The Brynthwaite Boys - Season One - Part Three

by Merry Farmer

  If only the rest of the staff was as quick to throw decorum to the wind.

  “There’s mail for you,” Samuel grumbled as Flossie approached the front desk.

  She redirected her steps and marched to stand in front of the desk, picking up a stack of letters.

  “Not that pile. That’s for the boss,” Samuel snapped at her.

  “If it’s hotel business, I can deal with it,” she said, keeping focused on the letters as she leafed through them.

  “Well, aren’t you certain of yourself?” Samuel leaned closer to her, eyes narrowed in a sneer. “At least we know how you got that way now.”

  She continued to ignore him, knowing exactly what he would say. The correspondence for the hotel was almost entirely bills. There was another letter on the desk addressed specifically to her, though. In Betsy’s handwriting. Flossie blew out a sigh. Her cunning sister had sent her two letters a week with tidings of woe from home, desperate to know why Flossie had stopped sending money to her. Flossie had yet to come up with a plan to confront her sister about her deception.

  “Oy, Gerry, get a load of this,” Samuel called across to where his friend waited by the door.

  “What?” Gerry stepped away from his post, sauntering across the stretch of carpet that split through the marble. “You got something to show me?”

  “I don’t,” Samuel said. “But if you promise her a couple coppers, Miss Flossie here might show you everything.”

  Flossie froze. Heat filled her cheeks as she glanced up to meet Samuel’s bitter smirk.

  “What’s the matter, Miss?” he taunted her. “That’s how you operate, isn’t it? A couple of coins for a tumble?”

  “What’s the going rate these days?” Gerry asked, reaching into his pocket. “I made me a few tips earlier.”

  “None of that,” Samuel countered. “It takes a hefty sum to get this one out of her drawers. You got to offer her something big. Like a hotel.”

  Gerry laughed. “See now, Samuel, if you’d been willing to bend over and take it from the boss, you might be head of your own hotel by now.”

  The joke fell flat as Samuel scowled and said, “Some of us were promoted on our merits.”

  Flossie was inches away from informing Samuel that he was promoted to keep him out of trouble and she had been a part of that decision, when Jason came striding around the corner.

  “Is that the mail?” he asked, oblivious to the conversation he’d walked in on.

  Bristling with rage and offence as she was, Flossie smiled and answered, “Yes, it is.”

  She handed the pile of hotel bills to him. Jason took it, saying, “I’m expecting a telegram from that establishment in Silecroft,” but stopped when he saw Flossie’s face. His brow dropped to a scowl. “What?”

  A stronger woman would hold her tongue, keep her chin up and not stoop to Samuel’s level. A smart woman would let his comments roll off of her like so much rain off a window. True class was not a matter of birth, but a matter of behavior in situations precisely like this one.

  But dammit, she couldn’t resist.

  With a tight smile, she told Jason, “Samuel and Gerry were just asking me the going rate for whores.”

  Without even a second of hesitation or confusion as to her true meaning, Jason’s face flushed red and his eyes flashed with fury. His reaction was strong enough and swift enough that even Flossie took half a step back.

  “Is that so?” Jason boomed. He glared at Samuel.

  “I…uh…sir,” Samuel stammered.

  “We didn’t mean anything by it.” Gerry was slightly more articulate, but infinitely less smart.

  Jason threw the pile of mail down on the desk. “That’s it,” he shouted.

  Samuel flinched. Gerry looked as though he would soil himself.

  “I want every member of the staff assembled in the dining room, now!”

  “Yes, sir,” Samuel and Gerry both mumbled. Gerry rushed off, presumably to inform whoever he could find.

  “Th-the front desk, sir?” Samuel squeaked.

  “Leave it as it is. Get. Now.” Jason thrust his arm toward the dining room door, pointing. As Samuel scurried, tripping over his feet in his haste to either get away or do as he was told, Jason turned to Flossie. “I am through with this,” he continued to thunder, gesturing for her to walk with him to the dining room door. “Our personal lives are our business are ours alone. These people owe their livelihoods to me, and if they think they can treat me as their equal, as if I was just another orphan who happened to get lucky, then they are about to learn a very difficult lesson.”

