Death Between the Pages Page 5

  EVELYN HOBBS

  “Evelyn!” Warren bellowed again.

  Mr. Aaron and his niece had gotten into their auto and she pasted a smile on her face that she was sure did not go to her eyes, and lifted a hand in farewell. What an odd little interlude that had been. So strange to run into so many Aarons in the last few days and stranger still that they didn’t overlook her as everyone else usually did.

  “Evelyn!” Warren’s shout had turned a little darker, and she was sure whatever lackluster hold he had on his temper had disappeared.

  “Here,” Evelyn said loud enough to be heard as she moved quickly toward the cottage. She did hate it when Warren took no thought for their neighbors. His shouting, she was sure, had ruined more than one evening in their little cluster of houses.

  Warren met her at the front door. “Where have you been?” His hand was grasping her at the shoulder and the way his fingers were digging in, she’d be sure to have bruises.

  “Dean had a fellow ordering a new roof.” Evelyn tried for patient, but she squeaked when he dug in, pulling her into the cottage.

  “What’s that got to do with you?”

  “The man wanted his little niece to stretch her legs before they left and Dean offered me up to show them a good walk.”

  Warren stared at her, his dark eyes narrowing on her face, and then scoffed. “What a waste of all our time.” He shoved her back and she slammed too hard into the wall. There would be another bruise there, and her head was aching from hitting the wall. “When’s dinner?”

  Evelyn fiddled with her fingers behind her back as she said, “I’ve prepped it already, it just needs to bake. It shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Get on with it,” Warren snapped. “I’ve got things to do that don’t include you frittering about or sneaking pages of that trash you read.”

  Evelyn waited for him to start with how she needed to repay his family’s charity, and he did. She ignored the tirade about his father taking her in when her own family had left her behind, how she was a burden even though they took most of her income, how she had to do her part or she’d find that their roof wasn’t so welcoming.

  There were families, like it seemed the Aarons were, who provided charity without expectation of anything in return. Would that she had fallen in with their type after her family fell apart. She could hardly imagine people who weren’t even blood-related taking in a trio of orphans.

  She shook her head as she pulled the chicken and vegetables from the icebox. She quickly put the roast pan together and slid it into the oven and then turned and realized that Aunt Hobbs had not made bread and rolls as she was supposed to do.

  Evelyn winced, knowing Warren would yell about that too. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t possibly have made the bread and worked that day at the same time or that Aunt Hobbs did little more than complain. It would be Evelyn’s fault.

  She couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be, to be like Janey’s Georgette, and live alone. Could she do that? Could she find a little room or share a room with a girl and then keep working? She knew that her supervisor, Mr. O’Brien, appreciated her work. Would he let her go if she left her family? Because Evelyn had little doubt that Warren would try to sabotage that for her.

  Was it a bad idea to ask him? Perhaps she should visit a few rooms first and see if she could find a place. It wouldn’t be so awful to live off of sardines and omelets and bits of leftover cabbage if she didn’t have to spend every evening being bellowed at.

  While the chicken baked, Evelyn quickly cleaned the kitchen and straightened the parlor. Her face showed little of her thoughts as she methodically moved through the house, tidying it as quickly as possible. Warren would leave after dinner. Once the washing was done, she could get off of her feet, curl up in her attic space, and read by the lantern.

  GEORGETTE AARON

  “She’s real? Lottie? And you’ve all met her.” Georgette sipped her tea to hide her disappointment in being excluded from the initial introductions.

  “Well, Lottie is a pale comparison,” Robert said. “Evelyn is completely different than I imagined, though she does seem to be very quiet and gentle.”

  Joseph coughed, “Smitten.”

  “Robert’s Evelyn is a huge fan of yours, Georgie,” Marian said, ignoring her fiancé. “I think Evelyn only said she’d come to the tea with us because she knew she’d meet you.”

  “That is very awkward,” Georgette admitted. Her gaze turned to Charles, who smiled at her. “I hardly live up to the image of some glamorous author. And Charles, you like the story?”

  “I do,” he told her.

