Andrew’s heart pounded, but he set his jaw and kept his gaze steady. He would not give in this time, no matter how volatile his father’s threats. “Henry Dowd made the offer, and I accepted the position. It can’t be changed.”
“It most certainly can. You have a responsibility to your family and to Bolton. That must come first, above any ill-thought-out agreement you made with Dowd.”
“I don’t see how accepting the position with Henry Dowd means I would be neglecting my responsibilities.” Andrew pulled in a breath, trying to calm his temper. “You oversee Bolton with the help of a very capable estate agent and staff. I’m not needed here, and I won’t be needed for years to come.”
“You have no idea when those responsibilities will fall on your shoulders. It could come sooner than you think. And you’ll have a very difficult time if you have to take over without having any experience.”
What was that supposed to mean? Did his father have an issue with his health?
Father’s mouth drew down at the corners. “I would think you would be grateful that you’ll inherit your family’s estate one day.”
Those words pricked his conscience and sent a wave of doubt through him. Was his father facing a health challenge and truly hurt by his decision, or was he simply trying to manipulate the situation?
“I am grateful, Father.” Andrew softened his tone. “And when the time comes, I will look after the family and Bolton, but until then I want to put my education and legal training to good use and do something to help my fellow man.”
His father’s mouth puckered as though he’d tasted something bitter. “How can slaving away in a solicitor’s office, working for a man who is not your equal, help your fellow man?”
Irritation burned in Andrew’s throat. “Henry Dowd is my mentor and friend. He has impeccable character and is well respected by everyone I know.”
“I thought letting you train under that man for a few months would make you see what’s required and you’d come to your senses.”
“I have seen what’s required, and I find it challenging and fulfilling.”
“Oh, Andrew, you’re not making sense!”
Andrew rose from his chair and stalked to the window. Why couldn’t his father understand times were changing? He did not want to spend his life in the country, wasting his days hunting, riding, and fishing—not when important issues stirred him and called for strong legal support.
“Be sensible, Andrew, and give up this foolish daydream!”
Andrew swung around. “Working as a solicitor, or one day a barrister, is not a foolish daydream! I’ve spent the last six years preparing for this, and I intend to follow through on my commitment.”
His father stood and lifted a quivering finger. “If you continue with this headstrong behavior, you’re going to permanently tarnish our family’s reputation.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“No, it is not! Who will respect you if you give up your role at Bolton and take up an occupation in town?”
“Anyone who has common sense and is not living in the last century!”
His mother walked into the library, her eyes wide and her face lined with concern. “For goodness’ sake, George, why are you shouting?”
“I’m not shouting!” His father cleared his throat and tugged down the front of his vest. His voice was softer as he continued. “I’m simply trying to convince your son to change his mind about a very foolish decision.”
Understanding lit her expression, and she took a few steps closer. “Well, I suggest you lower your voices so the staff can go about their business.” She raised her eyebrows and nodded toward the doorway leading to the great hall.
Andrew glanced that way, and his face warmed. Sterling and a few other staff members had probably been listening to the entire argument. Well, it couldn’t be helped.
His father pointed his way. “Andrew wants to live in London and spend his days working with that Dowd fellow rather than taking up his responsibilities here at Bolton.”
Andrew rolled his eyes. Was his father going to repeat the entire conversation for his mother’s sake?
She clasped her hands. “I’m aware of his decision.”
His father’s eyes flashed. “You knew about this?”
“Yes. I’ve known for quite some time.”
“And you agree with him?”
Her expression remained calm. “I believe Andrew is old enough to make up his own mind about his future, and if he feels called to practice law in London, then I think we should support his decision.”
“Ha! You would. You’re American.”
“Oh, really, George! I’ve lived in England for over thirty years, and I’m well aware of the differences between English and American culture and family expectations.”
“Then you ought to know it’s not acceptable for Andrew to take up an occupation and live in London when his family estate is in Hertfordshire. He is a gentleman, the son of a gentleman, and the future heir of Bolton. That ought to be enough for him, but evidently it’s not!”
His mother looked his way, an appeal in her eyes. She wanted him to try to ease the situation and restore some calm and order to the day.
Andrew pulled in a deep breath, determined to make one more attempt. “Father, I understand you would like me to follow in your footsteps and remain at Bolton rather than practice law in London, but I wish you would try to see things from my perspective. I respect you and Mother, and I’m proud of our home and heritage, but I’m not content living the life of a country gentleman.
“I’d rather spend my days in a law office or in the courtroom and focus my energies on defending those who have been falsely accused and seeing that justice is upheld. Those are worthy pursuits and the best way for me to use my gifts and training.”
“That’s not the kind of life I want for my son!”
So much for his efforts to help his father understand his perspective. Well, he was done trying to persuade him. Andrew drew himself up. “I am going to practice law as a solicitor, Father, and one day I hope to be a partner with Henry Dowd.”
