The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  “Or something,” he replied grimly and switched off his light.

  Chapter 25

  Sean stood at the top of the bleachers looking down on Hugh Middleton, who was stretching and warming up for his morning run. His mentor was dressed in running shorts, a T-shirt, and that blasted Bulldogs cap, making Sean expel a low, moaning sigh. He was a farm lad—not a runner. After a day’s work at Kells Down, a man was too exhausted to think about exercise.

  Dr. Middleton hadn’t noticed him, so Sean stole another minute in the mid-spring sun that had broken the horizon and warmed his back. He uttered a small prayer that he hadn’t ruined his chances of getting a much-needed recommendation from Hugh Middleton by speaking with Tim Patterson. The idea that one rash act might have thrown away a year’s work gave Sean a sick feeling in his stomach and kept him awake much of the night. Then again, he thought optimistically, if Dr. Middleton planned on sacking him and sending him back to Ireland, then why go to the trouble of having him come to the track? Feeling more confident, Sean took a deep, heartening breath and started down the steps. His father had taught him to take it like a man, and he intended to do just that. Although he dreaded the lecture he was about to receive and dreaded even more the laps he was about to run, he was grateful for all that Norbury’s headmaster had taught him. If ever he were blessed with the opportunity to head his own school, he would follow the excellent example Hugh Middleton had set for him. “With one exception,” Sean vowed then and there, “there would be none of this bloody running business.”

  “Mornin’, sir,” he greeted Dr. Middleton humbly. If the man was in coaching mode, a bit of trepidation on his part could go a long way.

  “Kelly.” Dr. Middleton gave him a curt nod and crossed his arms over his chest. “Thanks for coming out so early this morning. You and I have a few matters that need hashing out, and I thought we could do so while I took my run. Any objections?”

  A few matters? Sean swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “Good. Start stretching then. I wouldn’t want you to get a cramp.”

  Sean did as he was told, cagily eyeing Hugh Middleton every few seconds.

  “You really aren’t much of a runner, are you, son?” Dr. Middleton asked as he waited.

  “No, sir, can’t say as I am.”

  “Then can I ask how you maintain” —he paused and made a gesture to Sean’s physique—“that! I realize you’re still a young man, but I’ve seen your appetite.”

  Sean chuckled. “Well, sir, what part of my life I wasn’t astride a horse, I was behind a pitchfork. Even when I was away at school, me father expected me home most weekends and bank holidays to work the stables. As for runnin’, me grand-da always said the Irish aren’t known for bein’ in a hurry because there isn’t far to go in Ireland. And the landscapes being the finest you’ve ever set your eyes on, might as well take your time and stroll wherever it is you’re going. Eh?”

  Sean’s Irish charm rarely failed him, but Dr. Middleton didn’t seem overly impressed. “Luckily there’s not much to look at ’round here. Let’s go.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sean replied gamely, figuring it was a fair match. Being a regular runner, Middleton would have endurance on his side, but Sean was almost twenty years younger, giving him the advantage of youth.

  By the time they had finished their eighth lap around the quarter-mile track, Sean began to realize the error in his deductions. Still pounding the pavement strong, Hugh Middleton hadn’t uttered a word and the pace he’d set was giving Sean a searing burn in his left side. He was beginning to fear that he might be curled up on the ground, clutching his side, and crying for his mammy before the man got on with it.

  “I had an unpleasant call from Mrs. Tully yesterday afternoon,” Dr. Middleton said as they rounded the last turn of their ninth lap. “You remember her?”

  “Of course,” Sean huffed, “Toby Patterson’s case worker.”

  “That’s right. The woman was understandably fit to be tied. She said one of my staff went over to the prison and had a sit down with Tim Patterson. I told her in no uncertain terms that none of my people would be stupid enough to do such a thing. But seems I was wrong. Would you like to elaborate?”

  Dr. Middleton was breathing hard and had broken a good sweat, but Sean was wringing wet and almost too winded to talk. “I’d be—glad to—sir,” he wheezed, hitching for air, “but—could we—rest for a bit?” Unable to run any further, Sean stopped at the bleachers and collapsed on the bottom bench, breathing loudly, and pressing a hand to the sharp, gripping pain in his left side.