  A dozen different kinds of alarm rang in Flossie’s head as she marched by Jason’s side into the dining room. She should have seen that he was more bothered by the publicity of their relationship sooner. She should have guessed that there were layers upon layers of reasons why he acted as he did. She shouldn’t have dismissed his origins or how far he’d come. And she most certainly shouldn’t have assumed that she could keep to the shadows, climbing the ladder she’d climbed to situate herself in the life she wanted without half the world noticing. Everyone cheered for the lowly when they rose above themselves, but only until they started throwing stones to bring them down.

  Flossie attempted to join the cluster of hotel staff that rushed to assemble en masse in the center of the dining room, between the tables, but Jason took her hand and led her to the front of the room, beside the giant, open hearth of the room’s main fireplace. He let go of her hand, but both ordered her to stay where she was and promised he would end whatever taunting and teasing she’d received with one nerve-wracking stare. Flossie’s stomach twisted with excitement and foreboding, knowing the entire hotel was about to be turned on its ear.

  “This is the final straw,” Jason began his lecture in a truly terrifying growl once the entire staff was assembled, half of them trembling in their boots. “Many of you think it is fine sport to laugh at your betters and to twist their affairs into the stuff of downstairs gossip.”

  A few of the porters at the back of the group who were doing a poor job of hiding grins lost those grins at the directness and force of Jason’s words. Flossie swallowed, clasping her hands in front of her as if holding on for dear life.

  “Yes,” Jason shouted, living up to the reputation that had given his hotel the name The Dragon’s Head. “My intimate relationships have been made public. Yes, Miss Stowe and I are engaged in an affaire de coeur.”

  Flossie’s brow rose so high so fast that she thought she might lose her eyebrows. She’d gone straight from “Miss Flossie” to “Miss Stowe” now, and Jason was referring to their arrangement in French. They were in uncharted territories indeed.

  “I would like to make it abundantly clear, right here and now,” Jason went on, “that our relationship is none of any of your bloody business. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mr. Throckmorton,” the staff echoed with varying degrees of volume and terror.

  “Furthermore,” Jason went on, “Miss Stowe has achieved her position as head maid through her own outstanding efforts, her competency, and her untiring dedication to The Dragon’s Head and its staff.”

  A flush of embarrassed pride stained Flossie’s cheeks and made her feel self-conscious to the core. She kept her chin up, but she couldn’t meet a single person’s eyes.

  “Not one of you has the slightest idea how often she has come to your defense, brought you to my attention for your strengths, and suggested tasks and assignments for you to tackle. You may find it amusing to speak ill of her for her unconventional choices in regards to me, but to do so would be spitting in the face of the strongest ally you have in this establishment.”

  Oh Lord. Jason was making her sound like some sort of saint. She would never fit in as one of the girls again. Miss Stowe she was, and Miss Stowe she would be from henceforth.

  “Based on the behavior I have seen demonstrated in the last few weeks since my illness, I will be making changes to the staff and ass
ignments at The Dragon’s Head,” Jason went on, prompting a flurry of muttering from the men and women standing helpless in front of him. “So I suggest you think twice about the way you conduct yourself from here on out. And let me be absolutely explicit on one point.”

  All murmuring stopped as every set of eyes in the room remained glued to Jason and Flossie beside him. Flossie held her breath, caught between the thrill of what Jason might say next and the dread of it.

  “Employment at a hotel requires the very highest level of discretion. Each one of you understood that you could be privy to sensitive information upon taking this job and that I would not tolerate any sort of gossip or innuendo about the guests or the staff being made public in the world outside of those walls.” He jabbed a finger toward the dining room windows and the garden walls beyond it. “That goes double, treble, for my personal business and the business of Miss Stowe. Do you understand?” he bellowed with enough force to throw some of the younger maids into tears.

