The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two

by Farmer, Merry

  She didn’t believe her own argument. It tore her apart to think of Marshall being tempted by anyone else.

  “Things were bad between us,” he said, firm and yet not entirely defensive. “I was agitated and frustrated. A part of me—a part I’m not proud of—felt I had a right to be happy, since you had rejected me.”

  “I see.” Alex’s words came out as a squeak.

  “But I didn’t give in to those feelings,” he said with a surge of emotion, clasping her arms and facing her squarely. “I couldn’t. I never would.”

  Alex turned her face away from him, suddenly near tears.

  “I love you, Alex,” he said, full of passion. “And as angry as I was, as hurt as I was, that moment of temptation passed quickly. I don’t want any woman but you.”

  Alex’s emotions felt wildly out of control. She didn’t know whether it was the exhaustion or the continued fear for Matty’s life or the uncertainty about her own future. She didn’t know whether she was experiencing a moment of weakness or if the walls she’d built up to protect herself for so many years had come tumbling down, but her heart felt as though it were about to explode.

  “I should have dismissed Winnie and sent her away ages ago,” Marshall went on before Alex could find the power to speak. “It’s my fault for assuming her feelings weren’t serious and that she’d be on her way as soon as she saw I would never, ever return them. And I should have written from London to tell you about the incident at home, but that’s the sort of thing that should be discussed face-to-face instead of in a letter, and once I got home, the situation with the girls was—”

  “I love you, Marshall,” she blurted.

  Marshall stopped, his mouth hanging open. Alex gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth as the full impact of what she’d said hit her. She loved him—loved him in spite of her inner protests and her misplaced pride. She loved him for the man he was, the father he was, and the friend he was. She loved him because he could drive her to heights of carnal bliss and because he could ground her like the anchor she needed when her world spun out of control.

  “I love you,” she repeated, blinking in shock at the truth. “I think I have all along.”

  Marshall loosened into a thin, half-mad laugh. “Of course you do, you silly goose,” he said.

  He pulled her into his arms, clasping her flush against him, and kissed her with enough passion to ignite the surgery. Alex made a noise of joy and longing in her throat and kissed him back as though her life depended on it. She threaded her fingers through his hair, slid her tongue against his as they deepened the kiss, and felt as though her body would burst into liquid fire. And on top of it all, she wanted to weep with relief. She loved her husband, the man who had made a laughingstock of her, who had changed her life forever. She loved him so much she could hardly breathe.

  “Good heavens!”

  The startled shout came from the doorway, from none other than Alex’s mother. One look at her mother and Alex gasped, flinching so hard that it pushed her and Marshall apart.

  “Mama? What are you doing here?” Alex held a hand to her mouth, which was, no doubt, swollen from Marshall’s sudden, ardent kiss.

  “I could ask the same thing, Lady Charlotte,” Marshall said in a much sterner tone of voice. “This is an active surgery, not a garden party, and the hour is late.”

  “This is the kind of vulgarity you’ve chosen over your rightful place in society?” Alex’s mother asked, her voice quivering with acrimony.

  “Marshall is my husband,” Alex insisted, wound so tightly with emotions that spanned the spectrum from outrage to arousal that she could hardly think straight. “He has a right to kiss me whenever he wants. You, on the other hand, need a damn good reason to accost me in my place of work when a patient is lying on the table.”

  “Why, I never,” her mother gasped. “And to use such vulgar language. It’s a good thing your poor father isn’t alive to see—”

  Her mother stopped cold, all of the color draining from her face as she stared at the operating table.

  Alex glanced over to see what had her mother so upset and yelped, “Dear God,” when she saw Winnie with arms half-raised, tearing at the stitches in her wrists. Blood was already oozing from the wounds afresh.

  “Marshall,” Alex shouted, shooting across the room to the cupboard that held surgical instruments.

