by Merry Farmer
Jason Throckmorton and Flossie Stowe were as much in love as Alex had ever seen two people to be. For the past week, since Mr. Throckmorton had fallen ill with influenza, Alex had made daily trips to the hotel to check on his condition. The illness had struck him particularly hard, but throughout it all, Flossie was with him. She sat on the side of Mr. Throckmorton’s bed, holding his hand and stroking his feverish brow as Alex had explained the course of the disease to her. All around Mr. Throckmorton’s room was evidence that the connection between him and Flossie was far, far more than employer and employee. They lived together. Anyone could work that out.
When Mr. Throckmorton’s fever broke and he regained coherence, he and Flossie had bantered like an old married couple whenever Alex was there to treat him. Mr. Throckmorton wanted to get out of bed and get back to work, but Flossie wouldn’t have it. She’d won the argument too, which had reduced Mr. Throckmorton to whining like a child over the slightest thing. His complaints only stiffened Flossie’s resolve…which seemed to be exactly what both of them were most comfortable with. Flossie Stowe, humble working girl and hotel maid, kept the mighty Jason Throckmorton in the palm of her hand.
Alex’s heart turned over in her chest at the thought as she pushed through the door to the hospital. Try as she did not to envy Flossie for everything she had, Alex would have traded places with the girl in a heartbeat if it meant she could have a love like that. Nothing could break through the bond that Flossie and Mr. Throckmorton had formed, whereas the tiniest thing had utterly decimated the bond she thought she’d formed with George.
She laughed bitterly and shook her head at herself as she crossed through the waiting room, glad that the number of people waiting to be seen by a doctor had diminished in the last few days. The very strength of her longing for George was the reason she hated herself so much. How could she still reserve a part of her heart for a man who had none? How could she keep herself awake at night with the memory of his touch when he was the blackest villain she had ever known? She hated George Fretwell and everything he had reduced her to almost as much as she loved him. But even now, that love was like the faint and broken strains of a song that couldn’t quite be remembered.
Sick with the thought, she turned the corner into the hospital office.
Marshall was standing at the desk, looking over the clipboard of notes she’d been keeping on each of the hospital’s patients.
Her heart leapt up from the mire it had sunk into and fluttered at the sight of him.
“Dr. Pycroft,” she said. The first smile to touch her in more than a week vaulted to her lips. “You’re back.”
Marshall blinked in surprise and glanced up to her. “Dr. Dyson.” His face was wan and pale. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. The lines around those eyes that usually hinted at smiles and good humor now only seemed to show age and exhaustion.
Alex tossed the medical bag on the chair by the door and rushed closer to him, heart thumping. “How was London?” She stopped a few feet short of him, though the odd urge to greet him with an embrace was powerful. But of course she had missed him. The hospital had been a madhouse in the last week, she had missed his help and counsel, and he was her friend.
Marshall let out a long breath and shook his head. He lowered the clipboard and his head and shoulders with it. “London was a disaster. I never should have gone.”
“But the girls.” Alex took a half step closer to him. “What happened? We’ve heard so little of the details, only that one moment everything was fine and the next Eileen had whisked them away.”
Marshall arched an eyebrow with such venom that Alex pressed a hand to her chest. “I was duped,” he said.
“Duped?” Alex swallowed. It sounded far too close to how she felt about her own situation.
“Eileen and the entire Danforth clan have been plotting against me this whole time.” Marshall dropped the clipboard on the desk. The clack as it landed underscored his words. “They have deliberately run things through the court with every kind of subterfuge and underhanded trick that you could imagine.”
“But…but how?”
“By preventing notice of important hearings from reaching me,” Marshall explained, anger resting just under the surface of his words. “By painting a picture of me to the High Court as an incompetent, single father of little means.”
“But you’re a doctor,” Alex insisted. She inched another step closer to him. “You are a prominent physician here in Brynthwaite, head of a hospital.”
Marshall barked a laugh and rubbed a hand over his tired face. “According to the testimony of Percival Danforth, I am a country doctor in a forgotten province with little means and even less time. I hold this position because I could not make a success of myself in any other situation. I offer the girls no future and do not have the wherewithal to care for them on my own.”
Alex’s chest tightened in outrage. “But that’s simply not true. You’re a fine doctor and an even better father.” She stepped to within a few feet of him as she spoke. “Anyone who knows you could see as much, and any court that would ignore that is blind and corrupt.”
“Which is exactly what they are.” Marshall sighed. He moved away from her to sink into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “The Danforths are wealthy. They are also almost all solicitors and lawyers themselves. They have connections in every branch of the court system that have allowed them to obstruct me while speeding their own interests along.”
Alex slipped into the chair beside him, sitting on the edge and leaning toward him. “Is the law so corrupt that they can get away with this?”
“I’m afraid it is,” Marshall sighed. “Jason’s people are doing everything they can to help me.” He glanced up at her, defeat poking through the anger in his expression. “Jason Throckmorton,” he clarified. “He’s one of my truest friends.”
“Yes, I know.” Alex nodded. “He’s been down with influenza this week. I’ve been treating him.”
