Jason nodded quickly, pressing his closed fist to his heart. “I’m never going to let go of this,” he said. “I’ll be holding it constantly, because I’ll constantly be missing you.”
Flossie broke into a warm, sad smile and cupped his face. “You’re a strong, wonderful man, Jason. You can do this, and you will come out on top. But if you need me, I’m just a telegram away.”
“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t care who was watching or how viciously Lady E would shout at him, he took Flossie in his arms and kissed her with every ounce of love his damaged heart had. He would be nothing without her. But she was wrong about him being strong. She was his strength. Without her, he would fail. The moment he let her go and stepped back onto the train, he would be walking into an utter disaster.
Lawrence
It was a minor miracle that Lawrence managed to get away from the forge without Elsie clinging to him. Part of him felt bad for slipping out while Elsie was engaged with whatever new divination method Mother Grace was trying to teach her, but the errand he needed to run had to be done alone.
“It’s all right,” Matty whispered to him as she crept out of the free-standing kitchen with him. “The fact that Elsie hasn’t noticed you leaving is a good sign.”
“I wish we could take this time to do other things,” Lawrence said, pulling Matty into his arms. Her stomach was beginning to be a noticeable hindrance between them, but he rather liked that. He pressed her back against the outer wall of the kitchen—a wall that would be part of their front parlor, once he had the time and materials to continue constructing the house—and kissed her as he would have in the heyday of summer.
Matty giggled, pushing at his chest with half-hearted effort. “I shouldn’t laugh,” she whispered once Lawrence let her go. “These are serious times. I’m worried about that package, about what it means, about everything.”
“Love will blossom, even in the darkest hours,” Lawrence said, stealing one more kiss. “Remember that if things get difficult.”
Matty sighed. “Other than those first few months here with you, I can’t remember a time when my life wasn’t difficult.”
With one final kiss, Lawrence let her go and headed into town. It grated against his last nerve to know that Matty’s life had been so difficult, and that it still was. He was a man, one who prided himself on his skills and quick thinking. He should be able to give her a better life than the one she had.
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his wool coat, closing one around the box that contained the bloodied doll’s head. It went against every instinct he had to take the matter to the police, but instinct told him that whatever was going on was too big for him to handle on his own. Elsie’s predictions hadn’t sat well with him either. Hoag was involved. He had to be. Even though he was rotting away in a prison somewhere, awaiting trial for murder. Hoag was the source of all his problems.
By the time Lawrence reached the outskirts of town, he was beginning to second-guess going straight to the police. What had seemed like a good idea in a room full of frightened women and children felt more like something he could handle on his own, after the walk into town. He wasn’t certain he was the best judge of his own feelings at the moment, so instead of heading into the police station, he kept walking through town, all the way to The Dragon’s Head. Jason would know what he should do.
“Is Mr. Throckmorton free?” he asked the young Irishman behind the desk once he entered.
“He’s gone, sir,” the man said. “Off to London.”
Lawrence winced at his own forgetfulness. Of course he was. He’d planned to see him off, to make sure he was all right with the journey. “Thanks anyhow,” he said to the Irishman, then turned to go.
He made it only a few steps before Flossie marched into the room from the back hall, Willy on her heels.
“Lawrence,” Willy said, bursting into a proud smile. “Did you come to see me at work? I have important things to do.” He hooked his thumbs through his suspenders and strutted with pride up to the desk.
The sight of Willy so happy was a surprising balm to the worries that pestered Lawrence. “I came to see Jason, actually,” he told Flossie. “But I forgot he’s leaving today.”
“I’m on my way to the station now. Do you want to walk with me?” she asked.
“If that’s all right with you,” Lawrence nodded.
“I’ll stay here and make sure the hotel runs smoothly,” Willy told them, striking a pose beside the desk. The Irishman chuckled and ruffled his hair.
“You’ve worked miracles with that boy,” Lawrence told Flossie as they headed out of the hotel and through the garden to the street.
“Willy just needed a little love and encouragement,” Flossie said in the modest way she had. She sent Lawrence a teasing sideways look. “And a healthy dose of hero worship to keep him from mischief. I swear, he’d rather cut off his right hand now than do anything to earn Jason’s displeasure.”
“I think they’re birds of a feather,” Lawrence said. A thought occurred to him, a variation of the much direr conversation he and Matty had had earlier. His smile turned to a frown. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something along those lines.”
“Oh?” Flossie glanced curiously to him as they hurried along toward the train station.
Lawrence ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to say all this except to blurt out all the frightening details.”
Flossie slowed her steps and studied him with widening eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Lawrence stopped and took the box out of his pocket. He didn’t want to hand it to Flossie—something that gruesome shouldn’t be inflicted on as pure a soul as hers—but he opened it to show her the contents.
Flossie gasped. “What is it?”
“It’s the head of Matty’s favorite doll. It’s been soaked in blood and sent to her without any other note or message,” Lawrence explained.
“That’s awful.” Flossie clamped a hand to her stomach.
The gesture encouraged Lawrence. It warmed him to see how early a woman’s instinct to protect her young kicked in, and it gave him hope that the fledgling plan he was hatching might work.
