One Perfect Flower

by Roberta C. D. DeCaprio

  She nodded. “And it has been quite an undertaking, yet so rewarding.”

  He opened the bag. “Let’s be takin’ a look at you then, shall we?” He grunted, frowned, and mumbled to himself throughout the examination, adding to her anxiety over what he might find. When finished he sat at the edge of the bed, stroking his chin.

  “You’re ailin’ with somethin’ there is not a cure for, m’lady.”

  Her eyes widened. “Good Lord, Terrance, is it bad?”

  “Nay, m’lady, ’tis good.”

  She frowned. “I do not understand.”

  His face brightened. “You’re with child, m’lady.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you absolutely sure of this, Terrance?”

  He laughed. “Aye, m’lady that I am.”

  Stunned, she laid back against the pillows. “I am having a baby?”

  He laughed again. “Aye, that you are.”

  She swallowed hard. “Would you do me a favor and not breathe a word to my husband? I would like to surprise him with the news in my own time.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Of course you would, ’tis your right and half the fun. Although, I must admit I’d love to see the look on his face when you break the news to him.”

  “Yes, I am sure it will be a sight to behold.”

  “Imagine,” he went on, “there’ll finally be an heir to Shannonbrook. Braiton will be overjoyed.”

  She brought the quilt up to her chin, wishing she could disappear beneath it. “Oh, I do not think overjoyed would even come close, Terrance.” She bit her bottom lip. “Not close at all.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Braiton’s body was as weary as a body could be. Sitting at his office desk, he rehashed the meeting with Kevin Grady. Remorse swept through him at the way he interrogated his foreman. Not much younger than himself, Kevin hadn’t had an easy life. Abandoned by drunken parents at the age of ten, he grew up on the streets. The night Braiton met Kevin his nose was broken, shirt bloodied, and he was fighting with another lad in an alley over a shilling.

  “If you need a shilling that bad, perhaps you might consider working for one,” he’d shouted. The two men shrank back, staring in fear at his overwhelming form. He came forward, proposing to them a position in his company. The other lad ran away, but Kevin stayed to listen and was made a dock worker, moving up to foreman within a year’s time. He was able to buy himself a tiny cottage in the village with the fair wage he was paid and made Kathleen O’Leary his wife. He trusted Kevin and never doubted his word. He didn’t want to doubt it now.

  He had handed Kevin the sales receipts. “They’re signed in your name.”

  “But not by me hand, m’lord.” Kevin sighed. “Have I not given you me loyal service for all these last five years?”

  “Aye, that you have, Kevin.”

  “Then you must believe I would not cheat you?”

  He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “If you didn’t sign those receipts, then who did?”

  Kevin shook his head. “I have no understandin’ o’ the situation, m’lord.”

  “Have any strangers or unauthorized people been in this office, able to get the receipts from your desk,” he had demanded, pacing the floor.

  “Nay, m’lord, none,” Kevin answered, clasping his cap in front of him.

  “Have you left your post at any time, lad?” he snapped.

  “Nay, m’lord, not once.”

  “You’re absolutely sure of that, Mr. Grady?”

  “Absolutely, m’lord.”

  Braiton returned to his desk, flopping down upon the chair. “This is quite a mess I’m in, Kevin.” He shook his head. “How has this happened? Who could the culprit be?”

  “I owe you me life, m’lord. You trusted me, gave me a chance to build a future. I will not turn me back on you, but stand by you throughout, and help you to expose the rogue who did this.”

  “I believe you speak the truth, Kevin, now go home to your wife.”

  ’Twas time he went home to his own wife. Looking at the receipts again, he’d known from the start the handwriting wasn’t Kevin Grady’s hasty scrawl. But he had to ask. He rubbed his burning eyes and stood, making his way to the back door and bolting it.

  “I’m ready to leave now, Patrick,” he said, making his way to the main entrance.

  “Aye, m’lord,” Patrick said, rising from the crate he’d been sitting on.

  Patrick had driven three generations of Shannon men to their destinations, and waited with utmost patience to bring them home. But never before this night, had he been summoned from his bed.

