The Brynthwaite Boys - Season Two - Part Three Read online

  “Have you been to town since…that night?” Matty asked as they all started forward.

  “No,” Mother Grace said, letting out a breath and glancing up to the patches of blue sky that were visible through the thick, green canopy of the trees. “But I should have. I should take a great deal more interest in my grandbabies.”

  “You mean Marshall’s girls?” Lawrence asked.

  Mother Grace shrugged without saying more. Lawrence had the impression that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

  They continued on, walking as though they were simply out for a stroll to enjoy the beautiful weather. Having Mother Grace with them only increased Matty’s sense that something was very wrong, though. The whole day felt poised on the edge of becoming a disaster of some sort. The wind whispered of change, as if lives hung in the balance.

  A degree of that uneasiness seemed to be proved when she spotted a flash of color close to the edge of the lake from the hill as they made their final approach to the town.

  “Are those Barsali’s wagons?” she asked, grabbing Lawrence’s sleeve.

  Lawrence looked in the direction where she pointed. His benign smile dropped to a squint, then lifted to a look of joy and purpose. “I think they are.”

  He picked up his pace, but must have realized who he was walking with and held back after only a few steps.

  “Perhaps they’re here for the solstice,” Mother Grace said, glancing sideways at Lawrence. “Or perhaps they’re here to take their brother home.”

  Lawrence met her statement with a sheepish grin. He’d made no secret to her that he longed to travel south, to find Barsali’s band and join them for a while to learn about his past. Matty was enthralled with the idea as well, mostly because running away would put all of their troubles behind them. But the prospect of picking up and leaving left her as uneasy as the swirl of complexity if they stayed.

  “If it is Barsali’s band, he’ll want to know all about the investigation,” Lawrence said. “He’ll want to hear everything that’s happened since this winter.”

  Matty didn’t doubt it. She wondered if that was the reason he and his people were here now. She felt certain it was them. Gypsies didn’t show up in a town more often than they had to, and Barsali might think he had to.

  Matty didn’t know what to expect or how long they would have to wait to find out the results of the investigation, but it turned out that the answers were waiting for them as soon as they walked into town. As soon as the town hall and jail were in sight, they had their answer. Det. Lewis himself, Mayor Crimpley, and Constable Burnell stood in front of the town hall, looking as though they were in deep conversation. As soon as they spotted Lawrence approaching, Crimpley broke away from the group.

  “There he is,” Crimpley growled, moving faster than Matty had ever seen the man move. “I told you he’d slink into town. I told you his curiosity would get the better of him.”

  Matty’s stomach turned, and she reached for Lawrence’s hand. “Should you run?” she whispered, suddenly near the edge of tears.

  “No,” Lawrence told her in a steady voice. “Look at Lewis.”

  Matty swallowed and looked. Det. Lewis appeared more put out than anything else. He and Constable Burnell followed Crimpley at a slower pace, seemingly in no hurry. If Bracken hadn’t been fussing in her arms, Matty would have clapped a hand to her stomach to steady her nerves as Crimpley charged toward him.

  “Here he is,” he said with a demonic gleam in his eyes. “Lewis. Come over here and tell us your findings, then arrest this man as the murderer I know he is.”

  Matty swallowed the panic that rushed through her. It took every bit of her sense to listen to exactly what Crimpley said. He didn’t know Lawrence was guilty, he was still assuming. Had Det. Lewis not revealed his findings yet?

  That question was answered moments later as she, Lawrence, and Mother Grace, Elsie hiding in her skirts, came face to face with Crimpley, then Det. Lewis and Constable Burnell on the corner of the dangerous intersection.

  “Well?” Crimpley demanded, pivoting to Lewis. “Tell us he’s guilty and Burnell will arrest him at once.”

  Matty’s terror eased another notch as Det. Lewis sent Lawrence an apologetic look before saying, “As I was about to tell Mayor Crimpley, I’ve concluded my investigation.”

  “And?” Crimpley pushed him.

