by Merry Farmer
“Now, let’s take a look at you darling girls.”
Mother Grace approached Matty and the girls. Martha hugged Matty tighter, but the two older girls were more intrigued than frightened.
“I’ve heard of you,” Mary said. “You’re the witch that lives in the woods.”
“Yes, I am,” Mother Grace answered. The girls gaped at her transparency. “I’m also your grandmother.”
Their gapes widened.
“Our grandmother?” Molly breathed in disbelief.
“I might as well be,” Mother Grace said. She gestured for them to follow her to the table, where she promptly thrust fresh berry scones into their hands. “I practically raised your father, after all.”
“Our papa was raised in an orphanage,” Mary informed her.
“Yes,” Mother Grace agreed. “But they didn’t lock him up tight enough. He and your Uncle Jason and your Uncle Lawrence escaped on a regular basis and came here, to me.”
“It’s true,” Jason added, nibbling on a scone himself. “So you may want to call her Grandmamma Grace instead of Mother Grace.”
The girls were speechless. Martha let go of Matty’s leg and took a few steps toward Mother Grace. “Grandmamma?” she asked.
“Yes, sweet one.” Mother Grace laughed and scooped Martha into her arms for a hug and a kiss.
That was all it took. The girls’ affections were won over as easily as lighting a match. They relaxed and crowded around the tea table, helping themselves to treats as Mother Grace poured them tea. Mary took the seat beside Mr. Throckmorton, scooting closer to him, and Martha crawled up into his lap to eat her tea. Matty had never seen Mr. Throckmorton happier.
“A portent of things to come,” Mother Grace told him.
“What is?” he asked.
“You. Surrounded by children. Though boys, not girls.”
Rather than coming up with some witty reply, Mr. Throckmorton blushed harder, lowering his eyes.
“I knew you would come here.”
Their tea was interrupted a few minutes later as Lawrence jogged into the clearing. Matty left her things on the table and jumped up to greet him with a hug and a kiss. The girls had lightened her heart considerably, but having Lawrence there made everything magical.
“You’re here,” she said. “I’m so glad.”
“So am I, love.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her soundly, in spite of the girls being right there. Molly giggled uncontrollably.
The moment was broken as soon as Lawrence let her go. His face darkened to a frown. “Jason. Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Certainly.” Jason started to get up, but with Martha on his lap and Mary practically clinging to his arm, it was a shuffle.
“Oh, stay where you are, my boy. Lawrence, whatever you have to say, we’ll all have to hear it,” Mother Grace told him.
Lawrence glanced warily from Mr. Throckmorton to the girls to Matty. He ended with Mother Grace, then let out a breath.
“I met with Bobbo this morning,” he said. Matty’s heart squeezed in her chest, pushing the breath from her lungs. She sank into her chair, gripping the edge of the table. “He admitted that Hoag…did it,” he stumbled over the facts, peeking at the girls, “and that Matty is innocent. He won’t say a thing, though.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Throckmorton said. He shifted to look up at Lawrence. “Do you need money to buy him off? I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Lawrence returned his offer with a cautious nod. “It may come to that, but as near as I can tell, Bobbo has no reason to be disloyal to Hoag.”
“Money forms and breaks loyalties in a trice,” Mr. Throckmorton returned.
“As you should remember, my boy,” Mother Grace added.
Mr. Throckmorton shrunk into silence.
Lawrence shifted to stand behind Matty’s chair, resting his hands on her shoulders. “We know that Hoag is guilty and Matty isn’t, but proving it is something else. There were no witnesses, but Hoag did confide in Bobbo after the fact. We have another problem, though.”
“Oh?” Matty twisted to look up at him, worry making her hands shake.
With deep regret and tenderness, Lawrence said, “Bobbo has returned to Grasmere to tell Hoag that we know. He made threats.” His glance flickered to the girls. Threats indeed. Matty’s gut churned.
“I have connections in London,” Mr. Throckmorton said, all seriousness now. “I can hire a private investigator if needs be, involve Scotland Yard.”
Lawrence nodded. “Thanks. It may come to—”
“What in God’s name is this about?”
This time it was Dr. Pycroft’s irate shout that split the relative peace of the woods. He stormed through the undergrowth, bashing his way through an overgrown bush and into Mother Grace’s front yard. Stress and fury lined his pale face, but even his tormented soul paused to catch its breath at the sight of his daughters and his friends grouped around Mother Grace’s table. He froze where he was, blinking at it all.
“Marshall,” Mother Grace stood. To Matty’s surprise, she had tears in her eyes. She moved around the table, holding out her arms as though she would embrace her prodigal son.
She came to within a hair’s breadth of Marshall before he flinched and dodged her embrace.
“Don’t touch me,” he said in a tight whisper, retreating to the other side of the table.
“Papa, this is Grandmamma,” little Martha said.
Dr. Pycroft blinked, focusing on his daughter. He was breathing heavily, emotion flushing him. After a beat, he marched toward Jason, plucking Martha out of his arms to hug her. She threw her arms around his neck. Dr. Pycroft closed his eyes and squeezed her in return, letting out a breath as though he’d been missing the girl for months.
“Oh, my dears,” he said, each syllable wrenching from him like a cry. “Don’t ever frighten your papa like that again.”
