The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  Sean stared at Gabriel for a moment, just then feeling the cold air that had come in behind the storm. He could see a light vapor in the air when he breathed. His brother was shivering and needed to get out of his wet clothes, so Sean stepped back. “All right, I’ll take you at your word and wake you at seven.”

  “Seven?” Gabriel asked incredulously.

  Sean raised his brows. “Would you rather six-thirty then?”

  “No.” Gabriel shook his head. “Seven’s good.”

  Sean watched his brother thump heavily and clumsily up the steps then busied himself righting the table and picking up the broken pieces of the overturned pots when the sudden flash of a striking match startled him. Etta. “How long have you been out here?” he asked.

  She drew and puffed several times to light her pipe then blew out the match. “Long enough to know that little brother of yours has troubles.”

  Sean tossed the broken pieces in the trash bin. “I know he has troubles, and I plan on fixin’ them for him.”

  “You think whippin’ him’s gonna fix his troubles?” She took another long draw, making the tobacco glow orange in the dark.

  “Aye, I believe a black eye has its occasional place in curing a man’s thick head,” Sean stated with sureness. “But rest assured, I’d no real intention of giving him the thrashing he rightfully deserved. I’d rather sweat his troubles out of him.” Sean grinned. “It’s easier on me knuckles.”

  “If you ask me, what’s troubling him is burning deep. He needs love and understanding.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Etta, but no one did ask you,” Sean replied, sounding irritated. “And furthermore, I do love him. Why else would I waste my time in setting him straight?”

  “Punishing that boy won’t cure his troubles, won’t put out the fire inside him the way that whiskey does. If anything, it’ll make it worse.”

  “Right!” he laughed. “Tell you what, the next time he comes home wasted, I’ll send him out here and you can hug his demons out of him.”

  “Men folk won’t never learn, and there ain’t no use in tryin’ to teach ’em!” Etta fussed, angrily tapping the tobacco out of her pipe.

  “Miss Etta,” Sean said quietly, wishing he hadn’t snapped at her. “I do appreciate the concern, but I know Gabriel better than anyone. I know what’s best for him.”

  “Sometimes, boy, we stand too close to the glass.”

  “Is that a nice way of telling me I’m narrow-minded?” Sean asked, chuckling.

  “What I’m telling you is…you might need to back up a little to get a better view.”

  After a brief silence, Sean sighed and nodded. “Aye, duly noted.”

  “Now how about that!” She grinned brightly. “I didn’t even have to give you a black eye!”

  Chapter 11

  Wearing an old army jacket, Gabriel slouched, eyes closed, against the door as Sean drove to Norbury the next morning. A thick, low, country mist made the wipers necessary, but they dragged annoyingly loudly over the windshield. Gabriel wasn’t asleep—just purposefully not talking. Sighing with emphasis, Sean shut off the maddening wipers and glanced at his little brother. At breakfast, refusing anything but black coffee, Gabriel looked older—old enough to know better. But there, in the car, with several days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin, Sean could see the youthfulness in Gabriel’s twenty-two years. Maybe Etta was right—maybe something was troubling Gabriel.

  He looked at Gabriel once more, and a smile came unbidden to his mouth. Their mother had left her telltale markings all over him—her nose, her prominent chin, and her high cheekbones. Emma Kelly had named her second son after the Archangel Gabriel, God’s messenger, because the first time she gazed into Gabriel’s face, he stared back intently at his mother as if he had something important to say but wasn’t able to. Emma believed that new babies were closer to God because they hadn’t been separated from Him for as long as the rest of us.

  As Sean drove past the school to the stables, the rumble of the dirt road stirred his passenger. “Wake up; were almost there!”

  “Grand,” Gabriel mumbled unenthusiastically and began sitting up.

  Sean stopped the Wagoneer and put an affectionate hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Come on, Gabe, brighten up. It’s a grand fine day, so it is!”

  Groaning, Gabriel grudgingly got out of the car and fell in step beside Sean with his head down and his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. In a sudden memory from childhood, Sean recalled the times Gabriel slogged home from school in the same manner after being sent to the headmaster’s office, knowing Da would still have his say on the matter. “Punishin’ that boy won’t cure his troubles,” Etta had said, and if history served true, Sean knew she was right. Seamus Kelly was by all means an evenhanded father, but like most men of his era, he dealt with his sons’ behavior and avoided any and all talk of “feelings.” Sean sighed heavily and said to himself, “No, Miss Etta, men folk won’t never learn.”