  “Yes, Mr. Throckmorton.” The chorus of agreement was firmer this time.

  “Then what did I just tell you? What does it mean?”

  Silence followed.

  “Well?” Jason demanded.

  For another moment, the silence was so thick that a mouse could have been heard scurrying across the far end of the room.

  At length, Dora raised a trembling hand. When Jason pointed to her, she said, barely above a whisper, “It means that we are not to talk about you and Miss Stowe outside of the hotel.”

  “What does it mean?” Jason demanded again, pointing at Richard this time.

  “That we shouldn’t talk about you and Miss Stowe outside of the hotel or at all?”

  “What does it mean?” Jason sliced his finger across to point at Frank.

  Frank swallowed and repeated. “We are not to say a word about you and Miss Stowe and anything else in the hotel anywhere else at all.”

  Jason nodded, but moved his finger on to another of the maids, then a porter, then on and on until he’d singled out every last member of the staff—including Samuel—and had them state out loud that no one was to speak any part of the hotel’s business outside of the walls of the hotel at any time for any reason.

  “Now,” he boomed at last. “Hold your heads up with pride. In a remarkably short time, The Dragon’s Head has become the premier holiday establishment in The Lake District. The great and mighty come from every corner of this land to enjoy their time here, and you are the ones who make that possible. Discretion is not just your directive, it is your mark of honor. Every lord and lady who visits this hotel and every man and woman of mettle who is employed here will have every confidence that their lives and their business will remain their own. You are the front line of that defense, do you understand?”

  A round of “Yes, Mr. Throckmorton,” rose from the assembled staff.

  “And rest assured, if any one of you betrays your most sacred purpose, you will be dismissed without references before you can so much as blink. You are better than that. We will have no disappointments here. Is that clear?”

  This time, when the staff replied, “Yes, Mr. Throckmorton,” it was with a resounding confidence. From her position at the front of the room, under everyone’s eye, Flossie could see which members of the staff had taken the message to heart and latched on to Jason’s message of loyalty, which had been terrified into obedience, and which wouldn’t last out the week. The sight would have filled her with buoyancy…if she wasn’t so dizzy from being set so high up on a pedestal.

  “Now go back to work,” Jason thundered at last. His tone too had shifted from one of draconian command to absolute mastery and motivation. As the staff scrambled to flee the room and return to their jobs, he turned to Flossie, tugging at the bottom of his coat, and said, “That ought to sort things out.”

  The grin that tickled the corners of his mouth was so self-satisfied, so blissful, and so filled with renewed confidence, that in spite of the crushing self-consciousness that still twisted Flossie’s stomach in knots and made her head swim with mortification, she smiled. Lord help them all, but his eyes flashed with exhilaration, and he stood taller than he had in weeks. He was back to himself.

  Flossie crossed her arms. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “God, yes,” he breathed out as though he’d just climaxed.

  “I especially admired your stab at building them up in order to win loyalty.”

  “More flies are caught with honey than vinegar.”

  She shook her head, fighting not to encourage him with her smile. “You realize that you’ve just alienated me from every one of my friends at the hotel.”

  Buzzing with energy, Jason shrugged. “So? I’ll buy you new friends.”

  “What if I like the ones I have?”

  “You’re worth a hundred of them.”

  She shook her head harder, at a complete loss of how to feel in that moment. She wanted to laugh and weep.

  Jason must have caught on to the genuine distress that lurked under her shock. “Come now,” he said, stepping closer to her and touching her arm. “True friends pay no mind to social position. Those that love you for who you are will get over the shock and continue to confide in you. Those that are fair-weather friends will move on as they would have regardless.”

  Flossie arched an eyebrow. “Do you truly believe that or are you just trying to placate me so that I don’t take you to task for that exhibition once we’re alone.”

  His expression grew serious. “Both.”

