Jason cleared his throat, and Marshall opened his eyes, turning toward the sudden flurry of footsteps at the far end of the hall. The sound preceded the moment Marshall had been longing for. Percival Danforth turned the corner first, wearing a thunderous frown, but a second behind him were Mary, Molly, and Martha.
“Papa,” Martha shouted the moment she saw him. She broke away from the woman in plain clothes who was holding her and Molly’s hands and tore down the hall toward him before anyone could catch her.
Marshall’s heart swelled with emotion so fast and with such potency that tears stung his eyes and an undignified cry of joy erupted from him. He dropped to one knee and extended his arms just as Martha reached him and flung herself against him, weeping hysterically.
“Martha, my darling, my love.” Marshall wept right along with her, squeezing her so tight that no one would be able to separate them again.
“Papa, Papa,” Mary and Molly joined the jubilant cries. Mary was dressed and held herself like a grown woman and was walking on her own, so no one could stop her as she darted forward, but Molly had to tug and struggle and finally stomp on the foot of the woman who held her to get away.
Marshall stood, Martha still in his arms, as his other two, dear girls reached him and hugged him for all they were worth, both crying as much as Martha.
“Papa, I missed you so much,” Mary managed through her tears. “It’s been awful, just awful.”
“Don’t ever let them take us again, Papa,” Molly agreed, sniffling and rubbing her face against his sleeve.
It was only as the initial rush of emotion began to steady itself that Marshall began to see details. All three of his girls had grown. They were wearing new clothes in the finest London styles and their hair was curled and dressed as if by maids. They’d gained a bit of weight as well, perhaps from eating rich foods and spending more time sitting properly than running about as children should. For the first time in their lives, they looked like Clara’s girls more than his. But that was where the resemblance would end if he had anything to say about it.
“What’s the commotion out here?” A grizzled, older man in a fine suit asked, sticking his head out of the nearby office.
“Girls! Get back here at once,” Danforth snapped at the same time.
“Insolent children,” Eileen said, marching down the hall with fury in her eyes. “What have I told you about being seen and not heard? This is unacceptable.”
She attempted to grab Martha by the arm and drag her out of Marshall’s arms, but by sheer force of will alone, Martha held onto his neck. All three of the girls wailed and shrank away from Eileen while grabbing hold of Marshall as though their lives depended on it.
But as important to Marshall as it was to protect his girls from ever falling into Danforth clutches again, his attention was diverted as St. Germaine leapt from his seat and crossed behind Marshall and his girls to the man who stood frowning at the proceedings.
“Your honor,” he said, offering a respectful hand to the man. “Nigel St. Germaine, solicitor and man of business for Mr. Jason Throckmorton. I’m serving as solicitor for Dr. Pycroft in this matter as well.”
“I say. This is highly irregular.” A tall, thin man in an impeccable suit marched forward from the Danforth party to wedge his way between St. Germaine and the grey-haired man, who Marshall was certain was the judge who would hear the case. He was equally certain the tall man was Danforth’s solicitor when the man gave the judge an obsequious half bow and said, “Francis Ledworth, esquire, at your service, your honor. And I am terribly sorry for the boorish intrusion of this second-rate solicitor.” Ledworth turned up his nose at St. Germaine and sniffed.
While the exchange was going on, Eileen had gestured for the woman in plain clothes to come forward. She managed to snatch Molly’s hand and attempted to tug her away. Molly let out an ear-splitting screech and clung to Marshall’s side.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Marshall attempted to reassure her, both because it wounded him deeply to see his dear girls frightened and because he was highly aware of the judge watching. “Papa is here now. I won’t let any harm come to you.”
Mary appeared to instantly catch on to Marshall’s plan. She straightened, holding her head high, wiped her eyes and said, “Yes, Papa. Would you like me to take Martha from you? I promise we will behave if you tell us to.”
