“Thank God,” he wailed, closing his fist around the brooch watch and pressing it against his chest. “Thank God.”
Lady E let out another strangled squeal. “Jason, your hand. It’s bleeding.”
He was only vaguely aware of the pain in his palm, but when he glanced down, a trickle of blood seeped from it, dripping onto his shirt. He opened his hand to find the pin of Flossie’s brooch piercing deep into his skin. A deep, calming shudder passed through him. The pain was good. It was real. It was what he deserved.
“I want to go home,” he said, matching to the closet on the far side of the room. Inside were his suits and coats, spare linens for the bed, and extra pillows. He drew in a deep breath, remembering the peace and darkness of the linen closet at Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage where he’d hidden time and time again as a child.
“What are you doing?” Lady E asked, taking a tentative step toward him. Her entire demeanor had changed from haughty and demanding to shocked and worried, as though she’d been given charge of a child who was either throwing a tantrum or in excruciating pain, but she didn’t know which.
Jason ignored her, stepping into the closet and shutting the door behind him. He sank to the floor, pulling down coats and blankets and pillows to cover him as he crushed himself into a ball, driving the pin farther into his hand. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe, or at least as safe as he could be without Flossie. He closed his eyes and turned his face into one of the pillows that he’d dragged down, weeping as the madness he couldn’t control got the better of him. He was no kind of man at all. How could anyone possibly love him? How could Flossie possibly want him?
“Jason?” Lady E’s voice trembled, and she knocked softly on the closet door. “You’re scaring me. Please come out. I’m sorry.”
Jason didn’t answer. He buried himself deeper, warmth finally returning to his body.
“You don’t have to go to the theater,” Lady E wept. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”
Jason ignored her, moving his bleeding hand closer to his ear so that he could hear the steady ticking of Flossie’s watch.
“Please come out,” Lady E continued to weep. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I don’t want it to happen like this. Please, you’re frightening me.”
In and out. He breathed slowly, forcing himself to calm. The watch ticked, making it easier to let go of the fear and pain and horror that his life had descended into. In and out. All he had to do was breathe. Breathe and shrink and pray that he would puff out of existence.
Episode Six - A Narrow Escape
Alexandra
There had been plenty of times in Alex’s life when she’d experienced crippling fits of nervous agitation—waiting for the letter that would tell her whether she’d been accepted into medical school, sitting by her father’s bedside in the final, agonizing moments of his life, and anticipating her mother’s reaction to her marriage all came to mind. But nothing had turned her stomach into a ball of snakes the way standing on the platform at Brynthwaite’s train station, waiting for the train that would bring Marshall home did.
She’d been on tenterhooks since the day before, when the telegram came informing her that Marshall had won his girls back and that they were returning home as quickly as possible. She’d dashed around the hospital for the first half of the day, ordering the staff to make sure everything was in perfect order so that Marshall wouldn’t have cause to doubt putting her in charge. Tidying up the house was a different kettle of fish, though. She’d been woefully sloppy in Marshall’s absence and had stayed up half the night scrubbing pots, the sink, and the stove, sweeping and mopping floors, and swapping out soiled sheets for clean ones.
The fact that Marshall would be sleeping beside her again was enough to add a new dimension of uncertainty to her already frayed nerves. She had no idea where things stood between the two of them. Their parting had been emotional but inconclusive. His letters had been frequent but without an abundance of emotion. Hers had been the same. The truth was, she had no idea what she felt for Marshall anymore. All she knew was that she would be relieved to have him home. Maybe.
Alex’s thoughts were so absorbing that she barely noticed Mrs. Crimpley climbing the steps to the platform and heading toward the ticket window. Alex stood in her path, but rather than veering around her, Mrs. Crimpley came to a stop, tilted up her chin, and cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
Alex stared at her, not sure what the woman wanted. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Crimpley. Is there something I can assist you with?”
Mrs. Crimpley sniffed. “I am attempting to approach the ticket window. You are in my way. Step aside.”