  “I see.”

  He lightened into a smile, and the two of them started toward the lobby. “Well, at least we won’t need to worry about becoming the center of town gossip.” Flossie had her doubts about that, but before she could voice them, Jason went on with, “You’re going to have to stop wearing those clothes, though.”

  Her brow flew up. “Oh, so you want me to walk around the hotel naked as well?”

  His shoulder stiffened. “Not bloody likely. I want you to buy new clothes, something befitting your station.” He paused. “We’ll save the nudity for our suite.”

  After the burst of emotion, the suddenness of the changes, and the tension that continued to ripple through the hotel, Flossie burst into laughter. She slapped her hands to her mouth to hide it, but it was too late.

  She would have continued to laugh out, but as she looked to the door leading to the lobby, she was startled to find Marshall Pycroft and a man she didn’t know standing just inside.

  “Good God, man,” Marshall said. “I haven’t seen you make a speech that terrifying since the night you blasted out the dormitory for picking on Tommy Fairchild.”

  Beside her, Jason froze and turned beet red. “You saw that?”

  Marshall’s moustache twitched as he tried to hide his grin. “Saw, partially. Heard?” He snorted. “Half of Brynthwaite heard, man. You’ve got your doors open.”

  “Bloody hell,” Jason grumbled. His shoulder dropped and he rubbed the back of his neck, the first sign of embarrassment since he’d begun his tirade. At last, he winced and let out a heavy breath, glancing up to the other man. “St. Germaine. Good of you to come all this way.” He stepped forward to take the man’s hand, explaining to Flossie as he did, “This is Nigel St. Germaine, my chief man of business in London.”

  “How do you do?” Flossie began to curtsy to him, but suddenly realized she had not a clue how she should address anyone anymore, let alone Jason’s man of business.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stowe,” St. Germaine stepped forward to shake her hand. The sparkle of humor—proof he too had heard Jason’s speech—glinted in his eye.

  Her sense of dread returning, Flossie said, “I should return to work.” She sent Jason a sideways look.

  “You should take twenty pounds from the lockbox in my office and go into town to buy dresses,” Jason told her. “I insist.”

  Flossie drew in a slow breath that felt like pushing a rowboat off of a dock
and into an uncharted sea. “Yes, sir,” she answered on a sigh.

  The gentlemen continued speaking as she turned to head into the lobby. Her stomach was still full of butterflies dashing madly about. New clothes for a new life. Whatever would that life hold?

  Marshall

  If only he had half of Jason’s nerve. Marshall had stood aside and watched his friend both berate and motivate his staff, caught between amusement and envy. Jason was a titan amongst men. He could bend the strongest will with ease. He could celebrate his love without apology. He lived a charmed life, no matter what he said.

  If only Marshall’s life could be so easy.

  “You received my telegraph about the trial?” St. Germaine asked as they headed through the lobby toward Jason’s office.

  “I did,” Jason answered. He turned to Marshall to go on from there.

  “I can’t thank you enough for interceding with the High Court,” Marshall said, shifting to the more important matter at hand. “I must admit, I’m surprised they agreed that I had not been informed of the original hearing. You would think that Danforth and his creatures had the entire court in their pockets by now.”

  “Not all of them,” St. Germaine said with a short smile. It would have been more reassuring if it had lasted longer. “No, there was enough evidence on hand to prove that Percival Danforth pushed the case through and that you were not given sufficient notice or time to proceed. It’s an astounding mark in our favor.”

  The three of them entered Jason’s office. Marshall glanced around as he moved to take a seat in one of the chairs facing Jason’s desk. Papers and ledgers were arranged in labeled cubbies along one wall. Catalogs and a stack of bills had been sorted into bins on the desk. Even the pens were neatly arranged along one side of the blotter. Marshall had never known Jason to keep his space tidy. Neatly-arranged clutter was more his friend’s style. Everywhere one looked, evidence of Flossie Stowe’s mastery could be found.