The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Three

by Farmer, Merry

  “It’s all taken care of,” he said, resting a hand on the small of her back. “Why don’t you find somewhere to sit for a while.”

  She turned to him, one brow arched. “You want me to sit?”

  “Yes.”

  “At a time like this?”

  “Yes,” he repeated a little more forcefully. “Matty might have made it through having her baby a month early, but I would prefer my firstborn didn’t enter the world all of a sudden during a ladies’ literary tea.”

  Flossie smirked at him and crossed her arms. “I’ll only sit if I can sit on your lap.”

  Jason cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “That might not be the best idea at the moment.” His gaze dipped briefly to the front of his coat.

  Flossie burst into laughter before she could help herself. “What, now? I thought you were relaxed and in a calm state of mind.”

  “Yes, well, sometimes it happens when I’m energized about other things as well,” he admitted, flushing red.

  Flossie peeked around to be sure no one was watching them, then lifted to her toes to kiss Jason’s cheek. “It’s a shame we’ll both be too exhausted to take advantage of the situation once this event is done.”

  “Don’t break my heart like that,” Jason said in a dour tone, his eyes flashing with affection.

  “Flossie, Flossie!” Their moment of sweetness was interrupted as Willy tore into the dining room from the lobby, drawing almost everyone’s attention as he did. “I’m ready to serve tea now.”

  “Are you now?” Flossie grinned at him, then touched a finger to her lips.

  “Oh, right,” Willy whispered. “I’m to be polite and dignified while serving fine ladies.”

  “You are,” Jason said, demonstrating the kind of dignity that was required. “Come along. I’ll show you how to get started.”

  Flossie shook her head fondly at the pair as they headed toward the refreshment table, pressing a hand to her heart. All things considered, her life was damn near perfect.

  “We’re here,” Lady E’s voice rang out from the door to the lobby, nearly as loud as Willy had been. “No need to worry about us anymore.”

  Flossie pinched her lips together and resisted the urge to mutter an oath. She doubted Lady E would expect her to rush across the room to greet her. In fact, Lady E was doing a good job of greeting everyone herself.

  “Mrs. Hyde, it is such a pleasure to meet you and to host you,” she said, sweeping over to where Mrs. Hyde and Lady Waltham stood talking to two of the other guests. Flossie moved closer on the off chance she would need to intervene. “I am such a fan of your work,” Lady E went on.

  “Malory, this is Lady Elizabeth Dyson,” Lady Waltham introduced her. She stepped to the side to include her other friends in the introduction before blurting out, “Lady Elizabeth is engaged to Mr. Throckmorton. I believe the wedding is next month?”

  “Less than four weeks away,” Lady E said, bubbling with joy as any soon-to-be bride would be. “You must all join us for the celebration. The wedding will be at Brynthwaite’s church, and the reception will be at Huntingdon Hall.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lady Pearson asked, blinking rapidly and glancing sideways at Flossie. She turned to Lady Waltham and said in a quiet voice, “I thought you said Mr. Throckmorton and Miss Stowe—”

  “Jason, have you met these fine ladies?” Lady E called out in a loud voice, gesturing for Jason as if he were a dog she was calling to heel.

  Flossie crossed her arms and watched as Jason left Willy to his task and strode across the room to Lady E’s side. She shook her head as he answered, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Up to her old tricks again?”

  Flossie was spared the frustration of having to watch the scene alone as Alex walked up to her. Flossie let out a breath of relief. “I’ve never been so glad to see a friendly face.” She nodded to Lady Arabella and Mary, surprised to see both of them there, then went on. “Lady Waltham, in typical form, has just presented her fine, London friends with the Gordian knot of the relationship between Jason, Lady E, and me.”

  “What, so soon?” Alex asked, looking far too amused over the prospect.

  Lady Arabella, on the other hand, looked terrified. “How could she speak of such a thing? And in public?”

  Flossie sent her an apologetic look. As Alex and Lady Arabella had grown closer, Flossie had come to know the woman better as well. Nothing could have surprised her more than the amiability that had arisen between them, but part of becoming friends with the timid noblewoman had been explaining the complicated situation with her and Jason and Lady E. Well, in as much as the situation could be explained at all.