  “Another wasted evening, Patrick.”

  “I’m sorry for that, m’lord.”

  “Nay, ’tis I who apologize for taking you from the comforts of your bed.”

  “Your apology isn’t necessary, m’lord. I’m sorry your problem isn’t solved.”

  He climbed into the bian. “So am I, Patrick, so am I.”

  ****

  Raven heard Braiton’s heavy, slow footsteps climbing the stairs and met him at the top, looking down at him while he approached.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you, lass.” He was worn and pale, lines of worry etched upon his brow.

  “You did not wake me. I have been too worried and frightened to sleep.”

  He sighed with his exhaustion. “There’s nothing for you to fear, Raven. No one dares to harm you.”

  She threw her arms around his waist, placing an ear to his heart. “I do not fear for myself, Braiton, but for you. You are so troubled. I cannot bear to see you suffer so.”

  He drew her closer and groaned. “I don’t know what to do, Raven. At this point I’ve lost all resolve. My heart is heavy with the weight of this situation.”

  He buried his face into her hair. “If this problem is not solved, and soon, all I’ve worked for, all my family worked for, will fall into ruination. Remaining clear headed is becoming harder and harder to do, yet I know I must stay in control or all will be lost.”

  She raised her gaze to his. “You need rest, Braiton.” She took his hand and led him to his bedchamber. “Come, you cannot have clear thoughts when you have not slept.” She left him standing by the door while she lit a gas lamp and pulled down the quilt on his bed.

  “Come,” she urged.

  He made his way to her, as though he were in a trance, and lowered himself to sit at the edge of the bed.

  She removed his boots, helped him off with his waist coat and shirt, then lifted his legs to rest on the bed.

  Covering him with the quilt, she whispered, “Sleep now, and think no more of anything tonight.”

  She reached for his shirt and coat and hung them over the back of a chair. A wad of crumpled papers fell from the coat. She bent to retrieve them, bringing them over to the lamp. Unfolding the slips of paper, she scanned the list of goods purchased and the prices. Kevin Grady’s signature scrawled across the bottom of the list. She studied the handwriting and frowned. There was something familiar about the strange way the letter “I” was dotted, with a fancy swirl, like a dancing snake.

  Where have I seen this before?

  She squeezed her eyes shut and searched her brain to recall the answer, but her memory failed her. Opening her eyes again, she continued to stare at the fancy script, hoping to jolt her mind, but her efforts were in vain.

  Weary herself, she returned the papers to the jacket pocket, turned down the lamp, and made her way to her own chamber. Her heart ached for her husband’s troubles, sharing his confusion and despair.

  She sighed. If I could only remember where I have seen that handwriting before?

  “It will come to me,” she whispered to herself, climbing beneath the quilt and pulling it up to her chin.

  ****

  The meeting Braiton set up between Morgan Wade, Kevin Grady, and Morgan’s assistant, Steven Bates would be the final one. Steven Bates arrived in Limerick that morning, and he hoped the man could help them figure out who signed Kevin’s name
on the receipts.

  “This is not the chap I dealt with, my lord,” Steven confirmed, dark eyes darting from Morgan, to Braiton, and then back to Kevin. “He was of slight build and clean shaven.”

  “And ’twas me name he gave, Mr. Bates?” Kevin inquired.

  “Aye, sir, it was. He signed the receipts as such,” Bates claimed.

  Kevin glanced over at him. “I signed nothin’ for this man, Lord Shannon. Up until this very moment, I never set me eyes on him.”

  “Aye, I can vouch for that as well,” Bates agreed, crossing his arms over his chest. “This was not the chap I did business with.”

  Braiton raked a hand through his hair. “A clean shaven man, slight of build, you say, Mr. Bates?”

  “Aye, my lord,” Bates agreed.

  He turned to Kevin. “Have we anyone on board fitting that description?”

  “Nay, m’lord. All the workers are burly lads with facial hair.”