  Shaking his head, Dr. Middleton stopped too. He grabbed two bottles of water out of his gym bag and handed one to Sean. “Here, drink this.”

  “Thank you,” Sean gasped as he unscrewed the cap and drank more than half the contents in one gulp.

  “Don’t drink so fast! Breathe deep and expand your belly when you do so. It’ll ease the pain.”

  Sean nodded and inhaled more slowly. When he finally began to catch his breath, he looked up at Dr. Middleton, knowing he had no excuse to give the man. He was in the wrong—no two ways about it—and an apology was all he had to offer. “I’m sorry you heard about my going to see Tim Patterson from Mrs. Tully,” he started but then paused long enough to drink down the last of his water and mop his face with the end of his shirt before going on, “Had I known word would get back to you so quickly, I would have telephoned. Truth is, I’d every intention of telling you yesterday, but as I’m sure you and half the state of Georgia have heard by now, I’d a wife needed dealing with.”

  Dr. Middleton’s eyes brightened at the mention of Catie. “Oh, I heard all right. Say, did she really—”

  “She did,” Sean interrupted, not caring to hear the rest of the question.

  “That Catie,” said Dr. Middleton, laughing. “She’s a real spitfire, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but I’m worried. I know Delia Reynolds’ father is wealthy with a lot of pull in Savannah. What if he sends the police ’round to arrest my wee spitfire?”

  Dr. Middleton sat down beside Sean. “I wouldn’t worry about John Reynolds. He loves his daughter, but he knows Delia all too well. Problem is, he’s given her everything money can buy but lacked in giving her boundaries and discipline. My guess is he’d like what happened on Bull Street yesterday to be forgotten sooner rather than later. You’ll hear no more from Delia Reynolds…I’ve no doubt.”

  Looking relieved, Sean nodded and leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know going to see Tim Patterson showed real incompetence on my part. I wouldn’t hold it against you, sir, if you sacked me. Christ knows I’d probably sack meself.” Sean began to slowly rub his hands together, a habit that always helped him organize his thoughts. “In the Gaelic, Kelly or Ceallach means strife. Me da says in Irish history the Kellys were great warriors, but nowadays, our conflict’s mostly within ourselves. It may be he’s right…maybe I’m just too bloody impetuous to be a headmaster.”

  “Hogwash,” Hugh Middleton scoffed. “I mean no disrespect to your father, but you can’t keep looking back if you want to go forward. You’re on American soil now, Sean; start thinkin’ like one of us for a change. Your destiny is yours to make.”

  “My destiny?”

  Dr. Middleton took off his Bulldogs cap. “I’d like to offer you a job. In old Montague’s will, she left Norbury the funds for a full-time administrative assistant. The salary’s good. You and that spitfire of yours could make a nice start here in Savannah. Norbury would be fortunate to have you and…thing is…I’d like to have you.”

  Sean sat up and stared at Dr. Middleton for a long moment. “You mean I lost sleep afraid you were either going to sack me or make me run until I was half-dead or both, and you brought me out here to offer me a job?”

  Hugh Middleton laughed. “Don’t think for a second I wasn’t mad. Had I gotten my hands on you after that Tully woman chewed my ass off yesterday afternoon, there’s a good chance I would have made you run until y
ou were half-dead and taken great pleasure in doing so. Luckily for you, I’ve simmered down a bit.”

  Never did Sean think getting towed could be a blessing, but he was suddenly grateful for the long afternoon of runarounds he’d gone through to get the Wagoneer out of impound.

  “I said going to see Tim Patterson was stupid, and I meant it. Thank goodness I have a few connections over Tully’s head, or Norbury might have lost some of its funding or worse: Toby might have been moved to another program.”

  Sean cast Hugh Middleton a frowning glance. It was foolish of him not to consider all the ramifications. “Dr. Middleton — ”

  “Let me finish.” Dr. Middleton put up a hand. “There’s no doubt what you did shows inexperience, but it also shows how much you care. Sean, your heart is in the right place, and that’s what really matters. It’s right that you have much to learn — such as sitting down and thoroughly thinkin’ a situation through before you act. Take this Patterson case for example, I know you think Tim Patterson to be innocent, and I realize how Toby’s utterances to you and your brother have burdened you with a need to discover what really happened that night. But in this business, you have to accept that you can’t fix everything.”

