Deathly Ever After Page 4

  Georgette had, however, reminded him that she’d had better wait until her body changed. He shook his head, muttering that he hadn’t realized she’d brought her entire wardrobe on their honeymoon.

  The bath was not finished as quickly. A plumber had to come in and lay the piping which had been done at the outset, let alone having to wait for the bathtub they’d ordered which was weeks out. They wouldn’t be able to truly finish things as quickly as Charles had desired, but they would be able to sleep in their room that evening.

  Georgette walked towards the center of the town. Perhaps she’d take her paper and pencils and sit next to the little river. She stopped by the teashop and had them make her a pot of tea, enjoying the mutter of conversation while she sipped her tea.

  She heard something about the “old Essent place,” but didn’t realize it was her house until she glanced up rather unconnected to anything the other women were saying and realized they sputtered to a stop. Georgette smiled with that dull, slow smile she’d used for years before Charles came along, and then sipped her tea and sighed.

  Why didn’t they just introduce themselves? Why didn’t she just introduce herself? She frowned, mouth twisting, and wondered if she were an utter fool for not speaking up. Finally, she finished her tea and took her leather bag, placing its strap over her body.

  As she left, she said, “Hello. I know it’s very forward, but I’m afraid I’m new in town.”

  “Oh hello,” one of the women said. She had a good five years on Georgette along with several stone. Neither of which would have bothered Georgette, but the woman also had snake eyes. “So nice to meet you. I’m Carolyn Holmes.”

  Georgette touched hands with the woman as she said, “Georgette Aaron.”

  Her gaze turned to the second woman who wasn’t so fleshy, so old, or so mean-faced. “Laura Holmes.”

  “We’ve married brothers,” Carolyn told Georgette. “I understand you’re newly married.”

  “Indeed, I am.” Georgette smiled and the memory of her joy flooded her.

  “A bit old to be a newlywed.”

  “Indeed it is.” Georgette refused to let the snide tone bother her or steal her happiness. “How fortunate I am to have fallen quite so thoroughly in love despite my age. I have come to believe, however, that one can fall in love at any age.”

  “Do you really think so?” Carolyn glanced at Laura as if to ask if she could believe this nonsense.

  “Oh I think so,” Laura said, ignoring Carolyn’s cold glance. “After all, I do love Donald rather a lot. I suspect I’ll love him even when I’m eighty, should I live so long.”

  “Exactly, my thought.” Georgette met Laura’s gaze with a bright, winning grin that had won over Charles, Marian, and anyone else with the wit to see the charm in her smile.

  “You bought the old Essent place?” Carolyn demanded.

  “If that is the rather rundown old charmer on Persephone Street, then yes. That was Charles and I.”

  “And I heard a rumor that the old Siegel house was purchased as well?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I’m afraid I’m rather unfamiliar with the old names that people use for houses in this village. I’m afraid that I’ve only lived here for a few days.”

  “She means,” Laura said kindly, “the little house that is connected through the wood to the Essent—well your house.”

  “Oh yes,” Georgette nodded. “My husband’s nephew and my dear friend have purchased the home. They’ll be married soon, so you’ll be seeing Joseph Aaron dashing to the train here and there rather soon, I think. But Marian will be a few more months before she moves along.”

  “Interesting.” Carolyn’s tone was weighted. “You know, of course, the rumors about those particular houses?”

  Georgette couldn’t possibly know, and Carolyn knew it. Mean women. Georgette never understood why they needed to belittle others. Laura sighed. It was a quiet rebellion, but Carolyn heard and shot Laura a rather terrifying look.

  Laura, however, continued in her rebellion. “How could she, Carolyn dear? Mrs. Aaron didn’t even know that her house was owned by Theodore and Yelena Essent.”

  “What a delightful name,” Georgette said blithely, knowing that neither woman felt the same. She adored the disgusted look that came onto Carolyn’s face, while Laura didn’t react at all.