  “Would you have bought it if it weren’t Robert and I?”

  Charles smile was mischievous. “Joseph Jones is one of my best sellers. I’d buy anything with his name on it that was readable.”

  Robert groaned as Joseph cackled, but Janey’s gaze narrowed on Charles. “That was a good book, Charles. You aren’t being nice.”

  He looked at her sideways. “Who didn’t know about this?”

  Everyone exchanged looks and then slowly looked back at him innocently.

  “Why was I left out?”

  Georgette reached out to pat his cheek lightly. There might have been an edge of condescension in her tone when she said, “Charles.”

  He frowned.

  “Please, darling.” Georgette rolled her eyes at him. “You were left out because your opinion matters most, as you well know.”

  He blinked a little rapidly. “I—”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Robert said to Georgette. “If he hated it, I’m sure one of the other companies would have published it if they could have stolen you away from Charles.”

  “Not possible,” Georgette said, patting her belly. “Baby and I are locked in.”

  “Entirely impossible,” Charles agreed. “Georgette is far too kind to abandon poor Aaron & Luther for some other publishing house.”

  “Evelyn suggested we change the description of Hobbs in the book, so he doesn’t find out and beat us.” Robert leaned forward for his teacup and sipped the apple tea.

  “Does he do that a lot?” Marian asked. “Joseph and I saw him near the Yard shoving some other man around. It’s alarming really given how large he is.”

  “She said something to the effect of he’d let me know how unhappy he was with his fists.”

  Everyone glanced at Joseph, who had stilled at the comment. “That’s hardly how a man who works for Scotland Yard should behave.”

  “Or any man,” Janey shot out. “Someone should teach him a lesson with their fists.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible, Janey my love,” Robert told her. “None of us here are particularly small men, and he’s a giant compared to us.”

  “Then,” Janey said as though the rest of them were a little dim, “you need more than one man.”

  “Ahh,” Georgette started, but Janey cut in.

  “Or a bat. A good cricket bat would even things out.”

  “Perhaps,” Charles slid in, “we’ll simply adjust the looks of the fellow in the book, clean up a few little areas, and leave this Hobbs character out of it entirely.”

  “Are you scared, Charles?” Janey’s quizzical voice had everyone but Charles hiding a smile.

  “Prudent.”

  “Sounds scared,” Janey told him flatly.

  “Janey,” Lucy said. “Be nice.”

  “I’m just—” Janey stopped when Joseph cleared his throat. She glanced towards him and then around the table. “Perhaps that would be illegal.”

  “Indeed,” Joseph replied. He refilled his teacup and eyed Janey as though she were going to lead him down an endless trail of having to step in and save her. “Perhaps, Janey, you should consider whether Georgette would do something before you do it.”

  Janey scowled darkly at him.

  “Would Georgette attack someone with a bat?”

  “If he were going to hurt Charles or someone else
Georgette loved, she’d get a cricket bat.”

  Georgette choked on laugh and then tried and failed to cover it with a cup of tea.

  “We are not equipped to handle Janey’s reasoning,” Robert told the others. “Janey, maybe use Charles as your example instead of Georgette. Would Charles hit someone with a cricket bat?”

  “If someone was going to hurt Georgette,” Janey said flatly.

  “How about,” Marian said softly, “if you feel like you’re going to be attacked in a way that requires more than a scream or a call for help, you can use a cricket bat?”

  “Marian,” Joseph hissed.

  She shook her head. “No, she’s not going to just accept a beating from someone like that Warren Hobbs fellow. If she’s truly in danger—” Marian turned to Janey. “If you’re truly in danger, you do what you need to protect yourself.”

  “Georgette,” Joseph pleaded.

  “Janey,” Georgette said easily, “if you’re truly in danger, you do what you need to protect yourself.”

  Joseph groaned. “She’s definitely going to be arrested.”

  Georgette ignored Joseph and turned to Lucy, “You as well, Lucy.”

  “I don’t think I could hurt someone,” Lucy said.

