The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)
Page 10
Three bites into his first course—a rich shrimp bisque—Miss Montague leaned over and asked, “How are our stable operations coming along, Mr. Kelly? I understand the early success can be accredited to you.”
Sean swallowed and politely wiped his mouth before answering. “Well, I can’t take all of the credit, ma’am. Matthias Carter, the new stable master, is doing a grand job.”
“I find modesty makes a man dull, Mr. Kelly,” she said flatly, taking a sip of wine and eyeing him with her beady eyes over the goblet. “Tell me, young man, did you find something amusing about our proceedings earlier?”
The eejit grin, Sean remembered with alarm. This was not going well. “No, ma’am, not at all,” he said, hoping it would be enough. It wasn’t.
Annabelle Montague plowed forward with an accent that strangely fell somewhere between the shires of England and coastal Georgia. “Then may I ask why you were grinning like a fool? Personally, I’ve never known pavement to be a particularly humorous subject.”
Swallowing hard, Sean could feel his underarms beginning to work overtime. Maybe having his brother-in-law speaking for him wasn’t so bad after all, he decided as he leaned close to the small woman, as if he were going to share a secret. “Ma’am, I’m quite embarrassed to say,” he whispered, and Miss Montague drew close with interest. “But since you asked, I’m afraid you caught me daydreaming of me wife. You see, we’re newlyweds, and the wee darlin’ made me late this mornin’. I reckon the newness hasn’t worn off yet.” He winked at her and picked back up his spoon. It was cheeky he knew, but the boney old woman had stoked his Irish temper, and she did say she found modesty dull in a man.
“Ha!” Annabelle Montague sat back and expelled. Her face went a crimson red as she brought her napkin to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
Everyone stopped eating and stared at her, except for Hugh Middleton, who stared at his young intern, open-mouthed.
“Mr. Kelly,” Annabelle Montague said after another small fit of coughing, which was brought on by her laughter. “That is something my daddy would’ve said. I like you, young man. Tell me, is your wee darlin’ Irish as well?”
The rich were a bloody odd lot, he thought and not for the first time. “No, ma’am, she’s English.”
“English?” Miss Montague repeated astonished. “From what part of England is she?”
“The midlands, Derbyshire—are you familiar with the county?”
“Indeed.” Miss Montague’s expression brightened. “The Montague’s are from Staffordshire. Challongate House is where I spent my summers as a girl. I have family there still. I’d like to meet your wife. It is a rare occasion that I am able to enjoy tea and reminisce on England’s countryside in my own parlor.”
Sean smiled; glad he and the old bird had found a common thread. “Nothing would please her more,” he said warmly. “Catie is rather homesick and dwells there in her thoughts often I think.”
“Sunday afternoon then…after church,” Miss Montague declared. “We shall take tea together on the lawn.”
Sean looked at her surprised. Like him, he’d thought she was just being polite.
“Is Sunday not good for you, Mr. Kelly?” she asked, taking note of his hesitation.
“Er…yes,” Sean stammered. “Yes, of course. Sunday will be fine.” He glanced awkwardly over at Dr. Middleton, who bore a smirk that told Sean he was very much enjoying himself.
“You and Priscilla, I hope, will join us as well, Hugh.” The smirk vanished immediately. “But take heed, man…by ‘after church’ I mean not before two o’clock. The Episcopalians are not sent to their fried chicken at the stroke of twelve as the Baptists are.”
“I’m sure Prissy will look forward to it, Annabelle.” Dr. Middleton gave the woman a slight nod of agreement then looked back at Sean.
His intern was smirking.
***
In his office later that day, Sean removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. The temperature had risen to a boiler during the late afternoon, and the old building’s air conditioning did little to ease the stifling heat. Never did Sean think he would miss the blustery winds that blew off the Strangford Lough in autumn, but right now he’d give almost anything to stand on those chilly shores and watch the arrival of the Brent geese that migrated there for the winter or take Catie for a walk under a harvest moon and come home with cold noses to the warm glow of a fire. He had to admit: Catie wasn’t the only one sick for home. Sean sighed wistfully and sat down at his desk to go over a stack of requisitions but was immediately interrupted by a knock at his door.
