Death Witnessed

by Beth Byers

  She made her way out of the wood and down one of the less busy lanes towards her cottage. She would, she thought, take a journal and a pen to the teashop, enjoy a good cuppa, and keep out of Eunice’s hair.

  It would be rather luxurious to spend an afternoon having Mrs. Yancey wait on Georgette and serve her up liver pâte and cucumber sandwiches with petit fours and shortbread biscuits, perhaps even some of the early strawberries. Luxurious or not, Georgette was going to do it regardless. She had heard from Marian that they were serving a new blend of tea that Georgette wanted to try.

  Georgette hurried into the cottage, calling to Eunice that she’d decided to try the tea at Yancey’s.

  “Good idea, love,” Eunice said. “Mrs. Wilkes told me that they have delightful little cakes there too. Make sure you order some after that walk. You need to keep your strength.”

  Georgette stuck her head out of her bedroom door. “You told me to walk until I got winded. I obeyed, I promise, and now I need to remedy that? Perhaps I should have lolled about in my bed and saved myself the effort of the walk and the cakes.”

  Eunice put her hands on her hips and lifted a brow. “After all that working you’ve been doing, Miss Georgie, I might’ve cheered if you did. What I wanted was something other than you banging away at that typewriter of yours. ”

  “Liar,” Georgie gasped with a wink. She returned to her room, filled a pitcher with water and then ran a cloth over her lips and face. She dabbed lavender perfume by her ears and put on one of her nicer day dresses. It was so very rare for her to indulge like this that Georgette was determined to enjoy it to the fullest. She even dabbed some soft pink lipstick on her lips and pulled her hair back with a rather pretty barrette.

  Georgette hurried down the stairs in her dress. It was nice enough to only need her cream cardigan to keep her warm.

  “You look nice, love,” Eunice said. “How pretty you are is more and more apparent as you age.”

  Georgette rolled her eyes at the compliment, laughing it off. “Darling, you see through loving eyes. Trust me, I’m as plain as I’ve always been. As for dressing up, other than when I’m making my little trips into London or going to church, I don’t get a chance to dress up for anything. A tea out seems like just the thing. I think I’ll go get Marian and see if she'd like to come.”

  Georgette walked to Marian’s home but found her friend hadn’t returned yet. She paused to ask Mrs. Parker about her health and listened to stories of her children and grandchildren. When the long-winded answer to how she was came to an end, Mrs. Parker glanced Georgette over and lifted her brows. “You look rather nice for a ramble.”

  “I’m going to try the new teashop,” Georgette admitted, “on something of a whim.”

  “Marian will be sad she missed it.” Mrs. Parker’s gaze narrowed and she added, “You don’t look like yourself.”

  “Blame your Marian,” Georgette replied quietly. “She’s been influencing the things I’ve purchased.”

  “That’s not it,” Mrs. Parker said, and she leaned back and clucked to herself. “I’m not sure what it is. You look nice, Georgette.” It wasn’t a compliment. It was more baffled confusion. “It’s makeup, isn’t it? In my day, women took the looks God gave them and didn’t try to pull one over on the world.”

  Georgette smiled and hurried away. She didn’t need anyone thinking too much about her, even if they were jumping to the wrong conclusions. Their analysis and attention made her feel uncomfortable. It seemed that after years of being overlooked, having someone focus on you was even more distressing than being ignored.

  “Miss Marsh!” someone called as Georgette rounded the corner of the building housing the teashop. If it wasn’t Miss Schmitz, who’d occupied much of Georgette’s thoughts that morning. The woman caught up. “Hello, dear.”

  “Miss Schmitz,” Georgette said, surprised as she reached for the teashop door. Dear was rather familiar, wasn’t it, after having just met in a group setting. “Good afternoon.”

  “Oh!” Miss Schmitz’s blue eyes narrowed on Georgette and then they widened with delight. “We can have tea together!”

  Georgette winced, glancing about as though Marian or even Charles would appear. No one rescued her, so she followed the woman to the table, seeing with surprise that Mrs. Hanover avoided Miss Schmitz’s gaze and didn’t greet Georgette at all. Had she done something? Georgette stared at Mrs. Hanover as she rose, leaving the establishment with money on the table, and her tea half-finished.