“Hoag has to be involved,” he said, closing the box and putting it back in his pocket. “Which means that Matty and the children could be in danger.”
“You should go to the police,” Flossie said with absolute certainty. “If not here, then in Grasmere.”
Lawrence’s brow shot up. He hadn’t thought to contact authorities in Grasmere instead of Brynthwaite. He might have better luck with a group of constables who didn’t already suspect him of every crime that happened in town.
“I think I will,” he said. “But I was wondering what you, and Jason, once he gets back, would think of keeping Willy at the hotel.”
“The hotel?” Flossie asked, walking on. “To what end?”
Lawrence ran a hand through his hair. “If Hoag is involved, if he’s somehow found a way to extend his influence beyond prison, Matty and the children should stay out of sight.”
“The hotel is hardly out of sight,” Flossie said.
“But it’s not where Hoag would expect him to be. And if the children were in different spots, it would be harder to corner them all and cause them harm,” he argued, inventing his reasons for doing things that way as he went along. “And if this does turn into something, I trust you and Jason to keep Willy safe.”
Flossie glanced sideways at him. “That’s a lot of trust.”
“You deserve it,” Lawrence said with a definitive nod.
Flossie smiled and was about to reply, but something caught her eye and she stopped with a short gasp. Lawrence turned to see what she’d seen. Across the street, where the road that led down to the lake branched off from the main road, a small caravan of Romani carriages had pulled over to the side of the road.
A sudden burst of excited anticipation hit Lawrence like a punch in the stomach. The carriages were painted t
he same way as the ones he’d seen before. Better still, he only spent a half second wondering if they were Barsali Moss’s band before Barsali himself popped his head out from around the carriage at the front.
“Cousin,” Barsali called, striding away from the caravan and toward Lawrence and Flossie.
“Do you know him?” Flossie asked, her hand on her stomach once more.
“We met briefly two months ago,” Lawrence explained, not taking his eyes off of Barsali as he approached. “His band were parked down by the lake. I ran across them by accident and had…an interesting conversation.” Those words seemed inadequate for the exchange he and Barsali had had.
Barsali crossed the street, approaching with a smile. “Is this your woman?” he asked, nodding to Flossie in a way that was both respectful and appreciative enough to have earned him a slap from Jason, if he’d been there.
“No, she’s a good friend,” Lawrence explained. “She belongs to a friend of mine.”
“Excuse me. Jason belongs to me,” Flossie corrected him with a sly, sideways look.
Barsali laughed. “Understood. A thousand apologies for my presumptiveness, my lady,” he said, bowing to Flossie.
“You are forgiven,” Flossie laughed.
Barsali touched his forehead, then straightened and turned to Lawrence. “I made that inquiry I told you I’d make.”
Lawrence’s heart suddenly seemed too big and its beats too powerful for his ribcage. “And?”
Barsali glanced to Flossie. “You do not mind if we discuss these things in front of your friend?”
Lawrence glanced to Flossie. He hadn’t told anyone about Barsali’s offer to inquire about his past, the possibility that his mother had been Romani and had left him at the orphanage all those years ago. He hadn’t told Jason or Marshall. He hadn’t even told Matty. But if anyone could keep the secret, it would be Flossie.
“It’s all right,” he said.
Barsali nodded, then burst into a smile. “As it turns out, as soon as I began to tell the story and inquire if anyone knew of a woman who had left a baby at an orphanage all those years ago, many people stepped forward who knew exactly who I was talking about.”
It felt as though the wind had been knocked out of Lawrence’s lungs. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” Barsali pressed a hand on his heart. “I swear it. Several people knew of a young woman who fell in love with a farmer’s son near our winter camp. But their love was thwarted once her parents found out. They took her away, but it was too late, she was already with child. They were in this area when the babe was born. Because the babe was a half-blood, and because the woman’s parents were cold-hearted, they forced her to leave the boy on the doorstep of a gadjo orphanage.”
“Oh, Lawrence,” Flossie gasped, laying a hand on his arm. “That’s wonderful. Was that you?”
“It might have been,” Lawrence answered, breathless with excitement. “Do you know more?” he asked Barsali. “Have you talked with the woman?”
“Frequently,” Barsali said with a broad smile. “She is my aunt, Naomi. I told you we were cousins.”
“Is there proof?” Lawrence stammered. “Is there any way to know for certain?”
Barsali shrugged. “I told my aunt about you. She says that if she can see you, she will know for certain.”
“Is she here?” Lawrence asked, glancing past him to the carriages. “Can I speak to her right now?”
“No, no, cousin,” Barsali laughed, holding up his hands. “Aunt Naomi has lived a hard life. She is not here. She lives much farther south, in Cornwall, where the weather is milder. But you’re welcome to travel with us,” Barsali went on. “We are about to leave. It may take us some time to reach the winter grounds in Cornwall, but you’re welcome to become a part of us.”
Something sang in Lawrence’s blood at the invitation. It was as if he’d been waiting his whole life to travel with the people of his heritage. He knew he belonged with them, knew it the same way he knew he had never belonged with the stolid people of Brynthwaite and their false morality. The prospect of roaming free across the countryside, putting his skills to use where he could and simply enjoying life the rest of the time, pulled at him in ways he couldn’t imagine.