Marshall sent Mary a smile that was as grateful as it was proud. She’d always been his little woman, but he had the bittersweet feeling that the entire episode of her life had aged her beyond her twelve years. No, Mary had turned thirteen two months ago, and Martha had turned six, both without him.
Their display wasn’t lost on the judge. The older man studied Marshall and the girls, then Eileen and the plainly-dressed woman, his eyes narrowing. “It appears as though we should resolve this matter as quickly as possible.”
“Good,” Danforth said, marching toward the office. “Eileen, come along. Bring the girls.”
“No.” The judge held up his hands. “I will speak with the children’s father, Dr. Pycroft, and their grandfather, Mr. Danforth. The rest of you will wait here.”
Marshall wasn’t sure whether to take the order as a positive sign or something to worry about. He handed Martha into Mary’s arms, pried Molly away from his side, and pointed his girls toward Jason. “Go sit with Uncle Jason,” he told them.
“Girls,” Eileen snapped. “You will do no such thing. You will stand here and wait.” She marched to a spot at the end of the benches lining the hall.
The girls took one look at her before rushing into Jason’s arms as fast as they’d run to Marshall.
“It’s all right now,” Jason murmured, hugging each one as though they were his own. “Everything will be all right.”
Marshall had the distinct feeling Jason was trying to reassure himself as much as the girls. At least he was smiling. It was the first smile Marshall had seen from his friend since arriving in London.
“I demand my legal counsel be allowed into our meeting,” Danforth said, turning Marshall’s attention back to the judge.
“Both legal counsels will be called in if it is deemed necessary,” the judge said. “For now, I would like to speak to the two of you alone.”
“Yes, your honor,” Marshall said. Humility seemed to be a better approach than the blustering aggression Danforth was displaying.
The judge returned to his office. Marshall started forward, but Danforth elbowed past him. Marshall gathered all his patience and proceeded into the room, shutting the door behind him. Danforth was already seated in the chair immediately in front of the judge’s desk by the time Marshall made his way over and took a seat slightly to one side.
“This is preposterous,” Danforth began before the judge was settled in his seat. “I demand custody of my daughter’s children. Pycroft is no sort of father to them. He barely survives on whatever pittance that hospital of his pays him, whereas I can provide the girls with everything they need, including tuition at the finest boarding schools and introduction into the highest circles of society. Why, Mary should already be at school and Molly with her. This unnecessary delay is a detriment to their education.”
The judge folded his hands on his desk, staring hard at Danforth. “Are you quite finished, Pervical?”
Marshall’s heart sank into his stomach. He hadn’t accounted for the judge being on a first-name basis with Danforth.
“Yes,” Danforth snapped.
The judge drew in a breath and faced Marshall. “Dr. Pycroft, I am Judge William Short.”
“How do you do, your honor?” Marshall nodded, working hard to maintain a completely calm, respectful demeanor in the face of Danforth’s obvious scorn.
“You are a doctor?” Judge Small asked.
“Yes, your honor. I practiced here in London for a time where I met and married Clara Danforth, but for the last four years, I have been the chief surgeon and administrator of Brynthwaite Municipal Hospital in Bry
nthwaite, Cumbria.”
Danforth snorted. “A tiny, provincial hospital in a tiny, provincial town.”
“We do the best we can, your honor,” Marshall said, unable to resist sending a peevish look Danforth’s way.
“My Clara was miserable there,” Danforth said. “The place is a backwater and a disgrace.”
“It is a country town, your honor,” Marshall defended his home. “We have a thriving business community, a regular train stop, and recently, my good friend, the hotelier, Jason Throckmorton, who is godfather to my girls, built what has become a successful hotel for holiday crowds eager to trade the noise and pollution of the city for fresh air, sunshine, and scenic beauty.” He sent another look to Danforth. Two could play at the game he was running.
Judge Small seemed to understand exactly what was going on. He leaned back in his chair with a look that said he wasn’t born yesterday. “Percival,” he said, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “Why do you want to take on guardianship of three girls?”