  “There’s more to it than that now,” Sean said quietly. “About Mr. Hill, according to Tim Patterson, he and his wife left North Carolina to get away from her step-father. Patterson told me the man was obsessed with Toby’s mother, infatuated. When she was a teenager, Vernon Hill wouldn’t allow boys to call ’round, and he stalked her when she left the house like he was in love with her.”

  Hugh Middleton looked surprised. “Did he ever…”

  “Patterson didn’t know.” Sean shook his head. “He said that, once they were away, his wife never talked about it. He did say she was terrified of Vernon Hill. He was adamant that whatever happens, we need to do all that’s in our power to keep Toby from being sent to North Carolina.”

  Dr. Middleton sighed audibly as the information settled over him. “You don’t think Hill could’ve been the one who killed Toby’s mother.”

  Sean shrugged. “Tim Patterson didn’t think so. He said they hadn’t had any contact with the man in years. Vernon Hill probably wouldn’t have even known Toby existed had Georgia’s social service agency not contacted him.”

  “Great day in the morning! What a fine mess.” Dr. Middleton looked thoughtfully out over the athletic field.

  “Surely the judge hearing Hill’s request for custody will consider Tim Patterson’s statement,” Sean said hopefully.

  “Tim Patterson is a convicted murderer. Any statement he gives is about as valuable as a bucket without a bottom.”

  “Damn,” Sean breathed.

  “Listen, Sean.” Dr. Middleton put a paternal hand on his young intern’s shoulder. “I promise to do all I can to keep Toby from being sent to North Carolina, but I can’t perform miracles. In the end, we’ll both have to accept the law’s ruling and God’s will. All we can do is pray and accept. Do you believe that?”

  “I don’t like it, sir, but, aye…I believe it.”

  “Good man, now about this job.” Sean opened his mouth to say something, but Dr. Middleton stopped him again. “I don’t want an answer now. Mull it over and talk to Catie about it. All right?”

  “Right.” Sean smiled for the first time that morning. “I shall, Dr. Middleton.”

  ***

  Life is a journey. Never can you know when you set out on a path where that path may lead. Five years ago, Sean had struck out across the Irish Sea for England and a summer job that would give him the needed funds to complete another year’s education. What he found, however, was Catie—his soul mate. Likewise, when he came to America, he wasn’t looking to pull up stakes and start a new life for him and his wife. Then again, he reasoned, hadn’t the Irish been doing just that for more than a century—pulling up stakes? Awake before the alarm, Sean laid still in the quietness, listening to Catie breathe. How could he turn down such a golden opportunity? Then again, how could he ask her to uproot and leave behind the people and places she so dearly loved? They were leaving for home in less than a week, and Sean hadn’t given Dr. Middleton his answer. He sighed quietly. He also hadn’t mentioned the job offer to Catie. Naturally, she’d have her say on the matter and then some. She’d level those damn eyes of hers on him and call him “insufferable” for keeping such a thing to himself. From the first time Sean had gotten lost in Catie’s eyes, they had brought him a great deal of joy and torment in equal measure. It was good that he appreciated that about her. Catie might think him insufferable, but Sean needed to think this thing through and settle it in his own mind before laying it out between them.

  There was a long, low creak, then a soft shutting sound from below. Old houses have few secrets, he wife liked to say. Etta had come to start breakfast, and Sean smiled. The day Etta bumped into Catie in the square had been nothing short of a blessing for each of them, and Providence had intervened again. It was like stepping outside your door and finding a new bloom beside your walk that you never planted. Challongate Hall, the long-time Montague residence, was donated to Norbury with the sole purpose of creating a place for those students who had aged out of the government social service system but had no family to rely upon. Vast, empty Challongate Hall would soon be alive with the voices and commotion of young men, Norbury graduates who would find within its walls a safe haven until they could complete a higher education or learn a trade. When Dr. Middleton told Sean he needed a housemother who would steer a tight ship with a motherly hand, Sean knew immediately Miss Etta was perfect for the job. Once Hugh Middleton interviewed Etta Oliver, he wholeheartedly agreed, and it was done. Sean and Catie couldn’t have been happier for their friend.

