“We don’t need anything new,” Mary said.
Before she could go on, Molly appeared at the top of the stairs in a state of half dress to say, “Yes, we do. We had all sorts of new things at Grandfather’s house.”
“We don’t need them here,” Mary told her with a sharp frown.
“Look, Dolly waited for me.” Martha joined them on the stairs, her weathered ragdoll in her arms, still dressed in her London clothes.
“Let’s assess the situation and see what we need to do,” Marshall said, heading up the stairs and away from Alex.
The next half hour was spent poring through closets and bureaus, assessing what clothing still fit the girls and what would need to be remade. As soon as that was done, they all adjourned to the kitchen so that Mary could see just how pitiful Alex was as a housekeeper and so they could have lunch.
“The stove isn’t hot enough for cooking,” Mary announced, donning an apron, rolling her sleeves, and getting down to work. “But there’s plenty of cheese and cold meat and bread for luncheon.”
“Can’t we have fish stew?” Molly asked, flopping at the table with a worn book that she’d evidently been missing. “We had fish stew for lunch at Grandfather’s.”
“We’re not at Grandfather’s,” Mary grumbled. “And I didn’t like that stinky fish stew anyhow.”
Marshall and Alex exchanged a look that hinted they both knew there were more adjustments to be made than simply adding a pseudo-mother to the household. It was clear to Alex that London had wrought more changes on the girls than were evident so far.
“Fish stew would probably make me sick anyhow,” Alex said, putting on a smile and crossing to the table to rest a hand on Molly’s head, as a mother might.
Molly looked up at her with a puzzled frown. “Why would fish stew make you sick?”
“The smell,” Alex said, moving to sit next to Martha and to tie the doll-size apron she was attempting to dress Dolly in. “I can’t abide the smell of fish at the moment.”
“Why not?” Molly asked, still confused.
“At the moment?” Mary asked from the counter, where she was slicing cheese.
“Because of the baby,” Alex said.
Everyone in the room went stock still. Mary stopped slicing, Molly stopped squirming, and when she saw her sisters’ reaction, Martha stopped playing with Dolly. Alex glanced to Marshall. He’d gone beet red.
“I haven’t told them,” he admitted in a guilty voice.
Alex gaped incredulously at him. “You haven’t told them?”
“Told us what?” Molly asked.
“You’re going to have a baby,” Mary guessed, her eyes going wide.
“Yes,” Marshall said, crossing to stand behind Alex’s chair and resting his hands on her shoulders. Mary seemed to flinch at the gesture. “Alex and I are going to have a baby. By this spring, you’ll have a new little sister or brother.”
The girls stared at Alex. It was somehow worse than having every one of the women at the tea party staring at her. Whether the Pycroft girls approved of their father impregnating her so quickly would define her home life for years to come.
“I want a brother,” Molly said, breaking the silence at last. “Papa needs another boy.”
“I want a brother too,” Martha said. “Is he coming right now?”
“No,” Marshall laughed, the sound more of a sigh of relief than anything else. “Not for a few more months.”
“You don’t look like you’re going to have a baby,” Molly said.
“Mama didn’t look like she was doing to have a baby at first either,” Mary said in clipped tones, returning to slicing cheese. Her face was bright pink, and she was focused on the cheese as though her life depended on it. Alex had no idea how she felt about the situation, but clearly Mary was old enough to understand at least a little bit of the implications.
“Well, I’ll leave the lot of you to have your luncheon in peace,” Marshall said, squeezing Alex’s shoulders, then heading for the hall.
“Where are you going, Papa?” Martha asked.
“I need to check on the hospital,” Marshall said, pausing in the doorway and smiling back at them. There was an edge of panic in his eyes when he glanced from Alex to Mary, though. “I have more responsibilities than just you lot, especially now that you’re back where you belong.”
“The hospital is all in order,” Alex said, standing. “You can stay for lunch.”
“I’ll just run over and check,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I could come with you.” Alex started toward him.
