“What’s wrong?” Lawrence flew to her, all but carrying her as he helped her down the steps. “Is the baby coming? Is it time?”
“No, no,” Matty said with a weary laugh. “It’s just difficult to manage those stairs in this condition.”
“You shouldn’t be managing them at all,” Lawrence told her, lowering his voice and sending an apologetic look to the stranger. “Sorry,” he told the man.
“Oh, no, it’s quite all right,” the man said in a posh accent. He smiled, waving a hand. “I dare say your wife is far more important than me.”
“You should sit,” Lawrence said, returning his attention to Matty. “You shouldn’t even be here,” he whispered.
“Things reached a boiling point,” Matty said, glancing to Connie, who had moved to the far end of the forge and stood with her back against the wall, arms crossed, looking peevish. “We have to do something about her. Being in the woods isn’t working.”
It was exactly as Lawrence had feared all along. “Waltham is the only option,” he said.
“I agree.” Matty eased herself onto a stool near the stairs. “But how do we tell her?”
Lawrence clenched his jaw and studied Connie. No matter what they did, it wasn’t going to be easy. Either way, they couldn’t exactly deal with the matter with a stranger standing by.
He took a breath and approached the stranger with an outstretched hand. “Lawrence Smith,” he said.
“Colin Armstrong.” The man grasped Lawrence’s hand firmly and shook it.
“How can I help you, Mr. Armstrong?”
“I’ve been told you’re the best blacksmith in Cumbria,” he said with a smile, “and that if I want things done right, I should come to you.”
Hope soared in Lawrence’s heart. “I thank you for the compliment, sir. What are your needs?”
“I need everything, I’m afraid,” Armstrong laughed. “You see, I’m constructing a hotel in Ambleside, and it will need everything from fire-irons to garden gates.”
Lawrence blinked. Then he laughed.
Armstrong kept his smile, but it took on an edge as if the man knew he wasn’t part of an inside joke. “Have I said something humorous?”
“No, no,” Lawrence reassured him. “It’s just that I’m not sure my friend Jason is expecting to have competition.”
“Jason Throckmorton?” Armstrong’s face lit up.
“Yes,” Lawrence nodded. “We grew up together. He’s like a brother to me.”
“Oh.” Armstrong shuffled his feet, looking suddenly uncertain. “I’ve been an admirer of his for years,” he admitted. “His Dragon’s Head hotel is the very reason I’ve purchased land in Ambleside on which to build. I hope to duplicate his success at providing a remote retreat for those in search of an escape from city life.”
“Jason has certainly been successful,” Lawrence said.
Armstrong continued to eye him uncertainly. “I don’t plan to open until late in the summer at least. Building cannot commence until after the last snowfall, when the ground softens. But I had hoped to engage your services early so that you may have plenty of time to construct everything I need.”
“A wise plan,” Lawrence said, still chuckling over everything a rival would mean to Jason.
“But if you would rather not work for someone who might compete with your friend,” Armstrong went on, “I understand.”
“Not at all,” Lawrence said, glancing past the man’s shoulder to his pitiful, barely-started house.
If the money Armstrong offered was anything like what Jason had offered, the house could go on as planned and be done by spring. He could hire workers to finish it for him. He might have to hire someone besides Oliver to help with the commission. He’d charged Jason far less than he should have since they were friends, but he could charge Armstrong his full rate.
“What do you have in mind for your hotel?” Lawrence asked, inviting Armstrong deeper into the forge and completely out of the cold. There was no place to sit, but they could at least lean against the counter.
“As I said, I’m a great admirer of Mr. Throckmorton. I’ve been to all his hotels. The construction and efficiency he’s managed to design into each one is a marvel.” Armstrong took a breath, as if he were a young debutante daydreaming about her first dance partner. “But it’s this hotel here in Brynthwaite that has captured my imagination,” he went on. “He’s really got something here, what with the promise that his guests can get away from it all by a pristine, Cumbrian lake. I want to duplicate his success in Ambleside.”