“So, that’s it?” His father lifted his hands in the air. “You’re going to run off to London, live a fast life, and never darken the door of Bolton again?”
“That’s not what I said nor what I meant.” He took a moment to calm his voice. “I will work and live in London the majority of the time, but I’ll come home to see you and Mother as often as I can. And when the time comes that I’m needed here at Bolton, I will do my duty.”
His father crossed his arms and glared at Andrew. The rigid set of his shoulders made it clear he was not going to back down from his position.
Andrew glanced at his mother, urging her to speak up on his behalf.
She gave a slight nod, then shifted her gaze to his father. “George, I think it’s time we accept his decision and move forward.” She walked across the room and stood before her husband, a look of patient understanding on her face. “I know this is difficult, but if we want to maintain peace and goodwill in our family, then we must support Andrew’s decision.”
The tick of the clock sounded loud in the strained silence between father, mother, and son. Andrew stood tall and silent, his gaze focused on his father.
Finally, his father huffed out a deep breath. “I warn you, if your work brings you into association with a scandal and our family name is tarnished, then you must come home immediately. Do you understand?”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I doubt that will ever be the case.”
“Promise me you’ll do everything possible to protect the honor of your family.”
“Of course I’ll do my best to guard our family’s reputation. That goes without saying.” Andrew waited, hoping his father would offer his support, even if grudgingly.
His mother lifte
d her eyebrows. “George?”
“Very well, you may go, but don’t expect me to celebrate your decision. I cannot, and I believe you’ll come to regret it, but it will be too late to repair the damage that’s been done.” He turned and strode out of the library.
His mother watched him go before turning to Andrew, her eyes soft. “I’m sorry, son. Your father is set in his ways and steeped in tradition. I hope you’ll forgive him.”
Andrew forced his words past his tight throat. “I wish he would try to understand I want a different kind of life and see the value in it.”
“I know, and I wish the same. But at least it’s out in the open and not a secret anymore.”
“That was never my intention.”
She nodded. “I appreciate you waiting this long. I only wish your conversation could’ve been after Easter.” She’d asked him to put it off so they could enjoy the holiday, but it had been impossible.
“I’m sorry, Mother. When he asked me directly about my plans, there was no way around telling the truth.”
“It’s all right.” She reached out and patted his arm. “We’ll get through it. I just hope he calms down before your Aunt Eloise and Uncle Bertram arrive.”
Andrew nodded. The thought of his father’s sister and her husband adding their stuffy ways to the already turbulent atmosphere made him want to groan. “That should be interesting.”
His mother sent him an understanding smile. “Please, let’s just try to keep the peace and not discuss your London plans while they’re here.”
Andrew nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
She sent him a tender smile. “Thank you, Andrew. And regardless of what your father says, I am proud of you. I know you’ll be a fine solicitor.”
His father might not approve, but at least he had his mother’s support. They had always had a special connection. She listened, she understood, and he was grateful.
* * *
The old man seated behind the hospital reception desk looked up and studied Laura through cloudy spectacles. “I’m sorry, miss. I understand you want to see your mother, but hospital visiting hours ended at four o’clock. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
Laura clutched the handle of her suitcase and tried to suppress the panicked feeling rising in her chest. “I only learned about my mother’s illness today, and I’ve come all the way from St. Albans on the train.” She placed her hand on the reception desk and leaned forward. “Please, sir, I have to see her.”
The old man’s expression softened. He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and lowered his gaze to the papers on his desk.
Laura held her breath and waited. Was he going to tell her how to find her mum or insist she leave? She darted a glance around the reception area, wishing there was someone else she might appeal to, but no one sat in the three dilapidated wooden chairs behind her, and the two hallways leading away from the reception area were empty.
She pulled in a breath, and the smell of stale coffee and strong antiseptic stung her nose. How could anyone get well in such a foul-smelling place?
Finally, the man looked up. He glanced down the hallway to the left and then the right and pushed a few pieces of paper across his desk toward her. Lifting his eyebrows, he pointed to the title at the top of the page: Patient List.
Laura’s gaze darted up to meet his, her hopes flickering to life.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you, miss,” he said in a rather loud voice. “I have to step away from my desk for a few minutes.” His mouth quirked up on one side, and he whispered, “Take the stairs at the end of that hallway. All the women’s wards are on the second floor.”
She nodded and mouthed a silent Thank you.
He returned a slight nod. Then he stepped around the desk and walked down the hall to the left, disappearing through a doorway.
Laura quickly scanned the list and spotted her mum’s name near the bottom of the first page. She ran her finger across and read, Ward D, Bed Six. Her pulse leaped.
She slid the list back across the desk, then walked quietly down the long hall to the right. At the end she opened the heavy door and looked into the dimly lit stairwell. Faint light shone through the window on the landing, spreading shifting shadows and making her stomach tighten.
