Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1)

by Jennie Marsland

  Up yours, old man. “I know there’s some money in the bank in Carston. I see no reason why I shouldn’t have a share of that since Richard’s gettin’ this place.”

  “You’ve got your cheek, comin’ here with your hand out after turning your back on us.”

  His father had always been able to intimidate him with his anger. Drew’s throat went dry, but he was through backing down. “How could I turn my back on you when you turned away from me before I was old enough to go to school? You and Mam couldn’t get along, so you visited your spite on me. You’ve only ever had one son.”

  Before Drew could react, Richard lashed out with a blow to his face. The force of it snapped Drew’s head back. He tasted blood and got up, roaring, “You bloody sod—”

  “Mind your tongue with your father, or there’s more where that came from!”

  His head ringing, Drew looked at his father and saw no yielding in his eyes. Enough. They could cut him off without a brass farthing, but he was done with them. He’d never set foot in the place again. “Right, then. I didn’t really expect any different. The two of you can rot here and be damned. I’m through with you. I won’t be back.” Drew raised his hand to his throbbing cheek and glared at Richard. “As for this, you’ll be sorry, I promise you that. I’m off.”

  He stood quickly, sending his chair crashing to the floor, and strode out the door. Snow had begun to fall, but it didn’t soothe his stinging face or cool his temper.

  Panic started to seep through his anger. What if the mill didn’t reopen? The payment he’d gotten from Westlake wouldn’t go far. He’d been getting his groceries through the relief committee like everyone else, and the house he lived in belonged to the mill.

  He’d told himself he wouldn’t be greedy, wouldn’t push his luck. All he’d wanted was to stick it to Westlake and get enough to compensate him for his lost income. He’d never counted on his family for any help, but now that the words had been spoken, he knew for certain that he was on his own.

  He wanted out. He wanted to leave Mallonby and its memories behind, just disappear, and there was one simple way to do that. Get on a ship and go somewhere where an enterprising young man could make something of himself. Australia, or America. America… According to the papers, the Union was welcoming anyone who’d fight for them, but there was a better way. He’d go with enough money to keep himself out of the army and take advantage of the opportunities war offered. All compliments of Phillip Westlake.

  * * *

  Chelle stopped at the top of the Westlakes’ drive to brush some of the snow from her hat and cloak. Before Trey’s letter had come, she’d promised to bring the records of the relief committee to Miss Westlake for her approval before the New Year. Chelle didn’t feel like seeing anyone, but she couldn’t go back on her word. All she had to do was deliver the account book and be on her way.

  In spite of the snow clinging to the red brick façade and frosting the yew hedge, the Westlake house reminded Chelle of Pinecrest, Rory’s home. It had the same imposing feel. She followed the butler, Louden, through the familiar front hall. She’d called on Miss Westlake a few times on committee business, but the house never seemed to welcome her.

  Inside, it wasn’t quite as elegant as Pinecrest, but Chelle couldn’t deny it was done up in excellent taste. A wine-colored, fringed oriental rug warmed the hall’s parquetry floor. Mahogany furniture upholstered in deep red velvet brightened the dim space, lit only by weak winter sunlight coming through the open doorways of adjoining rooms, which also afforded glimpses of bright curtains as she passed.

  Like Rory’s home, this house had dignity but lacked soul. The McAfees had never mixed much warmth with their civility. She guessed the Westlakes didn’t either, but she’d lost her dislike of Maria over the weeks they’d worked together. As conscious of her social position as she might be, Maria really did seem to care about her father’s employees.

  Louden opened the door to a small, cozy room with lace-draped French doors facing the back garden, paper in a muted yellow stripe on the walls and a set of cream-upholstered Heppelwhite furniture near the white marble fireplace.

  Maria sat at a graceful oval table, reading. She put down her book and looked up with one of her reserved smiles. “Happy Christmas, Rochelle. Sit here by the fire. You’ve had a cold walk.”

  “Thank you, but I can’t stay, Maria. I brought the account book. I’ve entered everything from the last food distribution meeting.”

  Maria took the book and turned to the most recent page of entries. “Everything looks to be in order.”

