“You’re damned right I do,” Betsy nodded. “And seeing as you’ve got plenty of rooms in this hoity-toity hotel of yours, I expect to get what’s coming to me.”
Flossie pursed her lips. Betsy would get what was coming to her, all right. The nerve of the woman for coming all the way to Brynthwaite. She and Jason would have to be on their guard until they could get rid of the little leech, and the sooner the better.
“Please excuse me while I get my sister settled in,” Flossie said to Mr. Armstrong. She turned to Jason and said, “I’m eager to hear how things went this afternoon, as soon as we can find a free moment.”
“And I’m eager to tell you,” Jason said. “Later. It seems Mr. Armstrong and I have much to discuss until then.”
He faced Mr. Armstrong once more, looking like he would go into battle with the man shortly.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stowe,” Mr. Armstrong said to Betsy with a smile.
“And you.” Betsy broke into a smile at last and batted her lashes.
Flossie rolled her eyes and all but pushed Betsy out of the room. If Cook had been worried before about the problems and burdens on Flossie’s shoulders, she would likely hit the roof now. With Betsy at the hotel, her problems had just tripled.
Lawrence
He would rather be working. Lawrence preferred the heat and sweat of the forge to running errands in town—or just about anything else—but as was the case so much recently, duty called him elsewhere.
“Are you certain you should be walking all this way?” he asked Matty as the two of them made good time on the way into town.
“Mary and her sisters are home,” Matty answered, a determined set to her voice. “I haven’t seen my friends in months. And I can’t spend another moment cooped up either at Mother Grace’s house or in the forge.”
Lawrence hummed in response, mostly to keep himself from saying what he wanted to, which was bound to incur Matty’s wrath. She was safe at Mother Grace’s house. She was even marginally safe in the room above the forge. He rather liked the fact that the steep stairs leading from the forge to the upper room were too much for Matty to manage more than a couple times a day. Lawrence wanted her either where he could keep an eye on her or where he knew she would be safe.
But he wasn’t cruel enough to deny the woman he loved the chance to see her friend again after so long. He wasn’t going to question the somewhat unusual bond between Matty and Marshall’s thirteen-year-old daughter. Mary was old for her age and Matty hadn’t known how old she was when she wandered, memoryless, into his forge, and she hadn’t offered the information since regaining her memory. Lawrence was happier not knowing whether he’d robbed the cradle.
He shook the uncomfortable thought off as they rounded the first row of houses at the edge of town and made their way up the slight hill to Church Street.
“You’ll find me before you head home, won’t you?” Lawrence asked as they stopped in front of Marshall’s door. “I don’t want you walking all that way alone.”
“I’ll find you,” Matty said with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m perfectly able to take care of myself, you know.”
“Under normal circumstances, perhaps,” Lawrence said. “But with Hoag at large—”
“He’s not going to drop out of the sky,” she said. “If he is here, he wouldn’t dare to strike in broad daylight in the middle of a town full of people.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Lawrence growled.
Matty inched closer to him, awkwardly lifting to her toes and stretching around her massive stomach to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for being so concerned about me. You know I’m not used to it.”
A deep, protective sense of pride welled in Lawrence. He wrapped his arms around Matty as best he could and kissed her with more passion than he should have in public. “I’ll be down by the river for a bit, and then I’m heading over to see how Jason is doing. Come to the hotel when you’re finished here.”
Matty nodded and he let her go. She stepped up to the Pycroft’s door and rang the bell, and was greeted by an excited Molly Pycroft moments later. Lawrence waved to her one last time before thrusting his hands in the pockets of his coat and walking on.
He would wrap Matty up in cotton-wool to keep her safe if he could, and that was a departure from how he had always felt about other people, even women. He’d always tried to live independently, keeping as few ties as he could. Marshall and Jason and Mother Grace were all he needed for family. Women came and went. He treated them with respect and made sure to give them as much pleasure as he received from them, but he’d never seen himself falling in love with one. And now Matty was with him. Not only that, she was about to give him a child. He was living a life he’d never dreamed of living.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but fortunately, he was distracted from the uncomfortable changes in his life by the sight of a woman storming down from the train platform and marching furiously up Station Street ahead of him. If not for the clothes, he would have sworn the woman was Flossie. But as he looked closer, the dark-haired, obviously angry woman was a bit taller than Flossie, and she held her shoulders at a different angle. Lawrence would have bet money she was a relative, though. He remembered Jason mentioning that Flossie had a sister.
Lawrence followed her up the street and across to the stairs that led down to the lakeshore walk. He had half a mind to follow the woman to see if his suspicions were correct, but seeing her charge on toward the hotel and to disappear inside its walls was enough to satisfy his curiosity. He made a note to find out what was going on there when he went to visit Jason later. But for the time being, a whispered rumor that had reached his ears earlier that morning and the need to stretch his legs took him down to the lakeshore walk.
The rumor turned out to be true. He spotted Barsali’s brightly-painted wagon from a hundred yards away. Relief spilled through him at the prospect of having a fresh, trusted opinion about Hoag. At the same time, a hint of worry threaded its way through Lawrence’s already agitated mind. Normally there would have been a dozen wagons along with Barsali’s. This time, there was only the one.