  Georgette pasted one of her dim smiles on her face. How could she know that there was something to Yelena Essent if they didn’t tell her? Georgette wasn’t going to accept being stupid because she didn’t know their—probably years and years old—gossip.

  “Hmm,” Laura said, kindly. “I suppose it is rather exotic sounding.”

  “Like the heroine of a novel.”

  “Or the villain,” Carolyn countered. “I suppose you think in novels because your husband publishes them. I don’t agree with novels and fiction myself. If you’ve time to read, why not read scriptures or Sunday school studies?”

  Laura had clearly heard this riot before, but she simply sipped her tea and waited until Carolyn petered out.

  Georgette simply didn’t pick up the baton. There was no reason in wasting energy trying to convince a woman like Carolyn Holmes that fiction made the world more beautiful. That the moment when a book brought you to tears was a sort of witchcraft, a melding of spirits, of thoughts, ideas. That you could grow and learn and understand while reading fiction was something that had been shown time and again, but if you didn’t have the wit to see it—well, tragic though it might be, you might just suffer from an incurable illness of the soul.

  “Regardless,” Carolyn said, as she realized that Georgette was smiling her simple smile again, “when Yelena Essent died, she died on a stormy night after suffering a quite unexpected illness. It is said that she died of a miscarriage.”

  Georgette winced and just kept herself from cupping where her baby must lie. This woman Carolyn was nearly preternatural in her ability to get under Georgette’s skin.

  “Or—” Carolyn drew out the word until Georgette almost demanded she get on with it. “Even an abortion.”

  The last word was whispered and Georgette’s brows lifted.

  “No one knows that,” Laura said calmly. “It is an unfounded rumor and quite unkind. Yelena Essent died. Her husband mourned her terribly. That’s all we can be sure of.”

  “Only because Dr. Fowler wouldn’t have the wit to diagnosis it if Yelena was eight months gone and held the dismantled corpse in her arms. That man needs to be run out of town chased by pitchforks and torches.”

  Georgette gagged and then said, “Oh dear, I must be going.”

  She hurried to pay her bill and heard Carolyn say, deliberately loud, “That woman is as dim as Polly Siegel.”

  Georgette closed her eyes against the rush of rage. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, making sure that breath was slow and easy. She repeated it as she paid and Mrs. Coach tittered uncomfortably. They could, after all, both hear Carolyn quite carefully.

  “Being unwilling to gossip about the things you just said doesn’t make her dim.”

  “That idiotic smile of hers does. She probably was married for money and that’s how a publisher bought that huge old house. A publisher. I looked them up, you know. They published the book that caused those murders. There was an article about it recently. A woman writer wrote garbage and caused crime after crime. That’s who should have been arrested. They were all the victims of her tripe nonsense.”

  “I like Mrs. Aaron. We’ve needed new blood in this town,” Laura said, and the words chased Georgette from the tearoom. Really, Georgette thought, did Carolyn intend for Georgette to hear or was she just that obtuse about how her voice carried? The woman wouldn’t be able to tell a secret in an empty forest to a tree without being overhead by half the village.

  CHARLES AARON

  “Robert,” Charles said, after his nephew deposited a good half-dozen manuscripts on his desk. “I need you to find me a doctor.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Of course, I’m fine. The doctor in Harper’s Hollow is an idiot. I need someone who will come to Harper’s Hollow if needed.” He cleared his throat and avoided Robert’s avid gaze as he said, “Just in case. A—ah—precautionary measure.”

  “So you want a London doctor?” Robert was frowning at Charles and then his head tilted. “Georgette is expecting? Isn’t it too soon to know?”

  Charles scowled and Robert grinned widely.

  “Don’t ask,” Robert nodded and made a note, “but find someone who works with ladies?”

  Charles groaned and nodded.

  “Who might be willing to make calls at odd hours?”

  Charles sighed and said, “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t think I’m allowed until Georgette tells Eunice and Marian.”