  “I believe Lady Waltham finds the whole thing delightfully modern,” Flossie said in a wry voice.

  “And you?” Lady Arabella asked. “Is that how you find it?”

  Flossie sighed. “I find it to be a colossal pain in the—”

  “Arabella!”

  Lady Charlotte’s exclamation brought at least half of the conversations in the room to a stop.

  “Oh, Lord,” Alex groaned. She schooled her face into as pleasant a smile as Flossie assumed she was capable of. It looked as though she’d swallowed an entire box of lemon candies. “Mother.”

  Lady Charlotte approached their small group as though she were seeing a ghost. She gaped at Lady Arabella for a moment before asking, “Where have you been? Anthony and George are searching everywhere for you.”

  Lady Arabella flushed and looked ready to bolt. Alex grabbed hold of her hand to keep her steady. Flossie would have done the same if she were standing on her other side.

  “I….” Lady Arabella began, visibly agitated.

  “Did you have something to do with this?” Lady Charlotte demanded of Alex.

  “Mother, now is not the time—”

  “I should have known you would poison poor Arabella’s mind with your rebellious whims,” Lady Charlotte interrupted her. “And after all the efforts I have been making to make you see the error of your ways.”

  “What efforts?” Alex asked with a frown.

  Of all things, Lady Charlotte glanced to Mary Pycroft for a moment before tilting her nose up in the air and saying, “Never you mind. You shouldn’t be out in public in your condition. It’s obscene.”

  “It’s not obscene, Mother,” Alex said, a long-suffering sigh in her voice. “Pregnancy is not a venereal disease.”

  Lady Charlotte yelped in offense, turning a bright shade of puce. She glanced over her shoulder at Lady Waltham’s friends—who had politely returned to their own conversation, which, much to Flossie’s regret, contained Jason and Lady E—then snapped back to Alex and leaned closer.

  “How could you insult me this way?” she hissed.

  “Insult you?” Alex laughed. “I’m simply attending a literary event with my friend and step-daughter.” Mary jerked to look up at Alex with a frown. “I didn’t even know you would be here.”

  “Of course I would be here,” Lady Charlotte said, even more offended. “This is the preeminent event of the spring. Lady Waltham’s friends are important. This could have been your chance to ingratiate yourself to some of London’s finest and most influential ladies, if you hadn’t….” She pressed her lips together with a sound like a tea kettle about to whistle, then burst into a sigh. “It’s bad enough that you marry that man, but do you have to parade the evidence of your debauchery in public?”

  “Don’t speak to Alex like that,” Mary—of all people—jumped to Alex’s rescue. “And my papa is a good man. He’s a doctor. People look up to him.”

  “Dr. Pycroft is the finest of men,” Lady Arabella said, the only one in the group who managed to keep every bit of grace and poise that was usually ascribed to the upper class. “He has assisted me in invaluable ways these last few months.”

  “Who is this?”

  The conversation was interrupted yet again as none other than Colin Armstrong entered the room and stepped up to L
ady Arabella’s side. His expression instantly went doe-eyed as he smiled at Arabella.

  “Lady Arabella,” he said, a note of maudlin wistfulness in his voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you again.”

  “Mr. Armstrong,” lady Arabella said, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. She couldn’t meet Armstrong’s eyes, but a faint smile played across her lips.

  Flossie glanced to Alex, her brow shooting up to her hairline. It couldn’t be. Not in a million years. But Alex’s answering look said that yes, in fact, it could be all that and more. Flossie truly did need to sit down.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your conversation, ladies,” Armstrong said with his usual, bright smile. “I was irresistibly drawn toward this assembly of fine and beautiful women.” Flossie had to give the man credit as he turned to Lady Charlotte with a grace that could only be described as chivalric and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met, and that seems like a terrible tragedy to me.”

  Lady Charlotte was thrown completely off-guard. She stammered, raising a hand to her chest.

