by Merry Farmer
“I see,” Flossie replied. A sick, anxious feeling spread through her stomach. She knew full well Jason’s affliction had made his past colorful, but a part of her had hoped never to hear the details.
Jason blew out a breath as he read the telegram a second time. “The scandal this will cause will be monumental once it gets out.”
“Will it get out?” she asked. “Do these sorts of things generally make the newspapers?”
“Absolutely,” he said, grim and serious. “If the press gets ahold of it.”
“They might not?”
“It all depends on how my manager at the Royal Arms is handling the situation.” He glanced to the clock on the wall. “It can’t have happened more than a few hours ago. Perhaps Henri was able to keep things hushed. A suicide isn’t a murder, after all. Though no doubt the police will become involved. They’d have to, or we’d be in even more of a bind.” Each thought that hit him left scars of panic in his expression.
“So what can we do?” Flossie took a step closer to the desk.
Jason rubbed his face, letting out a painful sigh. “There’s nothing we can do. Not yet, at least. The only way to find out if the scandal will hit is to read the papers tomorrow morning.”
He paused. Flossie chewed her lip, studying him, debating whether there was anything she could do to reverse the course of his growing tension. He didn’t give her a chance.
“I have no time to sit here and worry about it,” he said, standing. “Marshall is giving a bloody speech at the hospital in less than half an hour. I told him I would be there to nod and look fascinated, and to start the tap of donations running if I have to.”
“You’d do that for him?” Flossie asked, stepping aside as he headed for the door.
“Of course. The man is like a brother to me. One that has endured far more than his share of hardship lately. I’d scrub the hospital ward floors if I thought it would help.” He caught himself halfway to the door and added, “Or hire someone to do it for me.”
Flossie laughed. “That would probably end up being me.”
“Only because you would volunteer,” he replied.
“Fair enough.”
He continued to the door, reaching for the knob, but snapping back to say, “For Samuel’s sake, pop down to the post office when you get a chance to send a reply to Henri at the Royal Arms, asking for more information.”
“Yes, sir.” Flossie nodded, shifting back to employee mode.
Jason met her nod with a smile. It would have been lovely, but that the smile bore all the marks of pain and impatience. He tugged at the front of his coat, belying his old problem back to haunt him.
“You’ll be fine, sir,” she reassured him. “Will Lady Elizabeth be at the hospital lecture?”
He flushed pink. “I suppose so.”
“Then channel your energy into impressing her. Take her a rose from the garden and give it to her in front of her houseguests. Make her the center of attention for a moment. She’ll love that.”
“By God, she would,” he answered before throwing open the door to his office and rushing out.
Flossie followed, assuming an air of being terribly busy and harassed. It wasn’t far from the truth, and Samuel only gave her his usual sour look as she walked past him, heading for the kitchens. Flossie was more concerned about Jason and kept an eye on him as he strode out through the front door. She didn’t feel right about sending him panting after Lady E, but that was the one area where she was certain he could expend the most effort while putting himself in the least danger. She would have to deal with the rest of it tonight.
Alexandra
It was bound to be an exciting day. Alex sat at her vanity, studying her reflection, heart pounding against her ribs, as Polly styled her hair.
“It’s just that nothing I tried to do with it was working today,” she explained to Polly for the fifth time. “I’m so grateful you could come help me with this mess.”
“You have lovely hair, Lady Alexandra,” Polly smiled, fixing a few pins in place. “You should have me style it more often.”
“I have no reason to,” Alex replied, willing herself to calm down. “Today is unique.”
“Because of the presentation at the hospital?” Polly asked after a pause.
Alex paused herself. “Yes, of course.” It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that George Fretwell was under the same roof as her, that he could walk by her at any time, commenting on her appearance as he did. Nothing at all.
Polly met Alex’s glance in the mirror and smiled, eyes sharp. Alex wilted. Even the servants knew she had had her head turned by George. She would have groaned and planted her head on the top of her vanity if it wouldn’t have messed up her hair. Even that thought mortified her. She only cared because of George. What a grand tangle.
