Death Witnessed Page 2

  “Cheeky,” Charles said, setting his port down. He knew his face was emotionless, but he was reeling at the sheer, blunt honesty and the way the idea resounded in his mind. Just hearing her name was enough to make him wonder what she was doing. He’d told himself for a while now that he was only wondering because he wanted that next book, but Charles knew that he was lying to himself when faced with Joseph’s clever eye.

  “May I ask you a serious question?” Joseph’s gaze flicked to between his cigar and Charles’s face without ever meeting Charles’s gaze. Joseph’s face turned red on his cheeks and his ears, and Charles lifted a brow.

  “Of course,” Charles said.

  “I—” Joseph cleared his throat and then said, “I am, perhaps, a little, well…”

  Charles lifted a brow. “Does this question of yours have anything to do with the lovely Miss Marian Parker?”

  Joseph cleared his throat and admitted, “I find that my occasional forays into Bard’s Crook aren’t quite enough to satisfy my desire to see her, but I am also a bit—well, I’m not quite sure that I love her.”

  “Yet you’re so very sure that I have those feelings for Miss Marsh?”

  “If God himself crafted you a mate, I’m not sure the match would be better for you than Miss Marsh, Uncle.”

  Charles snorted at that and Joseph shook his head.

  “Let’s try again to lay it out in a different way, dear uncle.”

  Charles wasn’t able to hide his irritation, but Joseph only grinned. This is what happened from not being all that much older than his nephew. Charles’s other nephew, Robert, was barely hanging onto any shreds of respect for him either, and only because he worked for Charles’s company.

  “By all means,” Charles said sarcastically, “proceed.”

  “Miss Moore was boring.”

  “What does that have to do with my feelings for another?”

  “That woman you were seeing when Robert and I were at university,” Joseph added. “You told us you could not imagine a lifetime of such inane chatter.”

  “Again—” Charles started, but Joseph held up a hand.

  “Miss Thornton,” Joseph added. “You said she hadn’t read a book for pleasure in her lifetime.”

  Charles sniffed and took a puff off his cigar.

  “Miss Vance, she had an unkind twist to her mouth.”

  Charles chuckled at that one. He had said that regarding the woman, and it was true as well.

  “The one with the most luxurious brown eyes and hair. She was an English Cleopatra and wickedly clever. Do you remember the excuse for that one?”

  Charles did, in fact, remember and was choosing not to repeat it.

  Joseph had no such compunction. “Too beautiful and likely to turn to fat. There is literally no pleasing you.”

  Charles puffed his cigar again. He didn’t think being a bit—ah—selective about the woman sharing your bed, life, and children was wrong. He was considering the rest of his life.

  “You realize,” Joseph said idly, “sooner or later those fellows in Bard’s Crook are going to wake up to what’s in their midst.”

  Charles was not about to be pushed about by threats from his nephew. If Miss Marsh found companionship and love, he wished her the best. The thought of it was not causing his heart to freeze in his chest or his back teeth to ache.

  “Back to your question,” Charles snapped.

  “How do I get to know her better without leading her on?”

  “You’re due for some time off,” Charles told him. “We both are, to be honest, though I don’t know any businessman who truly leaves his business behind.” He could say the same of his nephew’s career in law enforcement.

  “It is an idyllic town,” Joseph said, leaning back. “Perhaps just what is needed to clear my palette from London after the last round of cases.”

  “I’m sure you need to cleanse your palette from that string of robberies.”

  “The things,” Joseph said with a wide, cheery grin, “that mankind do to one another. It could make one quite soul sick.”

  “Indeed,” Charles replied dryly.

  “You’ll be coming,” Joseph said.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “To remind yourself of what you’re talking yourself out of. I won’t interfere, I swear it on my honor. We both need clarity. Bard’s Crook is a quiet little village. What could happen?”

  GEORGETTE DOROTHY MARSH

  “Miss Georgie,” Eunice said from the doorway of the second bedroom that had become Georgie’s office. “Miss Hallowton is at the door.”