“They are Danforths,” Danforth said with an indignant twitch of his moustache. “They belong within the fold.”
Judge Small stared at him for a few seconds longer before asking, “And is that it?”
“That is more than enough,” Danforth insisted.
“And yet, you just stated outright that you are ready to send two of the three girls to boarding school,” Judge Small said. He turned to Marshall. “Do you plan to send your girls to boarding school?”
“No, your honor,” Marshall said, trying desperately to read the man’s true feelings on the topic. “Brynthwaite has a fine school. Mary and Molly were doing well there before being brought to London, and Martha is old enough to start soon.”
“Ha,” Danforth exclaimed. “The man intends to cheat them out of an education. He probably can’t afford to pay tuition.”
“It has been a trying year for the girls,” Marshall said, his jaw tight. “Their mother was killed in a tragic and untimely fashion. They’ve been taken from a home they love. I would be loath to send them away when it is so vital that we be together now.”
“Together with your new wife?” Danforth snarled in a way that indicated he didn’t think much of Alex.
Judge Small raised his eyebrows at Marshall in question.
“I remarried this autumn, your honor,” Marshall explained. “Dr. Alexandra Dyson is a colleague of mine at the hospital. In addition to being a trained and practicing physician, she is also the daughter of the late Lord David Dyson and the niece of Lord Gerald Dyson, Earl of Thornhill.”
“I see,” Judge Small said, sounding impressed.
“I realize that it may seem as though I married in haste after Clara’s death,” Marshall went on as Danforth opened his mouth, likely to accuse him of just that. “But my girls do need a mother, particularly as they enter a delicate age. Dr. Dyson is of fine moral character and holds a respected place in Brynthwaite society.” He didn’t need to mention that she was rubbish at domestic duties or that the two of them had spent the last two months on shaky ground.
Judge Small turned to Danforth as though anticipating some sort of rebuttal, but Danforth seemed to have sensed which way the wind was blowing. “I refuse to let anyone with Danforth blood be raised in near poverty when they could attain the highest society can offer,” he said.
“Do you live in poverty?” Judge Small asked Marshall.
“No, your honor,” Marshall answered, praying the man wouldn’t ask for particulars. There were times when his personal accounting hadn’t added up to much more than poverty.
“And your new wife is a lady, you say? Niece of an earl?” Judge Small asked.
“Yes, your honor.” Marshall nodded, adding his hope that neither Judge Small nor Danforth had heard that Alex’s family had disowned her for marrying him.
But Judge Small merely hummed, steepling his fingers and tapping them to his lips. He remained silent for so long that Marshall began to sweat.
After what felt like an interminable silence, Judge Small took a breath, leaned forward, and said, “This case could go court, but my guess is it would be a long, messy trial. There’s a reason why the Court of Chancery was abolished over twenty years ago. Even if you did proceed to court,” he went on as Danforth opened his mouth to interrupt, “there is no guarantee you’d win, Percival. Dr. Pycroft is the girls’ father. You do not contest that fact, do you?”
Danforth snapped his mouth shut, turning red as he looked as though he was debating whether to challenge it. Denying Marshall was the father would paint Clara in the worst possible light, though, and in the end, even Danforth wouldn’t stoop that low. “No, your honor, I do not contest it,” he said. “But accident of birth does not mean he is the best guardian for the girls.”
“Perhaps not,” Judge Small said, causing Marshall’s gut to instantly knot. “But the brief scene I witnessed just now tells me the girls are devoted to him and perhaps not so much to you.”
“They were just acting up to be difficult,” Danforth growled. “They’ve been stubborn and willful since the day we brought them home. Behavior that was learned, no doubt, from the utter dereliction of parental duty on the part of Pycroft.”
“I love my daughters, your honor,” Marshall said. He intended to remain calm, but a quiver of deep emotion entered his statement all the same. He cleared his throat and went on. “We have been parted for too long. Of course they were bound to show youthful energy at our reunion.”
