by A.J. Dixon
Chapter 2
Sorcha’s tension eased as she stepped into the warm, large kitchen. The room was well lit by countless candles and lamps on all walls. A butcher-block table at the center held pork, pheasant, veal, and lamb, all in various stages of preparation. A maid in a crisp black uniform lifted a silver tray peppered with salmon rounds and moved through a doorway. An apple-shaped woman with a starched white cap and apron diligently stirred at the contents of a large, black pot over the fire, sniffing with approval at the contents within it.
She turned to smile warmly at the newcomer. “Welcome, lass! Look at those eyes. You must be Mistress Bryson’s daughter. Or Mrs. McClintock, as she is now. It seems only yesterday she was tumbling around in the great room with young Lydia and the others, racing in delight when I brought out the apple tarts.”
Sorcha found it hard to believe that her mother had ever tumbled around any floor, never mind raced for anything at all, but she quietly nodded her head.
The cook’s eyes twinkled. “The polish and sheen of everything a bit much for you, lass? I know how you feel. Come and have a seat by the fire. You look stretched thin. There’s fresh, hot bread just out of the oven and some sage butter to spread on it as well. That’ll set you just right, I reckon.”
Sorcha took in another deep inhale, savoring the aroma. She didn’t need a second prompting – she was starved. The tiny apartment her mother had gotten for them two miles down the road had strained their expenses, and she’d been living on crusts of bread and bowls of broth for the week they’d been in town.
The moment the cook placed a tray of food before her, Sorcha downed the first piece without breathing. She only paused on the second when the woman laughed out loud.
“Slow there, lass, you’ll get the hiccups! Here, have a swallow of claret with that. It’ll settle the nerves.” She handed over one of the pewter punch cups full of a ruby red liquid.
Sorcha took a tentative sip of it, and then smiled. Like everything else in this house, it was top notch.
The cook gave a stir to her stew. “My name is Mrs. Morton, but everybody here just calls me Biddy.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Biddy. You can call me Sorcha.”
Biddy gave a short curtsey. “Welcome to my kitchen, Miss Sorcha. So, have you been in Bath long?”
Sorcha took another bite of the bread. It was absolutely delicious. “About a week.”
“Oh? And what do you think of our lovely town?”
Sorcha gave a wry smile. “My mother didn’t want to risk the wintry air, so we stayed in our room with the curtains drawn. I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of it at all.”
Biddy shook her head, tut-tutting. “It’s a classic town with beautiful Roman architecture. I’m something of a painter, when I get my days off. I could sit in front of Bath Abbey for hours, trying to get the detail of those windows just right.” Her face glowed. “You really should get out and explore. Go on your own, if your mum wants to stay cooped up.”
Sorcha flushed, looking down. “Oh, I could never do that. My mother would be quite upset with me.”
Biddy’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, lass, you’re at an age where you need to set out on your own. Find your own adventures. Your mother can’t rule your life forever.”
Sorcha focused steadfastly on her cup of wine, drinking down another swallow. It certainly seemed that her mother would dominate her life for decades to come. At every event they attended, her mother demanded the spotlight. If anybody made even the slightest move toward talking to Sorcha, her mother would be quick to intervene, to claim that attention for herself. Sorcha could count on one hand the number of men who had shown interest in her.
Each one had been ruthlessly redirected by her mother.
Sorcha took another bite of her bread, shaking her head. She expected her mother would be thrilled if Sorcha simply vanished from view – perhaps stolen by the gypsies. It would give her mother the ideal stage on which to gain attention for decades to come.
But her mother would never let such a thing happen. The woman had high hopes for using Sorcha to gain her money, power, or both through a highly profitable marriage. Sorcha knew that the man chosen for her would be old, titled, rich, and wholly uninterested in his new bride. Her mother would make sure of it. She would never wish her daughter to be happy in her own household. That joy might eclipse her mother’s own claim on all attention.
Sorcha’s future stretched out before her, cold, dismal, and utterly hopeless.
From outside the back door came an enthusiastic stamping of feet. In a moment a man in a heavy overcoat pushed through the door, carrying a large wooden box. The strangest scratching and mewing noises came from within it.
The man’s voice was warm and merry. “I found them, Biddy! Every last one! They were tucked in that twisting crevice beneath the butcher’s stairs. The one you always told me the leprechauns lived in.”
Biddy’s round face lit up with delight. “Johnny, my lad, you are a lifesaver. Come, put that box in the corner by the fire. And then sit down yourself. You must be near frozen.”
Sorcha scooted her chair to the side. The man strode around the table to come up alongside her, plunking down the box. He drew off the lid –
Sorcha’s eyes grew round with delight. “Och! They’re kittens!”
Indeed, eight tiny balls of fur tumbled around within the box, their small eyes clenched shut. Their tiny paws were barely the size of Sorcha’s pinky fingernail. The smallest of the group was black with a white blaze on his forehead. Sorcha reached down to it, bringing it up to nestle it against her chest. It nuzzled in against her, making soft mewing sounds.
Biddy moved toward the side board. “Let me get the milk and rags. The poor little things will be hungry.”
Sorcha scrunched her kitten between its ears. “Where is their mother?”