Mary—whose face had been set in defiance since her father arrived—melted into contrition. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, flying out of her seat and hugging him tight.
Molly rushed to complete the tableaux, and as the four of them huddled into a tight, protective ball, Matty’s throat constricted with tears.
“My poor, poor darling,” Mother Grace said, barely above a whisper. She hugged herself as though hugging the boy Dr. Pycroft had once been. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Dr. Pycroft threw back at her, his voice cracking. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Mother Grace shook her head. “You’ve suffered more than any of my dear ones, and you’ve more suffering in store.”
“No,” Dr. Pycroft said, so firm that the girls jumped. “I’ll not listen to your mumbo-jumbo. Girls, this woman is a liar. Don’t listen to her.”
“Ah, but that’s the exact thing I’m not, my sweet one,” Mother Grace replied, “and it’s the reason you’ve come to hate me so much.”
“Me hate you?” Dr. Pycroft balked. He huffed an ironic laugh. “Isn’t it the other way around? Always praising Lawrence for his strength. Always coddling Jason for his fears. But me? All you ever did for me was forecast doom and gloom.”
Mother Grace spread her hands wide in acquiescence. “Lawrence has his path and Jason his, as you have yours. I only ever wanted to help you navigate the inevitable storms.”
“Inevitable?” Dr. Pycroft scoffed. “There is no such thing as fortune-telling. You only filled my had with fear and lies, telling me my path would be hard instead of encouraging me to excel, like you did with them.” His arms were full of his children, so he gestured to Lawrence and Mr. Throckmorton with his chin. “What do you tell them now? That their lives will be happy and blessed? While mine is still fraught with hardship?”
Mother Grace shook her head, her face lined with sorrow. “I do not decide the future, merely recite it. And your future is not so dark as you would assume I wish it to be.”
“No?” Dr. Pycroft swayed with agitation. “Tell me, then. Tell me w
hat horrible thing will befall me next. Will the hospital collapse? Will I lose all my money? Will I lose the girls?” His voice cracked on the last question.
Mother Grace sighed. “The hospital will be fine. Your fortunes will increase beyond what you expect.” She paused. “You will lose the girls.”
“No!” Mary wailed, echoed by Molly’s groan. The clung to their father more fiercely. Dr. Pycroft’s face lost all its color.
“Woman, if you dare to frighten my children like that again,” he began in a hoarse whisper, dripping with fury.
“You will lose them, but not forever,” Mother Grace said. “If you help another.”
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” Dr. Pycroft spat. “Girls, we’re leaving. I’ll talk to you later,” he said to Mr. Throckmorton, whose head was bowed, as he shuffled the girls past the tea table.
“There is someone who needs your help, my sweet one,” Mother Grace called after them as they tried to leave in one tight bundle. “Someone who only you can save.”
“Enough!” Dr. Pycroft shouted.
“Help her and you help yourself. Save her and you save your girls.”
Mother Grace’s last prediction might as well have been made to the squirrels for all Dr. Pycroft acknowledged it. He and the girls charged on, disappearing around the edge of the forest green and vanishing from sight.
Matty let out a breath, brushing tears from her face.
“It’s all right,” Lawrence tried to comfort her, squeezing her shoulders.
“We’ll do everything we can to keep Clara’s family from taking the girls,” Mr. Throckmorton added his assurance.
“You can’t outrun a storm,” Mother Grace told them, shaking her head with a sigh. “What is to come will come.”
“Not if I can stop it,” Mr. Throckmorton said.
Mother Grace gave a tired laugh and sank into her chair. “Look to your own house, Jason, before it crumbles around you.”
Mr. Throckmorton frowned. “I think Marshall may have a point. You’re a witch sometimes, you know.”
Mother Grace arched an eyebrow at him. “You can’t outrun a summer storm,” she repeated. “All you can do is suffer through it until its end.”
There’s much more of Season One of The Brynthwaite Boys to come! The story continues with Part Three… Will Marshall be able to keep his girls? Will Alexandra realize how much he loves her? Can Lawrence save Matty from the horrors of her past, or will they catch up to her? And will Lady E. find a way to come between Jason and Flossie? Find out all of this and more!
If you’d like to read even more about the town of Brynthwaite, but fifteen years earlier than this serial, check out May Mistakes, part of The Silver Foxes of Westminster series, and its accompanying novellas, Brynthwaite Promise and Brynthwaite Summer!
About the Author
I hope you have enjoyed The Brynthwaite Boys: Season One – Part Two. If you’d like to be the first to learn about when the next books in the series come out and more, please sign up for my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/RQ-KX And remember, Read it, Review it, Share it!
Merry Farmer is an award-winning novelist who lives in suburban Philadelphia with her two cats, Butterfly and Torpedo. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn't have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always have something to write about. Her books have topped the Amazon and iBooks charts and finalled in the prestigious RONE and Rom Com Reader’s Crown awards.
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to all of my marvelous readers who have encouraged me to write The Brynthwaite Boys. I sometimes feel like I have a very weird imagination, but things like satyriasis and amnesia actually do happen! So why not torture a few characters with them along the way?
Thanks also to my amazing friend, assistant, and editor, but mostly friend, Julia Tague for everything she does to help me out and keep me sane.