  Det. Lewis cleared his throat, sending Crimpley a sideways glance. “After much careful work, investigation of motives and means, and a thorough look into Trevor Hoag’s past, I can only conclude that the murderer could have been any number of people.”

  Crimpley’s face was red and his eyes wide with anticipation. He practically quivered as he said, “And? And?”

  Det. Lewis glanced to him. “And given the indeterminate amount of time the body was in the lake, currents, possible points of entry, and a complete lack of physical evidence as to how the body ended up where it was, let alone how Hoag was shot, I can only conclude that we’ll never know what truly happened.”

  “What?” Crimpley shouted. “It was Smith. The man is a born thief and murderer.”

  Lawrence kept a straight face, nodding at everything Lewis said. “Does this mean the investigation is closed?”

  “It does,” Det. Lewis said. “And frankly, my home office has been antsy about how much time I’ve spent investigating the murder of a murderer. They believe my time could better be used elsewhere.”

  “No!” Crimpley growled. “You have to arrest Smith. He did it, I know he did.”

  Det. Lewis sent a long-suffering look in Crimpley’s direction. “With all due respect, Mayor Crimpley, your grudge against Mr. Smith seems entirely unfounded and without merit. The law is not intended to be used as a weapon in a personal vendetta.” He turned to Lawrence. “Mr. Smith is entirely without blame and above suspicion in this matter, and I suggest you accept that fact and move on.”

  “But…he can’t…I won’t….”

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Lewis said, touching the brim of his hat, then walking on.

  Matty was so consumed with relief that tears stung her eyes. Tears of joy. Lawrence had been cleared of suspicion. Beyond that, Willy had been cleared as well. And by the grace of the Goddess, Elsie hadn’t even been touched by suspicion. Elsie clung to Mother Grace’s skirts, clearly frightened beyond measure as she stared up at Crimpley. She was the last person the raging man would have suspected of murder. Crimpley was a fool. And Elsie was not a murderer. She and Willy had defended the rest of them in a way that deserved praise, not condemnation.

  “Good day, Crimpley,” Lawrence said, grinning at the man, glancing to Matty and Mother Grace, then walking on. “It is a very good day indeed.”

  “This isn’t the end,” Crimpley snapped, grabbing Lawrence’s arm as he tried to pass. “I will bring you to justice in the end. If you think you can rest easy now, you’re a fool. I will stop at nothing now. I will see you in jail, where you belong, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  Lawrence yanked his arm away from Crimpley and glanced to Matty. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Matty’s mind that Crimpley would do whatever he could to stay true to his word. He would make Lawrence’s life—and hers by extension—a misery. Perhaps Barsali and his band was the answer to their troubles after all.

  They walked away from Crimpley without another word. Crimpley stormed back into the town hall, a dejected Constable Burnell by his side. As soon as Lawrence, Matty, and Mother Grace reached the churchyard, Lawrence stopped them.

  “I’m going to head down to the water’s edge to see if that really is Barsali and to tell him what’s going on,” Lawrence said. He leaned close to Matty, kissing her forehead, then kissing Bracken’s head. “Take care.”

  It was a warning and an acknowledgement that their troubles were far from over. Crimpley would be out for blood, and they would have to step carefully to avoid giving him what he wanted.

  Marshall

  “Careful, woman, caref
ul,” Marshall snapped, in an admittedly peevish mood. He’d been at the church since the break of dawn, sorting through flowers and leafy garlands and God knew what else in pursuit of this ridiculous wedding. Now he was following Alex around, his arms full of roses, the thorns pricking him, as she marched up the church’s central aisle. “You don’t need to move so fast.”

  “Tell that to Lady E,” Alex said over her shoulder in a wry voice. “She seems to think that her wedding is the social event of the season. The London season.”

  Marshall muttered something about vainglorious bitches under his breath. His girls were there helping out, after all, and they didn’t need to hear their papa using foul language. Not that they’d been able to avoid it lately. Between Alex’s insistence that she continue to work until she went into labor, Mother Grace’s superior looks every time he visited the forge to try to convince Lawrence to stay right where he was, and that damnable piano, he felt as though his life had slipped enough off-axis to send everything spinning out of control.