  “Mr. Colin Armstrong, I’d like you to meet my mother, Lady Charlotte Dyson,” Alex said in a flat voice. “Mother, Mr. Armstrong is constructing a hotel in Ambleside, and he has been seeking Mr. Throckmorton’s advice on how to build it.”

  “Charmed, my lady,” Armstrong said, taking Lady Charlotte’s free hand and bowing over it.

  “Oh.” Lady Charlotte blinked rapidly. “Yes, I believe Mr. Throckmorton has spoken of you on several occasions. I had no idea you were so….” She left her sentence where it was.

  “I am so pleased to see you here, Lady Arabella,” Armstrong returned to the object of his clear affection. “I would so like to introduce you to my dear friend, Mrs. Malory Hyde.”

  “You know Mrs. Hyde?” Flossie asked. The conversation had taken such a startling turn that she wasn’t sure where she stood in it anymore.

  “Yes, I do,” Armstrong answered. “We met in London at a literary event, not unlike this, hosted by a mutual friend of ours, Mr. Oscar Wilde.”

  Flossie’s jaw dropped. “You’re friends with Oscar Wilde?”

  Armstrong nodded and smiled as though he’d told them he was friends with the butcher on the corner. “I met him at a salon hosted by Arthur Conan Doyle. Have you read his works?”

  Alex joined Flossie in gaping at the man as though he’d grown a third arm.

  “He wrote Sherlock Holmes,” Mary gasped. “And you know him?”

  “Yes, of course,” Armstrong said with a smile. “One can never have too many friends, after all.” He blinked, turning to Alex with bright eyes. “I say. I should introduce the two of you. Arthur is a physician as well, after all. I’m certain you would have much to talk about.”

  Alex merely gaped like a fish out of water at the offer of introduction. Flossie could have laughed or hugged Armstrong at the unusual rescue he’d completed without even being aware of it. Every one of them was too startled by his revelations to continue with the confrontation that had been so close to exploding, and in public.

  Lady Charlotte was just beginning to recover and looked as though she might dive back in when Lady Waltham clapped her hands together and said, “Ladies, if we could all take our seats. Mr. Throckmorton’s indomitable staff will keep us supplied with tea and cakes as Mrs. Hyde tells us about her wonderful new book.

  “Would you allow me?” Armstrong asked Lady Arabella, offering his arm.

  Arabella took his arm, still blushing, and let him lead her to one of the tables. Lady Charlotte followed, Mary right behind her. Alex sent Flossie a wary look, as though it was about to be a long day. Flossie returned it, confirming that it already had been. The two broke into smiles of friendship, and Alex moved on to take a seat.

  For her part, Flossie truly did need to sit down. As Mrs. Hyde began to speak, she slipped quietly into the lobby, hoping she could take up a post on one of the padded benches below the stairs that faced the dining room door.

  No sooner had she stepped into the lobby than the detective from London and Constable Burnell strode through the door.

  Marshall

  There were times when Marshall wished he owned a horse. It would have been much faster to rush out to the forge to warn Lawrence of the danger Willy was in if he had one. But his income didn’t allow it, and it would have taken twice as long to find one to borrow. Which meant he was winded and sweaty by the time he jogged up to the forge.

  Lawrence was hard at work as usual. More than usual with the order Armstrong had given him. Construction of Armstrong’s hotel had started, which meant that Lawrence’s ironwork was needed immediately instead of piecemeal over time. The need was so pressing that Lawrence had hired an assistant out of Kendal to get the job done. The forge glowed hotter than usual as two blacksmiths worked, and the heat it put out made Marshall feel as though he were at the gates of hell. Which they all might just be if Det. Lewis decided to share Crimpley’s suspicion of Willy and his siblings.

  “Lawrence,” he called out breathlessly as he marched up to where his friend was working. “You need to get into town now.”

  The ringing of hammers pounding metal lessened by one as Lawrence turned around, squinting. His expression hardened to alarm a moment later, and he set his tools aside.

  “Marshall. What brings you out here in the middle of a Saturday? Is something wrong?” he asked, stepping to the side to grab a cloth to rub over his sweating face.