  It was overcast and misting as a grey daylight cast the lace curtains in outline, revealing to Sean the two large shipping trunks and many suitcases that littered their bedroom floor. The last few days, Catie had been packing their clothes and shoving bits and bobs into every sliver of space available with all the zest of a squirrel expecting an especially long winter. Tonight, he decided; he would tell her tonight. “Catie, darlin’,” he whispered, brushing a curl from her cheek and softly kissing the spot it had occupied. “Time to wake.”

  ***

  After lunch, Sean waited for Vernon Hill in Norbury’s small conference room. Mr. Hill’s petition for custody was moving its way through the Chatham County courts at a snail’s pace, and because of the delay, the man hadn’t made the drive from North Carolina to Georgia in almost a month. Sean was reminded that there was the odd occasion when a person could have a profound appreciation for bureaucracy.

  Restless, he stepped over to the window. He would be professional and show courtesy to Vernon Hill, though in his mind he knew him for the sick bastard Tim Patterson had described. Sean’s thoughts turned to Toby’s mother—a girl who fled an abusive stepfather with a man she thought would free her and keep her safe—but it wasn’t that simple. ‘From the frying pan to the fire’ was the phrase Sean’s granny would use. Tim Patterson was nineteen and unskilled with the responsibility of a teenage wife who became pregnant less than a month after they left North Carolina. Not able to provide properly and overwhelmed, the young man turned to drink. Then, when his wife began to badger him about drinking instead of working, he turned to violence. It was a tragic story and one as old as time itself.

  The door opened, making Sean turn. Vernon Hill looked weary, unkempt, and unwell. His appearance had altered so much that years might have passed rather than a month since Sean last saw him. Tied over his right shoulder was a dingy, white cloth that served as a sling. It was such a crude remedy that Sean was sure it wasn’t the work of a doctor. “Have you hurt yourself, sir?”

  “Plantin’ ’baccy sprouts’s hard work.” Mr. Hill eyed Sean’s pleated trousers and waistcoat. “Not that you…ken the like.”

  Hill’s speech was slow and he swayed unsteadily as he spoke, making Sean wonder whether he�
�d been drinking. “I was reared on a farm in rural Ireland, so beggin’ yer pardon, sir, I ken the like fine.”

  If Vernon Hill was surprised by Sean’s declaration, he was too out of sorts to be interested. “If you’d just fetch the boy, I’m…I’m feelin’ poorly and need to get back on the road.” The elderly man stumbled as he tried to make his way to a chair, and Sean came quickly to his side.

  “Are you all right, sir? Shall I call a doctor?” he asked, trying to get a whiff of alcohol. If Vernon Hill was drunk, Toby shouldn’t be brought to him.

  “No,” Hill declined, squinting at Sean as if he were trying to focus. “It’s only…bad headache, makin’ me a touch dizzy. Came over me . . .’bout an hour ago.”

  Sean’s brows drew together as he helped the man lower into a chair. Hill wasn’t drunk. He was having some sort of seizure—or worse. “Mr. Hill, I’m afraid you could be having a stroke. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

  Hill stared absently at Sean. “Am-lance,” he repeated, seeming to decline more with each ticking second.

  As Sean carefully put down Mr. Hill’s limp left hand to go for help, he saw there, between the thumb and forefinger, among age spots and sun-weathered skin, an odd raise—a single scar. Stunned, Sean blinked, but there was no denying it. It was the very same scar that marked Toby Patterson’s arms in multitude. His eyes lifted and met those of Vernon Hill. “My God,” he said, quiet and shocked. “It was you.”

  There was a spark of clarity in Hill’s eyes followed by an expression like thunder. “What’s that boy been sayin’? He’s a liar…a…a liar like ’is mama.” Then, as if something fantastical happened over top of Sean’s head, Hill’s eyes went wide and a strangled grunt came from his throat.

  The whole scene was surreal and reminded Sean of a poorly acted movie that played on late night television. “Mr. Hill!” he yelled just as the man collapsed unconscious in his arms, heavy and smelling of cigarette smoke, outdoors, and body odor. “Help!” Sean screamed towards the door. “Someone call an ambulance!”