“No, no. It’s important for you and the girls to become better acquainted,” Marshall insisted. “I’ll leave you to that.”
“But—” Alex couldn’t think of a single rebuttal.
“Goodbye, Papa,” Molly said with a smile. “Thank you for bringing us home.”
“Goodbye, Papa,” Martha echoed.
“Goodbye, Papa,” Mary added, still not looking up from her work.
“I’ll be back soon,” Marshall promised, then turned tail and fled.
Alex let out a breath, her shoulders dropping. Of all the nerve of the man, leaving her alone with his daughters seconds after belatedly informing them they would be getting a new sibling soon. She shook her head, mouth still hanging open, no idea what to do.
Mary finished with the cheese and brought it to the table along with a plate of buttered bread before returning to the counter to slice cold ham. She moved efficiently, but with some stiffness, and she didn’t meet Alex’s eyes.
“You are happy about a new baby, aren’t you?” Alex asked, addressing all the girls, but mostly eager for Mary’s response.
“Yes,” Martha squealed.
“Can we call him Albert?” Molly asked. “After Prince Albert? Or maybe Robin Hood?”
“It might be a girl,” Alex laughed, knowing full well she sounded nervous. Her eyes were glued to Mary, waiting to see what she thought.
“We don’t need another girl,” Martha said. “We need a boy.”
“Mummies don’t get to choose whether they have girls or boys,” Mary said. She plunked a final slab of ham on the plate, then brought it to the table. Finally, she met Alex’s eyes. “Either way, babies make things different.”
“They do,” Alex agreed, far more than Mary could know. “They most certainly do.”
Mary frowned at her, studying her. Alex hoped that the look meant the young woman was wise enough beyond her years to understand that changes were afoot for all of them. She hoped Mary would forgive her for changing the home the girls had expected to come home to into something none of them was quite ready for.
Lawrence
Time was never something Lawrence had paid much mind to in his life. The seasons turned, the sun rose and set, and the weather changed. That was all he needed to know of time. But with mouths to feed and people depending on him, time had suddenly become his enemy.
He strode through the center of Brynthwaite, his muscles still feeling the strain of delivering the heavy lattices of ironwork he’d made for the windows of Brynthwaite’s bank. The work had been tedious and lacked any sort of creativity, but the money he’d earned would be enough to resume work on the house. At least for a while.
The more work he put into the house, the more expensive the project became. He’d barely finished the kitchen when winter set in, making regular construction impossible. He’d managed to get half of what would be the wall of the main room beside the kitchen constructed before snow had stopped everything. The house was currently nothing more than a kitchen and a pile of stones, unfit for habitation. Lawrence was already second-guessing his plan to build two stories. It would be easier to put every room on the ground floor, to construct something that looked more like a Viking longhouse.
It would be even easier to scrap the entire project, pack Matty and the baby, once it came, into a cart, and run off to join the Romani roaming around Britain. Just thin
king about it made his feet itchy.
His rebellious thoughts were cut short when he rounded a corner in time to see Marshall all but running down the street toward the hospital.
“Marshall,” he called, hoping beyond hope that his friend’s return meant his girls were back as well.
Marshall skittered to a stop at the slushy end of the sidewalk, glancing around like he was a thief about to be caught. As soon as he spotted Lawrence, Marshall’s shoulders relaxed and he broke into a weak smile. “Lawrence,” he said, changing direction.
“Good news?” Lawrence asked as they met up in the middle of the sidewalk. They were close enough to The Fox and the Lion that Lawrence gestured for them to head inside.
“The girls are home,” Marshall confirmed as they crossed into the pub’s warmth.
“Thank the Goddess,” Lawrence said, thumping Marshall’s back. “I had no doubt you would prevail.”
“Yes, well, I might not have if it weren’t for Lord Merion,” Marshall said. Before Lawrence could ask, Marshall went on with, “He managed to call Danforth out for only wanting the girls as pawns to marry off in order to secure his business and social connections.”