Johnny’s voice roughened. “Julia’s carriage ran her down.”
Sorcha blinked in surprise. “The carriage what?”
Biddy nodded in agreement as she came over with a saucer of milk and a trio of clean rags. “I heard her clear as day. Her coachman was slowing to let the mum cat pass, and she ordered him to speed up. She didn’t want to miss a moment of this party.” Her gaze darkened. “I tell you, if I weren’t a good Christian woman …”
Sorcha took the offered rag and dipped it in milk. She presented the tip of the fabric to the tiny kitten, who eagerly began sucking.
Biddy smiled in appreciation. “You’ve done this before, lass.”
Sorcha leant back against her chair, creating a nook for the tiny waif. “I help my ‘boyfriend’ out with his veterinary practice whenever I can. Horses, cows, sheep, you name it. There’s often stray kittens around in need of tending.”
Biddy grinned. “It’s no surprise that a bonny lass like yourself has herself a boyfriend, and a doctor at that.”
Sorcha found herself laughing with a joy she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Oh, no, no,” she got out between tears. “Doctor Fitzroy must be nearly sixty! Everyone just calls him my boyfriend because, well, he’s the only man I’m out ever with.”
Johnny’s voice was a deep rumble. “I find that hard to believe.”
Sorcha grinned, turning –
Och, he was handsome.
She hadn’t really looked at him before, between the bustle of his entrance and the beautiful wealth of tumbling kittens he’d brought with him. But now that she was staring at him full on, her breath caught in her throat.
The firelight threw his face into perfect relief, with the muscular jaw and lustrous, dark hair. His eyes were a rich hazel, almost amber, and she felt she could delve into their depths forever. His body was toned, as if he led an active life. She wondered if he was the stable-hand for the house, or maybe Biddy’s son who lent a sure hand with the butchering. He seemed about twenty-five or so.
A slow smile traced his lips. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
Biddy’s voice floated in as if from a great distanc
e. “Ah, lad, this is Sorcha. She’s Mrs. McClintock’s daughter. They’re down all the way from Edinburgh, Scotland, don’t ya know. Her mum – Madeline – is related to Lydia. Second cousins, I believe. The girls used to play here together when they were lasses.”
Johnny put out his hand, giving a short bow. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss McClintock.”
Sorcha carefully adjusted her kitten, then put her hand into his.
The contact sent a tingle throughout her body, warming her soul. A burst of butterflies tumbled in her stomach, creating a giddy feeling that reached into every corner of her being.
His grip seemed firm, sturdy, and as if it could keep her safe in the darkest night.
He lowered his head to brush his lips against her skin.
Time stood still.
His eyes were full on hers as he raised his head again. “An honored guest, I see. Well then, Miss McClintock, we shall have to ensure your time here in Bath is as enjoyable as possible. A trip to remember.”
Sorcha could feel the flush all the way down to her toes.
Biddy adjusted the grey kitten’s position on her ample bosom, easing the moistened rag into its tiny face. “So, lass, why isn’t your father here? Is he off on another one of his sea-faring adventures?”
Sorcha nodded, bringing her attention back to her own tiny kitten. “He’s rarely home,” she explained. “He spends six months in Bombay, then another six in Cape Town, and so on, fully engrossed with his trade negotiations. Unfortunately, with all of his responsibilities, he’s only able to stop home for a few weeks at a time, every few years. But he keeps promising that someday soon he’ll be done with his explorations and come home for good.”
Biddy’s eyes shadowed with some sort of emotion, but her voice was warm. “I imagine you must treasure his visits, when he does finally return to you, lass.”
Sorcha smiled. “Oh, I do. He brings me fascinating gifts from all over. One time he brought me a carving of a crocodile from Jamaica. Another time it was a Buddha figuring from Ceylon. We’ll curl up together by the massive fireplace in our great room for hours, while he spins me tales of dangerous adventure and exotic, distant lands.”
She closed her eyes, sighing with warmth at the memory. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing the places he has. Of crossing the vast, beautiful, wildly disparate landscapes of our tapestry of a world.”
Johnny’s voice rumbled with compassion. “Maybe someday you shall see all those great sights for yourself.”
She opened her eyes; a short, barking laugh escaped her lips as she came back to reality. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down at the eagerly sucking kitten in her arms. “Not if my mother has anything to do with it. She seems convinced to keep me trapped in Edinburgh. This trip to Bath is the only time I’ve ever left Scotland, and I’m not even sure why we made the long journey. It’s not as if the Davenports are directly related to us. I think it’s only Aunt Lydia that she stays in touch with.”
Johnny smiled. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here.”
She looked up at him, and the amber eyes drew her in, soothed her -
A voice from the other room, one she knew all too well, rose high above the conversation. “Sorrr-cha!”
Sorcha winced. If her mother had resorted to yelling like that, undoubtedly she was in quite the bad mood already. And that could only mean pain to come.
She quickly placed the tiny kitten back into the box, giving it one last stroke before standing. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Thank you for the conversation.”
Johnny stood. “It was my pleasure.”
The word rumbled around in Sorcha’s heart long after she turned and scurried down the hallway.