“How is he?” A twist of concern took the place of Marshall’s frustration for a moment.
“Recovering well,” Alex reported. “Flossie is taking good care of him.”
Marshall’s brow flew up. A moment later, it sank once more. “His people are competent and powerful in London, but they are up against titans.”
“Can anything be done?” Alex scooted closer to him. On impulse, she reached for his hand as it rested on the arm of his chair, covering it with hers.
Marshall let out a heavy breath, staring at her hand. He shook his head, and slowly turned his palm up to clasp her hand. “I don’t know.” With his other hand, he rubbed his forehead. “I was only able to see the girls once when I was down there. Even then, bloody Danforth insisted that the police were present and that we meet at his offices.”
“Oh dear.” Alex squeezed his hand.
“They were frightened out of their wits.” A burst of emotion filled his voice and his expression pinched with pain. “Mary was so brave, and Molly tried, but Martha cried the whole time and clung to me in terror. When it was time for them to leave….” He shook his head, refusing to continue, eyes pressed shut.
“Oh, Marshall. I’m so sorry.” Alex closed her other hand over the one that already held his. Her own problems seemed trivial compared to his. The story filled her heart near to bursting with sadness. If only there was something she could do to help her friend.
After a few deep breaths to steady himself, Marshall went on. “Before he fell ill, Jason charged his man of business in London, Darlington, with hiring a lawyer who specializes in matters of the High Court. That man, Olivet, insists he is hard at work looking for ways to overturn the court’s ruling. I want to put my trust in him to find justice, but….”
“But it’s nearly impossible to have hope when dealing with a monster who believes he’s above the rules,” Alex finished on a sigh. She knew it too well. There were good, honest people in the world and there were callous, black-hearted ones, and it was not always the go
od people who won out in the end.
They sat in silence for a few moments, hands joined in solidarity. At last, Alex took a breath and said, “The hospital has been busy while you were gone. There have been dozens of cases of influenza. We are fortunate that it has not been as dangerous as in other counties. We’ve had no fatalities thus far, and fewer new cases have come in during the last two days. I am glad to have you back to deal with what we’ve got.”
Marshall nodded, drawing in a breath to pull himself together. “I am happy to be back. I can continue to do my job, at least. And to help you. To be here for you.”
A strange look came over him. He shifted in his chair and clasped his free hand over hers in an intimate twine of palms and fingers. His eyes lifted slowly to meet hers.
“I can’t tell you what you mean to me, Alexandra,” he said, voice low and tremulous. “Since you came here, my burdens have been easier. Your help here at the hospital has been a godsend.”
“And your willingness to hire me was a blessing and a gift,” she replied, though her breath came in shallower gasps as prickles infused her. There was more to his words, something deeper and unexpected waiting.
He leaned closer to her. “You are a fine doctor, but I have come to value your friendship, your moral support, far more than your medical skill. This has been a difficult time for me, but just knowing you are here, that you support me, has made all the difference in my life.”
“I’m…I’m pleased to do what I can.” The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the intensity of emotion in Marshal’s eyes.
“The fact is, Alexandra,” he went on, voice softer, hands warm and tight around hers. “Aside from Jason and Lawrence, who are more like brothers to me, you are the dearest friend I have.”
A bittersweet twinge of longing plucked at her heart. “You are a good friend too, Marshall.”
She questioned her judgment in speaking those words aloud, questioned them all the more at the spark they ignited in his eyes. She felt as though she’d hurled the two of them headlong at a cliff.
“Alexandra, I can’t hold my peace anymore,” he went on, confirming her alarming suspicions. She wanted to pull back, but she couldn’t. “You are my friend, but I think of you as so much more. I wish so much more. I know it is completely beyond me, and at this point in my life my heart is the last thing I should be considering, but I have nothing else to lose, nothing else to pin my hopes to. Alexandra, in these last few months of our acquaintance, I have come to adore and to…to love you.”
Alex sucked in a breath. Electric currents of shock and uncertainty zipped through her arms and unsettled her heart and stomach. Marshall. In love with her. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t hold a thought in her head. Marshall, her fellow doctor. The man she’d worked side-by-side with for all this time. Not once had she stopped to consider him as a man, as a possibility. Not once had she dreamed that this competent, suffering friend of hers could have romantic feelings, let alone feelings directed at her.
Her mind reeled, bouncing from thought to thought. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
She pulled her hands away from his and slid back in her seat.
A deep, red flush came to Marshall’s cheeks as he too recoiled. “I’m so terribly sorry,” he stammered. “I…I don’t know what came over me. That was….” He stood and marched away, rounding the desk to put it between them and refusing to face her. “That was unforgivable of me.”
Alex gulped in a breath. She pressed a hand to her racing heart. Her own face was heated with surprise and embarrassment and some deeper feeling.
Marshall. In love with her.
She pushed herself to her feet, forcing a smile. “Please don’t let it trouble you,” she said, too fast for her own comfort. “I understand. You are in an emotionally difficult situation. Sometimes things are said that are….” Are what? Sweet? Horrifying? Baffling?