“That’s unforgivable,” Lawrence said, momentarily furious on Marshall’s behalf.
“Danforth might have gotten what he wanted, if not for Lord Merion. And I’m sure we have Lady E to thank for his involvement,” Marshall said.
Lawrence scowled. “Nothing about Jason’s arrangement sits well with me.”
“Me neither,” Marshall admitted. “But I’m not sure I’d have my girls back without it.”
“Where are your girls now?” Lawrence asked.
To his surprise, Marshall flushed. “They’re home with Alex.”
A grin pulled at the corner of Lawrence’s mouth. “And you’re not there with them?”
“I need to check on the hospital,” Marshall said, glancing out the window instead of meeting Lawrence’s eyes.
Lawrence crossed his arms and leaned his weight on one leg. “Alex has been running things perfectly in your absence, or didn’t she tell you.”
“She hinted that things were fine,” Marshall said, still avoiding his eyes.
“So what’s the real reason you left your new wife and your girls alone together?” Lawrence couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled up in him.
Marshall gave up being evasive with a long sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. “I forgot to tell the girls that Alex is pregnant until she mentioned something.”
“And?” Lawrence prompted.
“It was awkward. The little ones are thrilled to have a new sibling, of course, but I’m not as certain about Mary. And Alex wasn’t pleased that I’d failed to mention something so important before the moment it came out.”
Lawrence arched a brow. “How are things with you and Mrs. Pycroft?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Marshall sighed. He glanced hopefully at Lawrence. “Has she said anything to you while I’ve been gone? Anything that might indicate her feelings have changed?”
Lawrence laughed outright. “I’m not in the habit of taking tea and sharing sympathy with fine ladies in Brynthwaite. I’ve had my own problems to deal with.”
“Hoag?” Marshall asked, sobering.
Lawrence nodded, but before he could tell the story of his trip to Grasmere, Ted Folley leaned across the bar and said, “Dr. Dyson and Miss Stowe had a bit of a disaster at a tea party the other day.”
Lawrence and Marshall both turned to him. An amused grin spread across Lawrence’s face. “What do you know about it, Ted?”
“June made some of the refreshments,” he said, his look saying he knew Lawrence was teasing him. “She reported back that Dr. Dyson was the subject of a huge amount of cruel gossip, especially after she sicked up on Lady Ramsey.”
“She didn’t,” Marshall said, looking stricken and sympathetic.
“Yep,” Ted said. “You’ll probably want to know that the hoity-toity set in town have decided to cut her, and that they’re putting the rumor about that your baby was conceived before the wedding, and that’s why the wedding took place.”
“Bloody hell,” Marshall growled, looking like he wanted to punch something. “She knew that was going to happen.”
Lawrence raised a brow. “Still planning on checking in on the hospital, then? Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”
Marshall darted a sharp look at Lawrence. “I want to have words with some of those snobs is what I want to do.”
“Be my guest,” Lawrence said with a shrug. “Some of them could use being taken down a notch or two. I’m sure Flossie would be all too happy to help you, if you asked.”
“I would, but she’s gone to London.” Marshall said.
“Has she?” A sudden burst of worry filled Lawrence’s gut.
“Soon after I left with the girls, Lady E sent a telegram that Jason needed help, apparently, so off she went,” Marshall said.
Lawrence frowned. Neither Jason nor Flossie were at the hotel, but Willy still was. And Hoag was somewhere nearby. The urge to do something to protect what was his had him heading for the door without properly winding up the conversation.
“Where are you going?” Marshall asked, leaving the pub with him and marching by his side as they crossed the street.
“I need to make sure Willy is all right,” he said.
“Hoag,” Marshall said, as if that were the only explanation needed.
They parted ways as Marshall ducked into the hospital. The hotel was a bit farther on, but it didn’t take Lawrence long to get there.
Without Jason or Flossie present, Lawrence half expected the hotel to fall down. But everything seemed normal when he crossed through the lobby to the front desk.