Alex wasn’t sure she’d heard the woman right, but she took a step back all the same. Mrs. Crimpley jerked her chin up even higher and marched past without a second glance.
It didn’t dawn on Alex until a moment later that she’d been officially snubbed. And by the same woman who had spoken to her with flattery bordering on the ridiculous when she’d first come to town. It wasn’t just Mrs. Crimpley either. As Alex peeked around the platform, she noticed several of the women that constituted Brynthwaite’s version of high society. Miss Garrett and Mrs. Marsh stood several yards away, whispering to each other while eyeing Alex with suspicion. Worse still, one of the footmen who worked for Lord and Lady Ramsey caught her eye and winked.
Alex pressed a hand to her stomach with no idea whether she should laugh or be furious. The Brynthwaite ladies who gave themselves such airs would be looked down on ferociously by most of the company Alex had kept in her younger days. The footman would have lost his position with the Ramseys if he’d winked at her just six months ago. But not now. The disastrous tea at The Dragon’s Head was only two days ago, but it seemed that all of Brynthwaite had decided that Alexandra Pycroft was no better than she should be now.
In what was, perhaps, a sign that she was coming to terms with her new position in life, Alex’s first instinct was to share the story of Mrs. Crimpley’s snub with Flossie. But she’d have to wait days, if not longer, for the pleasure of gossiping with her friend. No sooner had the telegram announcing Marshall and the girls’ impending return arrived than a second telegram from Lady E came through. The details had been sparse, but Jason was in distress, and Lady E all but begged Flossie to come to London as soon as possible. Flossie hadn’t hesitated. She’d packed a bag and was on the first train to leave that morning, well before dawn. Alex had accompanied her to the station, partially for moral support and partially because she’d been unable to sleep. Flossie was very possibly the only female friend she had left, and Alex would have done anything for her.
“I heard that she all but admitted the child was conceived before the wedding,” Mrs. Marsh said, loud enough for Alex to hear her.
“Indeed,” Miss Garrett agreed. “It’s the only explanation for the haste and distaste of the union.”
Alex stood straighter, determined not to look at the women or acknowledge them in any way. Of all things, she found herself determined to let them think what they wanted. She knew she was an honest woman. She knew her reasons for marrying Marshall were pure. Though she deflated a bit as she contemplated whether Marshall knew that.
“Excuse me, please,” a young woman said as she approached Alex.
Alex was all ready to huff indignantly and step out of the woman’s way, but she couldn’t have been more than twenty, her face was smudged on one side, and her clothes had seen better days. Her bony fingers poked out through holes in her mittens, and her coat didn’t look like it was doing much to keep her warm.
“Can I help you?” Alex asked with cautious politeness. It was still possible the woman was there to add her disapproval to that of Mrs. Crimpley’s lot.
But no, the young woman smiled up at Alex as though relieved she had been acknowledged. “You’re Dr. Dyson, ain’t you?” she asked.
“I am.” Alex softened instantly.
“Only, I cut me finger yesterday,�
� the young woman went on, tugging off her mitten. “And I didn’t want to go all the way to the hospital, seein’ as it’s just a cut ’n all. But it still hurts more ’n it should, see. And then I saw you standin’ here and thought I’d show you.”
She held up her hand, which sported a long, deep cut that was bright pink around the edges.
“Oh, dear,” Alex said, removing her own gloves and carefully taking the woman’s hand. “What’s your name?”
“Marcy, ma’am.”
“Well, Marcy, this is a deep cut,” Alex said.
“I know. I was cuttin’ vegetables at The Briney Pub, where I work in the kitchen.”
Alex hummed and gently touched the wound. It was hot. “I’m glad you approached me, Marcy. I’m afraid your cut might be infected. You should go to the hospital as soon as you’re able.”
“Really, ma’am? I mean, doctor,” Marcy said, drawing her hand back bashfully when Alex let it go. “Even for just a cut?”
