The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Three

by Farmer, Merry

  “There isn’t,” Mary said. “I asked and everything. The men said it was already paid for and the only instructions they were given was to tell us not to worry, the piano is a gift.”

  “A gift?” Alex and Mary both turned to stare at the piano as the younger girls attempted to play. The noise and the mystery were already giving Alex a headache. The one thing that reassured her in the whole conundrum was that, for a change, Mary wasn’t attempting to challenge her in any way. Alex grabbed hold of that fact and said, “You handled the situation entirely appropriately, Mary. Well done.”

  Mary looked uncertain for a moment, then her expression softened into a reluctantly pleased look. “It has to be Grandfather,” she said, crossing her arms in imitation of Alex. “He’s the only person I can think of who could afford an entire piano as a gift and who would have it sent.”

  Alex hummed, but she wasn’t so certain. In the months since the girls had returned to Brynthwaite, Percival Danforth hadn’t attempted to contact them once. It was as though the moment his plot to use the girls as bargaining chips on the marriage market was exposed, he had no further use for them.

  “You might be right,” Alex said, doubting it. The trouble was, no one else she could think of would have done such a thing.

  “Stop,” Molly shouted at Martha, louder than before. “I want to play.”

  “Give me a turn,” Martha whined in response.

  Alex sent a wary glance to Mary, who returned it with an eye-roll of equal proportion, as though they were friends and not adversaries. “I think I should get a chance to play,” Alex said, stepping forward and taking charge of the situation. “Perhaps I know enough to teach you girls a few songs too.”

  “Really?” Molly leapt up from the bench.

  “Yes, yes,” Martha said, following suit and leaving the bench open for Alex. “You can teach me songs.”

  “Let’s see if I remember them first,” Alex said, wedging herself onto the bench with the same level of difficulty she had in everything physical she tried to do lately. “Now, what do you think of this?”

  She launched into a simple, cheery tune that had the girls enthralled. What enthralled her, however, and puzzled her to pieces was how the piano had ended up where it was and who had sent it. That and how Marshall would react when he came home to find it.

  Lawrence

  The sharp ring of hammer against metal coming from the forge was answered across the yard by shingles being pounded into wood. Lawrence wasn’t sure if he enjoyed the counterpoint or if it rankled on his every nerve. He turned the fireplace grate he’d been shaping to pound its opposite side, then paused to wipe the sweat from his brow on the back of his sleeve. The grate was taking shape nicely, and it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the work. He felt at home, in his element, with more work on his plate than he could possibly handle in the amount of time Armstrong had given him. And yet, the grate he’d spent his morning shaping was exactly the same as five others he’d made in the last few days.

  He blew out a breath and took a step back, letting the metal rest as he searched for a towel to more thoroughly clean his face. Spring was new and fresh, and yet he was already working with his shirt off, nothing but a leather apron to protect him from sparks. And while the ache in his muscles felt good, he had a long way to go before working out the restless energy that never seemed to leave him.

  Across the forge, Oliver raised his head in the peculiar, sideways way he had. He said nothing, but Lawrence had worked with the young man enough to know when he was asking a question.

  “We’ll take a break,” he said with a nod. “Go and rest.”

  Without acknowledging Lawrence, Oliver dropped the simple horseshoe he’d been shaping on the other side of the forge and wandered around the corner of the building as though chasing butterflies. If Lawrence was right, Oliver would retreat to his favorite spot under the oak tree and instantly fall asleep until he was called once more.

  “Sometimes I think the fairies should have taken that poor man back with them,” Mother Grace said, emerging from the corner of the building Oliver had just disappeared around.

  Lawrence frowned at her. “Why? He’s happy enough. He’s good at the work he can do.” He shrugged. “Why begrudge him for being simple.”

  Mother Grace hummed and stepped all the way into the sweltering shade of the forge. Little Elsie was two steps behind her, as silent as ever, but more distracted than usual.

  “Hello, Elsie,” Lawrence called to her with a smile. It wasn’t lost on him that he spoke to her in the same tone of voice he used with Oliver. “How is my little beam of sunshine today?”