Unsurprisingly, Barsali spotted Lawrence long before he reached the wagon. “Kushti divvus, pral,” he greeted Lawrence with a tip of his cap. “I thought you’d wander by eventually.”
“I heard you’d returned,” Lawrence said, embracing Barsali. They thumped each other on the back before Lawrence said, “Where is the rest of your band?”
“In the south,” he said with a shrug. “Where we spend the winter.”
“Why aren’t you with them?”
Barsali grew more serious. “I came to see you.”
The sense of foreboding that Lawrence had lived with for weeks deepened. “Do you know something about Hoag’s whereabouts?” he asked.
Barsali looked surprised. “What is this Hoag you speak of?”
Lawrence was surprised as well. “You haven’t heard?” When Barsali shook his head and crossed his arms as if waiting to hear more, Lawrence went on. “He’s Matty’s step-father and father of her siblings. You met Willy.”
“Ah, yes. Has he been good?” Barsali asked with a grin.
“He’s been living and working at the hotel for over two months now, so I suppose he has,” Lawrence said. “But that’s only because he’ll be safe from Hoag while under the protection of the hotel’s staff. It’s the same reason Elsie is with Mother Grace in the woods and Connie is now working at Lord Waltham’s estate.”
“I see.” Barsali nodded, rubbing his chin. “So this man, this Hoag. He is bad?”
“He murdered their mother,” Lawrence said, his anger fresh. “And he’s vowed revenge on Matty and her siblings for sending him to prison for the murder.”
“Ah,” Barsali looked as though he suddenly understood. “I have read about this man. He escaped from prison but managed to keep his flight from being discovered for weeks.”
“He had helpers on the inside who c
onvinced the guards he was still there, yes,” Lawrence said. “I believe he’s nearby, waiting to strike.”
Barsali’s expression turned as serious as Lawrence’s. “I understand your fear, then,” he said. “Perhaps I have come at a good time for many reasons.”
Prickles of curiosity broke out down Lawrence’s back. “Why have you come?” he asked.
“I have come because Aunt Naomi is sick,” he said. “The cold is in her lungs, and it is not leaving.”
An odd ache filled the pit of Lawrence’s stomach. There was no way to know for certain that Barsali’s Aunt Naomi was his mother, but something within Lawrence felt certain she was. “Does she have someone to tend to her?” he asked. “Do you have competent healers in your band?”
“We do,” Barsali began slowly. “But I, for one, have never seen her in this much distress. I do not want to think about it, but as it took me so long to travel back to this place, she may have slipped away already.”
“Is there something I can do to help?” Lawrence asked, his heart thumping against his ribs. “Perhaps if she could come here. Mother Grace is an excellent healer. And Marshall is a fine doctor.”
Barsali shook his head. “Aunt Naomi will not leave her people. She didn’t want me to come up here to search for you either.”
“But if she is that sick,” Lawrence argued, “and if there is a chance she could be healed, we need to do something.”
Barsali shrugged. “I agree. But who has power in the face of a woman’s will?”
It was so true that Lawrence could only laugh and shake his head. He couldn’t sit still, though. He gestured for Barsali to walk with him, on toward the hotel.
“I can’t leave to visit her,” he spoke his thoughts aloud once they’d climbed to Lake Street, where the hotel stood. “Not with Hoag on the loose.”
“Ah,” Barsali said. “Would it not, in fact, be the perfect time for you to come away with me? You could bring your lady love and keep her safe from this murderer’s hands.”
Lawrence winced. He’d had the same thought a hundred times over. “I can’t leave the others, though.”
“You said they were in safe hands,” Barsali argued.
“They are, but….” He couldn’t finish his answer. It was utterly unlike him to feel tied down, especially when his heart wanted to follow Barsali wherever his possible cousin went.
Barsali grinned and slapped him on the back as they headed through the hotel’s gates and into its front garden. “I can see the Romani in you,” he laughed. “You want to come with me. So why not?”
Lawrence’s answer came in the most unlikely of ways. As he pulled open the hotel’s front door and stepped through, Barsali behind him, he was met by the sight of Jason, deep in conversation with Colin Armstrong. The moment Armstrong spotted Lawrence, he brightened like a firework.
“Mr. Smith, how wonderful to see you,” Armstrong said, rushing to shake Lawrence’s hand. “I was on my way to speak with you as soon as I was done picking Mr. Throckmorton’s brain. Oh, hello. Who are you?” he asked Barsali.
“Barsali Moss,” Barsali answered, offering his hand.
Armstrong shook it vigorously. “Colin Armstrong. Soon to be hotel owner, like Mr. Throckmorton here.”
“Lawrence,” Jason snapped, doom and irritation in his eyes. “You didn’t tell me you had accepted a contract to provide metalwork for Mr. Armstrong’s hotel.”
“I haven’t seen you in a month,” Lawrence answered. He crossed to close Jason in a brief, manly embrace. Before letting him go or backing away, he softly said, “How are you? I’ve been worried.”
