The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  The men shook hands and exchanged formalities as Catie caught up and waited to be introduced. “My wife, Catherine Kelly.” Sean turned and gently ushered her forward. He still grinned stupidly when he said “wife,” and she sincerely hoped he always would.

  Catie put out her hand, and Dr. Middleton took it with all the polish and poise of a country gentleman. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Kelly,” he said kindly with a smile that matched, making Catie feel instantly at ease. Maybe Savannah wouldn’t be so unlike home after all.

  “Nice to meet you too, Dr. Middleton.”

  Still smiling, he let go of her hand to waggle an admonitory finger at her. “You know, young lady, you’ve created quite a stir around my house.”

  “A stir?” Catie asked, her eyebrows arched in question.

  “No, miss, quite a stir. My wife has been all over town buying the perfect teas and cookies—oh, sorry, biscuits.” He winked at her. “Please don’t tell Prissy that I said cookies, or she’ll have my hide.”

  “Prissy?” Catie questioned again.

  “My wife,” Dr. Middleton said, his face so alight and friendly; his eyes fairly twinkled. “I hope y’all aren’t too tired from your trip. Prissy’s expecting me to bring the two of you home for supper after we’ve stopped by the school.”

  Sean glanced at Catie then said, “I’m afraid neither of us is dressed for dinner, Dr. Middleton. Maybe if we could go ’round to our hotel first?”

  “Oh, hogwash,” Hugh Middleton dismissed, waving a hand to emphasize. “You both look fine. We’ll only be eating on the screened porch, and the sandflies could care less what you look like. Y’all, wait here.”

  “Sean,” Catie said after Dr. Middleton left them by the curb to fetch the car.

  “Yeah, Catie.”

  “Did that man just say hogwash?”

  “Aye, my love, I believe he did.”

  “And Sean?”

  He raised one brow inquisitively at her. “Yeah?”

  “Pray tell me. What is a sandfly?”

  “I’m not sure, Catie, but it sounds as though we are having dinner with them tonight.”

  ***

  Norbury School for Boys was established after Savannah’s Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1820. Its original mission was to serve as an orphanage to Caucasian boys between the ages of five and sixteen, but it was desegregated in the 1960s. As they pulled under the main gate, Catie saw the usual flow of campus life as students went busily about their afternoon. A few sat studiously with opened books under the cooling spread of a rather large oak. On a vast, open lawn, two boys passed a football, while several others with backpacks scurried hurriedly towards a row of cottages set away from the main building. All wore the same navy blue shirt and khakis as Dr. Middleton

  “There are 125 students, ages twelve to eighteen, currently enrolled,” Dr. Middleton told them as he pulled to a stop outside the administration building. They got out of the car and climbed the short flight of steps to his office. As he held the door for them, he continued, “Fifty reside here at the school. The other seventy-five are day students who live in local foster or group homes. All of them have been either permanently removed from the care of their parents or are orphaned. And”—he paused and looked at Sean directly as if to stress his point—“they all have been unable to integrate into a typical education environment.”

  “Are they delinquents, sir?” Sean asked.

  “A few have a criminal record, but mostly petty crimes. We don’t enroll any serious offenders. Most, Mr. Kelly, most just have been mistreated to the point that they are either as timid as a whipped pup or angry at the world and everyone in it.” A rap at the office door stopped the conversation. “Come in,” Dr. Middleton called out.

  The door opened with a great deal of hesitation, and on the other side was an African American boy, wiry and pre-adolescent, judging by his smooth skin and round face. He glanced warily up at the adults from lowered eyes as he stuttered, “D-D-Dr. Middleton, th-the…your g-golf cart has been b-brought around, s-sir.”

  Catie listened to the child with no little sympathy. She had experienced shyness before. George, her nephew, was extremely quiet and prone to the occasional stutter, but this was pitiful.

  “Thank you, Jamal,” Dr. Middleton replied. “You can go now.” The boy turned and fled as if an alarm had sounded. “One of our whipped pups,” Dr. Middleton explained, looking back at Sean and Catie. “He was found in an abandoned row house in the Victorian district about six years ago. We still don’t know who his kin were. He’d been badly maltreated and was near dead from starvation when he was discovered.”

