The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two

by Farmer, Merry

  “I don’t know why he’s marrying her in the first place,” Alex said.

  “It’s a long story,” Flossie answered. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Jason and I could get married. He’d build me a house exactly as I want it. I could have this baby and a dozen more after it. People would call me lucky then instead of a disgrace and an aberration.”

  “People need to learn to keep their rotten opinions to themselves,” Alex said.

  “Life would be so much easier if we were normal women living standard lives,” Flossie sighed.

  “But we would be miserable,” Alex said, the realization hitting her as the words left her mouth. Flossie glanced to her with a wry grin, as if she knew the truth as much as Alex did. “We’d hate living like that,” Alex went on. “All I’ve ever wanted to do since I was a girl was heal the sick.”

  “And all I’ve wanted to do was take care of people,” Flossie agreed. She tilted her head to the side, staring into nothing, her thoughts evident in her eyes. “Jason needs taking care of more than most,” she went on after a pause. “I supposed that’s why I love him the way I do.”

  Alex’s heart felt compressed in her chest. She wished more than anything that she could follow Flossie’s statement by saying she loved Marshall. He was such a good man in so many ways, even if he did have dour moments and fits of temper from time to time. He was an excellent doctor, a good father, and a brilliant lover. It’d been far too long since she’d opened herself to him and enjoyed what they’d worn themselves out doing so much of during that first month of marriage. And yet, in her current state of chronic nausea, she couldn’t imagine welcoming him home with arms extended and legs spread.

  “I miss him,” she said at last.

  Her words were cryptic, but Flossie hummed and nodded as though she’d caught the full meaning. “I worry about them,” she added.

  “The hearing for the girls is today,” Alex continued, soberer.

  Flossie reached across to take Alex’s hand and squeeze it. “They’ll win,” she said. “Jason will see to it. I’m sure of it.”

  “I wish I had your optimism,” Alex sighed. In fact, she wished she had a lot of things that Flossie had. Her certainty that life would work, for one. Her clear love for her man, for another. But as miserable as things felt for Alex, she was beyond glad that she had Flossie’s friendship.

  Lawrence

  Lawrence was certain that most people would consider Grasmere to be an idyllic Cumbrian town. It sat nestled in the hills in the heart of the Lake District. All around the quaint stone buildings were sights that took the breath away, even in frosty January. Just enough snow had fallen in the previous weeks to make the whole area look like the setting of a fairy tale.

  Nothing about it charmed Lawrence. He tugged his worn old coat tighter around him as he strode through the center of town on his way to Rev. Albright’s house. From his first visit to Grasmere the summer before to now, the cozy little town did nothing but stir up bad memories and uneasy feelings.

  He reached Rev. Albright’s door and knocked, then paused to glance down the street. Hoag’s store was just visible at the bend in the road. Even at a distance, the building appeared cold, abandoned, and menacing. The few residents of Grasmere who walked past it seemed to keep a wide berth, as though some unseen force were pushing them away. Lawrence didn’t blame them. Everything he’d been able to discover about Hoag in the past few weeks made him uneasy. The man had broken out of prison and eluded the police for months, but somehow his presence was there, in his hometown.

  Rev. Albright’s door opened, and the man himself smiled and greeted Lawrence with, “Young Lawrence. You made it. I’m so pleased. Do come in.”

  Lawrence nodded respectfully before stepping into his old mentor’s home. “Thank you for having me, sir,” he said.

  Rev. Albright gestured for Lawrence to follow him across the comfortable front room to where tea was already set up in front of a cheerfully snapping fire. The room’s furnishings had a pleasing shabbiness to them, and the walls were decorated with paintings of spring gardens and summer meadows. Plants adorned almost every surface, and hothouse flowers—likely grown in Rev. Albright’s own greenhouse—sat in a vase on the table. Leave it to Rev. Albright to create a haven of life and peace in the center of an anxious winter.

  “How is your Matty doing?” Rev. Albright asked once Lawrence had his coat off and was seated in front of the fire. “More importantly, how are those unfortunate younger siblings of hers?”