  Robert considered and then said, “I just wanted to be sure I’m looking for the right thing, is all. I’ll find a doctor who is quite well-respected, who works with ladies, and would be willing to come to you in Harper’s Hollow for the event. Shall I start with neighboring towns?”

  Charles nodded and then added, “If the nearest ones don’t work, you might as well find someone in London. While you’re at it, find the name of a good agency for nannies.”

  Robert’s grin grew even wider.

  Chapter 6

  GEORGETTE DOROTHY AARON

  “Darling,” Charles said as he lifted his briefcase to head out for the day. “I have a late dinner meeting with Mr. Pomeroy about his series of essays. Will you be all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” She patted his cheek. “Charles darling, I’ve had many a quiet evening by myself and honestly, it will be delightful to work without hammering of nails.”

  He kissed her nose and grinned at her. “You’ve had a surfeit of me, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe a little.” She stepped back as he walked out the door, and she tugged his hand until he turned around, then she kissed his chin. “Maybe not.”

  He pressed another kiss to her nose and turned to leave again, but he paused. “Don’t overdo.”

  Georgette just prevented herself from giving him a waspish reply. She slapped a smile on her face, but he knew her too well for that to work. His shout of laughter chased her back into the house. The men had already come and the clang of hammers echoed from the soon-to-be nursery. Her head was starting to pulse along with the sound of the pounding, and it would be a short while before she was holding a pillow over her head bemoaning a headache.

  Instead of giving in to her fate, Georgette found her leather satchel with the long strap she liked to wear across her body. She loaded the bag with pencils and paper along with a sandwich, an apple, and a thermos of her favorite tea, loaded with cream and sugar. She’d rather drink it tepid than have anything else.

  “Miss Georgie, are you escaping the racket?” Eunice’s scowl told Georgette that Eunice was ready too.

  Georgette nodded with unmasked glee. “Come along with me, dear Eunice. Bring your mending or a book and spend the afternoon by the river.”

  Eunice flinched at the sound of what must have been a sledgehammer. “Don’t think I won’t.”

  “Please do,” Georgette said, starting to make a second sandwich. “I have missed you so, and I have much to speak to you about.”

  “We need a daily girl,” Eunice told Georgette sourly, but she didn’t object when Georgette added the second sandwich, apple, and two bottles of ginger beer to her satchel. “And a boy to help move all of that garbage out of the attics.”

  “Whatever you’d like,” Georgette told Eunice. It was an edge of surreal shock that the answer was true. Georgette and Charles weren’t rich, despite the size of their house, but they had enough for what was necessary and for many of their wants. What a blessing it was after struggling for so long. The biggest problem with being so blessed was feeling as though it wasn’t quite right that she’d been given so much when others were continuing to struggle.

  Eunice scowled. Her expression was vexed as she looked back at the house. “There is much to do.”

  “The racket might drive you mad and then who would take care of me?”

  Eunice scoffed.

  “Charles is dining in London. Let’s just eat at the pub. Joseph said the beef stew was nearly as good as yours and it comes without the hammering.”

  Eunice didn’t object. Instead she begrudgingly nodded.

  Georgette and Eunice walked in silence as they left. They might technically be mistress and servant, but Eunice had half-raised Georgette, and each considered the other family.

  “What do you think of Harper’s Hollow?”

  Eunice shrugged. “It’s much the same to me. It wasn’t as though either of us had bosom friends in Bard’s Crook. The river is nice. The wood behind the house is nice.”

  “I’m almost positive I’m having a baby,” Georgette said casually and Eunice stopped dead.

  “A baby?” Her mouth pursed as she considered. “You’ve always been regular. If you’re late, you’ve got a surprise inside.”

  “I’m late,” Georgette said, bouncing on her toes a little. “I never thought I’d be saying that.”

  “A baby.” Eunice’s gaze widened. “I need white yarn and muslin and white ribbon. I don’t like those attics rooms. They smell off and there’s too much rustling. We need a cat immediately to rid ourselves of the vermin before the baby arrives.”

  “The room that has the wall being removed is the nursery,” Georgette told Eunice. “Charles didn’t like the original nursery either. He wants there to be more light.”