  “Chloroform,” Marshall barked, rushing to the table. He grasped Winnie’s shoulders and pushed her to lie down. “Stop hurting yourself, Winnie. Those stitches are keeping you alive.”

  “No,” Winnie gasped, the words barely more than a whisper. She thrashed on the table with surprising strength for someone so close to bleeding to death.

  Alex tore through the surgery’s supplies without thinking. Everything was forgotten but finding the chloroform and mask and applying the right number of drops to render Winnie unconscious without killing her.

  “Keep her still,” she directed Marshall as she tried to clamp the mask over Winnie’s nose and mouth. “Calm down, Winnie,” she added. “Calm down. We’re here to help you.”

  Within seconds, Winnie had gone still on the table once more.

  “How bad is the damage?” Marshall asked, leaning back. His white coat was splattered with blood.

  Alex thought she heard a tremulous cry from her mother, but she ignored it. “She’s torn open the artery in her left wrist again. See?”

  Blood spurted from Winnie’s wrist in weak but steady pulses. Alex reached for clean gauze on the rolling table she and Marshall had used for the surgery and applied it to the wound.

  “If she’s ripped the vessel itself too much, we might have a problem,” Marshall said, searching for a small pair of scissors. “Damn. The needle we need for sutures is in the sink.”

  “We have more,” Alex said.

  She whirled back to the cupboard to search for the necessary tools, sanitizing them as best she could in the moment before bringing them to Marshall. It felt as though they were repeating the urgent action of an hour before as Marshall clipped through the stitches he’d just made to expose Winnie’s damaged artery.

  “I can save it,” he said. It was all he said before he and Alex fell back into the rhythm of repair and healing that they’d perfected over the last months.

  They worked in perfect unison until Winnie was stitched up once more. Alex forgot her fatigue, forgot time, and forgot that her mother was standing there, watching them, until the second surgery was done.

  “Mother, you need to leave,” she said when, at last, she noticed. “It’s bad enough that we weren’t able to sterilize the area before operating. Every moment you stand there could put Winnie’s life in danger.”

  “Oh,” her mother said, pale and visibly stunned. “Oh, yes, right. Very well.” She backed into the hall, shutting the door—which Alex had been too preoccupied to realize stood open—behind her.

  “We’ll need to keep Winnie under until we can bind these wounds in a way that she can’t undo the stitches,” Marshall said, still focused.

  “We’ll have to wrap her hands,” Alex said, beginning to wilt once the action of the moment had passed. “One of the nurses will have to watch her at all times.”

  Alex nodded in agreement as she returned to the sink to wash up a second time.

  There were no confessions or kisses this time. She washed up as fast as she could, only marginally aware that some of Winnie’s blood had made it past her white coat to her skirt. As soon as she was reasonably presentable, she marched into the hall in search of her mother.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked again, far wearier the second time.

  Her mother gaped at her as though she were something incomprehensible. “You saved that girl’s life,” she said at last.

  “She’s not out of the woods yet,” Alex said.

  “But she was bleeding,” her mother went on. “There was so much blood.”

  “Her wounds are sutured now, and Marshall is going to b
ind them and her hands so that she cannot pull out the stitches again.”

  “She would have died if not for you.” Her mother continued to gape.

  “Why are you here?” Alex asked once more.

  She was saved from having to answer by a commotion in the waiting room. A moment later, Flossie burst into the hall and said, “The police are out looking for Lady Arabella.” Flossie jerked to a stop when she saw Alex’s mother.

  Alex’s heart beat double-time all over again. “Oh dear,” she said, feigning surprise. “What’s happened to poor Arabella?” She stared hard at Flossie, hoping her friend would understand the need for discretion.

  Flossie appeared to catch on instantly and schooled her face into innocent confusion.

  “She’s run off,” Alex’s mother answered, saving Flossie from having to say anything.

  “Run off?” Alex blinked at her.