“There you are, my lady.” Polly finished and stepped back. “The latest fashion in hair design.”
Alex was impressed. Usually she settled for a simple knot at the back of her head, the rest of her fine hair brushed straight back. Somehow Polly had managed not only to make her hair appear soft and full, it looked as though there was twice as much of it as was truly on her head. She couldn’t help but smile.
“I think I’m ready to face the world,” she said and stood.
“I’m certain you are, my lady,” Polly agreed and curtsied. “I’ll just tidy up here.”
As Polly busied herself putting away hairpins and straightening the contents of Alex’s vanity, Alex headed for her door. She took a deep breath, then pushed herself out into the hall.
The house party had been a resounding success so far. For the most part, the guests that had been invited were amusing and courteous. Alex had gone from dreading the very thought of them to admitting that it was a nice change to sit next to someone who could provide her with different conversation at supper, to nearly becoming friendly with a few of the ladies. Lady Arabella in particular was a hidden gem. Alex smiled at her as she popped into the breakfast room to snatch a bite to eat before heading down to the hospital.
“You’re looking quite lovely today, Lady Alexandra,” Lady Arabella returned her smile.
Alex replied with a doubtful look. “It’s amazing how lovely one can look when one borrows the services of a lady’s maid.”
“Lady Elizabeth’s Polly?” Arabella asked. “She’s a lifesaver, isn’t she. Just the other day, I tore the hem of my gown, and Polly was so quick to offer help in fixing it. The two of us sat and chatted for over an hour, as if we were old friends.”
Alex’s smile tightened and a twist of warning played through her stomach, but she dismissed it. Polly was affable, she just wasn’t certain she would make a confident of the young woman.
“I am quite looking forward to the presentation at Brynthwaite Hospital today,” Arabella went on as the two of them helped themselves to fruit and pastries from the sideboard.
“Are you truly?” Alex blinked at her.
“Of course. I find modern advancements in medicine to be fascinating,” Arabella said. She swayed closer. “Between you and I, I’m uncomfortable with the size of the money Father intends to settle on me when I marry, and I would so like to find a worthy cause to support.”
Blossoms of pleasure and relief filled Alex’s chest. Marshall would be overjoyed to hear Arabella say that. He had complained for the last few days that he was setting himself up to look a fool by giving a speech to the ‘entitled lot’ of the house party. Alex had assured him his speech would make him look wise and advanced, and that it would serve its purpose of raising badly needed funds. She’d talked him around in the end, but she could tell by the dour expression in his eyes every time he looked at her that he wasn’t convinced.
“Dr. Pycroft and I have been preparing for this presentation for days,” Alex told Arabella as they turned to the breakfast table, where a few of the other house guests were sitting. “We have—”
She stopped abruptly as all air left her lungs. G
eorge had just walked into the room. Her legs went wobbly at the sight of him—straight back, roguish smile, golden hair combed rakishly to the side. He looked every bit the dazzling man about town, and long-dormant parts of her stirred at the sight of him, especially when his face lit up with a smile as he noticed her.
“Well if it isn’t my two favorite Lady A’s,” he said, strolling slowly toward Alex and Arabella. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, Mr. Fretwell,” Arabella managed to greet him while Alex merely stood and stared.
“Good morning,” she caught up a beat later.
George took Arabella’s free hand and kissed it, then shifted to repeat the gesture with Alex. If Alex wasn’t mistaken, his lips lingered over her knuckles, and the fire in his eyes as he peeked up at her was enough to ignite the heavens.
“Would you care to join us for breakfast?” Arabella asked, a thousand times more graceful than Alex could hope to be.
“On any other day I would,” George told her with a polite smile, “But I was hoping to walk into Brynthwaite this morning to see the sights before the main event at the hospital.” His eyes flickered toward Alex.