  “I always did like him.”

  Georgette laughed and then they spent the afternoon working. Her extra pencil and a few sheets of paper were claimed by Eunice who created a to-do list for the baby. It included things like a cradle, a baby blanket, and clothes.

  “Are you going to hire a nanny?”

  “What do you want?” Georgette’s head tilted as she examined Eunice’s face. “Do you want me to hire a housekeeper and cook instead? There is a part of me that wants to keep writing and a part of me that doesn’t want to miss a second with the baby.”

  Eunice hesitated.

  Georgette took a deep breath as the guilt hit her again. “I’ll need help. I don’t want the same things as Marian. She wants to do everything, and—”

  “You don’t.”

  “I like being an author. I like how it makes me feel.” Georgette hated how rotten she felt, as though she were letting her children down.

  “I’m not telling you not to write, Miss Georgie.” Eunice glanced at Georgette. “We were barely surviving when you started. Without that money, we’d have starved.”

  “I don’t want to stop writing, but I don’t want someone else to raise my baby.”

  “Darling,” Eunice told her, taking Georgette’s hand. “You write in the house. You can hire help, write, and go to your child whenever you want or they need you. I don’t think I want to go back to the nursery either.”

  Georgette bit down on her bottom lip and confessed in a low voice, “I’m a little afraid to tell Charles I want a nanny.”

  Eunice laughed at Georgette, who scowled in return. “I bet you he hasn’t even considered anything else.”

  Georgette shook off the thoughts, put her hand over her baby, and silently told the child, I’ll love you more than I want to breathe, but Mommy wants to write too.

  She turned back to the book she was writing. Scratching it out on the notebook paper was torture after having converted to a typewriter, and she wanted to stuff cotton in her ears and return to writing at home. What if, she wondered, she wrote at Marian and Joseph’s house? Oh! Georgette couldn’t wait until Marian returned to the house on Friday to ask her. There was little concern, however, that Marian would object.

  EUNICE SMITH

  After a while, Eunice stood and said, “I’m going to talk to the baker about likely fellows who might be interested in a job with us.”

  Georgette’s mmmmed reply was unsurprising. Eunice would have been surprised if Georgette noticed she was gone. That girl had dove into books she was reading as hard as the ones she was writing. She was curled over the paper bundle, writing furiously.

  Eunice found the grocer and started an order of the things they could use. As she did, she inquired about a gardener and a maid.

  “You live at the old Essent place, yes?”

  Eunice nodded. “It’s a large house, as I’m sure you know. But there’s just Mr. and Mrs. Aaron with an occasional friend or two.”

  The grocer’s mouth twisted and he muttered, “You might have a bit of a time with that one.”

  Eunice frowned. “Mr. and Mrs. Aaron are kind to work for. They’re hardly hard taskmasters.”

  “It’s not that, it’s the house.”

  Eunice lifted her brows. “They’re fixing the house. It’s not like anyone expects a daily maid or a boy to scrub scratched floors into a shining.”

  The grocer paused and turned back from where he was filling her a bag of coffee. “No, no. It’s not that. It’s—”

  Eunice waited.

  “People think the house is haunted.”

  Eunice stared. She’d thought that the people who lived in Bard’s Crook were idiots, but this man was winning. Haunted! Eunice had been living in it since the title transferred to Charles and Georgette. She had directed workmen, scrubbed the floors, hauled out garbage, and nothing had bothered her except the occasional mouse or spider.

  “Nonsense.”

  “It’s what people think.”

  “Pish-posh.”

  “You cannot pish-posh away superstitions.”

  Eunice frowned deeply. “Haunted?”

  “Mr. Essent went mad when his wife died. Some say he killed her. A lot of that damage to the house was done by Mr. Essent after his wife died.”

  “So people won’t take a good-paying job with kind people because the man who lived there before grieved his wife?” Eunice’s cold judgement made the grocer flush. “Is this some kind of joke?”