He loved her. No one should love her. No one at all. Especially not after the fool she’d made of herself. She didn’t deserve anyone’s love after George.
Good God, Marshall knew every detail about George, knew what she’d done. She’d confided in him. He knew all that and had still made a declaration of love.
She stood where she was, smoothing her skirts and wringing her hands. What did one say when one’s trusted friend declared their love? How did one go on?
“Now is not the time to discuss this,” she said, clearing her throat. “We have a full cadre of patients to see to. Perhaps you would like me to give you a quick tour of the hospital and its patients, and then we can see to treating new cases and perhaps go over the schedule of surgeries now that you have returned. We’ve had to postpone a few non-vital surgeries in your absence, but now that you are returned, we can see to them.” She was babbling, but it seemed in that moment that babbling was precisely what Marshall needed.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, turning back to her. His face was beet-red, but more serious and filled with purpose. “If you will lead on, Dr. Dyson, I will follow. Has Mrs. Gregson returned with any complaints about her gall bladder?”
Alex melted with relief at the return to business. “No, not as of yet. But I believe a home visit would be in order.”
Marshall strode up to her side, and together the two of them continued out to the hall, all business. Whatever confessions had been made, whatever declarations continued to wait under the surface, they were well and truly swept under the carpet. Only, Alex wondered how long they could be kept there and what the consequences of them would be.
Lawrence
The only positive thing that had happened to Lawrence in a week was running into Marshall as he exited Brynthwaite’s train station. Marshall was the last person Lawrence expected to see. He’d thought his friend was still in London, hoped that he was making progress with his girls. There hadn’t been time for Lawrence to get the entire story, Marshall had had to run on to the hospital right away, but he’d paused long enough to tell Lawrence there was little progress and even less hope.
Lawrence mulled over that grim pronouncement as he stepped into Brynthwaite’s post office. The room was crowded with men and women whispering gossip as they waited for the postmaster to fetch their mail or send or receive telegrams, but Lawrence heard little of it. There had to be something someone could do for Marshall. He was certain Jason had his people in London involved, just as he had his solicitor, Beach, up in Grasmere ferreting out information to help Matty’s cause.
Matty. Lawrence let out a sigh and ran an anxious hand through his overlong hair. It had been nearly two weeks since he had been able to see her. He’d barely managed to get a few letters to her. Hardly anyone knew where Mother Grace’s cottage was in the woods. After Marshall left for London and Jason fell ill, there was no one at all who could take a message, aside from a pair of young girls who worked in the shops and took deliveries to Mother Grace. Lawrence wasn’t sure he wanted to involve those innocent girls in his troubles, but if he didn’t see Matty again soon—if only to hold her and kiss her and reassure her that everything would be all right—he might burst.
Worst of all, Hoag was getting closer.
“That’s the third cottage near the forest that’s burned this week,” Mrs. Mercer, the greengrocer’s wife, murmured to her friend as they waited in line.
“The third?” Mrs. Harrison gaped. “In a week? Blimey.”
“Someone’s up to no good, I tell you,” Mrs. Mercer went on. “I could have believed that Pearson woman was careless with her kitchen fire and burned her place down, but I would never believe that Emma Grange was careless for a moment.”
“So you don’t think they’re accidents, then?”
“Never. Those fires were deliberate. I’d be shaking in my boots if I lived anywhere near the forest right now.”
Lawrence swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. Those fires were his fault. Not directly, but there was no mistaking they were meant as signs. Hoag knew Matty was in the fores
t somewhere. He’d learned enough to figure that out, though the cottages he was burning were nowhere close to Mother Grace’s. Hoag probably felt as though he was getting close, making Lawrence sweat and perhaps grow careless enough to go to Matty. In fact, all the arsons were doing was filling Lawrence with crushing guilt and the sense that if he didn’t act soon, more innocent people would be hurt.
But he couldn’t risk Matty’s life. He couldn’t put her in danger when so much still hung in the balance. If only Beach could find evidence of Matty’s innocence. If only Hoag would grow tired of his campaign of terror and leave the innocent people of Brynthwaite alone.
A heavy silence around him shook Lawrence from his troubled thoughts. He glanced up to find half a dozen sets of eyes staring at him. The post office was still crowded and the postmaster continued to conduct his business, but the women who had been waiting near him and a handful of others had edged away from him. They stood clustered at the far end of the room, giving him a wide berth and waiting for him to do something.
“Good morning.” Lawrence nodded and tried to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary.
Not a soul in the post office replied to him. Their staring continued. The postmaster finished with the gentleman at the counter, who eyed Lawrence askance before edging around him and bolting for the door. No one in the post office moved, so Lawrence cleared his throat and stepped up to the counter.
“I was wondering if you had a telegram for me,” he asked in a low voice. The stares of the post office patrons bored into his back.
The postmaster frowned and darted a glance to the others waiting. “I’ll get to the likes of you when I’ve finished with the decent folk who’ve got business.”
“What’s wrong with him?” one of the customers deeper into the mass keeping their distance from Lawrence muttered.
“The law’s after him,” Mrs. Harrison snapped.
“Then what’s he doing here?” the curious patron went on.