“Can I help you, Mr. Smith?” Daniel, the bright Irishman Flossie had hired to replace that stick in the mud, Samuel, asked.
“Is Willy around?” Lawrence asked, leaning close and lowering his voice, as if Hoag were hiding in the potted palms.
“He’s helping in the kitchen today,” Daniel asked. “We have an unusually large number of bookings for January at the moment, and Cook needed the extra help. Would you like me to fetch him?”
“No.” Lawrence held up a hand. He frowned. “None of those bookings are for a man with severe burns on his face, are they?”
“I cannot divulge information about our guests,” Daniel said as though reciting Bible verses.
Lawrence should have known better than to ask. Jason had gone on at lengths about how the hotel’s new staff had been hired expressly for their ability to keep their mouths shut. Personally, Lawrence thought that would lead to The Dragon’s Head becoming the location for all manner of clandestine activity. But at the same time, there was a chance it could protect Willy.
“You know about Willy’s father, don’t you?” he asked, attempting to be discreet himself.
A knowing grin spread across Daniel’s face. “Miss Stowe has given orders to keep Willy busy out of sight, Mr. Smith. The staff thinks of him as their own these days, particularly Reggie.” He nodded past Lawrence’s shoulder to the burly porter standing with his meaty arms crossed near the bottom of the stairs. “You remember Reg, don’t you?”
Lawrence turned to give Reggie a grateful grin of thanks. “I do. You’ve just set my mind at ease, for which I thank you.”
“No one hurts our Willy,” Reggie said from his post, reassuring Lawrence even more.
Lawrence rapped the top of the desk, then turned to go. “If only the rest of them had friends like you,” he said, thumping Reggie’s arm as he left.
That was the problem, of course. Willy had an ex-pugilist and an entire hotel staff to watch out for him. All Matty and the girls had was the woods and Mother Grace’s charms and spells. As deep as Lawrence’s belief ran, he still wasn’t convinced whispered prayers and incense could protect what he loved from a murderous madman.
His mind fell into well-worn tracks as he headed home, hand
s thrust into the pockets of his thick, wool coat, hunkering down into the muffler wrapped around his neck. Willy was reasonably safe, but the others weren’t, and that was unacceptable. Elsie might be protected on her own at Mother Grace’s, but from everything Matty had told him and from what he’d witnessed in the few moments he’d been able to steal with her deep in the woods, Connie was becoming more of a problem by the day. The obvious solution was to install Connie at Morningside Landing, but that wouldn’t come without a fight.
Lawrence wasn’t far from the forge when his nerves began to prickle. Something wasn’t right. There were footprints in the snow that hadn’t been there when he’d left. It was possible that Oliver could have made them, but unlikely. The simple man liked to keep to his work, especially when the warmth of the forge provided shelter from the cold of winter. Lawrence slowed his pace, senses alert as he drew near. Smoke curled up from the chimney above the forge, and he could hear the steady clang of Oliver hammering something. That didn’t mean there was no danger, though. Oliver could work through a battle and not give it any notice.
A horse neighed as Lawrence drew closer, turning a slight corner, which gave him a more direct view of the inside of the forge. Red-orange light shone out in all directions from the forge’s half-enclosed central furnace, casting shadows on the snow that lay outside of the sphere of heat. A horse had been tied to one of the canopy’s posts.
But it wasn’t the horse or the finely-dressed man that stood just inside the forge’s circle of warmth that gave Lawrence pause. Connie sat on the stairs that led up to the room above the forge, one arm resting on her knee, her chin in her hand.
“What are you doing here?” Lawrence asked, greeting the unknown gentleman with a bare nod as he crossed behind Oliver and into the back section of the forge.
“I can be here if I want to,” Connie said, standing and challenging Lawrence.
“Lawrence, is that you?” Matty’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs. She gripped the railings and winced slightly as she lowered herself down the steep stairs. Her belly stood out, firing every protective instinct Lawrence had.
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Page 8