  What in the world? Georgette would have worried that her status as Joseph Jones had gotten out, but she hadn’t put Mrs. Hanover in her story. To be perfectly honest, the woman was so very normal that there had been nothing to put in the story. She’d have been nothing more than a shadow in the background of more interesting ‘characters.’

  “Don’t worry about Martha,” Miss Schmitz said cheerily, “she’s a tad upset with me, I think. It'll smooth over.”

  Georgette blinked in shock. There was certainly no possible way that Martha Hanover had given this woman permission to use her first name as though they were lifelong friends.

  Moments later, Georgette watched the teashop proprietress, who crossed to the table and took their order without her customary kindness. Before Georgette could order the blend she’d heard of, Miss Schmitz said, “We’ll share a pot of your English breakfast tea. I can’t stand those odd blends, don’t you agree, dear? A good English breakfast tea or an Earl Grey if I must try something different.”

  Georgette nibbled her bottom lip as Miss Schmitz continued. “Some of your brown bread and butter. That will be all.”

  It was just so…so…rudely said. This was Mrs. Yancey. Georgette liked the woman. Unlike so many, she’d never made Georgette feel like a simpleton. She tried to convey her apology to Mrs. Yancey by look alone, and the proprietress nodded slightly and then turned silently and returned to her kitchens.

  “I—” Georgette was at an utter loss for words. “I—”

  “I know your secret,” Miss Schmitz said exultantly. Her blue eyes trapped Georgette with a brilliant shining light that made Mrs. Baker’s avarice seem like a candle about to sputter out.

  “I—” Georgette forced herself to clear her mind. If her secret was known, all was not lost. She would be okay. Somehow, all would be fine. But then reason struck her and instead of begging for silence, she said, “I can’t imagine that you do.”

  Miss Schmitz grinned with rather sharp teeth. Odd that Georgette hadn’t noticed those before. “Yet, now I know you have one. It won’t take long for me to figure it out. I’m clever like that.”

  A rush of fury loosened Georgette’s tongue in a way that she rarely allowed herself. Pushing to her feet, Georgette looked down at the woman. “I’m not sure why you are intent on trying to cause me pain, but I won’t help you. You aren’t Caroline Hardport. The author did not base that character on you, and your attempt to act as the woman in that book shows you to be of even lesser moral fortitude. To look at a…at a…villainess and want to be like her? Of all the ridiculous things! You should be ashamed of yourself, madam!”

  Georgette crossed to Mrs. Yancey. “I apologize that I was in any way involved with that treatment of you.”

  “Dressing down that foolish, evil woman made my day, Miss Marsh. Seeing that has brightened this infernal day.”

  Georgette smiled, squeezing her hand as she heard the whispers behind her with Miss Schmitz saying loudly, “She doesn’t know one thing about publishing or that book. I’d be shocked if she’d even read it. What utter cheek to declare something like fact that she can’t possibly know. I’d heard she was simple, but my goodness—”

  Georgette took a deep breath in and refused to react to that…that…shrew. “I should very much like to order some of your lavender earl grey tea blend,” she said to Mrs. Yancey, “and your new specialty blend for my home, and if you would be so good to wrap up some of your petit fours and cakes for Eunice and myself, I’d be ever so gra
teful.” When Miss Schmitz’s complaining only got louder, Georgette said evenly, “I’ll be waiting outside.”

  Georgette stormed from the teashop and stopped on the pathway just outside the doors. She took in another deep breath and then slowly let it out. She very rarely allowed herself to get well and truly angry, and her fingers were shaking. She needed…she needed…she needed to walk this off.

  The girl who worked at the shop carried out the package and Georgette blinked. “I’ll send Eunice over in the morning to pay. I’m sorry, I can’t go back in there.”

  The girl nodded and muttered something that Georgette didn’t try to catch. She had little doubt it reflected her own feelings given the sour look on the girl’s face. It certainly had to match the one on Georgette’s. She nodded and hurried away, cakes and teas in hand.