  Alex set most of the flowers she’d been carrying in the choir stall, where Arabella was hard at work, fitting large rose blooms with wire and wrapping them with green crele, before stepping up onto a small ladder so that she could add blooms to the decoration festooning the pulpit.

  “What in hell do you think you’re doing, woman?” Marshall shouted. He threw the boughs he was carrying aside and rushed toward Alex, arms outstretched, convinced she would tumble to the church’s stone floor any moment.

  “Please stop calling me ‘woman’,” Alex told him in an exhausted tone.

  “That’s what you are,” he said. “And you’re great with child at that.”

  Alex finished placing her flowers, then stepped gingerly down the ladder, turning to face him. “Great with child?” she asked, crossing her arms, one brow raised. She sent Arabella a commiserating look—which Arabella returned with an amused grin—before turning back to Marshall. “Do try not to sound so Biblical.”

  She waddled to the pile of greenery he’d dropped and attempted to bend over, but that was beyond even her willful capabilities.

  “You could go into labor at any moment,” Marshall said, certain he sounded like a fussy hen but not caring. “Let Arabella take care of the decorations. She’s more than capable. She’s quite good at it. You should be at home with your feet up, not rushing about a church, decorating for the most ludicrous wedding of this century and the next.”

  “Flossie needs me,” Alex told him, gesturing for Martha—who was sitting in the front pew playing with two rejected buds as though they were dolls. “I can’t let Arabella do all the work. Martha, would you be a dear and hand me that ivy?” As Martha scurried forward, she turned back to Marshall and said, “Mind you, you’re right about the wedding being utterly ridiculous.”

  He couldn’t help it. The feisty look in Alex’s eyes made him grin, in spite of the fact that he had lost his patience with her and her independent ways.

  But there were more things for him to lose patience with. Before he could scold Alex further, Matty, Elsie, and Mother Grace marched in through the church’s main door.

  “You’ll never believe it,” Matty said, picking out Mary among the throng of women who were hard at work and rushing toward her. “Det. Lewis has concluded his investigation and we’re all in the clear.”

  Marshall’s heart soared with relief for a moment. Lawrence was out from under the cloud that had been following him since January. Willy and Elsie as well. Perhaps now Lawrence would drop his silly notion of leaving.

  Hard on the heels of that happy thought, irritation pricked him. “Hang on,” he said, marching over to where Matty and Mary were embracing, baby Bracken caught between them. “You discussed a murder investigation with my daughter?”

  “I—” Matty backed away from Mary, going red with alarm.

  “I’m not a little girl, Papa,” Mary said, her back going straight. “Matty is my friend, and I want to know about the things that trouble her.”

  “Murder is no topic for young ladies to be discussing,” he said with a glower.

  “Enough of that, Marshall,” Mother Grace scolded him. “Mary is fast becoming a woman, and everything has turned out for the best.”

  A twist of rage held Marshall immobile for a moment. He didn’t know which irritated him more—the fact that in spite of the investigation being concluded with the best possible outcome didn’t erase the fact that Hoag had died either by Willy’s or Elsie’s hand or the way Mother Grace was attempting to scold him as though she had a right to.

  “I will thank you not to get involved in my family business,” he said to Mother Grace.

  Mother Grace laughed. “Your family is my family, or did you not remember?”

  “What are you talking about, Grandmamma Grace?” Mary asked.

  A second wave of fury washed through Marshall as he sent a sidelong glance to Mary.

  “Hasn’t your father told you?” Mother Grace said, glancing challengingly at Marshall. “He’s discovered the truth.”

  “Oh dear. What truth are we talking about?” Lady E asked, waltzing through the door, Lady Charlotte a step behind her, at exactly the wrong moment.

  “Nothing,” Marshall growled, balling his hands into fists at his sides.

  “What truth did you discover, Papa?” Mary pressed on.

  “Why, that I am his mother, of course,” Mother Grace said.

  Marshall wasn’t certain, but it was entirely likely that he’d burst a vessel in his brain at her casually-delivered statement.