  Sean glanced worriedly at his wife; he hadn’t prepared her for this. He knew that Catie’s privileged, sheltered upbringing had offered her little exposure to the darker side of life. Her eyes met with his, and he instantly saw the difficulty in them.

  “Now, Mr. Kelly,” Dr. Middleton continued without pause, “allow me to show you the reason your application stood out among all the others. Follow me!” He headed out of the office with animated eagerness, motioning for them to come along.

  Sean took hold of Catie’s hand and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze as they followed Dr. Middleton to the golf cart.

  On the way to whatever it was Dr. Middleton was so impatient to show them, Catie viewed the boys they passed much differently than when they first arrived. She looked at every face and into every set of eyes, wondering what horrific story lay behind the youthful façades. Was it even possible, she wondered, to have a story more horrific than Jamal’s?

  She thought of Ben and Sarah’s children: Geoffrey and George, her ten-year-old nephews, and Eliza Jane, their little sister. Their happy, full-cheeked faces and round, innocent eyes were pictured strongly in her mind’s eye. Every night they slept in a warm bed with loving kisses still fresh on their cheeks, never wanting for a morsel of food or a kind smile. The cart stopped abruptly, startling Catie back.

  “Here we are!” Dr. Middleton exclaimed with eagerness, and they each stepped off the cart.

  Catie swallowed and exchanged a glance with her husband as they mutually became cognizant of what made Sean’s application “stand out” as Dr. Middleton had put it.

  Montague Stables—the sign over the door practically gleamed with newness. Norbury was in possession of a state-of-the-art riding facility and stables.

  “Well, Mr. Kelly.” Dr. Middleton positively beamed with pride. “What do ya think? She’s brand spankin’ new!”

  “Very…nice,” Sean said slowly, glancing once again at Catie.

  “You see, young man, I was hopin’ you and me could strike up a win-win. I’ll teach you everything I know about running an institution like Norbury, and in turn, you’ll teach me everything you know about horses.” Dr. Middleton’s excited voice took on a serious note. “The board of directors is very optimistic that the income generated by the livery services will offset some of the cost of running the school. The students, of course, will care for the animals and learn to ride in the bargain.”

  Sean stood with folded arms while he listened to Dr. Middleton’s offer — his deadpan expression affording not a clue to his thoughts. Catie waited with bated breath, truly fearing he might refuse. Sean had turned down the stable business once before—and that time it was to his own father. Kells Down, the family’s farm, was the first piece of Irish dirt owned by a Kelly for many generations and a source of great pride to Sean’s father. Seamus Kelly poured his blood and sweat into the small, family business in hopes of one day handing it down to Sean, his eldest son—a right once denied to one of Sean’s Catholic ancestors. Under the Penal Laws of the time, Sean’s fourth great-grandfather was made to surrender his land for refusing to convert to Protestantism. Sean understood the significance. He knew what the farm meant to his da, and still, he chose an education and a career. It was a decision he knew would — and did — cause his father great disappointment. It was not a decision Sean made lightly.

  At last,
a smile curved the stoic mouth as Sean turned to Catie and stated, “You must appreciate poetic justice, eh?” He then looked at Dr. Middleton. “How many stalls?”

  It was all he had to say. Dr. Middleton grinned and slapped Sean’s back approvingly. “Good man, Kelly!” he exclaimed, and together they disappeared inside the stable doors, talking excitedly and leaving Catie to trail behind.

  For the next hour, she listened half-attentively to the jargon of successful stable operations until Dr. Middleton noticed her with a surprise that told her he had forgotten she was there.

  “Mrs. Kelly, dear, we must be boring you to tears!” Catie slightly shook her head to ward off his concern. “But of course we are! These matters can be attended to next week. Let us head back and see to some comfort for you.” Dr. Middleton looked back at Sean. “My manners are atrocious. The missus is always giving me the business about it. Well, come you two…the Isle of Hope awaits!”

  During the short ride to Dr. Middleton’s home, Catie watched from her backseat window as businesses and stoplights gave way without ceremony to overgrown marshlands and ancient spreading oaks. They soon entered a small enclave of white cottages guarded by knee-high picket fences. Very American looking, Catie thought as she rolled down her window to take in the scenery.