  7

  CHARLES AARON

  She was storming down the street. If this had been one of her books, she might have described the way her skirt snapped at her rather lovely calves. Or perhaps she’d have focused on the flush on her cheeks and the way her freckles stood out as if they’d darkened with her anger. He thought, however, she’d have focused on the way her delicate hands curled into fists and then splayed over and over again as though she wanted to hit something but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

  If she was lovely when she dropped her guard and let her thoughts flood the gates of her mouth and her expression enliven, she was a smack on the back of the head when angry. He’d been thinking for a while now that she was lovelier than anyone first thought. As if her beauty snuck up on you and once you saw it, you couldn’t unsee it. With cheeks flushed, flashing eyes, and heaving bosom, she made you realize what an idiot you were. Quietly lovely? Hardly anything so simple as that. Her looks were quiet. Her features were delicate rather than dramatic. Her coloring was soft and almost muted, but when you paid attention you noticed the lovely, early rose color of her cheeks offset by the peach undertone of her skin and the slightly honey color to her lips. Her eyes weren’t dramatic or large or flashing—usually—but all the same, they were varied in color. Not just medium brown but as though they’d been shot through with gold and bronze.

  Charles snorted at himself. Look at him waxing poetic over her admittedly lovely eyes. He needed to do more, he thought, than think on her looks and her talents. He needed to consider whether—together—they wouldn’t be ideal.

  Before he could step into the street to speak to her, that fiend, Parker, beat Charles to it. “Miss Marsh,” Parker said.

  Georgette paused, staring at him with those flashing eyes and Charles noted the poleaxed look on Parker’s face. Before now, the man hadn’t truly seen her. It wasn’t much of a comfort given that Georgette had no idea how either of them felt about her. She stared at Parker, and Charles was glad to see that she wasn’t glad to see the lad. If anything, drawing her attention in the midst of her fury irritated her.

  That didn’t mean, however, that he’d stay in her poorer graces. He was a handsome enough fellow, and Georgette wasn’t used to attention. Would she succumb because of her naiveté? If Parker was serious about Georgette, however, Charles had to decide—right then—if he was.

  The field had been surveyed, he’d tried on the usual fare for size and found them wanting. Wanting—that was the word, he thought. That was the word for Georgette. And not in that she was found wanting, but she had somehow taught him to want just by being herself without expectations.

  Charles took a deep breath and stepped into the road with one thought in his mind: All was fair in love and war.

  “My dear Georgie,” he said with a grin, holding out his arm, “there you are.”

  She blinked stupidly at him, but it didn’t matter that she was flummoxed. The key was that Parker’s gaze was fixated on Charles and not her. Slowly, she placed her hand on his elbow and acquiesced to his insinuation that they had made plans.

  “Are you ready for our walk?”

  She stared at him and then nodded a little helplessly, but she turned to Parker, giving him one of those sweet smiles of her that wasn’t the vague imitation she normally used with the people from this village. “Did you need something, Mr. Parker? Is Marian looking for me? I did come by your great-aunt’s house earlier today to see her.”

  “It seems you were like ships passing in the night today, Miss Marsh.” Parker smiled at her with those white, even teeth, drawing attention to his square jaw, the flashy fellow. “I’ll have her find you later. Will you be going home soon?”

  “Yes,” Georgette said hesitantly, glancing at Charles for confirmation. Parker’s gaze followed and narrowed on Charles. It was possible that the look he gave Parker was smug. Charles had no objections to walking her home as long as it was he who was walking her home.

  “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon, Miss Marsh,” Parker said, nodding at Charles with a challenge in his eyes before he stepped away.

  Georgette looked up at Charles with lifted brows and he grinned before he admitted, “I suppose I should apologize for manhandling your afternoon, Georgette.”

  “It’s quite all right. I do need to talk to you about something.”

  “However can I help?”

  “Do you recall Laurieann Schmitz from the writers group?”

  He frowned for a moment. “The one who thinks she’s Miss Hardport in your book?”

  Georgette nodded and then told him of her interaction with the woman, finishing with her threat to find out Georgette’s secrets.