  Elsie didn’t answer. She kept walking when Mother Grace stopped, marching straight up to Lawrence and hugging his leg, in spite of the sweat that dampened his trousers.

  “She’s better today,” Mother Grace said with an even smile. “It hardly took any coaxing at all to get her to come away from the cottage with me.”

  “She still doesn’t want to leave the woods?” Lawrence asked, already knowing the answer.

  Ever since the night of Hoag’s death—a death Elsie had played a sickening hand in—the girl had folded in on herself even more. It didn’t matter how many times he’d sat down with her and explained that Hoag wasn’t coming back, that he couldn’t hurt her anymore. Elsie continued to cower at the slightest sound, and she ran like a gazelle from new people.

  He smoothed a hand across her hair, wishing there was some way to make her see the world was a better place now. He wished he could tell whether she felt guilty about Hoag’s death or glad for it. Most of all, he wished he could see her smile and laugh like little girls should.

  “How are Matty and the babe?” Mother Grace asked when it was clear the discussion of Elsie would go nowhere.

  “They’re thriving,” Lawrence told her, glad to have something to smile about. “Do you want to see?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Mother Grace said.

  Lawrence lifted Elsie into his arms, figuring that if she didn’t mind his sweaty trousers, she wouldn’t mind his sweaty arms, and carried her toward the house. From the moment Colin Armstrong had handed over his first payment for ironwork for his new hotel, Lawrence had tripled his efforts to get Matty’s house finished. And while that effort had involved demolishing the old kitchen—where Hoag had left his threatening message—and choosing an entirely different site for the house, it had also involved hiring men to build it for him. In just three months—minus a few weeks when the weather was too poor for construction—the workers had managed to build a charming, two-story, stone house. It was everything a growing family could ask for, with four bedrooms, a vast kitchen full of modern conveniences, and two separate parlors. The interior was mostly finished already. The workers were shingling the roof, and the entire thing would be completed within a matter of days.

  Lawrence hated it. He opened the door for Mother Grace and carried Elsie inside, instantly feeling like a wild creature that had been trapped.

  “Matty,” he called as they crossed through the front parlor and headed to the kitchen. “Mother Grace and Elsie are here.”

  “Hello,” Matty greeted them as they stepped into her kitchen. She stepped away from the stove—where something delicious was bubbling away—and came to give Mother Grace a hug. Baby Bracken was fastened across her chest with a sling. He burst into fussing as soon as Matty stepped back from Mother Grace.

  “How’s my little darling today?” Mother Grace asked, scooping Bracken from his sling and bouncing him against her shoulder.

  “Much happier after the chamomile tincture you gave me last week,” Matty reported.

  She stepped past Mother Grace to give Lawrence a kiss. It was the one thing that felt right in the strange, new world around him. He put Elsie down so that he could kiss her more completely.

  Matty’s eyes lit up. “What was that for?” she asked as Mother Grace stepped over to the stove with the children.

  Lawrence grinned
at her, hoping the expression hid his true feelings. “Nothing in particular.”

  Matty laughed cheerfully and kissed his cheek one more time. “I like nothing.”

  She returned to the stove to check whatever it was she was cooking and to greet Elsie, who instantly clung to her skirts. Matty had reacted to the unsavory business with Hoag in exactly the opposite way from her youngest sister. It was as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She’d put all of her effort into caring for Bracken and building a cozy home life for her family—even though Willy had begged to stay at the hotel, where he could be close to Jason, and Connie had chosen to continue her employment at Lord Waltham’s house. Lawrence loved watching her flit about, like a lark in the sunshine. It calmed some of his own restlessness.

  But it also racked him with guilt. How could he even consider wanting to leave when Matty was as happy as she was?

  “Elsie’s reading has been coming along splendidly,” Mother Grace reported as she and Matty set to work making magic out of meat and vegetables.

  “Is that so?” Lawrence said as he took a seat at the table. He didn’t know what else to do in the kitchen. He was useless when it came to all things domestic.

  “Pretty soon she’ll be ready to move here with us,” Matty said.