  “Good. I’ll be going, then. Aunt needs my help this afternoon.” Maria might think her rude, but Chelle wasn’t in the mood to be good company. As for that, Maria looked troubled herself, as she had the last few times Chelle had seen her. “Happy Christmas to you as well, Maria. I’ll show myself out.”

  Maria nodded and picked up her novel. Chelle closed the sitting room door behind her and walked down the hall. Angry voices stopped her outside the door of Mr. Westlake’s study. When she realized she was eavesdropping she continued on, but not before she heard Mr. Westlake’s words. “I’ve no more time to listen to you. As of now, you are no longer in my employ. Get out of here before I have you thrown out.”

  Chelle didn’t hear his companion’s reply. Not wanting to run into an angry discharged servant, she hurried out.

  She walked through the village and past the Fultons’ cottage, lightless and cold-looking under the gray sky. Mrs. Fulton had gone to York with Kendra for a few days to help her and David get settled.

  Chelle had gone to Kendra’s wedding and seen her off with all the good wishes she could muster, without saying anything about Trey’s letter. She’d asked the family not to mention it to anyone, as she didn’t want to be questioned or consoled.

  Maman, I never thought life could hurt like this.

  * * *

  Drew slammed Mr. Westlake’s office door behind him. His face burned with anger, while panic made his gut clench. He’d been so sure he’d be able to get more out of the man. Now he was out of a job whether the mill reopened or not, with barely enough money to pay for a berth in steerage and keep him fed and housed for two or three weeks when he arrived overseas. He’d have to take whatever work he could find, or else join the army. Drew had no intention of dying in a foreign war, and it enraged him to think that his slavery in the mill here had been in vain. Everything he’d worked so hard for was lost.

  One thing was certain. Before he left, he’d make sure everyone in Mallonby knew the truth about the fire. When he confirmed what many already suspected, they’d find a way to make Westlake pay, and Drew would stay just long enough to watch it happen.

  A flash of blue, disappearing around the bend in the road on the way to the village, caught Drew’s eye. He knew that cloak. He’d seen it on the McShannon girl often enough to remember it. What was she doing out here? Past the Westlakes’, there wasn’t another house for two miles.

  Drew looked down and saw the marks of a woman’s boot heels in the snow on the doorstep. Tracks made by the same boots led down the drive toward the road. So she’d been here. What truck would a common girl like her have with the Westlakes? Oh, yes, she was on the relief committee. She must have called to see Miss Westlake.

  Drew recalled hearing someone in the hall just as Westlake was telling him to leave. He’d assumed it was one of the servants, but now… It didn’t matter. If it was the McShannon girl, she hadn’t seen him, and even if she had, anything she might say would be lost in the general outcry about the fire. Drew dismissed her from his mind and headed into the village. The Crow was the place to begin getting his revenge.

  The pub was full of mill hands making the best of a less than cheerful holiday season. Martin Rainnie sat at the bar, a mug of ale in front of him. The sight of him spurred Drew’s anger to another level. He took a breath, unclenched his fists and reminded himself that he was here for a reason.

  He found a seat at t
he opposite end of the bar from Martin. “Bitter, please, Harry.” The pub owner picked up Drew’s coins and brought his ale without comment. Drew’s eyes flickered to Martin.

  I’ll see you again, Rainnie, before I put this place behind me. He took a swallow of his ale and looked around the room. “Right good crowd, Harry. Miss Westlake was generous with her handouts for the season.”

  “It’s been slow enough.” Harry shrugged and turned away to serve another customer.

  Drew raised his voice so that the people around him could hear. “Aye, and who’s to blame for that? Our own Father Christmas, Phillip Westlake. Well, I’ve got aught to say about him. If those insurance investigators had done their jobs properly, the man would be in prison right now. He set that fire with his own two hands. I was on my way back from the dance that night and I saw him standing at his window, watching our livelihood go up in smoke.”

  Harry gave him a pointed look. “I’d have thought you too sharp to bite the hand that feeds you, Drew. You’d best not be talking like that without proof.”