  Lawrence let out a frustrated breath and accepted the tea his old friend handed him. “They’re doing as well as could be expected, I suppose. Willy has gone to live at the hotel, where he’s been working for Jason since the autumn.”

  Rev. Albright hummed as he poured his own tea. “Jason might be just the right influence for a boy of Willy’s exuberance.”

  “He is,” Lawrence agreed. “Although Jason has been in London with Marshall, working to get Marshall’s girls back, since before Christmas.”

  “I’d be interested to hear about that,” Rev. Albright said, taking a seat. “But continue on about the Hoag children first. Has Elsie started speaking yet?”

  “No,” Lawrence said, taking a long drink of tea and wishing it were stronger. “But she’s taken a shine to Mother Grace, which is as worrying as it is comforting.”

  “Worrying?” Rev. Albright asked, arching his brow as if he could guess the story but wanted Lawrence to tell it all the same.

  Lawrence set his tea aside and squirmed in his chair. “I’ve never questioned Mother Grace’s gifts. You may not approve, but I believe in the old ways, as she does.”

  “Your religious beliefs are none of my concern,” Rev. Albright said, still grinning.

  “Elsie seems particularly interested in the old ways, in spite of being so young,” Lawrence went on. “Mother Grace says she has fairy blood in her.”

  “And do you believe in fairy blood?” Rev. Albright asked.

  Lawrence didn’t answer. He didn’t know how. Part of him wanted to remain rational and say that it wasn’t possible. The rest of him knew what he had seen where Elsie was concerned. The girl had had a sixth sense where Hoag was concerned. She hadn’t been surprised at all that the man had escaped. It was as if she’d known all along.

  He shook his head and shifted to find a more comfortable way to sit. “I’m more concerned about Connie than the others, though,” he went on.

  “How so?” Rev. Albright’s brow knit into a concerned frown.

  “Ever since Matty took the girls to Mother Grace’s to avoid possible detection by Hoag, Connie has been restless and bored.”

  “Understandable for a girl her age.” Rev. Albright nodded. He’d dealt with dozens of girls Connie’s age over his years as headmaster of the Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage. “She needs friends her own age. She’d be happier in school.”

  “She fought and fought against the idea of attending school,” Lawrence said with a frown. “But as soon as she gave up, admitted defeat, and started going, she liked it, just as we said she would. She made friends. And now we’ve yanked her away from those friends. For her own good,” he added at the first sign of disapproval from Rev. Albright.

  “So your aim is to keep Matty and the children safe from Hoag by either putting them under the protection of a strong influence or hiding them where Hoag won’t be able to find them,” Rev. Albright said.

  “Precisely.” Lawrence nodded.

  “Which seems to be working for Master Willy and little Elsie,” Rev. Albright went on.

  “Yes,” Lawrence agreed. “But it’s driving Connie mad.”

  “The solution is simple, then,” Rev. Albright said, finishing his tea then setting the cup aside. “You must find a place for Connie where she’ll be around the company she craves and where she’ll be safe from whatever Hoag has planned.”

  Lawrence sat back, clenching his jaw and gripping the arms of the chair. The solution to the problem
was too easy. In fact, Rev. Albright’s suggestion was exactly what he’d been contemplating since Brynthwaite’s Christmas celebrations had given him a chance to enjoy a brief conversation with Lord Waltham. Connie was an ideal candidate for a position as scullery maid at Morningside Landing, even though she’d strongly rejected the idea back in the autumn.

  “You didn’t come here to talk about the children, did you?” Rev. Albright asked, voicing exactly the impatient feeling that was preventing Lawrence from sitting comfortably.

  “No,” Lawrence admitted. “It’s Hoag. How could the man possibly have escaped from prison, and where is he now?”

  “Hoag is far cleverer than most people give him credit for,” Rev. Albright said. “He’s hideous and intimidating, but he’s never had trouble swaying weaker minds to his side. Just look at poor Bobbo.”