  Elsie instantly peeled away from her skirts and leapt to cling to Mother Grace. Mother Grace studied her with a frown, then hummed, “Perhaps not.”

  “It’s all right,” Lawrence said. “Elsie can live wherever she wants to live, here or in the woods with Mother Grace. Provided Mother Grace doesn’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Mother Grace smiled. “It’s nice to have company. It makes me wonder what it would have been like to raise my own—” She stopped and shook her head, then carried Bracken to the table. She handed the baby to Lawrence—who took him awkwardly—then returned to the stove to help Matty. “This looks delicious,” she said in a tone that hinted her change of subject was deliberate and permanent.

  “I made some for the Pycrofts too,” Matty said, “since Mary has been struggling to keep up with her schoolwork and keep house.”

  Lawrence raised an eyebrow at his son and shuffled him into what he thought was the correct way to hold a baby. For his part, Bracken didn’t fuss or cry as Lawrence fumbled him. He was a good baby, all things considered. He stared up at Lawrence with bright eyes, ready to learn everything there was to know about the world. The feeling of sweetness that surrounded him was a far cry from the way Bracken had come into the world.

  “Look at those strong arms,” Lawrence said, grasping one of Bracken’s pudgy arms as he flailed. “You’ll be a blacksmith, like your old Da, for sure.”

  Bracken flailed even harder in response. Lawrence smiled. He wondered if Marshall had felt this way when his girls were born—so full of hope, but so anxious at the same time. A kind of responsibility that Lawrence had never felt before pressed down on him, as intimidating as it was satisfying.

  The homey mood of the kitchen was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “I’ll answer it,” Matty said, jumping into action and speeding across the kitchen. She’d been speeding everywhere since getting her figure back. Lawrence particularly appreciated her new enthusiasm for movement at night.

  Those heated thoughts were squelched a moment later when she returned to the kitchen with Colin Armstrong in tow.

  “Good morning, good morning, all,” Armstrong greeted them with his usual exuberance. He sniffed deeply, then said, “Something smells absolutely delicious.”

  “Armstrong,” Lawrence greeted the man. He stood, holding Bracken in one arm and extending his right hand to Armstrong.

  “What a delightfully chubby cherub,” Armstrong said as he shook Lawrence’s hand. “You should be staring down at us all from a Baroque painting.” He touched a finger to Bracken’s nose.

  Lawrence wanted to roll his eyes at the man, but to his surprise, Bracken wriggled and blew bubbles with a smile.

  “This is Mother Grace,” Lawrence introduced the two.

  “Lovely to meet you,” Mother Grace shook Armstrong’s hand with a half-concealed grin.

  “And you, madam.”

  “And this,” Lawrence began, but Armstrong cut him off.

  “And who is this beautiful young lady?” he asked, turning to Elsie, who peeked out from behind Mother Grace’s skirts.

  “This is Elsie, my youngest sister,” Matty introduced her.

  “How do you do, Miss Elsie?” Armstrong asked. He stepped closer to Mother Grace and squatted, extending a hand to Elsie.

  Lawrence watched in awe as Elsie cautiously stepped out from behind Mother Grace and reached for Armstrong’s hand. As soon as she took it, Armstrong pumped it vigorously, the grin on his face worthy of the circus.

  “It is a delight to meet you,” Armstrong said.

  Elsie smiled.

  Lawrence’s jaw dropped. A gentle breeze could have knocked him over. Matty and Mother Grace both stood, frozen in shock, as well. Even Bracken remained quiet for a moment.

  “Are you pleased with your new house?” Armstrong asked Elsie. He’d been wandering by the forge from before construction on the house had begun.

  Elsie nodded, her smile still in place. Lawrence couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d actually spoken to him.

  “Good,” Armstrong said, not seeming to mind that she hadn’t answered with words. He stood. “I’ve come to talk to your—oh, dear, are you her papa? Uncle Lawrence, perhaps?”

  “Just Lawrence,” Lawrence explained.

  Armstrong sent a glance to Elsie, who confirmed with a nod. “I’ve come to ask Lawrence about ornamental door handles.”