“No cut is too small to have it seen to by a doctor,” Alex smiled, resting a hand on Marcy’s arm. “Doctors are there to help you, no matter what.”
“Thank you, doctor. I’ll go to the hospital straight away, then.” Marcy turned, but paused. “You’ll be there to fix my cut soon, won’t you?”
A warm flush filled Alex at the hope shining in Marcy’s eyes. The girl had such faith in her in spite of not knowing Alex at all. It was a tiny thing, but it bolstered Alex’s confidence a thousand-fold. That was why she’d become a doctor against such impossible odds to begin with.
“I’ll be along shortly,” she said. “I’m here to welcome my husband home. But Nurse Nyman or one of the other nurses will be able to help you with that cut.”
“Thank you, doctor, thank you,” Marcy repeated, beaming with relief.
She rushed off, leaving Alex with just enough of a sunny feeling inside not to wilt like a flower in an ice storm when the train whistle sounded in the distance. Miss Garrett and Mrs. Marsh had witnessed the whole scene with Marcy and continued to shake their heads at Alex as though she’d done something wrong. But as far as Alex was concerned, using her education and talent to help someone who needed it was nothing to be ashamed of.
The train whistle sounded again, much closer, and Alex’s insides began to quiver. She’d spent weeks imagining this moment and dreading it. She’d played out every possible scenario during sleepless nights. Now the moment had arrived. The train chugged around the corner, slowing and screeching as the brakes were applied.
Before the train had fully stopped, Alex spotted Molly Pycroft in one of the windows. Molly spied Alex, broke into a smile and waved. A moment later, with a puff of steam, the train stopped and the doors were opened. A few finely-dressed men and women stepped out of the first-class cars and immediately began ordering porters around, but Alex’s attention flew to the second-class car. She held her breath, pressing both her hands over her stomach and Marshall’s growing baby, and waited.
The girls burst out of the car first.
“We’re home,” Molly announced in a loud, giddy proclamation.
“Hush,” Mary scolded her. Alex was startled by how much Marshall’s oldest girl had matured during her months in London. She almost looked like a young woman instead of a girl.
At last, after what felt like an eternity and no time at all, Marshall stepped out of the car, Martha in his arms, clinging to his neck. His eyes shot straight to Alex’s, and he smiled. Alex caught her breath and smiled back. He looked happy to see her. Of course, he looked happier than he’d been in ages, now that he had his girls back. But even across the distance, Alex could feel a slight hesitation, a holding back.
Marshall set Martha down and shook hands with one of the Brynthwaite porters. Everyone in town knew his story, and Alex could only imagine how many people would rush to congratulate him, now that the girls were home. But as soon as he finished being greeted by the porter, Marshall made his way straight to her.
“Alex,” he said, coming to a stop a few feet in front of her, the girls flanking him. They glowed with excitement, their cheeks pink and, in Martha’s case, unable to stand still.
“Welcome home,” Alex greeted them all, her gaze lingering on Marshall. “You’ve been sorely missed.” She quickly looked at the girls, perhaps because she wanted them to know they were missed and perhaps because the emotion behind her statement was too big where Marshall was concerned.
“It’s good to be home,” Marshall said. He hesitated, swaying on his spot, then leaned forward, taking her hand and kissing her on the cheek.
An explosion of emotion—from joy to anxiety to giddy embarrassment—blossomed in Alex. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. She could also feel the curious stares of everyone on the platform who had been eyeing her with such derision minutes before.
“Papa says you and he are married,” Molly said, brimming with excitement, “and that means you will be living with us now. Is it true?”
“Of course, Dr. Pycroft will be living with us now,” Mary told her. “She’s Papa’s wife. Wives live with their husbands.”
“Aunt Mildred doesn’t live with her husband,” Molly said with a frown for Mary.
Mary looked embarrassed. “That’s a different story.”
Alex had no idea who the sisters were talking about, but she was grateful for the momentary reprieve. Marshall hadn’t let go of her hand. She squeezed it to let him know she really was glad to have him home.