  Where the road ended, a glistening bay of water, dotted with boats and buoys, opened up before them. “Intracoastal Waterway,” Dr. Middleton announced as he brought the car to a stop and nodded in the direction of the vista.

  “Beautiful,” Catie declared, leaning forward between the two men for a better look. She then asked, “Dr. Middleton, what is that hanging from the trees?”

  “That, Mrs. Kelly, is Spanish moss. But don’t ever touch it. It oftentimes gets infested with chiggers. They’ll eat you alive.”

  “Chiggers?”

  “Yes, ma’am, chiggers—a nasty, little red parasite,” Dr. Middleton replied seriously.

  She looked apprehensively back up at the moss, which didn’t look at all like moss to her.

  As they traveled slowly down the narrow road that ran parallel to the Isle of Hope marina, Catie noticed that the homes facing the water were much larger—stately antebellum manors that stood watch over the Intracoastal Waterway, seemingly anchored by their massive, white columns and wide, wooden porches.

  “Here’s our humble hacienda,” Dr. Middleton said as he turned down a gravel drive lined by a pretty, well-established flower garden. Catie noticed that the windows were opened to the cooler island air, and from their screens wafted an aroma of home cooking that made her stomach rumble lowly in protest of its neglect.

  A high, thick wall that looked to be made out of crumbled seashells concealed the back garden. “Home’s been in my wife’s family since the turn of the century—three generations—pretty impressive, huh?” Dr. Middleton boasted as they entered through an iron gate.

  Catie looked over her shoulder and grinned covertly at Sean. Pemberley had been the Darcy’s family seat for more than three hundred years.

  The rear garden was distinctly more formal than the front. In the center stood a tall, three-tiered fountain surrounded by symmetrically raised beds, generously planted with tropical-looking flora. A screened back porch ran the length of the home with three rapidly spinning ceiling fans, their efforts a vain attempt considering the sticky humidity.

  A woman, presumably Dr. Middleton’s wife, opened the screen door to welcome them. “Hugh Middleton,” the woman drawled slowly as she came down the steps to greet them. Her voice was as smooth and unhurried as the hot, Georgia afternoon, a dialect that Sean and Catie would learn was characteristic of the low-country people. “I was getting ready to send someone after you.”

  Blonde like her husband, Mrs. Middleton’s hair was loosely gathered in a relaxed chignon, which bridled her refined beauty. She had a graceful but casual air, giving Catie the impression of a seasoned hostess.

  “My wife, Prissy Middleton,” Dr. Middleton turned to them and said with a good-natured roll of his eyes. “Prissy, allow me to present Sean and Catie Kelly.”

  Catie was first to offer her hand, but Mrs. Middleton stepped right past it and embraced her. “Oh, Mrs. Kelly, I have been so anxious to meet you.”

  The English aren’t particularly known for their hugging, especially on a first introduction. However, Catie’s years of schooling in etiquette rose above her discomfort, and she warmly returned the gesture. “Pleasure to meet you also, Mrs. Middleton.”

  “Oh, please! Call me Prissy. ’Cause, honey, I just know you and I are going to be friends,” the woman breathlessly insisted. “My ladies group has tea every Wednesday afternoon, and you just have to come! A real English lady at one of my tea parties. Ohhhh, I’ll be the envy!” Prissy Middleton squeezed Catie’s hands affectionately then turned to Sean and let out a gasp. “My…oh my, Hugh! Do they not grow ’em thick and handsome in Ireland? Welcome, Mr. Kelly! I hope you have come to my home hungry, young man.”

  “Missus, I’m so famished I could eat me boots!” Sean confirmed with a flirtatious wink and his most charming smile.

  A soft pink filled Prissy Middleton’s cheeks as she fanned herself and turned a condemning eye on her husband. “Now that, Hugh Middleton, is a gentleman.”

  The table on the screened porch was already laid for supper, the centerpiece a large flickering candle under a hurricane globe. “I’ll get our salads.” Mrs. Middleton escorted her guests through the house. “Y’all go wash up! The loop is in the foyer under the stairs.”

  “Loop?” Catie looked at her husband and whispered.