  Georgette looked up from her manuscript. It was done, she thought. Her stomach ached at the idea of sending it off too early. Though Mr. Aaron had been so kind about her last book, she wasn’t quite sure he liked it as much as he said he did. He’d sworn he’d love it before he even read it. He’d published it, but maybe with the assumption that the people who loved the first would enjoy the second? Perhaps he didn’t like the second book, but it still made good business sense to publish it?

  If so, she couldn’t count on that continuing with subsequent books. It was one thing to let the public decide for one book, but if they decided against—oh! She wanted desperately to read the reviews to see what people were saying and decide whether her worries were only unruly nerves or were legitimate concerns.

  Her fingers slid over the pages of the second book. Marian had taken one of the copies home with her the previous day, but Georgette knew better than to trust her friend’s reviews. Perhaps if Eunice bothered to read it. The woman had known Georgette since her babyhood. Having changed Georgette’s nappies prevented the woman from feeling the slightest obligation to coddle Georgette’s sensibilities.

  If she were being entirely honest with herself, she quite liked this one more than the last two combined. The characters had grown and changed and even though the idea of what they might do was based upon her neighbors, even still, the situations were entirely fictional.

  “Miss Georgie?” Eunice said again, opening the door wider. “Did you want me to tell her that you’re indisposed?”

  Georgette pushed up from her desk. “No, of course not. I’m afraid I’m rather lost in my thoughts, Eunice.”

  “The book will be fine.”

  Georgette smiled gently, kissing the woman on the cheek. “Thank you for thinking so.”

  “Miss Parker was giggling over that second book before she made it out the door.”

  “She wants to like it,” Georgette said, simply. “She’ll look for the good in it and ignore the rest.”

  “It’s a good book, Miss Georgie. I read both of them, you know. They weren’t half bad.”

  Georgette grinned at that half compliment and walked down the steep, narrow steps of her cottage. Her parents had inherited it from an aunt, and it was full of character and inexplicable squeaks.

  “Oh hello, Miss Hallowton,” Georgette said quietly. “So nice of you to stop by.”

  “You look flushed. Were you napping?” Miss Hallowton glanced about the cottage, her gaze lingering on the newer furniture for a moment before Georgette invited her to sit.

  “Just working on some things upstairs,” Georgette said vaguely. “May I offer you a cuppa?”

  Before Miss Hallowton could decline or accept, Eunice carried in a tea tray.

  “Oh, thank you,” Georgette said. “I have been wanting a cup and have been too distracted to ask. Miss Hallowton?”

  The woman accepted and Georgette poured her a cup, adding only lemon. Georgette left plenty of room for cream in hers and rather too much sugar before she sipped. Eunice, the clever woman, had brought in a decent Earl Grey tea. A rather nice blend but none of Georgette’s recent splurges.

  “You’ll run to fat if you keep drinking your tea like a child.”

  “I suppose I might,” Georgie said. She had, in fact, gained some weight since her finances had turned, but she attributed the change to being able to afford more than eggs, sardines
, and soup. She’d been forced to let out her new skirt and considered upon the issue before she’d decided that not being bone-thin was a blessing. She intended to give the extra flesh as much concern as whatever was happening in the wilds of Mongolia.

  Miss Hallowton sniffed and then pulled a sheet of paper from her satchel. “This is a list of those who intend to come to our writing group. I’ll have the pot ready, but I’ll expect you to provide tea and coffee. Perhaps something to nibble upon. We’ll be meeting from 7:00 p.m. to 8:30. Bring writing you’re prepared to share. Will you have that ready by then?”

  “I will.” In fact, Georgette had about four stories that were all begun with imagination along. One, in fact, was nearly finished as far as the conclusion being written. She was not, however, prepared to share it with Mr. Aaron. What if she hadn’t succeeded? Why was it that she was more nervous now than she’d been with that first book?