  “What I saw is all the proof I need, and Westlake doesn’t feed me, not anymore. I quit today, though of course, he’ll say he fired me. I won’t work for a man who nearly cost three people their lives.”

  The noise in the pub faded as heads turned Drew’s way. The man next to him, Ben Thompson, a long-time mill hand, turned on his stool. “You saw him watchin’?”

  “Aye, plain as day. The fire was just startin’ to catch. When I got to the village, Ethan had given the alarm and folk were already comin’ out. I went along to the mill with them. You all saw me there.”

  Drew took a breath, waiting for indignation to spread through the crowd as quickly as the fire had spread through the warehouse.

  In the pause, Martin rose from his stool and took two slow, deliberate steps toward him. “So you saw Westlake standin’ at his window watchin’ the fire, and you waited until now to say so? Why?”

  Drew raked him with a look. “Do you think the investigators would have believed me? There was no evidence for anyone to see, and I had my job to protect. But I couldn’t live with myself, so I went to see Westlake today and told him I was through.”

  A sullen, angry buzz swelled in the room.

  Martin’s voice cut across it, dry and sharp. “If you’re telling the truth, you’re no better than Westlake. If you’d come forward after the fire, perhaps he could have been charged. The investigators might have looked harder for evidence. I don’t believe for a minute that you were afraid for your job. You decided to see what you could get out of him for yourself, didn’t you?”

  “It’s easy for you to talk, Rainnie. You didn’t lose your livelihood in that fire.”

  Martin grabbed the front of Drew’s shirt, spinning him around. “No, but I came within a hair’s breadth of losing my life. So did John and Ethan, but all you cared about was lining your pockets.”

  Ben Thompson looked Drew up and down in disgust. “I daresay Martin’s right. You’re no better than Westlake. All you care about is yourself.” Ben turned his back on Drew and faced the rest of the room. “Lads, I think we need to have a talk with Mr. Westlake. Who’s comin’ with me?”

  Martin released Drew with a push that bent him back over the bar and stalked out. Nobody commented. The other mill hands in the room gathered around Ben, shutting Drew out. He’d turned them against Westlake, but thanks to Martin, they’d turned against Drew at the same time. In one afternoon, he’d lost his family, his job, and what standing he’d had in the village. There’d be no turning back now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Martin hurried from the pub to the forge. If he’d read the mood at the pub aright, he hadn’t any time to waste wheedling his way into a meeting with Phillip Westlake, but his daughter would probably see Chelle without hesitation if she said it was urgent.

  If Chelle would go to the Westlake place with him.

  The thought of seeing her made Martin’s pulse race. Would he ever really get her out of his blood? In spite of his best efforts to prepare himself, he lost his breath when she opened the door.

  Chelle’s hand tightened on the door jamb and her eyes darkened at the sight of him. “Martin, what are you doing here?”

  “Just listen to me for a minute, lass. There’s going to be trouble at the Westlakes’, and I need you to go with me to warn them. I’ll waste too much time getting in the door if I go alone. I’ll explain on the way.”

  He understood now why Chelle’s father was worried about her. She was a little thinner and paler than she’d been in the fall, but more than that, the remote expression on her sweet face frightened him. He’d seen her sad, he’d seen her angry, but he’d never seen her look like that.

  “The Paxtons—”

  “Bugger the Paxtons. Chelle, Miss Westlake and her father could be in danger. Will you come with me or not?”

  She lowered her gaze. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

  They took the path by the river to avoid being seen in the village. Martin suspected it would take half an hour or so for the crowd at the Crow to work themselves up to forming a mob. It would take nearly twenty minutes to reach the Westlake place. As they hurried along, Martin told Chelle what he’d seen and heard at the pub. “Drew never did have much good sense, for all his cleverness. He thought folk would hail him as a hero instead of tarring him with the same brush as Westlake.”

  Chelle shivered. “There’s something in Drew that frightens me. He’s more than just a fool and a boor. He’s got real meanness in him. Kendra felt the same.”

  They hurried on with no breath to spare for talk. When they reached the house, Louden answered the door and gave Martin a doubtful look. “Is Mr. Westlake expecting you?”

