by Beth Byers
Death in the Beginning
A Poison Ink Mystery
Beth Byers
Contents
Summary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Also by Beth Byers
Summary
June 1938
A new baby, an elopement, an unexpected visitor. Georgette Dorothy Aaron and her family of orphans knew it would be an exciting summer, but none of them expected to be drawn into yet another murder investigation.
When they band together, however, surely they can accomplish anything.
1
Even the goddess Atë found the baby appealing. Of course, for a creature where infants were uncommon and bursting from the head of your father was a reasonable beginning to life, it might have been in the way one found a furless cat appealing. The oversized head, squalling furious face, the wrinkled skin—horrendous and adorable.
Georgette Dorothy Aaron, however, looked down at her shrieking son and felt something entirely different. His eyes were screwed up in a fury, and she’d yet to see what color they were. She was tired in a way she hadn’t realized was possible. She hurt, and what wasn’t currently hurting was remembering hurting far too well. She felt as though someone had used her to scrub a brick building and wrung her out so often and hard, she’d never be the same again. Yet, there was the creature inside of her that she’d never thought to feel as well. It was like a beast had been born in her heart while her son came from her body, and she knew that there was nothing—nothing—she wouldn’t do to keep him safe, happy, and healthy.
Georgette felt a tear roll down her cheek and she took in a shuddering breath. The midwife calmly took the baby from Georgette, cleaned him swiftly, and wrapped him tightly. A moment later he was back in Georgette’s arms, so the midwife took the opportunity to comb her hair, mop her face, and appealingly arrange the blankets covering her body.
Eunice eyed the newly prettied Georgette and said, “You did well, Miss Georgie.”
The tears burned again and Georgette stared down at the baby. The midwife had ordered Marian out when the labor turned to imminent childbirth. Georgette hadn’t wanted that, but she hadn’t spoken up. It was like she’d returned to being the wallflower without a voice, and all she could think was how her body had turned on her and her baby was killing her from the inside.
Georgette leaned back against the pile of pillows as Charles entered the room. He took in the sight of her, the squirming bundle in her arms, and all she could do was stare at him, fighting the tears. A moment later, she lost the battle. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. It was as if her body didn’t know what was happening, and she wasn’t up to being strong anymore. She yawned hugely through her tears and Charles took in the sight of her without a single wince.
She could see the panic in his gaze, but when the midwife said something low, Charles shook his head, crossed to Georgette, and lifted both her and the baby in his arms.
“Careful, Mr. Aaron.”
“Leave them be,” Eunice ordered.
The midwife eyed Eunice, lifting her eyebrow with a challenging look, and the midwife turned back to her things.
“What have we here?” Charles asked, holding Georgette, but his gaze fixed on his child.
“It’s a boy,” Georgette told him, almost shuddering in the relief of feeling his arms around her. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Charles’s low laugh was not the reply she expected. It was followed by a soft press of a kiss on her forehead and he said, “You’ve already proven you can do anything, Georgette.”
She stared down at the baby and then slowly pulled back the blanket that was tucked around him. Her hand turned as she slowly traced the line of her son’s eyebrows. They were barely there, but his lashes were thick and lovely. He slowly opened his eyes, meeting hers for the first time, and that beast inside of her fell as deeply in love as Georgette did.
“He’s…” Her voice cracked and she looked up at Charles and said, “He’s perfect.”
Charles was staring at their son, and it seemed that something had woken inside of him as well. He was gone—entranced by his son and those blue eyes, that quizzical scowl, pursed lips that slowly sucked in and out. “Georgette—”
She met his gaze and saw his eyes were swimming with tears. “Charles?”
“I—I don’t know what to say. I—my heavens, Georgette.” He shook his head and kissed her on her temple. “Look what you did.”
Georgette’s gaze turned back to their son, and she slowly shifted, turning to face Charles. “If you wouldn’t mind horribly, I just—-I need…I need to sleep.” She shifted and then Eunice stepped in, lifting the baby out of Georgette’s arms. “Does that make me a bad mother?”
Charles shook his head and then kissed her again. “Whatever you need, darling.”
Eunice stepped in then, taking the baby. She entirely bypassed the midwife who was clearly unimpressed with Georgette’s mothering.
“Charles, help Georgie to the bath. She’ll sleep better if she’s clean. Where’s the nanny? She can take care of him.” Eunice smiled down at the baby and then cooed to him when he fussed. Both Georgette and Charles’s heads lifted like guard dogs on the alert. “He’s all right, I promise.”
Georgette met Eunice’s gaze. There was nothing but love there, so Georgette leaned on Charles’s arm and then sat on the side of the bath, plugging the drain, and letting the water fill. Before it was even a few inches deep, Marian had replaced Charles and she was adding salts and oils to the water and exulting over the baby.
Georgette sort of slumped, slid, and tumbled into the water. “How long did it last?”