“Sentimental clap-trap,” Danforth growled.
Judge Small frowned at Danforth. “So I take it you are not willing to negotiate some sort of a median deal whereby the Pycroft girls will be able to stay connected with both parts of their families?”
“Absolutely not,” Danforth said, banging the desk with his fist. “The girls belong with their family.”
“Yes, your honor,” Marshall said, staring hard at the man. “They do. And I am their family.”
“You are an orphan of no consequence. I never should have let Clara marry you in the first place,” Danforth shouted.
At last, Marshall felt as though they’d reached the heart of the matter. Danforth wasn’t angry because Marshall wanted to take his girls back, he was furious because Clara had lowered herself to marry him to begin with. And Danforth had been helpless to forbid the marriage all those years ago because Clara had already been with child—a situation that Clara had had just as much a part in as Marshall had. The man was seeking revenge for an indiscretion that had happened before any of Marshall’s girls were born.
Marshall turned to Judge Small. “Your honor, I will fight for my girls, if that’s what Danforth wants. I will fight for them because they are my life, my heart. These past few months without them have been agony. I suspect they have been just as painful for the girls. But I want what is best for them. A trial is not best.”
“Then give me the girls and go back to your village where you belong,” Danforth demanded.
Marshall narrowed his eyes, but largely ignored him, focusing on Judge Small. “I believe it is best for my girls to be with me. With every fiber of my being. I despise saying this, but if you deem it best for them to visit their Danforth relations for summer holidays, then I will agree to that, provided I am given absolutely certain assurance that they will be returned without hesitance or delay.” He turned to glare at Danforth. “And that they will only go to London on a schedule that I determine. I do not want to have my children stolen from me in the same underhanded way that Eileen took them before.”
Judge Small raised his eyebrows at Danforth. “Under the circumstances, that sounds entirely reasonable,” he said.
“Absolutely not,” Danforth growled, deflating Marshall’s last hope. “The girls are mine by blood. I won’t let this wastrel have them.”
“Come on, man.” Judge Small frowned at Danforth. “Children belong with their father, no matter who he is. It isn’t as though Dr. Pycroft is a criminal.”
“We don’t know that,” Danforth insisted.
Judge Small rolled his eyes and was about to say more when there was a knock at the door. “Bloody hell,” he said, then, “Come in.”
Dread filled Marshall’s stomach as he turned to see what kind of menace would walk through the door. But he was shocked to find Lord Merion stride in.
“Ah, you’re still at it,” Lord Merion said.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Judge Small said. “Percival is being stubborn.”
“Well stop,” Lord Merion said, frowning at Danforth and shocking Marshall into a higher degree of hope than he’d held for a long time.
“I beg your pardon,” Danforth fussed, moustache quivering once more. “Now see here—”
“Give Dr. Pycroft his girls back,” Lord Merion interrupted him. “They’re a thousand times better off with a father who loves them than with a sour old curmudgeon who sees them only as a pawn in a game. And no, Percival, I will not entertain the idea of marrying Mary Pycroft off to my grandson, so you can put that notion to bed right now.”
Marshall sat straight, his brow shooting up. He glanced from Lord Merion to Danforth. Danforth looked both disappointed and guilty.
“Mary is only thirteen,” Marshall nearly shouted. “She’s a child. How dare you seek to contract a marriage for her.” A second wave of shock hit him, and for a moment his mouth hung open before he said, “That’s what you want with all three of them, isn’t it? To use them as bargaining chips in the marriage market. They’re children,” Marshall stressed.
Danforth continued to bluster wordlessly and to shrink into his chair, potentially because Lord Merion’s grin grew and grew as he squirmed.
“Oh, come off it, man,” Lord Merion tutted when Danforth failed to defend himself. “Give the children back to their father. If you don’t, unconditionally, then I swear, I’ll make sure every titled or wealthy family in London and beyond knows not to even think of marrying those girls. I might just have to put in a few words with White’s about your membership as well.”
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Page 5