“Come in,” he answered and smiled as the knob moved with slow, deliberate hesitation. Jamal. The child always entered a room as if there might be a firing squad on the other side of the door. “Come on in, Jamal,” he urged the boy, chuckling.
A small head poked around the door first then the rest of Jamal timidly eased into Sean’s office. “You h-have a m-message, Mr. K-Kelly,” Jamal said slowly, holding a small yellow paper close to his chest.
“Thank you, Jamal.” Sean smiled sweetly to put the boy at ease, but it never seemed to help.
Jamal nodded but didn’t hand Sean the paper.
“Is there something else?” Sean asked.
Jamal nodded again.
“Go on then,” Sean urged softly. “I’m listening.”
“Never mind!” the boy blurted and made a dash for the door.
Sean came to his feet and called out, “Jamal, wait!” The child stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn back around. Sean hadn’t meant to sound so firm. But how else does a man stop a fleeing boy? “Come back here, lad,” he said more gently, coming around his desk.
Though reluctantly, the child did as Sean asked. Jamal was an obedient child—too obedient for Sean’s taste. Boys should have a wee bit of thick headedness. It was what made them boys after all. Jamal stood in front of Sean, eyes plastered to the floor and shifting nervously from foot to foot. Realizing he was looming over the child, Sean pulled up a chair and lowered himself to the boy’s level. “Jamal, tell me what you were going to say. I really want to hear it.”
The child’s head remained down, but his large eyes, as dark as chocolate and crowned by long, curling lashes, glanced up at Sean apprehensively.
“Go on,” Sean urged again, his tone a mixture of an appeal and a command.
“I- I, it’s j-just.” Jamal took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I-want-to-work-with-the-horses-but-you-don’t-let-me-cause-I’m-too-small-and-that-ain’t-right!” At the close of this declaration, Jamal screwed shut his eyes as if he expected a blow.
Sean had to bite his jaw to keep from laughing. Working at the stables had quickly become a popular chore among Norbury’s resident students. It was true that Sean had started the stable rotations with the older boys, but not because the younger ones were too small. It was because he figured the older boys could learn and then teach the younger ones, like he’d done for his own brothers. Evidently, Jamal saw this as a gross injustice to the younger students — himself in particular.
Sean sighed and rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Humph, you’ve a fair good point, Jamal,” he said, making the child peek at him through one eye.
“I d-do?”
“Aye.” Sean nodded. “But I don’t know, lad. Lifting hay and shoveling stalls, that’s brave work for such a wee fellah.”
“I can do it!” The large brown eyes flew open wide. Then, remembering his shyness, he stammered, “I-I’m s-strong.”
Sean heaved a great breath and looked the boy over with narrowed eyes. “All right then,” he said once he felt he had hemmed and hawed long enough, “Next week I’ll give you a try.”
Jamal grinned.
“Grin now, laddie, aye,” Sean teased admonishingly, giving the tiny shoulder a manly clap. “You’ll be nursin’ blisters for your boldness before long.”
Jamal nodded enthusiastically and again bolted for the door.
“Yes, sir.”
Sean gestured to the now crumpled yellow paper still clutched in Jamal’s hand. “My message.”
Jamal looked worriedly at the paper then stepped over and handed it to Sean. “S-sorry, M-Mr. Kelly.”
“That’s all right.” Sean winked down at the boy. “No harm done.”
As the door closed, Sean smoothed out the wad, shaking his head and laughing. When the paper was flat before him, he stopped smiling.
October 12, 1:23 p.m.
To: Mr. Kelly,
Your father phoned and said it is urgent that you call home.
Sean reached over and picked up the receiver.
