by Beth Byers
Georgette closed her eyes. “It’s safer, isn’t it?” she asked tonelessly. “I could buy a little cottage and live a boring, lonely life.”
“Please don’t.” The pleading in his voice had her opening her eyes, and the look on his face was enough to confirm that not only could she trust him, but the idea that she might leave him would wound him terribly.
“I don’t want to be safe alone,” she told him, offering him the same reassurance he had just given her. “Not anymore. Whatever happiness I could have harvested from that kind of life is gone for me. I’m not sure I can ever find it again.”
He clasped her to him and they stood in silence, sharing the sense of belonging and acceptance between them.
Charles drew away to look at her. Though she was comforted at the moment they’d shared, her worry for Mrs. Allyn crept upon her once more.
“I want to make sure that Edna checks on Mrs. Allyn,” she told Charles, who answered with a simple nod.
Charles looked nearly as worried as Georgette felt as they followed the direction Mrs. Allyn had gone. He hurried her along after the poor woman. As they reached Edna’s house, they saw Mr. Page leaving. He crossed to them calling, “Jane!”
Charles choked back a laugh as Georgette said, “Why hello, Mr. Page. May I present my fiancé, Mr. Charles Aaron? Charles, this is Edna’s good friend, Mr. Osiris Page.” Introducing Charles as her fiancé gave her a tremble of joy.
The two gentlemen shook hands. Mr. Page faced Georgette. “I wasn’t aware you were engaged, Miss Marsh. In fact, poor Edna hoped that you might find something to appreciate in Kaspar.”
Georgette flinched at the thought and had to wonder if Edna ever told the truth at all. She could hardly expect Georgette to find anything of interest in a nephew that Edna accused of being a murderer. Why would she build that lie? What purpose could it possibly serve? Georgette checked Charles’s expression, which was bland, and then said quietly, “I believe that any connection between myself and Mr. Williams was an idle fantasy on Edna’s part.”
Mr. Page nodded, his gaze heavy on the two of them before he said, “I should go. It was very nice to meet you both.”
Georgette stared after Mr. Page before leading Charles towards Edna’s door. “What an odd lie to tell Mr. Page.”
“Indeed. This is the murdering nephew?”
“Or, she’s a very odd liar.”
“There is something about you, Georgette. With Marian, you were nearly instant friends. With Mrs. Allyn, she threw herself into your arms. With this Edna, perhaps she dragged you into her oddness when she realized you were a willing audience.”
Georgette pulled Charles after her and knocked on the door. She considered what Mrs. Allyn had said about Edna giving her the money to return home. Could Edna afford to send Mrs. Allyn and her children, if she had any, to Australia? The woman was a retired school teacher not an heiress. Unless it was all another lie she’d told to Mrs. Allyn.
No, Edna had seemed truly upset over Mrs. Allyn’s state. Perhaps, Georgette thought, Edna had inherited money from her cousin.
What if Kaspar had thought he was the heir so he murdered his aunt only to discover that the money had been left to Edna instead? Would he be working on weaseling his way into Edna’s will?
Georgette shook her head. Edna’s troubles were done for Georgette. She was going to find a village with Charles, elope in the dress she’d purchased, and find a way to be happier with him than she was alone. First, however, Anna Allyn.
Edna opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw Georgette and Charles. “This is a surprise.”
“We met Anna Allyn,” Georgette told Edna before the woman could say anything more. She searched Edna’s face. “She needs someone to check on her. I believe she just discovered her husband has a child on the way with another woman.” It was the only explanation for Mrs. Allyn’s reaction to the other woman.
“Oh!” Edna muttered, “I was hoping she wouldn’t find out.”
“You knew?”
“Everyone who knows them knows. It would have been easier for her to choose to go home than to be driven home.”
Georgette didn’t agree in the least. It would have been far easier for Anna Allyn to find out from a gentle friend, with a cup of tea, and a shoulder to cry on. Georgette discovered she was enraged that Edna had left Anna alone in that situation. Georgette was, in fact, enraged in general.
“I’m done being Jane, Edna.”
“Oh, well.” Edna teared up, but Georgette had just seen Mrs. Allyn fall apart. There was no comparison.
“I can’t go on like this. I’m sorry.”
“Of course,” Edna said, blinking away a tear. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask you.”
“I’m sorry,” Georgette said again lamely.
“It’s all right, my dear. Of course it is. You did far more than you should have. I’m the one who should apologize. The tears—don’t feel bad.” Edna reached out and took Georgette’s hand. “I’ve had the oddest day. These tears—” Edna shook her head and sniffled again. “They’re not your fault. None of this is your fault. I’ve had such a shock. I just—” She shook her head and then kissed Georgette’s cheek. “I’ll take care of Mrs. Allyn. I hope I might see you again before you leave.”
Georgette agreed, glancing at Charles, and said her goodbyes to Edna before she got sucked back into Edna’s madness. Together, they made their escape.
“She’s odd,” Georgette said.
“She is odd,” Charles agreed fervently. “I didn’t expect tears.”
“I think I might have,” Georgette told him. “Honestly, I’m not sure anything she did would have surprised me.”