  “Hoag murdered Bobbo,” Lawrence said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Bobbo was a threat,” Rev. Albright said in a much more serious voice. “He cracked at that trial, if everything you and the others have told me is true, and with a man like Hoag, anything short of absolute loyalty is a threat.”

  “Has anything else suspicious happened in town?” Lawrence went on. “Any other unexplained deaths or mischief.”

  “No,” Rev. Albright said with a surprised shrug. “The entire town has been on edge, but no one has come to any unusual harm.” His expression darkened. “But make no mistake, Hoag is nearby. Or so I believe.”

  “Why do you believe that?” Lawrence sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “Where else would Hoag go?” Rev. Albright asked. “He has no friends, no family. He’s wanted by the law, and because of his burns, it would be virtually impossible for him to start a new life under a new name without leaving the country. He can only seek revenge.”

  “But the only people he has left to seek revenge on are me, Matty, and his children,” Lawrence said, voicing his worst fear.

  It brought him full, frustrating circle, though. There was almost nothing he could do to protect Matty and the children from a madman bent on murder that he wasn’t already doing. Connie would be safer under Lord Waltham’s roof, just as Willy was better off at the hotel and Elsie in the woods. At the same time, it felt incredibly wrong to fracture his fledgling family that way. Wrong, but at the same time, a relief.

  “You have something else on your mind, Young Lawrence,” Rev. Albright went on, his tone fatherly.

  Lawrence glanced up at him, finding it uncanny that the man could read him so well when he prided himself on not being an open book, like Jason was.

  “I think I’ve discovered where I came from,” he confessed in a quiet voice.

  The mood in the room shifted. Rev. Albright sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “The gypsies came back for you, then?”

  Lawrence snapped straight, his brow shooting up. “You knew?”

  Rev. Albright answered his question with a look of mild surprise. “It’s true, then?” he asked, then chuckled. “I’ve always assumed as much, but I was never certain. You look like them, obviously. And there was a caravan near Brynthwaite right around the time you showed up on our doorstep.”

  A deep sense of awe filled Lawrence, and he sat back, running a hand through his hair. Barsali’s information had been compelling, but hearing things confirmed by Rev. Albright’s experience made the whole thing seem real.

  “I met a Romani man named Barsali who was passing through town,” Lawrence spilled the whole story in brief. “He asked his people, and it turns out that I may be his cousin. There is a woman who had a baby with a gadjo man who was forced to give it up. Barsali thinks I am that baby.”

  “You very well could be,” Rev. Albright agreed. He stood and reached for the teapot on the table nearby, pouring himself another cup. “More tea?” he asked Lawrence.

  Lawrence shook his head. He had the impression Rev. Albright was giving him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

  Sure enough, when Rev. Albright resumed his seat with a satisfied sigh and sipped his tea, he asked, “So what do you plan to do with this newfound knowledge of yours, Young Lawrence? Are you ready to run off and leave your forge to live the gypsy life?”

  Lawrence almost cringed at how perceptive his mentor was. Then again, the man had known him since he was a baby. “It calls to me,” he confessed, feeling guilty even as he said the words. “To live free, traveling the country and the world, not held down by responsibility or duty.” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face. “It calls to me.”

  Rev. Albright hummed. “I suppose that call is louder, what with all the troubles besetting you.”

  Lawrence glanced across at the man. Rev. Albright was studying him as though he were a particularly thorny problem.

  At last, he said, “If this man, Barsali’s story is true, you are half gypsy. But your other half is not. I’m not saying you shouldn’t follow your heart to live the life that calls to you, but would you truly be happy leaving your forge, your friends, and the life you’ve made for yourself in Brynthwaite?”

  That was the question, when all was said and done. Lawrence’s heart was divided, and his head wasn’t much better. Logic told him that gathering up Matty and the children and wandering across the countryside would keep Hoag from finding them. But it also said that fleeing would only delay the inevitable. Most uncomfortable of all, a very real part of him wanted to leave Willy with Jason, Connie with Lord Waltham, and Elsie with Mother Grace so that he and Matty could disappear on their own, with only each other and their own baby instead of the problems Matty’s siblings had brought him.