Chapter 8
Before heading out for her Wednesday evening church service, Etta prepared dinner and turned the meal over to Catie. “All you have to do is watch the pot and stir it ever’ now an’ again.” She wrapped a crocheted shawl about her plump shoulders and tugged on a peach colored cloche hat that looked like something left over from the 1920’s. “But, whatever you do, child, don’t add no salt,” she warned, giving Catie a gimlet eye from under the narrow brim.
“Not a dash,” Catie promised, smiling at Etta, who had bravely volunteered to give her cooking lessons. “Now away off with youse!” She playfully mimicked her husband’s heaviest brogue and shooed Etta out the back door.
“No salt!” Etta called out one last time as she tramped briskly down the back stairs.
Shaking her head, Catie laughed softly as she lifted the lid and was instantly swathed in the steamy aroma of Brunswick stew — Sean’s new favorite dish. She was glad to be alone with her husband tonight. She had something very important to tell him and was about to bust a gut with excitement.
Tugging his tie loose, Sean came in the back door and grimaced when he saw his wife at the stove. “Where’s Etta?” he asked even before saying hello.
“It’s Wednesday. She has church.” Catie tapped the spoon on the pot and put it aside before coming over and kissing him. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, back.” He returned the kiss as he glanced worriedly over her head to the pot she’d been stirring. “Did you cook?”
“No. I’m just minding the pot, so you can wipe that stricken look of panic off your face.”
“I wasn’t panicked.” He tried not to sound so pleased. “And the only thing I’m stricken with is you, mo chailín.”
“Mm-hmmm,” she uttered dubiously and went back to the stove. “I should be green-eyed with jealously the way you swoon over Etta’s cooking.”
“You are green-eyed, beautiful, and you’ve been doing much better. Look at you there…stirrin’ like a pro.” He leaned over her shoulder and inhaled with obvious delight “Is that Brunswick stew?”
“Yes, and it’s ready so—” The doorbell interrupted her. “Now who could that be?”
“I’ll answer it,” he said, starting for the door but stopped suddenly. “Catie, whatever you do, darlin’, don’t add salt.”
She glowered at him as the doorbell trilled again, longer this time, and Sean hurried away. “Oh, hold your bloody horses!”
The bell was still ringing sharply when he pulled opened the door and stared down his nose at Gabriel Kelly. The bell fell silent. “Howdy!” said his brother, smiling to his ears. “American sounding, eh? I practiced all the way here.”
Sean’s back straightened as he drew in and exhaled a deep, annoyed breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Now there’s a grand welcome,” Gabriel said, affecting to look insulted. “How ’bout askin’ me in, Seany? I’ve just flown across the ocean, and me arms are all flopped out!”
“Funny,” Sean said without humor but stepped back and gestured his brother inside.
“Whew,” Gabriel whistled as he picked up his bag and guitar case and came across the threshold into the grand foyer. “I’d say you’ve taken quite a fancy to bein’ a Darcy, eh, Brother.”
Sean’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Catie appeared from the kitchen.
“Gabriel!” she cried when she saw him and rushed into his arms.
“Now there’s a welcome!” Gabriel said, lifting and twirling her. He kissed her cheek then set her back on her feet to give her a good looking over. “How’s the belle of Derbyshire? Still pretty as a daisy, I see.”
“I can’t believe it’s you? Did Sean know you were coming?” she asked, speaking fast and elated. “
Sean met his brother’s eye with a warning that Catie didn’t see.
“Er…no.” Gabriel winked teasingly at her. “I just thought I’d come see if you were tired of this brother of mine and ready to run away with me.”
She laughed. “I’m just so surprised to see you!”
“As am I,” Sean concurred. “Catie, be a dear and go set Gabe a place at the table. He and I will take his things upstairs.”
“Yes, gladly.” She hugged her brother-in-law once more. “Oh, I’m so happy you are here!”
Gabriel followed his brother up the steps, humming with a nonchalance that was infuriating Sean. Typical of Gabriel, he thought testily, to behave as such when he’d made a major mess of his life. Once they stepped inside, Sean closed the door behind him with purpose.
Gabriel dropped his head back and groaned, “Don’t look at me like that, Seany.”