They headed back towards Mrs. Parker’s house, and Charles told her, “I think you might need to learn to say no.”
She noticed the gleam in his kind eyes, and he glanced about and pulled her into the shadow of an alley, tilted her face towards him to rub their noses together until she laughed.
“I thought you were going to kiss me.”
His eyes crinkled with those perfect laugh lines. “I just wanted you to stop feeling guilty first.”
She laughed at the look on his face but then gasped as he put his arm around her and pulled her tightly to him. Before she could say anything, he took her mouth and she found that all the worries she’d had since she left Bard’s Crook faded, as did all of Bath.
She had to catch her breath a few minutes later and hide her blush, once again, in his chest. This time, she realized that the feel of being touched by the man who loved her made all the fears she’d carried fade into nothing.
Charles cleared his throat, holding her against him until she shifted, and he stepped back.
“Harper’s Hollow tomorrow?”
Georgette nodded. They walked slowly again, neither of them really wanting to return to Mrs. Parker’s home. Georgette was craving something more from her life than sharing a room with Marian and not even having space to write.
“Let’s,” Georgette said. “Let’s go, let’s love it, and let’s find a house.”
Charles arrived with the auto as the sun rose. Georgette and Marian were waiting with a basket full of food and picnic blankets. He seated them both, and they started on the road. Motoring across England was something of a gift. What Georgette realized as they drove, however, was that she loved Marian more than anything—except Charles. Georgette would have happily left her friend at a train station and spent the day with Charles alone.
She wasn’t sure that anything could give her more comfort about the choice she’d made than to realize that Marian—the one friend who had been an incessant comfort to Georgette—wasn’t as comforting as Charles. Georgette took in a long breath and let it out. She needed that understanding more than she could have known. She’d needed to know that Charles loved her, and he’d been convincing her of it with each passing day.
She’d been worried about the more physical side of marriage, and those fears were fading. She�
��d been worried that being with someone so much would suffocate her, and she was discovering the opposite.
Harper’s Hollow rolled out before them between two hills and a flood of trees. There was a small square at the center of the village that housed a beautiful church, a gorgeous bank with pillars and grey stone, and a bridge that arched over a small, quiet river.
The river begged to be rowed. The bridge begged to be explored. The trees, in the distance, begged to be climbed if Georgette were younger. Next to Charles, however, she could imagine children climbing them. The thought of children, her children, in this village—it was overwhelming.
“Yes,” she told Charles.
He grinned at her. “I know we brought a picnic, but the pub—”
“Let’s try it,” she grinned, glancing at Marian, who had a wide gaze fixed on the river.
“I can imagine many a Saturday afternoon on that river.”
“As can I,” Charles agreed. “I have already decided to buy a rowboat.”
Georgette stared about her. “Does this feel like a dream to you?”
“Yes,” Marian said instantly. “I thought that Harper’s Hollow couldn’t be better than Bard’s Crook, but look at this place.”
They ordered fish and chips in the pub and Charles ordered a pint. The fish was flaky and golden, delicious in every way. The chips were crisp and satisfying and the fish was flakey with the batter fried to perfection. Georgette looked at the other two and then took in a deep breath.
When she’d sold her first book and brought home cake for herself and Eunice, it had felt surreal. She hadn’t realized you could find joy and take care of the people you loved at the same time.
When Charles had proposed and she’d found the faith to believe in him, it hadn’t seemed possible that she was even living the life she was living. But now, in this village? If they found the right place to live, it would be as though she’d been given too big of a blessing. It was unfair, especially when she considered people like Mrs. Allyn or Edna Williams. Georgette took another deep breath in and held it, secretly biting the inside of her mouth.
Before they drove out of the village, they decided to circle it. They didn’t have much time to make it back to Bath before it was far into the night, but, all the same, Georgette gasped.
“Stop the car!”
Charles hit the brakes so hard, they slid in the seats and Marian squealed before nearly landing on the floorboards of the car.
“What?” Charles asked, breathless, but Georgette was already outside of the auto. There on a little wooden plaque was a “For Sale” sign.
She grinned at him and darted past the gate. Three steps in and she had to stop. The house was close to gothic. She trailed forward, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her. The garden had monstrous oak trees that were interspersed with stretches of grass and an occasional weeping willow.
The house had to be at least three stories. Perhaps five if you counted cellars and an attic. The windows were dark and dirty, but the framing on them was arched in a half circle above wide, tall rectangles.
“What a dump,” Marian said from behind Georgette
She gasped and turned, hand over her heart.
“Oh no,” Marian told Charles. “She likes it.”
“I love it!”
“Georgette,” Charles said gently. “That window is boarded over. Who knows what vermin have taken up residence.”
Georgette had already started moving again. She was at the side of the wall, pushing up on her toes to peek into the grimy window, but she said over her shoulder, “They have men for that.”
“The roof needs replacing,” Charles said almost desperately.
“Look at the garden again,” Georgette ordered as he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her, so they both could see through the dirt.
The library door was hanging off its hinges, but the walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves and a rolling ladder.
“The entire thing will need to be repaired, repainted and repapered.”