  “See that you do,” Miss Hallowton said, setting aside her mostly full cup of tea and standing. “We can’t all nap the day away. There is much to do before bed for one such as I.”

  “Have a lovely evening,” Georgette replied, following Miss Hallowton to the door and seeing her out.

  “What a sour old thing,” Eunice said. “As if you haven’t struggled as hard as she. She’s lucky you are as kind as you are. Your second and third bedrooms are quite a bit better than what she’s offering those boarders of hers, and you wouldn’t water the soup as she does. She little realizes that you chose not to open your door to boarders because she needed them.”

  “It turned out for the best, dear Eunice. We would have hated having boarders, and I rather enjoy writing.”

  “Those dark circles under your eyes say otherwise,” Eunice said, her gaze passing over Georgette and finding her wanting. “You need to sleep more and write less. As if I don’t hear you groan when you stand. It’s not a good thing to write until your hips and back hurt.”

  Georgette smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  3

  GEORGETTE DOROTHY MARSH

  “You’ll never guess,” Marian said as she burst through the kitchen door a week later. She had a book under her arm and a basket with the post in it. Georgette guessed by the parcel from the tea vendor that her own post was included.

  “You got my post,” Georgette said, waving Marian to the kitchen table where she had been lingering over her tea. She had finished polishing her book and had sat down at the table to sip her tea, munch her toast, and write a note to Mr. Aaron to go with the manuscript.

  “Well yes,” Marian said, thrusting the basket at Georgette. “I was chatting with Miss Hallowton. She cross-examined me about my writing piece. I’m terrified to show it to her.”

  “It’s good,” Georgette assured her.

  “It’s not clever like yours, but that’s beside the point,” Marian gushed. “She was telling me that she had one of her rooms taken by two Londoners who needed a break from city life but needed to be close enough to engage in their business if necessary.”

  Georgette didn’t glance up at that. If Marian kept speaking, Georgette didn’t hear it. Her attention was entirely claimed by an envelope from Mr. Aaron’s office. She’d received one of these before, and she knew she’d be reading reviews.

  She wiped her butter knife clean with her napkin and opened the envelope with shaking fingers, whispering to herself that everyone was not going to be pleased. A note came out first with a simple:

  Miss Marsh,

  You are to be congratulated on such a release.

  C. Aaron

  Georgette let out a shaky breath and opened the first review. Even more charming than the last. She closed her eyes in utter relief and then looked up with actual tears in her eyes. “I’m crying over my reviews.”

  “I told you it was wonderful,” Marian said. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “You would have liked it if it was terrible.” Georgette dared to look at the next clipping. Trite, but pleasing enough for the easily pleased.

  She grinned at that one. Pleasing enough for her as well. She glanced at the next one. Joseph Jones was remarkable in his debut. The surer hand of the writer was all that was needed to have this reader already begging for the next.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Marian asked.

  Georgette glanced up blankly.

  “Are you listening this time?”

  Georgette blinked. Eunice snorted and Georgette looked at her instead. Her normally staid gaze was bright with something. Humor? Was it at Georgette’s expense? What had she missed?

  “What happened?” Georgette asked, actually listening.

  “Miss Hallowton has new boarders.”

  “She always has boarders,” Georgette replied, sipping her tea. Good reviews surely justified this latest indulgence. At first she wasn’t sure if she liked it, as the combination of coffee, tea, and cocoa bean was somehow very wrong. Once Georgette moved past what she expected, however, she discovered utter delight.

  “She has Londoners as boarders.”

  “Well, I suppose if they can’t go all the way to the seaside and just need fresh air, Bard’s Crook has it in abundance. Lovely rambles. A decent pub. One could do worse.”

  Marian spoke in her impersonation of Miss Hallowton’s prim voice. “That detective from London and his uncle of all people.”

  Georgette blinked rapidly, trying to understand what she was saying. “I’m confused.”