  “Living in Bard’s Crook and having to hide who I am is already so difficult, Mr. Aaron. I’m not sure I could stand living here knowing how they hate ‘Joseph Jones’ and having them realize it was me.”

  Charles placed his hand over hers on his elbow. It was intoxicating, he thought, for a man to have a pretty woman share her troubles with him. “Am I safe to conclude that only you, I, Eunice, and Marian know of your status?”

  “Yes,” Georgette said, staring at his hand on hers. She glanced up at him with those honey-brown eyes, shot through with gold. “Mr. Thornton has met you, Mr. Aaron,” she reminded him.

  “The righteous one?”

  Georgette nodded. “Fortunately, he’s off right now, visiting his nephew. If anyone realizes who you are, then they’ll know who I am.”

  “They might not,” Charles said. “They’re not the most insightful of neighbors, my dear. There’s no reason, however, to believe that this Miss Schmitz can simply will your secret into the open. Stop speaking of it outside of your house, if you do at all.”

  Georgette nodded, glancing past him to the green. It was a lovely day. One of those perfect spring days that had blue skies, large puffy white clouds dotting the sky, with just enough chill in the air to keep one from being uncomfortably hot.

  “We seem to be quite alone here,” Charles said, glancing down at her. Her gaze was so innocent and unprepossessing that he was shocked to realize she had no more idea of him as a lover than she did of Parker. Had he done so little to convey that he liked her more than other women or was she simply so used to being overlooked that she couldn’t imagine him thinking of her that way?

  “Did you want to talk about books?” She pointed towards the edge of the green where there was a ready bench, and he led her towards it. “I suppose it is safe enough here. She can’t come creeping up behind us on the bench there.”

  “Do you think she would?” Charles asked with a laugh.

  “Miss Hardport would,” Georgette told him, twisting her mouth. “I know she’s a fictional character, and we’re discussing a real woman, but somehow she had Mrs. Yancey and Mrs. Hanover unable to hide their dislike. Those women would smile at the devil if he were behaving properly given they’ve been trained to be polite above all else.”

  Charles laughed at Georgette’s dark aside. He doubted anyone outside of Eunice and Marian saw this side of her, and he was enchanted at the privilege.

  “So my books,” Georgette said. She glanced at her feet
and then admitted, “I’m just not sure of my ability to write purely fiction, but I feel I must all the same. I don’t want to keep hurting people with my books.”

  “It’s not you doing those things, Georgette,” Charles replied. “You didn’t make Evans pick up that cricket bat, and you certainly haven’t had anything to do with the Hardport-Schmitz confusion.”

  She blushed. “I did reread The Further Adventures of Harper’s Bend to try to discover why she would see herself in that character. I wasn’t very clever, you know, with my descriptions of the first characters. I described them as they looked and behaved, but with Miss Hardport, she was from my head. A mix of half a dozen people and adding up to none of them.”

  “She reminded me rather strongly of my aunt when I was growing up,” Charles admitted. “She too was a single woman. Unlike you, she didn’t live her own life but was constantly prying into the lives of others and giving unsolicited and often unkind advice. When Joseph read about Miss Hardport, I spent an entire evening re-telling stories of Aunt Eloise.”

  Georgette was blushing even deeper, and Charles’s head cocked as he looked at her.

  “I didn’t live my own life, you know. If I had, my book wouldn’t have needed to steal so much from others’ lives.”

  Charles wanted to lift her hand and twine their fingers together, but she carried on with her confession before he could.

  “After things were going well for me, I realized I had considered myself the protagonist in a novel, like Lizzie Bennet. But I was forced to accept that I was no such thing. I’m only another Charlotte Lucas.” Her laugh wasn’t even bitter. “Just like her, I was scared and didn’t know what to do. Just like her, I’d have accepted the first Mr. Collins who came along.”

  Charles wasn’t able to stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand. “My dear Georgie, you are not Charlotte Lucas. You are so much more than she. She was a foil to make Elizabeth Bennet seem all the more intriguing. You didn’t throw yourself at the first Mr. Collins to come along—you picked up your pen and went to work.”