette’s hand. “Now, have you read these Harper’s Bend books? I was recommended one in London.”
The END
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, Deathly Misconstrued, is available for preorder now.
Inspired by classic fiction and Miss Buncle's Book. Death by the Book questions what happens when you throw a murder into idyllic small town England.
May 1937
Georgette Dorothy Marsh has been revealed as the author Joseph Jones and she decides happiness is being away from the town she fictionalized. She's moved to London and is enjoying the bookstores, the libraries, the museum, and--most of all--the people watching.
When she witnesses a death, Georgette realizes that the supposed accident is actually a murder. Does she act on what she knows? Does she turn a blind eye? And if, she acts, will she be making herself the next target?
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If you enjoy mysteries with a historical twist, you may be interested in the upcoming short story collection, Candlelit Madness, which will include an introductory short for the new Hettie & Ro Adventures. Hettie & Ro are two Bright Young Things who develop a friendship over the joint murder of their philandering spouses. To see their beginning, click here.
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Chapter One
“Do you really have an appointment so early, Vi?”
“Indeed, dear one,” she said, taking the two pills from Giles and the rather noxious concoction that should shake the last of her after-effects from the previous evening.
“We have a letter from Aunt Agatha,” Vic told her with a bit of a plea.
“It is your turn to answer for us, darling,” Vi said, “I have to deal with our stepmother. She offered me a few things I needed for my wardrobe along with a dress for some party she’ll expect me to do the pretty at while I attend and pretend to be good.”
“Ahhh, she’s persuaded some bloke to take a look at you,” he laughed.
Violet took up the concoction, drained it in several swallows, and shuddered. Her brother, spoiled soul that he was, never suffered from overindulgence. As his twin, she objected strenuously.
“Must you, darling? I am always certain whenever I answer Aunt Agatha that I’ve been cross-examined and found wanting.”
“Dearest darling,” Vi said, taking up her teacup as though it were from the gods’ own table, “Stepmother is far easier to deal with if you give her what she wants when it doesn’t matter and slip away at the opportune moment. Better to feed the bear than to make her rabid.”
“I don’t think you become rabid from not eating,” Vic mused, filling his plate with kedgeree and toast.
Violet shuddered and pushed the kedgeree farther away her. “Perhaps not. I am not quite up to verbally sparring yet, luv.”
“Well, I’ll deal with Aggie and see you here for tea? I have dinner plans with Martha Landsy. Would you like to come?”
“I have dinner plans of my own, Victor dear. I’ll see what the old battle axe has planned for you, shall I? Then perhaps we should look at escaping London after the New Year and before Stepmother gets too many plans in the works.”
“Running scared from the fella ready to give you the look over?”
“There’s no shame in a well thought out retreat.”
Buying dresses with her stepmother was exactly what Vi thought it would be. She was told that she was getting too old to expect anyone to marry her and she couldn’t expect Victor to support her forever. As though Vi didn’t contribute to their rooms and living. If her stepmother only knew half the truth, she might leave Violet be, but Vi believed in keeping her cards close to her chest.
“I can only do so much for you, Violet,” the battle axe said.
“Yes, Stepmother.” Vi adjusted the cloche hat in the mirror and nodded to the dress shop girl, adding several pairs of stockings to her pile.
Lady Eleanor’s gaze sharpened on the stockings but she didn’t say a word. They’d already discussed her dress choices and her inexplicable demand for an education wherein she hadn’t bothered to find a young man from a good family.
“I would think after all this time you could remember to call me mother. You know how your father feels about it.”
“Of course,” Violet said, refusing to use the word.
Stepmother sniffed and then said, “You and Victor are going to Agatha’s for Christmas?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Violet nodded to the kid gloves, and the shop girl winked and slid them into the pile without her stepmother even taking note.
“She has a lot of money, Violet. Make yourself useful to her. Victor barely has enough to live on as it is. If he wants to marry, he’ll need you gone and something more.”
Violet didn’t bother rehashing that their father had rather enough money for both Violet and Victor. They each had inherited money from their grandfather, their mother, and had an allowance from their father. Victor would, however, get more money when he turned twenty-five and Violet would receive something when she married. Neither of them were hard-up, so the melodramatics about Violet becoming an old maid had another purpose.
Violet smiled winningly at the shop girl and turned to examine Lady Eleanor. She was a lovely creature.
“Look, Violet,” Stepmother said, “I am trying to do my best by you. You know that. Isolde is going off to university, and she’s going because she wants to meet a good young man. Surely you don’t think that you’ll ever marry if Isolde beats you to the altar? My dear, she is five years younger than you.”