Georgette didn’t answer. She could see her books lining those walls, interspersed with Charles’s. She’d seen his rooms. The library might not be enough between the two of them.
“Then we can pick out everything.”
“Darling,” Charles groaned, “this house would drain us of everything we have set aside and leave us paupers.”
“What if I write twice as much for the next year?” She knew she was pleading, but she loved this place. It was as though she’d come home.
“What if I’d like a scrap of your attention on occasion?”
“What if the vermin won’t leave?” Marian demanded.
“Can’t you imagine our children running in this garden?” Georgette demanded of Marian.
“It’s overgrown,” Marian answered.
“That can be fixed.”
“Her eyes are even wider now,” Marian told Charles. “She loves it more. What was on the other side of the window? An office for writers?”
“A library,” Charles muttered.
Marian groaned while Georgette put her hands on her hips and declared, “It just needs some love and—and—elbow grease.”
“Oh my goodness, she’s never going to stop dreaming of this place.” Marian stared around, shaking her head. “It is a neat old house, I’ll give you that. It was probably amazing in its day.”
“It’s perfect,” Georgette answered.
“It’s got good bones, I suppose,” Charles admitted. “The gate needs replacing. The roof. The paint and possibly significantly more. For the right price—with double books—maybe? I don’t know, Georgette.”
She smiled gently. “It feels right.”
He didn’t miss her reminder of their earlier conversation.
“You haven’t even seen the inside,” he argued reasonably.
“I don’t need to.” She trusted her instincts.
“This is what comes from loving an artist instead of a…of a…” Charles wasn’t able to come up with an alternative.
But Marian did. “A school marm.”
Georgette spun in a circle, closing her eyes and letting the feel of the house flow over her along with the warmth of the sun, the wind, and the people she loved with her. “I love it.”
“Let’s be reasonable,” Charles told her. “We’ll see what the price is, but we can’t overpay. Not with all the work it needs.”
He took her hand. “We really do need to get back on the road. I’ll send Robert or my secretary over to discover who owns it, but don’t get your hopes up, Georgette.”
“Too late,” Marian answered.
Georgette didn’t reply at all. She was too busy arranging everything in her mind.
Chapter 9
When Atë’s far-reaching, impish gaze followed the auto through the curving roads of England, she grinned. Her delighted grin always had an edge of wickedness and that wickedness was emphasized as she considered their thoughts. Each of them was thinking of the village, Harper’s Hollow, but they didn’t know what she did. They were silent as their thoughts traveled different roads.
Charles was imagining his letter to Joseph explaining Edna’s theories about a murder and the way Georgette had been pulled in. Which, of course, pulled in Marian and would send his poor nephew spiraling. It had been an easy thing for him to escape with the ladies to look at the village, try the pub, and say yes. He liked Harper’s Hollow. For Charles, all he needed was easy access to a train to London and for Georgette to be happy.
Marian was thinking about Joseph and how he was so far away. She had been completely and utterly jealous of Georgette that day, wandering with Charles and able to envision their future together. At the same time, however, while her beloved had been gone—she hadn’t been alone. It would have been so easy to be alone without Georgette. Marian had glanced into the front seat where Georgette and Charles had tangled their fingers together and known that even as often as Joseph had to travel, she’d never be alon
e.
Georgette, however, was thinking of that house. She wasn’t entirely irrational, so she knew it would be a headache to turn that disaster into a home. And yet…how did you balance what was rational with what felt right? The willow trees, the massive oaks, the stonework that proclaimed care and thoughtfulness in building the house. The big windows where the sunlight, combined with the shadows of the trees, would enter and form delightful patterns on the floors.
She was still thinking of the house when they arrived back in Bath. Charles stopped the auto outside of Mrs. Parker’s house when it was nearly 9:00 p.m. They were all sore from bouncing over the roads and the long motoring across England. Georgette’s back ached, her neck was sore, and she wanted a long soak in a bathtub with Epson salts.
As they got out of the auto and packed up their things from the drive, Mr. Osiris Page walked down the front steps.
“What in the world?” Marian breathed as they nodded to the man.
“How was Harper’s Hollow?” he asked genially. “I must say, I enjoyed taking your place at dinner.”
“Harper’s Hollow was lovely,” Marian told him. “We adored it.”
“I’m sure your aunt will miss you when you move there.”
Marian laughed and shook her head. “Oh I doubt it. She’s moving closer to grandchildren, and we’ll see her often enough. She’ll be glad to get rid of me.”
“Her grandchildren?” Mr. Page asked. “I assumed she’d stay here.”
“Oh no,” Marian told him. “She’s just selling her home in Bard’s Crook and finding one near her daughter. This is a stopgap since dear Aunt Parker doesn’t want to share a home with her daughter. They’re both, ah, strong-minded women.”
“Well,” Mr. Page said, “you’re all lucky to have such a woman leading your family.”
Georgette glanced at Charles and found she wasn’t able to hold back a yawn. He nodded and excused them, ignoring Mr. Page’s desire to keep chatting.
“He’s probably a lonely old man,” Marian said with a look to Mr. Page, who was walking alone down the sidewalk towards the main road just beyond. “Desperate for friends and attention.”