  “You don’t need to make any sort of lifetime decisions today,” Rev. Albright said after a long silence. “This Barsali fellow will be there when you’re ready to speak to him again. I suspect your Matty would do whatever you asked of her, whenever you asked it. And your friends will respect whatever decisions you make.”

  “They will,” Lawrence admitted, feeling better. Jason and Marshall would stick by him, even if he chose to leave them. Although the certainty of that thought ignited fierce loyalties that urged him to stay where he was and be satisfied. It was a Gordian knot indeed.

  He shook his head and shifted in his chair yet again. “None of this solves the immediate problem, though. Where is Hoag and what is he planning?”

  “Ah,” Rev. Albright said, then took a sip of tea. “There is no way to know the answer to those questions for certain, but my best guess is that Hoag is nearby and his intentions are murderous.”

  “In which case, coming here was probably a bad idea.” Lawrence frowned. “I don’t want to put you in danger along with everyone else.”

  “I’m too old to be perturbed by danger,” Rev. Albright said. “Hoag can do his worst to me. But I don’t think he will. It’s you he’s after, my boy.”

  Those words hung heavily in Lawrence’s heart as Rev. Albright shifted the conversation to ask about Marshall’s girls and the progress of the custody hearing. It was a relief to talk about something else for the rest of the visit, but as soon as the subject was exhausted and it was time for Lawrence to go, every worry that had risen in him during the visit came back.

  He marched out into the center of Grasmere, warmer on the outside but still brittle with cold in his heart. Instead of heading straight for the road that would take him home, he marched deeper into the center of town, toward Hoag’s shop.

  The once-thriving shop looked as dark and empty as the gaping maw of a rabid wolf. The entire thing sat there, untouched. Through the murky windows, Lawrence could see shelves stocked with dusty goods. The fact that no one had looted the shop sent a chill down Lawrence’s spine. It was as if the whole building had suddenly become invisible to the residents of Grasmere, as if they knew that any move they made to either rob or reopen the shop would be a death sentence.

  The barest flicker of movement from one of the upstairs windows caught Lawrence’s eye and sent his pulse soaring.
He narrowed his eyes and stared at the spot, but there didn’t seem to be anything there. The movement could have been the reflection of a bird or a breath of wind against the drab curtains inside the room. It could have had a perfectly innocent explanation, but Lawrence doubted it.

  He turned, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and walked on, senses alert. A light, freezing rain began to fall, sending most people scurrying inside. Lawrence kept walking, though. Walking and listening. He’d come to Grasmere for more than just a conversation with Rev. Albright. He’d come to see for himself if Hoag had returned home. He’d come to lure the villain out of hiding, if he possibly could. Hoag had sent someone to follow him home after his last trip to the tiny town, and there was a chance he would do it again.

  Matty

  The woods were beautiful in winter. Pristine, white snow outlined tree branches and blanketed the ground. Silvery icicles hung from boughs, glittering as a mist of freezing rain drizzled down. The whole world seemed quiet, waiting. But most beautiful of all, was that it didn’t feel to Matty as though anything as evil and boorish as Hoag could penetrate the peace of the winter scene.

  At least, it was peaceful as long as Connie was kept busy.

  “I hate the woods,” Connie sighed, flopping into Mother Grace’s one stuffed chair near the crackling fire. “There isn’t anything to do here.”

  “There are plenty of things to do,” Matty told her, trying her hardest to keep a smile on her face as she scrubbed laundry in a tub on the other side of the small cottage. The bulge of her belly had grown big and her back ached along with it, so Mother Grace had insisted she do the wash while sitting on a stool. “You could wring as I wash,” she suggested.

  Connie snorted, dragged herself out of the chair, and stomped across the room to the wringer and bucket beside the wash tub. “I hate laundry,” she grumbled as Matty handed her a scrubbed chemise.

  “It’s a necessary evil,” Matty said.