  “Det. Lewis and Constable Burnell are on their way to the hotel to question Willy about Hoag’s death,” Marshall rushed to say.

  A protective sort of fear pinched Lawrence’s face. “When are they going? Does Jason know they’re on the way?” He threw his cloth aside and pivoted to march toward the stairs at the back of the forge that led to the flat above.

  Marshall followed, noting how odd it was that Lawrence would bolt for his old living quarters instead of his house. “Alex planned to let Jason and Flossie know as soon as she, Mary, and Arabella reached the hotel for this mad literary event Lady Waltham is hosting.

  Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at Marshall in surprise as the two of them mounted the stairs to the flat. “Lady Arabella has left the hospital? For an event at the hotel?”

  “I was as surprised as you are,” Marshall said. “But Arabella is not the point at the moment. How do you think Willy will react to being questioned by a detective?”

  “Not well,” Lawrence said grimly. He pulled off the leather apron he wore while working and tossed it onto the bed in the one-room flat. Marshall noted that the bed was still made and the flat in general continued to appear lived-in. “He blames himself for Hoag’s death,” Lawrence went on.

  “With reason,” Marshall said. When Lawrence turned to scowl at him as he dipped a sponge in a washbowl to clean himself, Marshall went on. “He was the one who fired the gun that night, wasn’t he?”

  “Elsie did too,” Lawrence said. “But neither one of them are responsible for that bastard’s death. Hoag got what was coming to him, and if Willy and Elsie hadn’t fired, I would have snapped the man’s neck with my bare hands.”

  Marshall flinched at the image his friend’s words brought. Mostly because he knew Lawrence had the strength to do it and the motivation to follow through on his threat.

  “Whatever the case,” he said, “If Willy cracks under the pressure of interrogation, it could spell disaster for him, for you, and for all of us.”

  “You said Jason knows the detective is coming?” Lawrence asked as he dried his torso, then took a clean shirt from a peg on the wall.

  “Jason won’t let anything happen to the boy,” Marshall followed where Lawrence’s question was obviously leading.

  “He won’t,” Lawrence agreed. “Which means we still have time.” He crossed to Marshall as he buttoned his shirt. “I’ve been thinking of taking Matty and the children and heading south,” he said. “To Barsali and his people.”

  Marshall’s brow shot up. “You want to leave Brynth
waite?”

  “It’s dangerous for us here,” Lawrence said with the faintest hint of a wince. “I thought we were safe when Hoag was thrown in jail. I thought we were safe when he was dead. But we’re never going to be safe.”

  “That’s a bit over dramatic, don’t you think?” Marshall frowned at him.

  “Is it?” Lawrence clapped a hand on Marshall’s shoulder. “This life suits you,” he said. “You’re a physician with a well-bred wife and a growing family. You have a shot of being highly respected in this community. As does Jason. Between the two of you, you could become the towering patriarchs of Brynthwaite in the new century. But me?”

  He sighed and stepped back, shaking his head.

  “I don’t like where the world is going,” he went on. “It’s become too fast, to industrialized. How long do you think it will be before everything I do here at the forge is done better by factories and machinery?”

  “There will always be a place for artisans,” Marshall argued. “Look at how much Armstrong is paying you to outfit his hotel.”

  Lawrence shook his head again. “Armstrong is a fool who worships everything Jason does. Jason only purchased metalwork from me instead of ordering it from a factory because we’re friends. You are aware that he purchases everything for all of his other hotels from a foundry in Germany, aren’t you?”

  Marshall’s shoulders dropped. He hadn’t realized. Worse still, Lawrence had a point. His dear friend was a relic of another time.

  “I’m thinking of closing the forge and going in search of the other half of myself as soon as Armstrong’s work is done,” Lawrence said with a note of finality in his voice. “Barsali’s people are my people too, and perhaps they have an answer to the riddle of living in a world we’re no longer suited for.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Marshall shook the statement off, his chest squeezing in panic at the thought of his friend, his brother, leaving when the three of them—him, Lawrence, and Jason—had only just moved back into each other’s lives. “What do you plan to do for money in your new, gypsy life?”