  “No one knows why,” her mother went on. “George is so concerned. He confessed that he’s been terrified for Arabella’s mental health considering….” Her words faded into an embarrassed flush. “Suffice it to say, their marriage has not been a success so far. Not in the way yours has.” Her mother cleared her throat and stared pointedly at Alex’s belly.

  Alex didn’t know what shocked her more, the fact that her mother would admit Arabella and George’s marriage wasn’t a success or that she would even begin to hint that Alex’s marriage to Marshall was. Either way, Alex didn’t think her mother had the slightest clue about the truth of the way George treated Arabella.

  “If it were me,” she said, “I would have run home.” Not that she really had a home to run to, if she were in the same situation, thanks to her mother’s stubbornness. Thank God leaving Marshall was so much the furthest thing from her mind as to be a subject for Jules Verne.

  “I suppose Arabella must have taken a train,” her mother said. She wrung her hands and sent Alex a guilty look before saying, “It’s just that I’m not certain she was in the best of health today. The last time I saw her, shortly after luncheon….” Again her words faded.

  Alex ran through the day in her mind. Arabella had seen her professionally in the morning, which meant that her mother probably saw Arabella’s bruised face. Surely she must have known the truth.

  A second commotion sounded from the waiting room, and a moment later, Constable Burnell walked into the hall. George was right behind him, looking angry enough to tear the place down. One look at him and Alex flew into a towering rage.

  “The hospital is closed for the evening,” she snapped, just barely holding herself back from roaring at George for the way he’d treated Arabella.

  “Where is my wife?” George demanded, pushing past Constable Burnell and charging toward Alex.

  Marshall must have heard George’s voice from the surgery. He dashed out of the room and blocked George from approaching Alex in the blink of an eye. “You heard my wife,” he said with the ferociousness of a lion. “The hospital is closed.”

  “You know something, don’t you?” George seethed, standing toe-to-toe with Marshall, as if he would resort to violence at any moment.

  “Yes,” Marshall said, visibly unintimidated. “I’ve seen your wife.”

  “Where is she?” George demanded.

  “I’ve seen the bruises you’ve left on her,” Marshall went on, ignoring the question. “I’ve seen the way you’ve hurt her.”

  “You’ve—oh, dear.” Alex’s mother sagged as though fainting. Alex was forced to catch her to keep her from sinking to the floor.

  “How dare you?” George shouted. “Where is she? Return her to me at once.”

  “I am a doctor, sir,” Marshall said, maintaining his tough stance. He glanced to Constable Burnell before turning his attentions on George once more. “I treated your wife earlier this week. I see it as a blessing that she fled from you.”

  Alex’s head swam, her pulse was pounding so hard. Marshall wasn’t going to betray Arabella either. But of course he wouldn’t.

  “So Lady Arabella is not here?” Constable Burnell asked. He frowned at George, convincing Alex that he wasn’t on George’s side in the matter.

  “She is not,” Marshall answered. “However, several patients who are critically ill and need my and Dr. Dyson’s attention are here.”

  “I-it’s true,” Alex’s mother said, pulling herself out of her faint. “I’ve just witnessed my daughter saving some poor girl’s life.”

  “Our patients need quiet and rest,” Marshall went on. “So I would ask you to take your investigation elsewhere. Immediately.”

  “You’re hiding her,” George insisted, even though Constable Burnell stepped up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. George shook it off. “All of you, your whole little cabal, you and Jason Throckmorton and the rest of them. You’re hiding her.”

  “Mr. Fretwell, I think it’s time that you went home,” Constable Burnell said. “Lady Charlotte, I would be happy to escort the both of you back to Huntingdon Hall, considering the hour.”

  “Yes,” Flossie said in a sudden burst of energy. “I think you should take Lady Charlotte and Mr. Fretwell back to Huntingdon Hall. Perhaps Lady Arabella has returned home by now.”

  “I’m sure she has,” Alex said, trying her best to smile. “It’s a cold night. I know I wouldn’t want to be caught out on a night like this.”