  Lawrence, Mother Grace, and Matty continued to gape as Elsie continued to smile. It was so uncanny as to make the hair on the back of Lawrence’s neck stand up. For months, he’d viewed Armstrong as a nuisance, even though the man’s money was making his life possible. But if Elsie responded so positively to him, there had to be more to the man’s character.

  “What do you want to know about door handles?” Lawrence asked, motioning for Armstrong to sit at the kitchen table.

  The excitable man didn’t seem to see anything wrong with conducting business at the kitchen table while the women ladled stew into a container to take to the Pycrofts. Elsie took a seat at the table by Armstrong’s side, surprising Lawrence even more. She drew a small pad of paper and a pencil from the pocket of her pinafore and set to work drawing.

  “I want to make certain the handles of all of my hotel’s exterior doors are simple to work and easy to open from the inside,” Armstrong said.

  Lawrence blinked, adjusting Bracken to rest with his head on Lawrence’s shoulder. “That’s easy enough to accomplish. Most doors open without complication.” He couldn’t imagine what Armstrong was thinking.

  “I’m particularly concerned with fire, you see,” Armstrong went on, his expression as serious as he was capable of.

  “Fire?” Lawrence shrugged. “I suppose it is a concern in a hotel.”

  “In light of the mysterious fire this winter, you see,” Armstrong continued.

  At the stove, Matty dropped the ladle she’d been using. “Sorry,” she apologized quickly. Her face was redder than usual, but she hid it as she bent to scoop up the spoon.

  Mother Grace managed to keep her expression neutral. Elsie didn’t react at all. She was absorbed in whatever she was drawing, and she barely knew about the fire as it was. After Hoag’s death, Jason had taken the children back to the hotel as quickly as possible. They might have heard the word fire mentioned, but by the time Lawrence and Barsali had lit the shack, they were far away.

  “If arson truly was involved in the fires this winter,” Armstrong went on, “and if whomever set those fires continues their reign of terror, I want to be certain my guests are as protected as possible.”

  “It wasn’t exactly a rash of fires,” Lawrence said.

  “One never can tell,
” Armstrong contradicted him. “The shack by the lake, Mr. Forrester’s shed, the kitchen of The Briney Pub.”

  Lawrence arched a brow but remained silent. Len Forrester had burned his own shed down while brewing gin behind his wife’s back, and fires in kitchens happened all the time, especially in a place like The Briney Pub. But one unexplained fire had led to other, more usual fires, being lumped into the same category.

  “I’m certain Jason Throckmorton has taken every precaution necessary at his hotel,” Armstrong continued, “so I would like to take every precaution at mine.”

  “Of course,” Lawrence said, his lips twitching into a grin. Armstrong’s obsession with Jason was the most entertaining thing that had happened to them all winter.

  “I’ll just be on my way now,” Matty interrupted their conversation in a tense, whispy voice. She plucked Bracken out of Lawrence’s arms and tucked him into his sling. “I should be home in plenty of time to prepare supper,” she said. Without pause, she snatched the lunch pail that she’d loaded with stew from the counter, then whisked out of the kitchen.

  Lawrence understood completely why she was in such a hurry to leave. Matty may have come out of the events of January a happier woman, but it didn’t take much to cast her back into the fear she’d lived with for too much of her life.

  “I say, your wife is a busy bee,” Armstrong said.

  Lawrence opted not to explain that he and Matty weren’t married. “She is good friends with the Pycroft family, and at the moment she is concerned for their stomachs.”

  “Because both doctors Pycroft work all day and the girls are in school,” Armstrong said with a knowing look, tapping the side of his nose. “I know how it is. I am unendingly impressed with the ingenuity and modernity of the ladies of Brynthwaite.”

  “As am I,” Lawrence said.

  Before he could go on to reassure Armstrong that every door in his hotel would be as safe as could be, Elsie tore a piece of paper from the pad she’d been drawing on and slid it across the table to Armstrong.

  “Lovely,” Armstrong exclaimed, then squinted at the picture. “What is this?”