“I’m sure you’ll achieve what you set out to do,” Lawrence said. And he’d give Jason a run for his money in the process. “But what specifically would you need from me?”
“I’d like you to take a look at my plans for a start,” Armstrong said. “I don’t have them with me, but I can bring them back another day.”
Armstrong proceeded to outline his vision for a hotel. It was a familiar vision. A little too familiar in some ways. By the sound of things, when Armstrong said he wanted to duplicate what Jason had done, he meant it in almost every particular. Armstrong’s hotel would be roughly the same size as Jason’s. It would have the same number of rooms and similar dining facilities. It would even have a garden that Armstrong was planning to wire with electric lights, the way Jason had. All in all, the project was sure to irritate Jason in every possible way, whether Armstrong knew it or not.
“So would you be interested?” Armstrong asked at last. “I would pay you a more than fair rate, of course. Say, a hundred pounds a month retainer and the cost of your materials on top of that?”
Lawrence’s mouth fell open at the staggering amount. A hundred pounds a month would be more than enough to finish the house. It would be enough to carry him through years of lean times, if he needed it. It was so ludicrous a sum that it made him wonder if Colin Armstrong were just as mad as Jason was.
“I am very interested,” Lawrence said.
“Capital,” Armstrong said, bursting into a grin. “There’s much to be decided, of course, and I would want you to come see the site in Ambleside before committing to anything. That can be arranged, can’t it?”
“Of course.”
They shared a few parting words and ideas before Armstrong shook his hand one last time, mounted his horse, and rode off. As soon as he’d rounded the corner and disappeared down the snowy road, Lawrence turned his attention to Matty and Connie.
“Now,” he said. “What are we going to do with you?”
Matty
Lawrence had a particular look—a unique blend of humor and deadly seriousness—that always made Matty quiver with excitement inside. He had that look as he turned to her, crossed his arms, and waited for her answer. She would be foolish if she thought he was only talking about their problem with Connie.
“Staying with Mother Grace isn’t working,” she said, pushing herself from the stool and waddling closer to him, one hand clasping her back. “Her cottage isn’t big enough for all of us.” And it was increasingly impossible to pretend she hadn’t stumbled across what she was convinced was Mother Grace’s biggest secret. Matty was a terrible liar and she knew it.
“I take it Elsie is still with her?” Lawrence asked, his body loosening a bit as he drew her into his arms and closed her in a soothing hug—at least, as best he could with her enormous shape.
“The woods are a good place for Elsie,” Matty said. “She adores Mother Grace. The two of them are a perfect pairing. But it simply isn’t the right place for the rest of us.” She flickered her glance to one side.
Connie was fully aware they were talking about her. She sulked in her corner, arms crossed tighter than ever, glaring at Matty. “I want to go back to school,” she said.
Lawrence let go of Matty with a sigh, facing Connie fully. “It’s too dangerous, now that your father is on the loose.” Matty could sense he was holding back. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about it since he returned from Grasmere. Tension ra
diated from him, as if he’d discovered something unhappy.
Connie pushed away from the wall. “I don’t care,” she said, her face betraying far more fear than her strong words and arrogant stance. “He wouldn’t hurt me anyhow. It’s you he’s after.” She nodded to Lawrence.
An awkward, anxious knot formed in Matty’s gut. “It was your testimony that decided the trial, Connie.”
Connie paled, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s obvious what we have to do,” Lawrence said, glancing first to Matty, then to Connie. “You have to go to Morningside Landing as a maid.”
“No,” Connie protested.
“Lord Waltham is a powerful man. He can keep you safe,” Lawrence insisted.
“I don’t want to work in a scullery,” Connie snapped back. “They’re dirty and awful, and it’s too much work.”
Matty arched a brow. “You never complained about working hard when Mama was driving you.”
“That was different.” Connie lowered her head.
Indeed, it was. Hoag had made all of their lives miserable, beating them and threatening worse if they didn’t do everything he said. And the stories of what he’d put Connie through after their mother had been killed were still too horrific for Matty to think about. It was no wonder Connie wanted an escape from all those things, from the very possibility of ill-treatment.