Jason wore a conflicted look that was heavy with emotion as Lawrence stepped away. It would have been clear as day to anyone with half of Barsali’s intelligence that Lawrence considered Jason a brother, and that the feeling was mutual, based on the exchange alone.
“I’m all right,” Jason said in a low voice, seemingly embarrassed that two other men were watching what should have been an intimate exchange. “London was awful. We’ll discuss it later.”
A twist of concern for Jason was all Lawrence had time for.
“How fortunate this is,” Mr. Armstrong said, clapping his hands together. “I would like nothing more than for the lot of us to sit down to tea to discuss the needs for my hotel and the details of the contract we are to sign, Mr. Smith. I’m sure Mr. Throckmorton can let us know if my offer of a hundred pounds per month is a good one.”
Jason’s brow shot up. Barsali burst into laughter.
“Now I see, pral,” he said, slapping Lawrence’s back again. “Your heart is Romani, but your brain takes after your father.”
“Your father?” Jason looked even more surprised.
“There’s no way to know for certain,” Lawrence told him, almost as though apologizing for having family beyond Jason.
“A full belly and a warm house is a powerful draw,” Barsali went on. “Far more tempting than a cold wagon and the endless road, no?”
“It all depends,” Lawrence said.
“Are you Romani?” Armstrong asked Barsali, looking as though Christmas had come early. “I’ve always longed to learn about Romani ways. Please do join us for tea.” He held out an arm toward the dining room, beckoning Barsali to go with him
Barsali laughed and shook his head, sending Lawrence a smile before heading on with Armstrong.
“That man is delighted over everything,” Jason said with a note of disgust. “It’s like drinking treacle covered with rock sugar speaking with him.”
Lawrence chuckled and rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder as they, too, headed into the dining room. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you about Armstrong before the man showed up on your doorstep,” he said.
“You were right when you said you haven’t had a chance,” Jason said. He let out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “God, I’m glad to be home. At the risk of sounding like Lady E, I need to talk to someone about it all at some point.”
“I’m here for you, brother,” Lawrence said, walking slowly so that they didn’t approach the table where Armstrong had already seated Barsali and was fussing to one of the waiters about tea. If Lawrence could have gotten away with leaving both men to have a man-to-man talk with Jason, he would have.
At the same time, he was beginning to understand what Barsali had said about his heart being Romani and his head being something else. It was the Romani way to be loyal to your family, and Jason was family. As tempting as it was to roam with Barsali, Brynthwaite was home.
Marshall
Confrontation was not Marshall’s strong suit, even when the confrontation in question was necessary. He knew he had to deal with the problem of Winnie once and for all, for Alex’s sake more than anything. But as much as it pained him to think of Alex suffering because of a misguided and obsessive young woman who had fixated on him for treating her, actually doing what needed to be done filled him with dread.
He considered himself lucky that so many of the good people of Brynthwaite had come down with sniffles or frostbite. It meant he could justify waiting until the very end of the day to approach Winnie in the storeroom, where she’d been sent to put away linens. It helped him feel like less of a cad to come upon her while she was reading a book instead of doing her job.
“Oh, Dr. Pycroft,” she said, leaping to her feet and hiding the book behind her back. “I wasn’t expecting you…I thought you were…that is, how nice to see you.” She smiled and rushed to him, gazing up at him in adoration.
Marshall cleared his throat, feeling hot and awkward. “Winnie, we need to talk.”
“Anything you want, Dr. Pycroft,” she said. She brought her book forward with a sheepish laugh. “I know you won’t hold it against me that I was reading when I should have been working, but this story is so exciting. It’s a love story, you see,” she went on without stopping, gazing up at him with doe eyes. “It’s about a handsome older man and the young maiden who gives herself to him.�
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Marshall writhed with discomfort. Winnie wasn’t going to make this any easier on him. “Whether you read or not is no longer my concern,” he said, then cleared his throat, shifting anxiously on his spot. “Winnie, I’m afraid I have to terminate your employment at the hospital.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Winnie said, her sweet look morphing into a seductive one. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s the one who told you to get rid of me.”
“Actually—”
“She can’t stand between us.” Winnie surged toward him, and Marshall darted out of her way. But Winnie was undeterred. “There’s something special between us, I know there is. We are meant to be together.”
“No, we are not.” Marshall caught her hands as she reached for his white medical coat and pushed them to the side. “I am happily married to Mrs. Pycroft. I love her with all my heart. Her,” he emphasized the word. “Which is why your continued presence at the hospital has become untenable.”
“You don’t mean that,” Winnie said, reaching for him again. “You—”
“Yes, I do mean it.” Marshall was less gentle as he pushed her away a second time. “I do not love you. I never could. I love my wife.”
Winnie’s mouth hung open. Her whole countenance changed as the truth of Marshall’s words seemed to sink in. “You don’t love me?”
“No. I never have. I never could.” Marshall wasn’t certain if what he felt was relief or dread as Winnie continued to stare at him.
“You don’t love me,” she repeated, her tone defeated. “And yet, this whole time, you’ve led me on, making me believe we were meant to be together.”
“I did no such thing and you know it,” Marshall said with an impatient sigh. He had no idea how to deal with the young woman’s overactive imagination.
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Page 17