“I was just about to walk down that way myself,” Alex said, hoping she didn’t sound too much like the ninny she knew she was.
“Were you? How fortunate,” George replied. “Would you be so kind as to let me escort you?”
“That would be lovely.” There. Alex breathed out in relief. That hadn’t been so hard, had it? She turned to Arabella, who’s smile had faded. “I’m so sorry we won’t be able to breakfast together. Perhaps tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes.” Arabella’s smile returned, releasing Alex from any guilt she may have felt.
Somehow, Alex managed to nibble a few bits of the fruit she’d put on her plate and to return the plate to the sideboard without dropping or spilling anything or making a fool of herself. Her heart beat in double-time as she crossed the breakfast room to where George had moved by the door to wait for her. His smile as they passed through together and into the hall, then out the front door to the drive and the road leading into Brynthwaite, kept her uncertain that she would be able to put one foot in front of the other with any measure of grace.
“What a splendid holiday this house party is turning out to be,” George said as they walked.
“Yes, quite unexpected, I can assure you,” Alex agreed. If she could have slowed their steps and taken all day to stroll along the sunny road, wildflowers in full bloom, birds singing in the trees, she would have.
“You weren’t looking forward to it?” George asked.
Attempting to be as casual as possible, Alex said, “Not particularly. My work at the hospital has been my main focus this last month. The house party was clearly my mother’s effort to steer me away from my calling and into a marriage.”
“Marriage is not your calling?” George asked, his voice low and seductive.
“Well…um…no, no that isn’t precisely what I meant.” The fluttering in her stomach and lower wouldn’t settle. It was an aggravation and, strangely, a delight.
“So you do intend to snag yourself a husband at this party?” George’s eyes flashed.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Alex laughed, breathless. “But I will admit to being more open to the idea than I would have been in the past.” She attempted to send him a significant glance, fearing that in reality, she looked as though she’d caught an insect in her eye.
“Ah, the past,” George hummed. He strayed closer to her, his hand brushing hers. “We had quite an interesting past, didn’t we?”
Another stray touch of his fingers against hers and Alex’s thoughts scattered like dust. “That was a long time ago,” she said.
“Not so long,” George insisted. “We were quite close, you and I.” Every syllable sounded golden on his beautiful lips. “I had rather hoped we could be close again.” She glanced sideways at him, only to have him capture her gaze and mutter, “Very close.”
Heat flushed Alex’s face. It didn’t stop there. The intensity of George’s gaze was like an intimate caress from her heart to much baser parts of her anatomy.
Dear Lord. George Fretwell was flirting shamelessly with her. Beyond that, he was making suggestions.
“What a wonder that would be,” she murmured in return, certain that she sounded like an absolute imbecile.
George laughed, deep in his throat. Alex felt the reverberations in her core.
“We shall have to steal some time for ourselves,” he said. “It may be difficult to become so…close again in a country house filled with guests, but I’m certain Brynthwaite is full of diversions and idylls to occupy our time.”
“I’m sure,” Alex echoed. Her thoughts simply would not coalesce into anything that felt reasonable or logical. Her body wasn’t in the least bit interested in logic, particularly not when George inched closer still to her and took her arm to escort her more formally. She tingled from head to toe.
It was a shame that they reached the edge of town, and then the center of town and the hospital so fast. The hospital was particularly busy when she arrived. Just because a grand presentation was being made in a matter of hours and all of the staff, plus several of the patients who were well enough to earn a few extra coins by helping, were buzzing didn’t mean there weren’t sick and injured to be treated.
“Dr. Pycroft, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine,” Alex caught Marshall striding down the hallway toward the mess hall, where the presentation would be, as she fit her apron over her head. “This is Mr. George Fretwell.”
Marshall glanced up at George and nodded, mind obviously elsewhere. When he shifted to acknowledge her, he did a double-take. His cheeks flushed and his eyes went momentarily wider.
“What have you done with your hair?” he asked.