  “You could,” Marian told her a little fiercely. “If you needed to—”

  “The key,” Georgette said, bypassing Marian’s assurances, “is to be certain you need to defend yourself. Those days don’t happen very often, Janey. For many people they never happen at all. Joseph wants you to take the more peaceful options whenever possible. If he or I or Charles or any of us discover you with a cricket bat, teaching some boy a lesson when you weren’t at risk, you’ll discover that we’re very displeased.”

  Janey frowned deeply. “Fine.”

  Georgette licked her lips and glanced around the table where everyone was staring at the girl with either amusement or horror. It didn’t shock Georgette that the gentlemen were the ones who were uncomfortable. As good as the Aaron men were, they were accustomed to the idea that men could overpower women. In Robert’s book, however, the theory behind Lottie as the killer had been that she’d disabled her husband before she murdered him.

  In fact, there was a reason why poison was known as the women’s weapon. Yes, men were generally stronger. Yes, it was harder for a woman to kill someone or hurt someone if they were determined to hurt her. Yes, also, women sometimes had to resort to measures such as poison, cricket bats, or a distracted fellow; however, women also had been forced to learn other ways to protect themselves. There was a reason that Anne Brontë once wrote about a woman who took her child and hid him away from her spouse.

  Georgette frowned at Janey. “You’re struggling against the limits on a woman’s life.”

  Janey frowned, but she nodded.

  “That doesn’t make cricket bats and an unaware man an acceptable combination. I won’t tell you not to defend yourself, but I will tell you to find better ways to deal with your frustration. All men aren’t the enemy. Even large and alarming ones like Warren Hobbs.”

  “But he solves his problems with his fists.”

  “Which is also not acceptable,” Georgette told Janey calmly, taking care that the conversation was as if they were two adults discussing versus ordering a child around. “But what would you do about a vicious dog?”

  Janey wasn’t happy when she admitted, “Avoid the dog.”

  “You’d use your wits,” Georgette told her. “When you avoided the dog and such. We need to leave Mr. Hobbs to the law and the restraints placed upon our community. If he threatens one of us, we’ll call the constabulary, not take matters into our own hands.”

  “A cricket bat seems more effective,” Janey muttered.

  “And more illegal,” Georgette reminded her and then cast a pleading glance to Charles, who’d taken the teapot to refill his own cup. He topped her cup off, and she sighed in relief. They really were ill-equipped to be the persons raising Janey.

  EVELYN HOBBS

  “I don’t know why you’re flitting off to that tea when there’s work here to do,” Aunt Hobbs told Evelyn as she arranged her hat on her head.

  “Aunt Hobbs,” Evelyn said evenly, “the fellow who invited me is one of the Scotland Yard Detective Inspectors. He’s essentially my superior.”

  “Why did they invite you?” Aunt Hobbs demanded and Evelyn shook her head helplessly. She really had no idea. Perhaps because they were bookish, and she’d been reading? Perhaps because they were all living in Harper’s Hollow? Perhaps it was nothing more than a whim.

  “I have no idea,” Evelyn admitted.

  “You’re only a file clerk.” Aunt Hobbs’s mouth twisted sourly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Evelyn agreed.

  “Why didn’t they invite Warren?”

  Evelyn bit her bottom lip and then, gently, suggested, “He just wasn’t there at that moment, Aunt Hobbs. Perhaps they would have if he had been there.”

  “You should take him. He wants to be a policeman not a guard.”

  Evelyn nodded, but in her mind, she thought that Warren should stop roughing up his underlings, shave his beard, cut his hair, and stop cursing quite so much at work.

  “He’s a clever man. He’d be good at it,” Aunt Hobbs said with a look in her eye that dared Evelyn to disagree. Evelyn had, however, long since learned to keep her thoughts to herself. “Look for a chance to bring him up. Don’t be obvious about it but do what you can. Is this detective fellow someone you can use your wiles on?”

  Evelyn wasn’t even surprised by the question. Aunt Hobbs would do anything for her son and expected the same of Evelyn. “It was his fiancée who invited me, Aunt Hobbs. I fear if I were to try anything of that nature, I would ruin things for Warren.”