  “I think you might be right,” Alex’s mother said. She took a deep breath and stood straighter. “We must return home, George. If Arabella is not there, why, then I’m certain she has gone home to Richmond Manor. We can follow her there in the morning.”

  George sent Marshall a murderous look, then turned that look on Alex. “If I find you’ve helped Arabella more than you already have, you’ll be sorry.”

  He tugged at his coat and stood straighter, doing everything he could to look dignified as he turned and followed Constable Burnell out of the hospital. Alex didn’t feel easy when he was gone, though. George’s last words were a sickening clue to the reason Arabella had been in even worse shape when she and Jason had shown up on her doorstep. George must have found out about Arabella’s earlier visit to the hospital.

  As soon as they heard the front door shut, Flossie said, “Jason and Willy have gone to help Lawrence and Barsali look for Matty.”

  “Barsali?” Alex blinked in confusion.

  “The gypsy,” Marshall said. He focused on Flossie. “Have they located Matty yet?”

  “Not that I know,” Flossie said. “But I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  “Please do,” Alex said. She couldn’t help but give her friend a quick, tight hug before Flossie rushed out again.

  As soon as she was gone, Marshall and Alex exchanged a glance then tore up the stairs to the first-floor hallway.

  “Nurse Nyman, please see to Winnie,” Marshall ordered as they turned down the corridor where the private rooms were.

  They didn’t have to go far. Arabella stood just around the corner, pale and shaking, tears streaming down her face.

  “Thank you,” she gulped, wiping her eyes with her hand. “Thank you for not betraying me.”

  “We would never betray you,” Alex said, sliding her arm around Arabella’s waist and leading her back to the private room where she’d been seen before.

  “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need to,” Marshall said. “We won’t tell that bastard, Fretwell.”

  “He’ll come back,” Arabella gasped, her voice barely more than a thread. “He won’t stop looking for me until he’s found me.”

  “He won’t find you,” Alex insisted. “He won’t even come close.”

  Arabella nodded, but Alex could see it would take her a long time to be convinced she was safe. In the meantime, all she and Marshall could do was keep her quiet and comfortable until her wounds healed—the ones that could be seen and the ones that couldn’t.

  Lawrence

  Darkness descended far too swiftly for Lawrence’s liking. He and
Barsali needed all the light they could get to find Hoag. It was bad enough that the villain had gotten a head start, but without daylight to track him, it was like searching for a cotton ball in a snowstorm.

  “He wouldn’t stay in town,” Barsali said as they retraced paths they had already searched. “He would want to get as far from people as he could.”

  Lawrence grunted in agreement. The trouble was, there were infinite numbers of places he could have gone near Brynthwaite that were well away from people. Cumbria was remote and wild.

  “He won’t get far with Matty in the condition she’s in,” he said. His chest ached with fear at the thought of the woman he loved, round with child, being dragged into more physical exertion than was healthy for her. Anything could happen.

  On Barsali’s suggestion, they searched the banks of the lake first, looking in every boathouse and natural alcove they could find. Nothing was out of the ordinary, which rankled Lawrence’s nerves. Hoag and Matty couldn’t have vanished. It was an impossibility.

  “Could they have taken a boat out into the lake?” Barsali asked as they rushed past one of the docks jutting into the water.

  “It’s possible,” Lawrence said, stopping and running an anxious hand through his hair as he squinted across the dark Brynswater. “Hoag doesn’t strike me as a boatman, though.”

  The rows of fishing vessels and pleasure crafts moored along the lakeshore convinced Lawrence Hoag hadn’t taken to the water. There were simply too many boats and not enough spaces.

  “We need to go back to the start,” he admitted at last with a frustrated growl.

  Barsali nodded, seeming to understand, and the two of the jogged up the embankment and into town, heading toward Church Street.

  Mother Grace must have been watching out one of Marshall’s windows. As soon as Lawrence and Barsali rounded the corner, she pulled open the door and stepped into the street.