Marian glanced up, winced, and said, “Over a day and a half.”
Georgette nodded and realized her limbs were trembling.
“I thought Charles was going to lose his mind every time we heard anything that resembled pain coming from you. For such a collected, elegant man, he looked as though he were one grunt from sicking up. When it was over, when Eunice said you and the baby were all right, his hand was shaking when he tried to drink the bourbon Joseph pressed into his hand.”
Georgette swallowed thickly. There was a part of her, the most unkind part, that was grateful he’d suffered even a little.
“Was it horrible?” Marian was asking, like a woman who knew it had been and was afraid her turn was coming.
Georgette considered lying, but she wasn’t sure she was capable of it at the moment. “Yes.”
“Is it like that verse in the Bible where once it’s over, you forget?”
Georgette laughed. Her legs were shaking, other parts were not all right, and she had jabbed her nails into her palms leaving bloodied half-moons. “Perhaps that takes more time.”
Marian washed Georgette’s hair and scrubbed her back while Georgette let the hot water melt her muscles. There were knots in her back and legs and she hadn’t realized she’d even clenched them so hard. When she rose from the water, her legs almost failed her, but Marian held Georgette up until she recovered the use of her knees. A few moments later, and Georgette was dressed and returned to a freshly cleaned bed. She sat down and then looked towards Eunice, who was carrying in a tray of food while Charles rocked their baby in the new rocking chair in their room.
“Is he all right?”
Charles
smiled the sweetest smile she’d ever seen. His eyes crinkled with kindness and joy. “He’s wonderful.”
Georgette looked towards Eunice and her brows rose at the tray that was placed over her lap. There was a large piece of roast beef, roasted vegetables, and a warm roll with butter melting into the crumbs. A large piece of lemon meringue pie. Georgette hadn’t even thought of food but the second the scent hit her nose, she was ravenous.
Georgette dug into the food while the baby squirmed in Charles’s hands. He started rocking, humming in his deeper voice to the baby. “What do you think of the name George?”
Georgette scrunched her nose and shook her head frantically. They’d discussed names many times, but Georgette and Charles had yet to reach a final answer. In fact, they’d simply decided to wait to meet him instead.
“Charles?” Georgette suggested.
Charles snorted and shook his head in return and then offered, “Wentworth Nathaniel.”
She knew why he’d chosen Wentworth. She’d thought herself the unwanted Austen female, and Charles felt differently. A nod to their falling in love and Georgette’s eyes welled again.
“I—”
Charles kissed their son’s head and said, “I’m afraid I must insist on Wentworth. I hope you don’t mind about Nathaniel.”
“Your father’s name?” Georgette was already shaking her head. Of course she didn’t mind.
She was shocked she had finished the food so quickly. Even taken the roll and sopped up the gravy left on her plate. She leaned back and said, “I’d like to hold him again.”
“He needs to try eating,” Eunice said easily, taking the tray from Georgette, “so you can sleep.”
Georgette held the baby again, staring down at him. “I wonder what he’ll be like.”
“Maybe he’ll be like you,” Charles suggested. “Quiet, talented, and clever.”
“I hope he’s like you,” Georgette said. She held her forefinger near her son’s hand and he wrapped his little hand around hers. “Hello, darling Wentworth.”
Her eyes filled with tears again. It was becoming a mother, she thought, that made her remember her own. Was this what her mother had felt like when Georgette had been placed in her arms? Was her mother happy to have a girl or had she wished she were a boy? Had her mother been happy enough to have a girl because she didn’t know then there wouldn’t be another child?
Georgette would have given a lot to know. To speak to her. To ask if it would be all right. Would she be a good mother? What did that even mean? Was it loving your child? If so, Georgette loved him already. She loved the little furrow to his brow, she loved the way he seemed to be trying to understand what was happening around him. She loved his little nose and his button of a chin. She loved his tiny, perfect fingers that were grabbing her so tightly.
“We’ll do this right, won’t we?” Georgette asked Charles.
He nodded as though she were silly to ask, but she knew he never treated her as though she were silly, so she wasn’t offended. Rather, she acknowledged that perhaps giving birth left one in the same sort of madness women dealt with every month or when they were growing a baby. Would she ever be herself again?
Georgette frowned down at her son and said, “We need to avoid further murders.”
“Then we need to stop meddling.” Charles nodded seriously. They hadn’t even intended to truly meddle in police investigations. It was almost as if they were drawn in by some outside force. As though some higher power were looking down on them and throwing them into the thick of things. “There’s nothing wrong with my going to the office, you writing at home, and both of us focusing on our family. Crimes and their perpetrators are a problem for the local police and Joseph.”
“Exactly,” Georgette said. “Just so.”
With those words, the goddess Atë focused on her very favorite meddler and grinned wickedly. Making proclamations such as the one Georgette just made was throwing down a gauntlet the goddess of mischief could not ignore.