Violet could feel a pulsing at her temples that didn’t ease with the pile of lovely things.
“Violet? I am talking to you.”
The shop girl winced and then placed an embroidered silk scarf on the pile for Violet along with another pair of stockings. Her stepmother didn’t even notice. Violet tapped the
counter where a very long strand of jet beads was artfully laid out.
“It is possible given Isolde’s wants as compared to my own,” Violet said, drawing attention to herself while the shop girl put the beads on Violet’s pile of things, “That she might marry before myself. That is the desire of her heart, not mine.”
“It should concern you,” Stepmother hissed. “You will be on the shelf. You’ll have to work to support yourself when Victor gives up supporting you. He will, Violet.”
“Victor?” Vi asked.
Lady Eleanor trod over Violet’s insertion and said, “He will marry and he will need to take care of his wife!”
Violet sniffed once and said to the shop girl, “I think we’ve got all we need. Thank you for your help. You can send the bill to Carlyle house and the items to the address I gave you.”
Violet turned to her stepmother and tried to avoid an utter breach. “Lady Eleanor, thank you for caring.”
“Of course I care,” she said, nodding in agreement of Violet’s instructions. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”
“You are,” Violet agreed gently. “It’s just that it’s not your day any longer, and I am not you or Isolde. I am not going to marry whichever semi-decent man you throw in my path.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I suppose, if it comes to it, I’ll work.” Violet enjoyed her stepmother’s wince too much.
“Work?” Lady Eleanor pressed her hand to her chest and backed away.
“I will not be the first woman who chooses to support herself rather than marry someone I don’t care for. Not even if that man is rolling in the green.”
“Working isn’t a game, Violet! You are spoilt! And that is your problem. These modern young things who think they know better than their elders. There is quite a lot to be said for a comfortable home and a man who puts you above all others. Whatever will you do to work?”
“I don’t know,” Violet admitted. “Lila writes magazine articles. Perhaps something like that. I could be a typist, I suppose. I have a friend who takes photographs. I’m sure I can come up with something.”
“Your father will be hearing of this,” Lady Eleanor hissed, sweeping from the shop.
Violet turned to the shop girl. “I think this means that I need to add that shawl there. And perhaps a few more pairs of stockings. They do go so quickly.”
“She’s awful,” the girl said and then blushed, glancing behind her to ensure no one else had heard.
“Mmmm,” Violet said, raising her brows in agreement. Lady Eleanor wasn’t quite the worst. She wanted things her way, certainly. As much as Violet despised that, Eleanor also wanted Violet safe and cared for.
“Maybe you could design dresses. There’s a squire’s daughter who does that,” the girl said. She brought Violet over to a champagne pink gown and said, “She made this. She sells through our shop and another in Paris.”
Violet ooohed and checked the watch pinned her jacket and then said, “I think I’ve got time to try that beauty on.”
“Will you really get a job?” the girl asked.
Vi supposed the idea of being able to afford to live without working was ridiculous to someone in a shop.
She shrugged and then admitted, “If I wanted to stay in London and Vic really did throw me out. Only my brother would never, ever do that. Besides, he’s barely twenty-three. I might be old to get married, but he’s too young.”
Chapter Two
“Hullo, hullo, hullo, Vi darling, is that you?”
Violet spun around with a grin on her face and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her gaze fixed upon the bright cheeks and perfectly shingled hair and they both squealed like school girls.
“Gwennie!”
They rushed each other like the chums they were and didn’t quite kiss. Carefully applied lipstick could be smudged so easily.
“Gwennie! Whatever are you doing here? Weren’t you bouncing around Scotland with your mum?”
She shook her head and her blonde hair flew with the movement. Her bright brown eyes flashed with irritation and her nose crinkled as she said, “My aunt Gertie! It was awful. She’s a stern old thing and I spent rather too much time embroidering seat cushions.”
Vi winced and squeezed Gwennie’s hand before tucking it into the crook of her arm and said, “But you’re here now? You’ve escaped!”
“Thank goodness. Good old Lila and Denny offered to let me come and stay with them for a while when they heard I was ready to throw myself from the highest tower to find an inch of freedom. So I legged it and here I am!”
“And your aunt…” Vi trailed off. She might not have seen Gwennie in simply ages, but she remembered the tune. Gwennie’s Aunt Gertrude held the purse strings for Gwennie and did not believe in modern girls. She objected to dancing, drinking, playing cards, and anything that wasn’t entirely Victorian.