“I’m sure Lord Waltham would never allow the abuse of even the lowest servants in his household,” Lawrence went on, moving closer to Connie.
“So I’m low now?” Connie barked at him.
Lawrence let out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t say that. But we all have to start somewhere. A position at Morningside Landing could lead to a solid career in service for you.”
“I don’t want to be in service,” Connie said. “I don’t want to do anything you tell me to do.”
Before Matty could argue that everyone had to do something, Connie stormed off, fleeing the warmth of the forge for the unfinished house. She yanked open the kitchen door, then slammed it behind her.
Matty’s shoulders dropped, and her spirits with them. “I don’t know why she has to be so difficult.”
“Because she’s thirteen,” Lawrence answered.
“Barely.” Matty rubbed her forehead. She missed the simple, carefree days when she had no memory. She’d had nothing to worry about but keeping the forge tidy and falling in love with Lawrence. And while she’d always wanted to be a mother, she’d had no idea an entire family, complete with troubles, would descend on her all at once.
It was too painful to think about for long, so she turned to Lawrence, grasping for something positive, and said, “Mr. Armstrong’s offer is amazing.”
Lawrence brightened. “It changes everything.” He stepped forward to wrap his arms around Matty once more. “If everything works out, I could hire people to finish the house while I work on the commission. We wouldn’t have to worry about money for a long time. We might even be able to travel.”
Matty leaned back, glancing up at him and assessing him. “Are you still thinking of Barsali Moss?”
Hesitance filled his eyes. “It’s not every day an orphan gets the chance to find out about his family.”
Matty hummed, then nodded. She tilted her head to one side. “That reminds me. Do you know anything about Mother Grace having a child?”
Lawrence’s surprised look was all the answer she needed. “As far as I know, she never has.”
Matty slipped out of his arms, moving to sit on the stool to save her aching back. “I know she never talks about it, but Elsie and I found something in her house.” Her face flushed hot as Lawrence moved to sit on the stairs facing her. “Have you ever heard of a man named John Keegan?”
Lawrence frowned, remaining still for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve never heard the name.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t have,” Matty said, a little disappointed. “It all happened before you were born.”
“What happened?” Lawrence asked.
“Apparently, Mother Grace was in love with a man named John Keegan, but he was married to someone else,” Matty explained. “John was involved in a lawsuit that brought everything to light. I gather from what I read that Mother Grace didn’t know he was married. She was with child at the time of the trial, and she went to Lincoln to…I suppose to confront John. Only, John was found dead, poisoned.” A wave of self-consciousness hit Matty as she finished with, “The newspaper clipping I saw wasn’t sure if it was suicide or murder.”
“Mother Grace would never murder anyone,” Lawrence was quick to say. “Not even a faithless lover.” He sank back into his frown. “I didn’t know about the baby, though.”
“Have you ever seen anything in the woods that looks like a grave?” Matty asked. “Anything that would indicate where the baby might be buried?”
“What makes you think the baby died?” Lawrence asked.
Matty blinked, sitting a bit straighter. “Mother Grace doesn’t have any children. If the baby hadn’t died, she would have a grown child, wouldn’t she?”
A wistful look crossed Lawrence’s face. “Babies don’t always die. I can’t tell you how many unwanted babies were left on the orphanage doorstep through my years living there.”
“Mother Grace wouldn’t get rid of a baby like that, would she?” The very idea seemed barbaric to Matty. She rested a hand on the bulge of her own baby out of instinct.
“I didn’t know her when she was young,” Lawrence said. “We didn’t meet her until we were rough and disobedient boys, sneaking out of the orphanage to play soldiers and goblins in the woods. Jason was the soldier, of course, and I was the goblin,” he added.
“And Dr. Pycroft?” Matty asked.
“Was the stick in the mud who constantly scolded us and warned that we’d get into trouble if we didn’t go back to the orphanage right away,” Lawrence finished.