  Chelle answered. “I’ve come to see Miss Westlake. It’s urgent and important. She and her father may be in danger. Is she home?”

  “Yes, miss. You and Mr. Rainnie may wait here.”

  They settled in two of the armchairs in the hall. Martin felt as if his might break under his weight. He shifted uncomfortably and glanced around him. Seeing the inside of this place would do nothing to ease the anger of Mr. Westlake’s employees if they showed up here. “I’ve never seen the like of this. Have you?”

  Chelle gave him a half smile, the first real response he’d seen from her today. “Yes. When my brother was a small boy, he made friends with the son of the largest planter in our county. As we got older, his friend drew Trey and me into his social circle. That’s how I met Rory. His home wasn’t all that different from this.”

  Martin didn’t answer. How could he ever have thought Chelle might consider making a life with him when she might have had a home like this? She might be a plain farmer’s daughter as Colin said, but she had the grace and courage to hold her own anywhere.

  His bleak thoughts scattered when Maria Westlake came down the staircase at the end of the hall. A pretty lass, it couldn’t be denied, but to Martin’s eyes, Chelle looked just as much the lady.

  “Rochelle, Mr. Rainnie, Louden said something about Father and me being in danger. What’s this about?”

  Chelle glanced at Martin, then drew a deep breath. “Maria, there’s been some unpleasantness in the village today. Word is being spread that your father started the fire at the mill, and people are upset. Mr. Rainnie told me. We both thought you should know, so I came with him to tell you.”

  One look at Miss Westlake’s face convinced Martin she knew the truth. He couldn’t help pitying her, but there wasn’t time to consider her feelings. “Miss Westlake, we need to speak to your father. Now. The two of you would be wise to leave Mallonby as quickly as possible.”

  Without a word, Maria turned and disappeared up the stairs. She came back with her father behind her, shrugging into his suit jacket. Martin took a grim satisfaction from the fear he saw under Westlake’s flimsy mask of annoyance.

  “Mr. Rainnie, I’m glad of the chance to thank you personally as I have publicly.”

  “I
don’t want your thanks, just your attention. I was in the pub this afternoon, and Drew Markham came in. I’ll warrant you’ve seen more than enough of him lately. He convinced the crowd that you set the fire at the mill yourself. They were in an ugly mood, and I thought you should know.”

  “Again, I owe you—”

  Martin cut him off. He was in no mood for civility. “You owe me naught. I know Drew told the truth. You don’t give a tinker’s damn about the people here and never have. Personally, I’d enjoy seeing them deal with you, but you aren’t worth going to prison for. I’m only here because your daughter doesn’t deserve to pay for what you’ve done. Get her packed and off to London, and if you have any sense, go with her. I wouldn’t see folk here suffer any more on your account.”

  Mr. Westlake flushed. “I’ll prosecute anyone who threatens my daughter or me. That troublemaker Markham is simply spreading rumors.”

  “Then why did you pay him off?”

  The color drained from Westlake’s face as quickly as it had spread.

  Martin chuckled, a dry bitter sound that didn’t relieve the anger pressing on him. “Don’t bother lying. You aren’t good at it. Just pack and get out of here. There’s no evidence to charge you, but you’ll pay regardless.” He glanced at Maria’s stricken face. “Every day, for the rest of your life, I’ll warrant.”

  Westlake’s shoulders slumped. “Maria, tell Louden to see to my packing and send for the carriage. As quickly as possible. Then get Susan to pack for you.” He turned to Chelle. “You’ve been a friend to Maria. Thank you for that. Now you and Mr. Rainnie had better go.”

  Martin answered. “No. We’ll stay for a while. If that lot from the pub comes out here, I want to be here to meet them.”

  Maria’s face was pale with humiliation. “Rochelle, I’m sorry.”

  Chelle shook her head. “None of this is your fault, Maria. I wish you all the best in your marriage.”

  Mr. Westlake didn’t protest Martin’s plan to stay. In a few minutes, Maria and her father were ready to leave. Martin and Chelle stood beside Louden, watching the carriage roll down the drive.