  “You’re Mother Grace,” Mary said with a puzzled frown, as though she still hadn’t put the pieces together. Marshall hoped that she wouldn’t.”

  “No, sweet one, I gave birth to him,” Mother Grace said a moment later, killing the last of his hope.

  Marshall rounded on her. “How dare you say that aloud?”

  Still calm on the outside, Mother Grace shrugged. “I have a right to reveal myself to my granddaughter.”

  “You do not,” Marshall seethed. “The decision of whether to tell my children something so difficult and complicated should be mine, not yours. You had no right.”

  “Who is this woman?” Lady Charlotte asked, looking as though she’d been hit in the head with a cricket ball flying at high speed. “I thought you were an orphan.”

  “I am an orphan,” Marshall insisted. “This woman has no part in my life. Mary.” He grasped Mary’s hand and marched her away from the tumult and toward the front of the church, where Alex and Arabella were looking on with worry in their eyes.

  “Did she just—” Alex began to ask, gesturing toward Mother Grace.

  “She did,” Marshall growled.

  Alex’s eyes went wide. “The nerve of the woman.”

  It cooled Marshall’s temper somewhat to know that Alex shared his indignation. But he was irritated all over again when Alex set her flowers aside and waddled down the aisle toward Mother Grace, a confrontational frown hardening her face.

  “Alex, don’t,” he cautioned, catching up to her.

  “Alexandra, there you are.” Lady E was the first to speak, as though nothing else were going on. “The church looks lovely. Are more flowers coming? Where’s Flossie? She should be throwing her full devotion into these decorations.”

  Alex spared only a quick, irritated glance for Lady E before planting her hands on her hips and glaring at Mother Grace. “You overstep your bounds, madam.”

  Mother Grace barely hesitated before saying, “So you believe a man should have exclusive rights to determine what family his children should or should not know?”

  “I—”

  “Would you be so indignant if Marshall forbid this babe of yours from ever knowing your family?”

  Marshall nearly winced at the fury in Alex’s eyes. Partially because they’d spent many long, uncomfortable evenings discussing exactly how much interaction they wanted their children to have with Lady Charlotte, Lord Gerald, and a few, ass
orted cousins that were scattered across the country.

  “This baby most certainly will know me,” Lady Charlotte spoke up, clearly offended, though it was difficult to tell whether by Alex or by Mother Grace.

  “Mother, now is not the time for us to discuss this,” Alex said.

  Lady Charlotte shifted from looking offended to frowning and going on the attack. “I have been doing everything in my power to make you get off your high horse and return to your family.”

  Alex gaped at her. “My high horse?”

  Lady Charlotte ignored her and pushed on. “I am the reason your husband has his family in the first place. I bought you a piano.”

  Another vein in Marshall’s head felt as though it had popped. “I beg your pardon, Lady Charlotte. The piano? My girls?”

  Much to Marshall’s dread, Alex looked suddenly sheepish. “Oh dear,” she said, reaching out and laying a hand on his sleeve. “What with all the trouble surrounding the wedding and the baby and the investigation, I forgot to say.”

  “Forgot to say what?” Marshall asked.

  “Lady Charlotte sent us the piano,” Mary answered, looking inordinately proud of herself. “And she was the one who told Lord Merion when our trial was to take place, because Lady Elizabeth was too busy being social in London.”

  All eyes snapped to Mary—Alex in alarm, Mother Grace and Matty with curiosity, and Lady E and Lady Charlotte with differing degrees of horror.

  “Well, it’s true,” Mary said, shrinking in on herself a bit.

  It took a moment for the details to sort themselves out in Marshall’s aching mind. He shook his head, turned to Lady Charlotte, and said, “You were responsible for Lord Merion’s intervention?”

  “It was me, really,” Lady E answered first. “I was the one who apprised him of the situation and convinced him to help us. And, yes, the details of the hearing may have slipped my mind at the time, but can you blame me? I had been invited to join the Duchess of Bedminster’s inner circle, and if I recall, there were several card games and musical events that week which I couldn’t possibly have—”