“It might take some time to arrange,” he said, wishing it weren’t so.
Barsali hummed and rubbed the back of his neck. “We are leaving now,” he said. “There isn’t time to wait. You would have to come now or not at all.” Lawrence’s jaw dropped open, at least until Barsali added. “Or you would have to wait until we travel back this way again.”
A strange sort of relief passed through him. “When would that be?” he asked.
Barsali shrugged. “In the spring, when the weather is warm and the sky is blue again. If my brothers and sisters decide they want to visit the lakes again.”
“You’d wait for me then?” he asked. By spring, Matty would have had the baby. With any luck, the danger that had landed in their lap that morning would be resolved. Matty’s siblings could come with them, or, if they chose not to, there would be time to find them positions in Brynthwaite. Lawrence could be free of the pressing weight of responsibility that the life he’d fallen into represented. He could be where he belonged.
“We will see,” Barsali said, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” Lawrence answered.
He wanted to say more. He wanted to sit down with Barsali and ask more questions about the woman, Naomi, and how certain the others were that he could be her son. But before he could open his mouth, a train whistle sounded. Flossie gasped and gathered up her skirts, ready to run.
“I really have to get going,” she said. “Jason wouldn’t forgive me if I missed saying goodbye to him.” She started down the street with an apologetic look for Lawrence.
“Go with your friend, cousin. We will see each other again,” Barsali said.
He sounded so certain that Lawrence touched the edge of his cap to him, then took off down the street after Flossie. His heart felt lighter than it had in ages.
“That was amazing,” Flossie said as they mounted the stairs to the train station. “How many orphans are given the chance to discover where they come from?”
“Hardly any,” Lawrence said.
He would have said more, but at that moment, Jason leapt out of the train and charged toward Flossie like a bull at a red flag. Lawrence steered out of their way, eager to give the two of them a moment for a proper goodbye. Across the platform, he spotted Ted Folley, who looked to be accepting a shipment for his pub. Ted was one of the few people, aside from Jason and Marshall, whom he knew he could trust. Aside from that, as a pub owner, Ted was likely to hear the gossip of half of northern England from men who had a few too many. So Lawrence cut through the crowd to have a word with him.
“Ted,” he called out as he approached.
“Lawrence,” Ted smiled and nodded in return. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
Lawrence said a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess for giving Ted the brains to be both quick and smart. “I was wondering if you’d heard any gossip about Trevor Hoag recently,” he said, happy not to have to engage in formalities to get to the heart of the issue.
Ted shrugged. “Other than that friend of his, Bobbo, turning up dead in October?”
“Yes.” Lawrence nodded. “Anything new?”
“Not that I recall,” Ted said. “Why, have you heard something?”
Lawrence glanced around. The crowd on the platform was busy watching whatever dramatic goodbye Jason and Flossie were having, so he reached into his pocket and took out the box. Unlike with Flossie, he handed it straight over to Ted.
Ted opened the box, then let out a long, low whistle, followed by a muttered oath. “That’s blood caked on…is it a ragdoll’s head?”
“It is,” Lawrence said. “It belonged to Matty. She received it in the mail today just like this, no note or anything.”
“Bloody he
ll,” Ted said. “And you’ve no idea who sent it?”
“None at all,” Lawrence said. “But it has to have something to do with Hoag. Someone had to have broken into his house to get that.”
Ted handed the head over to Lawrence as he spoke and plucked the wadded newspaper out of the box. “Nope, no note,” he said, shaking the box as if one would appear out of nowhere. He handed the box back to Lawrence.
“Matty’s terrified now, and I can’t say I blame her. The children are upset as well. I want to be able to plan against whatever’s coming, but I don’t know—”
Lawrence stopped mid-sentence. Ted had uncrumpled the newspaper as he spoke, and as his eyes scanned over it, all color drained from his face.
Ted hissed another oath, then said, “There’s your note, mate.” He turned the newspaper toward Lawrence.
There, scrawled across the front in what looked like dried blood were the words, “I’m coming for you.” The message was written across an article accompanied by a poorly-done sketch of Hoag. The headline read, “Murder Suspect Escapes from Prison. Guards Fooled for Weeks.”
It was Lawrence’s turn to snap out a curse. The newspaper was dated just a few days ago, but the article, when he scanned it quickly, told a story of Hoag breaking out of prison weeks ago by bribing a crooked guard to take his place. He’d promised the guard buckets of money, but the idiot had been caught and confessed all. But the story was irrelevant. Hoag was on the loose and was coming for Matty.
Alexandra
The only thing worse than having Marshall hovering nearby, quietly exuding romantic desperation, was not having him there at all. Alex tried to ignore the feeling of wrongness, of missing something, as she marched through the hospital, making the rounds that Marshall usually made in the afternoon.
“Your kidneys seem to be recovering nicely, Mr. Fox,” she said after examining an elderly man in the men’s ward. “You should be back home with your family in no time.”
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part One Page 21