  “You aren’t confused, love,” Eunice told her. “You’re uncertain. It’s an interesting development.”

  “Why?” Marian demanded.

  “If they’re here for the air, I’ll eat my soap.” Eunice glanced between the two women and then shook her head even more dramatically. “They’re here for you two.”

  Marian’s gaze widened and a blush grew from her cheeks and down her neck. Georgette grinned at the girl.

  “You’re delightful, darling. Of course, Detective Aaron wanted to see you again. Who wouldn’t?”

  “And Mr. Aaron?” Marian demanded.

  Georgette stared and then glanced at Eunice before shaking her head.

  “Yes,” Marian said as Georgette shook her head again.

  “Of course not.”

  “Yes,” Marian and Eunice both said.

  “You’re very wrong,” Georgette replied. “I’m sure, for Mr. Aaron, it’s just what he said. He needed time away from the London air. Perhaps he has too many manuscripts to read and needs time away from the office as well.”

  “No,” Marian told Georgette. “No.”

  “Marian,” Georgette told her gently, “of course, I’m right. Mr. Aaron is a city man with a successful business who, I’m sure, doesn’t want for company. I’m only one of his writers—and not even close to the most talented.”

  “No,” Marian said again. “He’s here for you.”

  “You’re wrong,” Georgette said, laughing them both off and returning to her reviews with a scoffed, “Me!”

  Georgette left behind crying dogs as she exited the cottage with her basket and her satchel. She’d purchased herself the type of leather university bag that the lads carried. It had a long strap that she could use to carry it across her body and would hold not only the book she was reading, but the manuscript she was working on. It was, in fact, once used by Jasper Thornton before he was sent down from Oxford and not allowed to return. She’d leapt at the chance for a pristine leather satchel and had bought it without a second thought.

  It was only after she’d turned over the funds to the young man that she’d paused to realize how wonderful it was to be able to buy it without thinking. She had been secretly quite emotional about it. That evening it carried the sample of her writing that she’d spent the afternoon transcribing from her typed story to the hand-written one.

  She was, if she were honest with herself, quite nervous. The basket had the coffee beans that Eunice had ground and tea leaves, along with shortbread biscuits and sandwiches. Eunice had made s
cones and included clotted cream and jam. That, Georgette had told her maid as Eunice packed the basket, had been her pride talking.

  Her maid had not disagreed, but Georgette loved a good scone, so she kept her teasing to a minimum.

  “There you are,” Marian said, closing the garden gate to her great-aunt’s cottage behind her. “Harrison is coming, but he’s gone ahead because he’s quite nervous. I had no idea that he was an aspiring writer. He has written five—five!—novels and hasn’t dared to send even one off to a publisher to see what they say. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that,” Marian said with a shrug. “I’m quite jealous he’s gotten so far, even if they’re awful, but he says he writes to free himself from his work.”

  “I shall endeavor to be surprised.”

  “I have little doubt of your capacity,” Marian said, hooking her arm through Georgette’s. “Every single person who knows you except for, perhaps, four solitary humans, has no idea what you’re like. You are, I think, the most accomplished actress I’ve ever seen.”

  “Many people have a more public persona,” Georgette told Marian quietly. “That doesn’t mean that I’m something odd.”

  “Georgie!” Marian exclaimed, “I don’t think you’re odd. I’m in awe.”

  Georgette shot Marian a quelling look and then followed with, “You are simply inclined to appreciate my quirks.”

  Marian laughed and then asked, “What are you calling the next book? The Further Further Adventures? The Extended Adventures?”

  “The Secrets of Harper’s Bend.”

  Marian rubbed her hands together, hopping on her toes as they walked. “What do I have to do to read it? I’ll bake you something delicious. I’ll plant bulbs in your garden. I’ll—I don’t know. What do you want?”

  “I’m not ready yet.”

  Marian sighed. “When you’re ready then. Is that Mrs. Baker?” Marian asked in horror as they turned onto the street with the library. “It is! Oh!”