  “Good mornin’, fellahs!” Matthias said, meeting them at the stable door.

  “Mornin’!” Sean said back cheerfully. He was glad he’d been able to convince Dr. Middleton to hire the sixty-year-old, retired dockworker. Matthias was a big man with leathery skin, darkened by the harsh Savannah sun, and his large, work-calloused hands gave a bone-crushing grip. However, behind all the roughness, Matthias had gentle eyes and a compassionate soul. Dr. Middleton was worried about Matthias’s lack of experience and the number of years it had been since he’d worked in a stable. But Sean knew the horses hadn’t changed, and animals, like children, responded better to a kind heart. “Matthias, this is my younger brother Gabriel Kelly. Gabriel’s our stable master at Kells Down, my family’s horse business back home.”

  Gabriel, who’d been standing silently by, looked up, surprised by Sean’s introduction. Hastily, he began tugging his right hand from his pocket and then slid it into Matthias’s. “Glad to meet ye, sir,” he said and glanced again at Sean, not knowing whether he was more irritated or relieved at the smug grin on his older brother’s face.

  “Gabe’s staying with Catie and me for a few weeks,” Sean continued, “and he’s kindly offered us his help while the students are still training.”

  “Well then, welcome, Gabe. I’m mighty thankful.” Matthias’s smile stretched to his ears as he vigorously shook Gabriel’s hand. “Thanks to your brother here, our business has grown faster than we expected.”

  Waving off the compliment, Sean asked, “Matthias, if you wouldn’t mind dropping Gabe off by my office at noon”—he punched his brother playfully—“I reckon I’ll buy the wee scamp’s lunch.”

  “Be happy to,” Matthias agreed, still smiling.

  As they watched Sean drive back up the dirt road, Matthias turned to Gabriel and said, “You’ve got you a mighty fine brother there, Gabe.”

  “Yeah,” Gabriel breathed. “So he is.”

  ***

  Baking Rose’s scone recipe, Catie stopped kneading when the doorbell rang and looked at Etta curiously. “Wonder who that could be?”

  “You keep kneadin’. I’ll get the door. Don’t overdo the dough though, or you’ll get tough biscuits.”

  “They’re scones,” Catie corrected with a teasing haughtiness that made Etta laugh as she cleaned her hands on a tea towel and hurried out of the kitchen.

  When Etta opened the door to their visitor, she stopped smiling. “Humph. Look what the cat done left on the stoop.”

  Delia Reynolds took off her large sunglasses, rolled her eyes, and stepped uninvited into the entrance hall. “My goodness, honey, with that dazzling personality of yours, I can’t see why old Mrs. Mayden fired your ass.” She gave Etta a superior smile and asked, “Is the lady of the house home?”

  Etta narrowed her eyes. “She here, but I don’t want you doin’ to these children what you done to the Maydens and the others. People talk… I know all about you. These here are newlyweds and good kids that don’t need your kinda trouble.
”

  “Puh-lease.” Delia rolled her eyes again. “The Irishman is a rare piece of eye candy — I’ll give you that—but too young and way too poor for my taste.”

  Etta opened her mouth to come back but held her tongue when Catie appeared from the kitchen. “You got company, child,” she told Catie, giving Delia a wilting look. “You visit; I’ll mind the biscuits.”

  “Delia, hello,” Catie said a tad flustered. “I’m sorry. Did we have a lunch date today?”

  “No, honey, I just dropped in to ask you a question.” She inspected Catie’s person with a discriminating brow. “Did I catch you…cooking?”

  Catie glanced down. She was wearing her oldest blue jeans, one of Sean’s university t-shirts tied at the side, and an apron. And although she hadn’t checked the mirror, she was sure there was flour on the tip of her nose. Inwardly cringing, Catie wiped her nose subconsciously with the back of her hand. “Baking, actually,” she replied softly to Delia, who stood there willowy and perfect as always. Just once in my bloody life, I’d like to be described as willowy.