“Well,” Gwennie said in an aside, “She doesn’t love that I’m here. But Lila is from such a good family. And, of course, she and Denny are married. So, Gertie thinks that they’ll throw me in the way of dashing and well-connected lads. Perhaps with a touch of a fortune.”
Vi winced. Gertrude couldn’t be more wrong about Lila and Denny. Most of their friends were starving artists or people Gwennie already knew.
Gwennie raised her brows and said, “She thinks Denny’s friends must be matrimonially inclined since he was.”
Vi choked at that. Matrimonially inclined? Denny’s friends? She laughed. He and Lila had been besotted since they were in the nursery. Their marriage was as fated as the rising sun and they hadn’t seen the need to wait.
As far as marriage went, Vi had been hearing that same horrid tune from her stepmother, Lady Eleanor. Thankfully, with Victor’s support and her own small inheritance, Vi wasn’t quite at daggers drawn with her stepmother. It was getting awfully near to hand as she got older. If Vi went to one more family dinner with some eligible cove sitting by ready to consider her, she might go stark raving mad. It was as though they appeared assuming she was theirs for the taking and all they needed to do was decide whether she’d do. No one seemed to think she deserved to be anything other than grateful.
“Whatever are you doing for tea, darling?” Vi asked, “Would you like to nip home for a bit of something with Vic and I? Vic has found the most wonderful man to help us; I’m sure it’ll be scrumptious. Shall we ring up Lila and Denny and bring them along?”
“Oh, that does sound lovely. To get the old girls together. Do you ever miss the school days?”
“Never,” Vi admitted. “I was grateful to Aunt Agatha for letting me go to college. You know my father and stepmother expected me to meet someone and marry. Dear Aunt Agatha wanted me to be educated. Not wanted. Expected. You know, the old girl made me write to her about what I was learning and whatnot. Vic and I both, since she paid for him too.”
Gwennie laughed and then said, “I wish my aunt was a bit more like yours.”
“Well, Aggie was something of a firebrand in her day. Still is, come to think of it.”
“What’s all this then?” Vic asked as he came into the drawing room where they were lounging with their tea.
“Hullo, Vic!” Vi called. “You remember Lila and Denny and of course, Gwennie.”
He glanced around the room, nodded, and simply slid into one of the sitting chairs.
“Vic! Whatever is the matter?” Vi asked as she poured him a stiff coffee, bypassing the tea she knew he didn’t want and making him a plate of biscuits and cake.
“I can’t eat darling,” he said. “It’s too, too bad. We shall need to leave at once. Well…”
“At once? But we have dinner plans and our friends are here.”
He groaned and then said, “Well, not at once. In the morning, it’s Aggie. The old bean has demanded we appear early. For an extended house party with the relatives.”
“What?” The twins had planned to head to their aunt’s home for Christmas, but that wasn�
��t for a fortnight. Perhaps a long weekend. Maybe a few days longer if the rest of the relatives fled quickly. “No.”
“Indeed. She sounded rather weak and washy, too. Simply threw herself upon us to come and rescue her.”
“She couldn’t have,” Vi said.
“She did, I tell you. She did. I read the letter and it was as clear as day.”
“But…I don’t want to go for a fortnight plus the hols,” Vic said, shoving his plate of biscuits back into his lap. She knew him rather well, and when he was hungry he was a bit of a wilting flower. She shook her head at him and headed back across the room to her seat.
“It’s worse than you know,” he moaned, shoving a whole biscuit into his mouth and talking around it. “She’s invited everyone. And she sent a telegraph as well. It came after you left.”
Vi blinked, turning slowly back to her brother, shaking her head.
“Indeed. She has. All of them.”
“But…”
“Yes,” he said, flatly draining his coffee and then rubbing his stomach as though he shouldn’t have.
“No.”
“It’s true,” he said weakly. “I saw Algernon at the club when the telegraph arrived. He’s got one too, and he’s bringing a friend. Possibly two.”
“Oh no,” Vi said as she dropped into her seat. “Not…”
“Theodophilus? Yes.”
Vi shivered. Their cousin Algernon was a blighter. But his friends were worse. Somehow Algernon gave them the impression that he was close to Vi and Vic and that she was up for grabs. Everyone knew that her father would settle a lump of green on her when she married. Algernon seemed to think it was his to half-offer her and the money to his friends.
“I won’t do it,” Vi said flatly.
“It’s Aggie.”