  He stroked his mustache. “Who the devil can this villain be?” He frowned at Kevin, swallowing hard to control his anger. His very breath burned in his throat as he fought the frustration rising to choke him. “And if you swear you never left your post unattended, how did this scoundrel get in the office to sign receipts without you noticing?”

  “Oh, he didn’t conduct business in this office, my lord,” Bates offered.

  Braiton stared at the man and countered icily. “Where then, Mr. Bates, was the deal made?”

  “On the pier, my lord. I was informed I needn’t bother coming to the warehouse. A surplus of wine was handy in a wagon on the dock, and the receipts in his pocket.”

  Braiton banged a fist on the desk. “I’ve never conducted business from a wagon on the pier, like a peddler. ’Tis most definite this lad wasn’t one of my workers.”

  “It’s obvious you’ve been set up by someone who wishes to see you ruined,” Morgan said.

  “But who would want to do such a thing, m’lord,” Kevin said. “You have no competitors in Ireland.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “This hooligan doesn’t want to compete with me, Kevin, he wants me closed down.”

  “And before your demise the scoundrel fattens his own pockets with profits from the difference between your prices and the one’s he’s invented,” Morgan summed up.

  “Aye,” he agreed. “’Tis safer for him that way, and after my business folds, there’s a better chance at building his own company with the readies he’s cheated my customers out of.”

  “Then he simply gathers all of your former customers together and offers them your original prices,” Kevin concluded.

  He nodded in agreement. “That seems the way of it, Kevin.”

  Kevin stroked the thick red beard framing his jaw. “There’s just one thing that doesn’t make sense to me. Why was Lord Wade the only client the rogue schemed?”

  “He is the most influential client I have. Angering him would result in him taking his business elsewhere. Other clients would soon follow,” he explained.

  “But if no one has been let in here and your man swears he didn’t leave his command, how in blue blazes did this imposter get his hands on the wine he sold Mr. Bates and the receipts?” Morgan said.

  “That, my lord, is a question I have yet to find the answer to myself. But I will,” Braiton vowed, arching a brow. “You can bet your life on it.”

  ****

  Raven’s retching became a morning routine for her, and she was thankful Braiton left early each day. With his business problems taking up most of his time, he never noticed the daily bouts of nausea. Keeping it from Molly, however, was not as easy since she was the one who emptied the basin she used after her breakfast decided to come up.

  “You need to tell Lord Shannon, m’lady, he’s got a right to know,” Molly scolded, while swabbing her neck and face with a cool, damp cloth.

  “No, Molly, not now,” she said between gasps. “He has too much on his mind. Telling him now would not be wise, trust me on this.”

  “Very well, m’lady, but you can’t keep your condition a secret much longer. Already I’ve opened the seams on some of your dresses. And he does have a right to be told.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes, Molly, I know…I know.”

  After Molly left the room, though she fought for rest, sleep would not come. Guilt tugged at her heart and nagged her thoughts. Was she really sparing Braiton the added concern or buying herself more time?

  “Dear God,” she whispered. “What should I do?”

  ****

  Braiton spent his days walking the pier, asking ship owners and dock workers questions. No one knew of the clean shaven lad. Exasperation followed him on his search. Other clients were notified of the scheme. With their cooperation to deal only with him or Kevin, further ruination was no longer a threat. But not knowing the culprit’s identity haunted him daily. He also realized the thief could not have acted alone, having inside help. Who among his workers betrayed him?

  “Any luck, m’lord?” Patrick inquired as he climbed into the bian.

  “Nay, Patrick. It looks like another lost afternoon.”

  “Somethin’ will turn up, m’lord. The hooligan can’t hide forever.”

  “’Tis not likely he’d stick around, Patrick.”

  “At least you’ve put a stop to his shenanigans before more damage is done.”

  “Aye, ’tis true, I have done that. But as things stand now, I’m still in a financial bind. Reimbursing Lord Wade took quite a bite out of my profits. I may not be able to voyage next year to America or the Orient. My customers will seek other importers for new and exotic goods if they can no longer purchase them from me. Business will dwindle and eventually die.”