“What do you expect?” Sean hissed sharply, trying to keep his voice down.
Gabriel tossed his things on the bed and slumped down beside them. “I reckon you’ve talked to Da.”
“Aye. I have.”
“It’s not what you think — ” Gabriel started, but his brother cut him off.
“Not what I think! How could you, Gabe? You know how Da feels about drinkin’ too much? You’ve seen what he’s been through with Uncle Pádraig.”
“I’ve heard all the sermons I can stand, Sean!” Gabriel snapped. “And I’m not Pádraig for Christ sake! Da overreacted, that’s all!”
“Overreacted?” Sean stepped closer to him. “He told me you were arrested for fighting in a pub!”
“In Belfast!” Gabriel argued. “I wouldn’t have even been there if Da hadn’t gone off like he does!”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” Gabriel repeated in a sarcastic chuckle. “From you of all people, who know how he is. On our mother’s life, Seany, I swear. I only came home buckled a couple of times, and Da went berserk. He marched to all the locals and threatened ’em if they served me. They’re all so scared of him; I had to drive all the way to Belfast to get a bloody half. Oh…by the bye, your ol’ Rover’s running like a top.”
“Sean,” Catie called from below. “Is everything all right?”
Sean glanced warily at the door then back to his brother. “Hear me, Gabriel. I do not want Catie knowing what’s happened. You surprised us with a visit…nothing else. Do you understand me?”
The ghost of a smirk flickered over Gabriel’s face. “Don’t want the high-born in-laws thinkin’ Catie married into a family of drunkards, eh?”
Sean reached his brother in two hard strides, grabbed him by his jacket, and pulled him to his feet. “Damn it, Gabriel, that’s not it, and you know it!”
Nose to nose with Sean, Gabriel gave him a half smile and whispered spitefully, “Do it, Seany; maybe it’ll make you and Da feel better. Least I’m not ashamed of where I’ve come from.”
Gabriel’s words struck hard. “You shouldn’t’ve come here,” Sean said quietly, letting go and shoving his brother away from him.
“I’d nowhere else to go,” Gabriel replied equally as hushed, smoothing his crumpled jacket as he slumped down on the bed again.
Sean sighed heavily. He’d always been the peacemaker between Gabriel and his father and couldn’t help but feeling somewhat responsible. Had he been home, Gabriel probably never would’ve gone to Belfast. “Tell me honest. Are you drinkin’ too much?”
<
br /> “No.” Not meeting Sean’s eyes, Gabriel shook his head. “I just need some time, Seany. Let Da cool his heels a bit. I’ll not cause any trouble.”
“All right, then. Get settled and come down and have supper.”
“Thanks.” The single word sounded as if it scorched Gabriel’s tongue.
Sean’s expression finally softened. Gratitude wasn’t an easy sentiment for any Kelly, but for his brother, it was especially difficult. “I’m glad to see you, mate,” he said, as Gabriel’s clear blue eyes finally lifted to meet his. “Really, I am.”
As soon as the door closed, Gabriel began rifling through his bag and closed his eyes in disgust as his fingers wrapped around the bottle he’d purchased as soon as his plane had landed. He started to pull it out when the door flung back open.
“One more thing: please telephone our mother. She’s beside herself with worry and will be glad to know you’re not dead in a ditch.”
Shame flooded through Gabriel’s veins so quickly his voice couldn’t hide it. “Aye, I will.”
“No need to sound so repentant to me, Brother.” Sean chuckled. “You’re the one that left without telling her. I’d say you’re well deserving of the guilt trip she’s going to take you on.”
As his brother’s footsteps faded, Gabriel released the bottle and pulled the zipper back over it. He went to the closet, opened the door, and flung the bag inside. “Are you drinkin’ too much?” he mockingly repeated his brother’s question then slammed the door closed. From out of nowhere, tears began to stream freely down his cheeks as he turned his back to the door and slid to the floor. Weeping silently, he pulled Tess’s letter out of his pocket and read again the now bitterly familiar words.