A sliver of self-consciousness wormed its way through Alex’s gut. “Is it that bad?” she asked, touching the fancy style.
“Quite the contrary,” Marshall smiled for half a second. “It’s becoming.”
“Yes, becoming,” George echoed. “I would have said earlier, but it was your eyes that captured me this morning.”
Alex flushed with pleasure, feeling uncharacteristically coy. “Thank you.”
“We’ve got work to do, Dr. Dyson,” Marshall snapped. Whatever soft feelings he had had a moment ago had gone. “Mrs. Denning needs stitches in room three. She broke a jar and cut herself cleaning it up.”
“Of course, Dr. Pycroft.”
Maybe it was the smell of blood, but as soon as Alex entered examination room three, her girlish fancies fled in the face of real need. She was vaguely aware of George loitering in the hospital’s halls, heard him talking to Mrs. Garforth at one point, but with stitches to sew and a fever that needed diagnosing after that, her focus returned to where it belonged.
It was almost an hour later when other members of the house party began to arrive. Alex was just finishing up cleaning a bad scrape wound suffered by a child who worked at a mill along one of the rivers that fed into the Brynswater when she heard Elizabeth’s voice in the hall.
“Mr. Throckmorton, it’s so jolly to see you.”
“And you, Lady Elizabeth,” Mr. Throckmorton answered, his baritone full of admiration as it echoed in the hall. “For you.”
Elizabeth gasped with pleasure, “What a lovely bloom.”
“It is no match for your beauty, Lady Elizabeth.”
Alex cringed as she helped the freshly-bandaged child down from the table and into her mother’s arms. Elizabeth was at it again.
“You can’t imagine how tiresome these house party guests become after a few days,” Elizabeth was telling Mr. Throckmorton by the time Alex stepped into the hall. She held Mr. Throckmorton’s arm in one hand and a beautiful pink rose in the other. “It is so refreshing to have new company.”
Elizabeth leaned closer to Mr. Throckmorton, but to Alex’s surprise, Mr. Throckmorton inched away from her. At least the lower half
of his body did. He continued to hold her arm as if it was his link to life, and his otherwise noble face was a mask of adoration. Though he did seem a bit tense on top of that.
Alex’s observations of Mr. Throckmorton and Elizabeth vanished when she noticed George, leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the wards. He watched her with a rakish haze in his eyes that made Alex feel as though her bodice was cut too low, in spite of being as high as her neck.
“I hope you have not grown bored waiting, Mr. Fretwell,” she addressed him formally as the hall filled up with house guests.
“Not at all, Lady Alexandra,” he said, pushing away from the banister and sauntering toward her. Like a lion pursuing prey. Oh dear. “I was doing a bit of exploring, if truth be told.”
“Oh? And what did you find in your explorations?” she asked.
“I will show you later.”
Alex’s heart flopped through her chest. She removed her soiled apron, doffing her physician’s mantel and becoming a woman whose head had been turned by a man once more.
“Dr. Dyson,” Marshall called from the near the mess hall, breaking her attention for George. Little Martha clung to the leg of his trousers, her thumb in her mouth, glancing up at the fine ladies and gentlemen crossing into the mess hall for the lecture. Alex hadn’t even noticed the Pycroft girls arrival. “I need you for the presentation,” Marshall went on.
Alex smiled at Martha, then at Marshall. “Yes, Dr. Pycroft. We’ll be right there.”
Marshall nodded, turned toward the mess hall, then thought twice and turned back to Alex and George. His mouth opened as though he would say something, but he shut it quickly, moustache twitching, then took Martha’s hand and marched into the hall.
“We’d better go,” Alex said.
“Yes, he seems like he would be the sort to bite your head off if you disappointed him,” George said in a mocking tone.
Alex laughed and took his arm. “Not at all. Dr. Pycroft is the best of men. Though somewhat staid from time to time. Rather like a baffled magician in a fairy story.”