  “Is there a difference?” Delia asked.

  “Yes, there is, though I didn’t know it myself until recently.” Catie untied the apron and pulled it over her head. “Would you like to have a seat in the parlor, Delia, while I fetch us some tea?”

  “Oh, don’t bother. I can’t stay. I have three showings after lunch.” As Delia spoke, she put her purse and keys on the hall table and went into the front parlor, high-heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors. Catie followed.

  Delia sat down and crossed her long, faultless legs as Catie tucked back a stray tendril that had escaped her messily pulled back hair. “So, what is it you wanted to ask me, Delia?”

  Her visitor smiled slyly. “You’ve been holding out on me, Catherine Kelly.”

  Yes, Miss Etta, exactly like a fox. “I suppose this is in regard to my parents being childhood friends with Annabelle Montague?”

  “You mean the shocking revelation that Prissy Middleton’s little, English, country rose is actually a society debutante and wealthy…very wealthy. I already knew all that.” She waved her hand flippantly. “I had you checked out.”

  “Checked out!” Catie’s back straightened.

  The sly smile returned. “You gave me permission, honey.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, you signed the lease agreement and a background check is required on all contracts.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Always read the fine print.”

  “Oh,” Catie uttered, feeling exposed.

  Delia sat back. “But while we’re on the subject, I just have to ask. Why the Irishman? I mean, he’s a looker and all, but surely all the rich ones in England weren’t ugly. Were you rebelling, sticking it to the ancient establishment?”

  “I love Sean, Delia. Whether or not he had money didn’t matter one jot to me.”

  “Oooooh,” Delia fairly wriggled. “He must have been a real tiger in bed then.” Catie looked down and unnecessarily brushed clean the leg of her jeans. “Oh, my God!” Delia’s brows shot up. “You were a virgin when you got married?”

  Catie met Delia’s eyes straight on then, and she adamantly replied, “It was my decision to be so.”

  Cackling, Delia shook her head. “Could you get any more precious, Catie Kelly? I feel like homemade sin just sitting near you.”

  Well then, we’re equal because sitting near you makes me feel frumpy. “Delia, if it isn’t my parents then what? I wouldn’t rush our visit, but I’m making scones for Sean and really must get back to them.” Catie knew she was being impolite, but Delia Reynolds wasn’t easily insulted.

  “Ah, how very domestic,” Delia replied with obvious distaste for the idea, making the temperature of Catie’s blood rise a few degrees. “But I was talking about your brother-in-law. You have a handsome, single man visiting and haven’t yet had me over for cocktails.” Delia exaggerated a pout. “I’m hurt, Catie.”

  Good Lord, Catie thought. Savannah was big enough to fit her own village of Ashridge inside its perimeters ten times over, but the southern gem certainly behaved like a much smaller town. Delia was right: everyone in Savannah did know everyone else’s business. “I’m sorry, Delia. Gabe arrived unexpectedly less than a week ago, and to be honest…” Catie trailed off.

  “To be honest what?”

  “To be honest…I wouldn’t think my brother Gabriel your...well…your type. Oh, he’s a wonderful chap, but…he’s…he’s a bit”—Catie was trying hard not to insult Gabriel or Delia—“unsophisticated.”

  “Shame on you, Catie Kelly!” Delia tutted. “You’re a perfect snob!”

  Catie had noticed that Southern women unquestionably tutted more than English women—which was saying a lot. “I am not a snob—just a little protective. Gabriel’s a sweet lad and still rather innocent I think, despite all his jokes and teasing.”

  Delia leaned forward, her shiny, candy apple red lips suddenly uncomfortably close, and spoke in her sweetest southern drawl. “I want to buy the man a drink, honey, show him the town…not marry him.” Then, as if she had read Catie’s mind, she laughed softly and whispered, “I promise I’ll not gobble him whole!”

  ***

  Sean finished typing out the teacher observations Dr. Middleton had tasked him with that morning and then stepped over to his window to watch for Toby. Ever since Sean’s first Monday at Norbury, Toby Patterson had come at lunchtime and sat on the bench under the spreading oak outside Sean’s office until his teacher came looking for him—every Monday regardless of the weather. In earnest, Sean had tried to gain the child’s trust, hoping Toby would open up and confide in him…speak…but to no avail. Toby Patterson was as mute as a rock.