GEORGETTE DOROTHY AARON
In the weeks following the arrival of Wentworth Nathaniel Aaron, they discovered they were all at the mercy of his whims. The good news was that he was a sweet child and slept through the night within weeks. He seemed determined to be content, though he had little to thwart his will. The house was full of people who wanted to hold, sing, rock, walk, and coo to him.
“Georgette,” Robert said hesitatingly.
She wanted to scowl at him for the hesitation and then she wanted to cry. She had heard of post-baby blues, but she didn’t think that was what she had. It was more that she was constantly afraid something would happen to Wentworth. She woke several times a night to check on him even though he slept happily and easily. She watched when others held him. She eyed her dogs fiercely until she was sure they would do no more than protect him.
There was little that could be done for Wentworth that wasn’t being done, and yet—she sighed.
“I was wondering if you could take a walk with me?”
Her gaze narrowed on her nephew-in-law. Of the two nephews, she was closer to Robert. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Joseph as well. Robert and Georgette wrote books together and talked about the novels they’d both read. They discussed characters in their favorite books. He asked her about pursuing Evelyn without pushing too hard.
Georgette nodded even though she was almost sure Robert had been put up to getting her out of the house by Charles, but she was aching to go. She looked towards Wentworth where little Janey was pushing him in his pram, and Eunice was lecturing her on the making of pies, and their new nanny, Myrtle, was peeling potatoes.
Georgette agreed to the outing and left. She didn’t allow herself to check her clothes or hair in the mirror or even get her coat. She just walked through the door, took a deep breath, and then turned to find a surprised Robert behind her.
“I couldn’t think about it or I might have changed my mind.”
He seemed almost understanding, but the idea that he could even think he could understand made her want to screech a little.
“I wonder…” His mouth twisted, and rather than finishing his statement, he held out his arm.
Georgette took a deep breath and leaned into him, letting him lead her away from her home. They didn’t walk toward the town but away from it. The lane they followed wound toward rolling hills and they wandered for a long while before Robert just said, “Evelyn.”
Georgette nibbled her bottom lip waiting for him to explain. Evelyn had been the inspiration for his last book. When Evelyn’s cousin was murdered, she moved from an object of a fantasy to something more. Georgette’s family had been drawn into another murder investigation to free Evelyn, and in the process, Robert learned that Evelyn wasn’t what he imagined, but she was also what he wanted.
“Evelyn,” Georgette repeated.
“She’s not avoiding me, but I feel as though she’s…it’s like she’s sidestepping every time I try to get to know her better.”
Georgette paused and started to reply, but there was a shout ahead. She and Robert looked and saw a group of schoolboys move into the wood. Given the red faces, sweaty brows, and general air of being rumpled, Georgette imagined those boys had gotten up early and gone on some sort of holiday adventure. Her own Eddy had gotten up early himself and escaped the house with a fishing pole.
“The one thing I can tell you for sure,” Georgette said easily, “was that a woman can talk herself into believing something that might not be true.”
Robert frowned at her with a sideways glance and then handed her up over a turnstile so they could aim toward a small stream and walk alongside it.
“I don’t understand,” Robert said.
“I don’t either,” Georgette told him. “It was hard for me to believe that Charles was really interested in me. I carried a list he wrote about our future in my heart, memorized, like a talisman that I could trust that he really felt the way he said he did about me.”
Robert hu
ffed a little and said, “He was so in love with you, I could practically see lovebirds flying around his head.”
“You could. I couldn’t see that. That same blindness is Evelyn’s, Robert. She doesn't know you. She can’t see those lovebirds flying around your head that I can.” Robert’s mouth twisted and Georgette said, “You are a talented man with words.”
“I am?” Robert asked even though they both knew it was true.
“Maybe you should write her love letters. Maybe give her a chance to take what you’re saying, think on it, and consider how she feels before she responds.”
Robert’s head cocked and then he said, “I wonder where Eddy is.”
Eddy was one of the three orphans Georgette and Charles had taken in. “Are you sidestepping me now?”
“It’s a little terrifying to think of pouring my heart out to her in something that she can…just show anyone.”
Georgette nibbled her bottom lip as she looked around. This little village with the rolling hills, the river that ran through the town; the stream that meandered through the countryside; the air of some sort of bucolic masterpiece that had stolen her heart the moment she’d visited. It seemed to Georgette that she’d been almost directed here.
“It’s harder for women,” Georgette told him.
Robert’s brows lowered and she was guessing he didn’t agree.
“We have to trust that the men we’re marrying are who they say they are because they have so much control over our lives. It’s not like a woman can easily just pack up her bags, take her children, and leave if the man hits her. Or if he doesn’t support their family. Or if he strays. Even when we can leave, it’s hard for us to bring the children or support ourselves and our children. Options are more limited for women, Robert; it’s the truth whether you like it or not.”