What would she find when she reached ward D? Would her mum recognize her and speak to her?
She climbed the stairs, hauling the heavy case up with her. She must not give in to fear and anxious thoughts. She would hold on to hope and think of good things—Millie’s hug and promise to pray, Mr. Andrew Frasier’s gifts and kindness, and the way she’d made her journey to London and across town without any trouble.
When she reached the second floor, she opened the door and peeked down the hall. A nurse wearing a gray uniform and a white apron and headscarf strode away from her and stepped through a doorway into one of the wards. No one else was in sight.
Laura slipped quietly down the hall, checking the signs over the doors until she came to the one that read Ward D. She walked in and scanned the row of patients, then started down the center aisle between the beds. When she reached the sixth bed, she stopped and her eyes widened. Was that pale, gaunt woman really her mum?
Wisps of silver threaded her dark blond hair, and gray shadows hung beneath her closed eyes. She lay still and silent beneath an ivory blanket that looked too similar to the color of her skin.
Laura walked closer and laid her hand on her mum’s shoulder. “Mum, are you asleep?”
Mum’s eyelids fluttered, and then her eyes widened. “Laura, is that you?” Her voice was weak and hoarse, and her blue-gray eyes looked dazed.
Laura’s heart swelled and she leaned down. “Yes, Mum, I’m here.”
“I asked Mrs. Graham to write, but I didn’t know if you’d come.”
“I just received her letter today.”
“Just today?” Mum’s brow creased. “What…what day is it? How long have I been here?”
“It’s Thursday, the eighth of April.”
Confusion clouded Mum’s eyes. “I’m glad you’ve come. But what about your work at Bolton?”
“It’s all right. The Frasiers are very kind. They let me come.”
Mum slipped her hand out from under the blanket, but she didn’t seem to have the strength to lift it any higher.
Laura clasped Mum’s cool fingers, and her throat tightened. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“Yes.” Mum closed her eyes and pulled in a slow, shallow breath.
“Have you spoken to the doctor today?”
“He says I’m improving.” Mum gave a weak smile, but it was unconvincing.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Laura wanted to ask when she might be able to leave the hospital, but it didn’t look like it would be anytime soon. She decided not to upset her mum by asking.
“Have you seen the children?” Mum tightened her grip on Laura’s hand. “I’m so worried about them. Mrs. Graham told me they’ve been taken to a children’s home.”
“Yes, that’s what she said in her letter.” Had Mrs. Graham also told Mum that Garth had been caught stealing food? Laura didn’t want to add to Mum’s burden, so she didn’t mention it. “Do you know the name of the home?”
Mum’s gaze drifted toward the window. “I believe it’s the Grangeford Children’s Home. I don’t know the number or street.”
“That’s all right. I’ll find out and go there tomorrow.”
Mum nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank you. Tell them I’ll come for the children as soon as I can. I sent word through Mrs. Graham, but I haven’t seen her for a few days. I don’t know if she delivered the message or not.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they know.”
Mum closed her eyes again with a tired sigh. “Please tell the children I’m doing better. I’m sure they�
�re upset and confused by all this.”
“They’ll be fine.” She forced confidence into her voice, but some of the stories she’d heard about children’s homes made disquieting questions rise in her mind.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and Laura looked over her shoulder.
A nurse strode down the aisle toward them, her eyebrows slanting in disapproval. “I’m sorry. Visiting hours are over. You’ll have to leave.” But she didn’t really look the least bit sorry.
“This is my daughter Laura. She’s come all the way from St. Albans to see me. Surely you can make an exception for family members.”
“Family or not, the rule still stands.” She shifted her sharp look to Laura. “Your mother needs her rest. You may see her tomorrow between one and four, not before or after.”
Laura leaned down and kissed Mum’s forehead. “Rest well, Mum. I’ll visit Garth, Katie, and Grace tomorrow, then come here directly after.”
“Thank you, dear.” Mum’s eyes drifted closed.
Laura’s heart lifted. Their visit might have been short, but her promise to visit the children had renewed Mum’s hope. That would have to be enough for now.
* * *
An hour later Laura trudged down Larchmont Street, her arm aching from toting her suitcase all afternoon. Daylight had faded, and gas lamps glowed in the house and shop windows she passed. She shifted the case to her other hand and turned down the alley behind the dress shop. Piles of broken and abandoned furniture and heaps of trash littered the alley. She lifted her hand and covered the lower half of her face, trying to block the sour stench of rotting food.
What a dreadful place! She must find a way to move her family to more suitable lodgings. But how could they afford it, especially now that her mum had lost so many days of work because of her illness?
She reached the entrance to her family’s flat, set down her bag, and tried the door, but it was locked. She glanced around, looking for someplace Mum might have hidden a key. She ran her hand over the top of the doorframe and checked under the trash bin, but she found nothing. What would she do now?
No Ocean Too Wide Page 5