  “I think she meant loo,” Sean whispered back, chuckling. “How are you, mo chailín?” He kissed her and wrapped her in his arms.

  “Exhausted,” she breathed out tiredly, enjoying the momentary comfort of lying against him. “Sean, that little boy—”

  “I know,” he said softly, stopping her. “But he’s in a good place now. Eh?” He knew she was going to have reservations about Norbury, but this wasn’t the time or place. She nodded against him, and he leaned down and kissed her again. “Let’s get washed and eat then, shall we?”

  Fresh spinach leaves and sliced sweet onion tossed with a pineapple vinaigrette dressing was awaiting their return. The salad looked delicious, but not nearly as appealing as the iced Perrier garnished with a slice of lemon, of which Catie tried not to gulp, thirsty as she was. While they ate, Dr. Middleton entertained them by telling the history of the early nineteenth-century home and the equally aged neighborhood surrounding it. Catie smiled as she remembered Ben saying that to an American a hundred years is a long time. As usual, her brother was right.

  When the salads were finished, their hostess’s countenance took on an eager anticipation. “I sure hope you two like shrimp!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I had Miss Minnie prepare shrimp and grits for our main course. No other meal would do for your first night in Georgia. Am I not right, Hugh?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dr. Middleton agreed with his wife. “And I’ll wager you’ll not find them better cooked anywhere than our own Miss Minnie’s.”

  “Grits?” Catie questioned politely.

  “Oh, yes, Miss Catie…grits are a staple for Savannahians. You’ll have to learn to eat ’em if you plan on living here. Otherwise, young lady, you might very well starve.” Dr. Middleton gave his young guest a teasing wink.

  The dish was placed before them, and Sean nudged his wife’s arm. “Prawns,” he told her, gesturing to the pink lumps swimming in the buttery, cheesy grits.

  “Yes, indeed!” Catie smiled warmly at her host and hostess. “I do love prawns.” Though her upbringing mandated she eat whatever a host or hostess put in front of her, all of Catie’s fears vanished with the first creamy mouthful, and she ate almost every bite.

  “Dr. Middleton,” she said curiously once replenished by the warm meal. “May I ask? Why did the sign read, ‘Montague Stables’?”

  “The Montague’s have been the chief benefactors to Norbury
since the school’s founding. The family is all gone now except for old lady Montague. She never married, has no children, and as far as I’ve been told, has willed everything to Norbury. And everything, I understand, is quite a large sum. Her father was a shipping tycoon and left Miss Montague, his only child, a fortune. But she’s a sour old thing, never smiles, and I can’t say she has anyone except her butler.”

  “How very sad,” Catie said as dessert was served—a tart Key Lime pie and another first for Sean and Catie.

  Still on London time, the young couple began a succession of infectious yawns that didn’t go unnoticed. “My goodness, you both must be exhausted,” Prissy said to a very thankful Sean and Catie, who had not wanted to be rude and request to leave themselves. “Hugh, you must get them to their hotel.”

  “I can do better than that.” Dr. Middleton stood, gesturing for Sean to follow him. He led his new intern to an old carriage house at the end of the drive and grabbed one of the door pulls, motioning for Sean to take the other. “She doesn’t have any air conditioning, but the heat will break before long. You’re welcome to her while you’re here.”

  To Sean’s surprise, inside the garage was a 1970 wood-paneled Jeep Wagoneer. “Dr. Middleton, it looks in mint condition.”

  “Should be. It was Prissy’s father’s, and he hardly ever took it out of Hope.”

  “Didn’t go to town much?” Sean asked, cupping his hands to peer into the windows.

  “No, he went to town often. But he drove his Town Car when he went to town. A southern gentleman never goes to town in a Jeep, Mr. Kelly. But you’ll be excused.” Dr. Middleton smiled. “Well, what do ya think? You want to use her or not?”

  “Do I?” Sean exclaimed appreciatively, as his wife and Prissy Middleton joined them.

  “What are you two up to?” Prissy asked. “Hugh, I told you he wouldn’t want to use that old piece of junk.”

  “Junk? Ma’am, this Jeep’s a classic,” Sean clarified then turned back to Dr. Middleton. “Still, your offer is too generous. I could never—”