Matty grinned. She could see that.
A thought struck her that was so obvious she felt ashamed to admit it for fear of Lawrence thinking she was stupid. “What if Mother Grace gave her baby up to the Brynthwaite Orphanage?”
“It’s possible,” Lawrence said, looking intrigued by the thought.
“You could have grown up with him or her without ever knowing.”
He nodded. “Did you happen to see anything about when the baby was born?”
“Only that the newspaper articles were from eighteen sixty-four.”
Lawrence burst into a sudden laugh. “That’s the year I was born. Jason and Marshall too.”
Matty gasped. “You don’t think one of you—”
“And a dozen other children that made their way through the orphanage during my time there,” Lawrence cut her off as though the idea were silly. “And there’s no reason to believe, if she ever had the baby and it lived, that she gave it to Brynthwaite Orphanage. If she truly didn’t want her child, it would have made more sense to give it up somewhere far away, not right next door, where she’d risk running into it for the rest of her days.”
“Unless she wanted to watch it grow up from a distance,” Matty said, her heart racing at all the possibilities.
“Perhaps,” Lawrence said, standing and moving to kiss Matty’s forehead before walking to the forge itself to see what work waited for him. “The easiest way to find out would be to ask Mother Grace.”
Matty blushed and glanced down. “She doesn’t know what Elsie and I found,” she admitted. “I don’t want her to think we were snooping.”
“What were you doing?” Lawrence asked as he shrugged out of his coat, donned his leather apron, and fetched a hinge mold.
“Looking for towels to clean the floor,” Matty said.
“If you tell her that, I’m sure she’d believe you,” Lawrence said. “And then you’d have the answers you’re looking for.”
“If only there were some way to find out without looking like a nosy Nellie,” Matty sighed.
She pushed herself to
stand and headed out of the forge and into the bitter cold.
“Where are you going?” Lawrence asked.
“To the kitchen,” Matty told him. “It’ll take a while to bring the stove back up to heat, since no one has used it for weeks now.”
“You’re not thinking of staying here, are you?” Lawrence argued with her.
She stepped back into the warmth. “We can’t remain at Mother Grace’s house. It’s too small. And you saw how Connie was.”
“And your guilty conscience is pricking you too hard?” Lawrence suggested with a lop-sided grin.
Matty lowered her head, blushing.
“How do you plan to make it up and down the stairs in that condition?” Lawrence asked.
“I’ll find a way,” Matty insisted. “Or else I’ll stay in the kitchen until the baby comes.”
Lawrence shook his head. “It’s better for you to be close to Mother Grace so she can deliver the baby when it’s time. Or do you plan to rush into the woods to fetch her once labor starts?”
He was teasing her, but he was also serious. That enigmatic look was back in his eyes.
She sighed. “I was counting on you to do your part when the baby decides to come,” she said, feeling more determined about her choices than she normally was about anything. “And I’d rather it be easier for Dr. Pycroft or Dr. Dyson to attend the birth, if there are complications.” She rested a hand on her hip. “Wouldn’t you rather I be near the hospital when the time comes?”
“Mother Grace has delivered dozens of babies,” Lawrence argued.
“Including her own?” Matty shot back at him.
“Probably,” Lawrence said. He had all his tools in order and was ready to start work, but instead, he left his things where they were and walked around the forge to hug her. “If you feel safer here, then so be it. I don’t think you are safe anywhere but in the woods, but I’ll admit, I feel better with you in sight at all times.”
“As you should,” Matty said, kissing him quickly. “And now, we both have work to do.”
She stepped away from him, heading out into the cold and across the snow-covered ground to the kitchen. Lawrence must have been using the tiny stove in the room above the forge instead of the full kitchen since she and the girls had relocated to the woods. No path had been shoveled, and there were only two sets of footprints in the snow—one that Connie had just made moments before and a larger set that were old and caked with ice. Matty hated trudging through snow, even more with the added weight and odd balance of being so heavy with child. She would ask Lawrence to make a path as soon as—
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Page 9