  Like clockwork, Toby appeared and assumed his customary position on the bench, knees tucked under his chin and his thin arms wrapped tightly about his legs. Then he began to rock back and forth, exactly as he was found on the night his mother was murdered. “Why, Toby?” Sean said softly. He’d racked his brain trying to figure out the meaning of Toby’s Monday ritual, certain the boy was trying to tell them something by his actions.

  Sean noticed his brother approaching after being dropped off by Matthias. In Gabriel’s easy, casual way, he strolled over to the bench and sat down beside the boy to wait for Sean. Unaware that Toby was a mute, Gabriel began to talk. After several seconds, Toby stopped rocking, turned, and looked up at the stranger beside him. My God, Sean thought, he’s making eye contact! Feeling a cold stab in his midsection, Sean drew closer to the window, unable to believe his eyes. Toby Patterson’s lips had begun to move. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed and ran from his office.

  “Come along, Toby,” the teacher was calling for the child by the time Sean pushed open the heavy door into the bright, midday sun. He was too late.

  Damn. Sean rushed over to Gabriel, who stood to greet him.

  “I hope you have a deep wallet today, Brother,” he said, “’cause I could eat a farmer’s arse through a blackthorn bush.”

  “What did that boy say to you, Gabe?” Sean asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know.” Gabriel shrugged. “We just chatted. Ready?”

  Sean grabbed his brother firmly by the arm. “Damn it, Gabriel! I need to know what he said — his exact words. It’s important.”

  “I don’t know.” Gabriel shrugged again. “Said something about waiting on his daddy. Odd wee fellah, eh?”

  “Waiting on his daddy?” Sean asked incredulously. “Are you sure, Gabe? He told you he was waiting on his daddy?”

  “Aye, I’m sure. Food…now! I didn’t have breakfast. Remember?”

  More puzzled than ever, Sean stared off in the direction Toby had departed.

  “Seany!” Gabriel snapped his fingers beside Sean’s ear. “I’m hungry, mate!”

  “Right,” he said absently. “Come on. I’ll buy you a burger.”

  Waiting for his lunch and bored, Gabriel played a rhythmic tattoo on the table with his thumbs.


  “Stop it, Gabe!” Sean, who had been staring meditatively out the diner’s greasy window, turned to his brother and barked.

  “Oh, he speaks, does he?” Gabriel said. “What’s wrong with you anyway?” Before Sean could answer, the waitress returned with their burgers and fries. “Well now I thank ye, A-man-da.” Gabriel ran his finger under the young waitress’s nametag as he read it, precariously close to the woman’s right breast.

  “Gabriel!” Sean smacked his brother’s hand. “Sorry, miss.”

  “Don’t sorry miss me,” she snipped, winking at Gabriel. “I think he’s kinda cute.”

  “So are you.” Gabriel batted his eyes at her. “Now be a good lass and fetch us a wee bottle of brown sauce, will ye, darlin’?”

  Amanda’s brows knitted. “Brown sauce?”

  “Aye, HP’ll do.”

  “They don’t have brown sauce in America, Gabe.”

  “Jaysus!” Gabriel exclaimed. “No brown sauce!”

  “Shhh,” Amanda leaned over and whispered, “Bill don’t like the customers takin’ the Lord’s name in vain ’round here.”

  “Oh, it weren’t sacrilege, lass,” Gabriel said seriously. “I was genuinely callin’ upon himself.” He looked back at Sean. “No brown sauce?”

  Sean shook his head.

  Gabriel sat back in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that more than seventeen million of our brethren immigrated to this country, and not one of those wee eejits remembered to pack the bloody brown sauce?”

  Sean sighed impatiently and looked at the waitress. “Miss, just fetch us a bottle of malt vinegar. He’ll survive the trauma.”

  “Who’s he,” Amanda asked Gabriel, flicking her head in Sean’s direction, “your warden?”

  “Nah, he’s me brother. A right pain in the arse but not near as much as himself is.”

  “Jesus?” Amanda asked, wide-eyed.

  “No, lass, not himself Jesus—himself me da.”

  Looking confused, Amanda nodded and went to fetch the vinegar.