  “At least you can take comfort in knowing the rogue cannot strike you again,” Patrick said encouragingly.

  He sighed. “Well, not in the way he’s done this time. But if he’s bent on closing me down, God knows what other ways he’s got up his sleeve to try.”

  “What other ways could there be, m’lord?”

  “I’m afraid to even contemplate, Patrick, and too tired to worry further at this point. All I want to do now is go home and see my wife.”

  “Aye, m’lord, that I understand. ’Tis me Anna who sets everythin’ right for me durin’ difficult times.”

  He sat back in his seat and thought of Raven the rest of the ride home. She also was preoccupied with something, deep in thought, subdued and looking tired. Perhaps she was taking on too many responsibilities with the new school, spreading her hospitality too thin?

  Guilt nagged at him now for neglecting her. He was gone all day and late into the night in the hopes of exposing the scammers. Focusing only on his own troubles, he failed to consider her. She’d been devoted and caring to him, staying awake and waiting for him to come home, then comforting him until he fell asleep. Filled with remorse for his selfishness, he departed with haste from the bian when it came to a stop before the mansion, and took the stairs two at a time to her chamber. He knocked on the door, and upon her agreement for him to enter, he found her sitting cross-legged on a rug in front of the fire.

  He smiled and plopped down beside her. “Old habits die hard, do they not, my lady?”

  She frowned. “I do not understand.”

  He gestured around the room. “In case you haven’t noticed, lass, this chamber is well stocked with chairs to sit upon. Yet you can always be found sitting on the floor.”

  “The chairs have no room for me to sit cross-legged,” she said. “And sitting in such a fashion makes me feel more at home, less lonely.”

  He pushed aside a lock of hair from her forehead. “’Tis all my fault you’re so lonely.”

  “Your fault,” she gasped.

  “Aye, lass. I have been selfish.”

  Her eyes widened. “You have been nothing but generous, my shikaa.”

  “Aye, with material possessions, but not with my time. I cannot remember when we last spent a day together, riding and enjo
ying each other’s company.”

  She shrugged. “You have a lot on your mind. I understand it was important for you to be away.”

  “I’ve been a fool to not have realized sooner time with you is also important.” He smiled. “So, will you forgive this fool and go riding with me?”

  “Now?”

  “Aye, lass right now.”

  Sparks of excitement lit her face. “I would like that very much.”

  He stood, extending a hand to her. “Excellent. I’ll have Dooley get Grania and Dayden ready then, while you change into your riding habit.” He walked to the door, and then hesitated. “By the way, lass, your horse’s name, does it have a meaning to you?”

  She smiled. “It was an endearment my father used often to refer to me and my sister, Sunny. Dayden, in Apache, means little girl.”

  He stroked his mustache and mulled over the name in his thoughts. “Aye, you have named her well.”

  ****

  Raven rode with ease beside Braiton, the bite of Ireland’s autumn stinging her eyes. She secured her hood and nestled her chin beneath the large collar of her cape to keep warm.

  He gave his horse an affectionate pat as he rode. “Grania, I haven’t given much time to you, either.”

  “Now it is my turn to ask you, does Grania have meaning?”

  “Aye,” he said, eyes twinkling. “The story of Grania O’Malley, a warrior queen of the Western islands about three hundred years ago, was my favorite history lesson.”

  She brought Dayden to a slow walk. “I have shared many of the folklore of my people. Will you share yours while we ride?”

  He nodded, matching his horse to the other’s pace. “’Twould be wise of me to start my tale with Owen O’Malley, Grania’s father, who was a fearsome soul. ’Tis said he was a tall man with a thick beard curling about his jaw. Brown-eyed and wearing his dark hair about his broad shoulders, Owen’s lungs bellowed, and he shook the ground when he walked. ’Twasn’t hard to understand why folks called him, Black Oak, King of the Western Sea.”

  A shiver ran down her spine. “He sounds frightening.”

  “Aye, for sure, but in spite of his frightening presence, Owen O’Malley was a kind man. He could weave a good tale, and oddly enough, he loved his daughter, Grace.”