“Let’s forget about your Aunt Mildred,” Marshall said. “She’s in London and we’re in Brynthwaite, and I think it’s high time we all went home.”
“Yes, Papa, yes,” all three of the girls said, full of smiles.
“Let me just fetch my suitcase.” Marshall broke away from her, striding back to the end of the train where the bags were being unloaded.
“Papa says you may need some help keeping house,” Mary said, speaking as though she were twice her age.
“Did he tell you how dreadful I am at domestic chores?” Alex asked with a lopsided grin.
Mary looked horrified. “Oh, no, only that you will still be a doctor, which means I’ll need to keep house. I didn’t mean to say you were bad at housekeeping.”
There was something so endearing about Mary’s mortification and her attempts to be polite that Alex laughed and said, “I am terrible at housekeeping, and I will be grateful for your help.”
“Good,” Mary sighed in relief. “I mean, I want us to be friends, now that you’re married to Papa and all.”
“Are you my mama now?” Martha asked, gazing up at Alex with round eyes.
A wave of self-consciousness struck Alex. “I’m not sure what the rules are.”
Molly let out a sudden, expressive groan. “We’ve had too many rules in London.”
“I hate rules,” Martha added.
“Then I suppose we’ll make our own as we go along,” Alex said.
Marshall returned with his suitcase, and even though they made a merry party as they left the platform and headed down Station Street toward home, he seemed more reserved than usual. Alex couldn’t stop herself from peeking at him and studying him the whole way home. He looked a bit wan, which was to be expected after a two-day train journey. His telegram the day before had said they would be staying the night in Manchester, but that couldn’t have been restful. There was something else, though. It was as if he were holding his breath.
“Did you happen to cross paths with Flossie at any point this morning?” Alex asked as they reached home and opened the doors so that the girls could rush inside.
“Flossie?” Marshall asked, unable to hide his smile as the girls squealed and laughed and tore up the stairs to their rooms.
“Dolly,” Martha exclaimed from her room. “I’ve missed you so!”
Alex let the girls rejoice for a moment before saying, “She received a telegram from Lady E yesterday, not long after I received yours, that Jason was in distress and she was needed at once.”
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Marshall frowned and rubbed his chin in thought. “Jason hasn’t been doing well. He’s lost weight and he seems constantly agitated.” He paused, then went on with, “Having Flossie near is probably the best thing for him. It’s not healthy for a man to be away from the woman he loves for long.”
He glanced up and met her eyes with a poignancy that had Alex’s heart beating in her throat. She could hardly catch her breath, and she certainly couldn’t untangle the swell of emotion that overpowered her. Was it love? Is that what she felt when Marshall looked at her that way? Was it a form of lust? Difficult as it’d been to come to terms with, she did miss the intimate aspect of her relationship with Marshall, although her medical training had convinced her those feelings were a reaction to pregnancy. Had she missed him as a friend, a colleague? Was it the return to normalcy that she craved?
The silence had gone on too long between them. The air bristled with tension. Marshall took a step closer to her, reaching for her. He leaned in, his gaze fixing on her lips. She suddenly wanted to be kissed more than anything in the world.
“Papa, my dress is too tight,” Mary announced, popping out of her room and starting down the stairs.
Marshall instantly jumped back. Alex turned away, face heating with embarrassment that she’d almost been caught kissing Marshall. And by his daughter. His daughter with Clara. Clara, who hadn’t been dead for a full year yet.
Mary paused halfway down the stairs with a startled expression, as though she knew exactly what she’d interrupted. A knowing look flashed through her eyes, though it wasn’t necessarily approving, before she resumed her dignified expression.
“It doesn’t fit anymore,” she said, holding out her arms. She must have stripped off her London clothes and attempted to put on her old things the moment she entered her room. And she was right. The simple dress clearly pinched under the arms and across the chest.
“You girls grow like weeds,” Marshall said, clearing his throat when his words came out hoarse. “Perhaps we can enlist some help letting out your old things or with making new.”
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Page 7