  Her aunt eyed Evelyn as though she were lying. As she waited for her aunt to come to a determination, Evelyn came to one of her own. She was going to find a room. If she kept her income rather than letting Warren and Aunt Hobbs take it all, she should be able to afford something. One of the other file clerks had a room with a shared kitchen and bathroom. Evelyn could nearly imagine how peaceful it would be to come home after a day’s work and make herself an omelet and then curl up in a chair with a book without anyone ordering her about.

  A firm resolve formed. She had needed Aunt Hobbs when Evelyn’s parents had abandoned her, but she had paid and paid and paid for that generosity. Even though Aunt Hobbs would never agree, Evelyn felt in her heart that if one had to calculate things out, Evelyn would be in the clear.

  Her mouth twisted and she decided that she’d pack that evening. She’d be paid at the end of the next week, and at that time, she’d have a room, her things ready, and she’d be gone.

  “Well, get on with you,” Aunt Hobbs scolded. “They’ll think Warren is unreliable if you are.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Evelyn said, stepping out the back door into the garden. She glanced towards the trees, looked up at the sky, and breathed deeply. There was a dawning sense of hope that she hadn’t realized had been gone until her resolve had formed. Behind that, though, lurked a doubt that she’d successfully escape.

  Evelyn started towards the trail at the back of their garden. It led through a field and cut out about ten minutes from her walk. She didn’t want to appear to be flushed or, heaven forbid, sweating and a little too musky. She tried to temper her pace as she moved and then paused.

  Surely, Warren hadn’t left his boots in the back garden? But there they were. She’d know them anywhere with as many times as she’d polished them for him. She sighed and crossed to pick them up, knowing if she didn’t then the polishing and cleaning job would be more difficult later.

  She leaned down and grabbed the boot where it was lying on the edge of the tall grass. It was only when she tried to lift the boot that she realized it was still being used. Evelyn whimpered out, “Warren.”

  There was something terribly wrong if he were lying in the tall grass. A part of her wanted to believe he�
��d only over-indulged, but she was rarely so lucky for him to reach that state before he’d yelled at her for draining his family dry and possibly even backhanded her.

  “Warren?” Evelyn tried again.

  A weak groan had her crawling through the grass to his side.

  “What’s wrong?” She took his hand and reached to feel his face. It was clammy, and he wasn’t getting up. His dark eyes met hers and she saw the disdain.

  “Ev,” he said, but it was a disgusted grunt. “Help.”

  “What do you need?” She took his hand and it stuck to her. She glanced down, and then gasped at the blood. “What happened?”

  It took her a moment to realize that his dark blue shirt was wet with blood. Those darker marks were accompanied by small slits.

  “Were…were…you stabbed?”

  His eyes fluttered closed as she screamed and pushed down on the wound.

  “Help! Help!”

  Aunt Hobbs didn’t come to Evelyn’s call and neither did anyone from the Lenz house. How could this be? It seemed she could never find a moment alone until now when she so desperately needed assistance.

  “Help! Help!” There was no answer, though her words echoed between the cottage and the trees. She leaned forward and put her hands on his wounds. “Please, someone. Help me.”

  Finally Aunt Hobbs appeared, grunting in effort. “What is all this shouting about?”

  “He needs help!” Evelyn cried. “Call for help.”

  Aunt Hobbs stared at her and then her entire body shook as she took in Warren’s still shape at Evelyn’s knees. “What did you do?” Aunt Hobbs screamed, hauling Evelyn back from Warren by her hair. “What did you do to my boy?”

  “What?” She was on the ground, lying back and propped up only by her hands as Aunt Hobbs kicked Evelyn’s legs out of the way. “I—I—didn’t do anything.”

  “What’s going on?” Dean demanded, hurrying up to them.

  Evelyn curled away from her aunt who had started to wail and told Dean, “Someone stabbed Warren! He needs help.”

  “He’s alive?” Dean rushed forward and took Warren’s pulse and then he turned to Evelyn. “Why are you covered in blood?”