Page 24

Chapter 23

‘So, uh, are you settling in all right?’ Rory asked, standing awkwardly opposite Maud with his hands shoved into his pockets.

‘Oh, yes, all fine,’ she said with false brightness.

They were in one of the two rooms that made up the little cottage in which she and her children now resided in Gildham. A narrow hallway separated the two spaces; when she’d cautiously answered the door to his knock, she had ushered him inside and made sure the door was firmly latched again behind him before steering him into the kitchen. Now, she hovered in front of the fireplace (whose smoke drifted serenely up the chimney), her fingers curled tight in the folds of her apron.

‘Is the cottage to your liking?’ He glanced around at the bits of furniture – a table, a wooden settle with a high back and arms, a couple of cupboards – that must have belonged to the previous occupant.

‘It is,’ she said. ‘We’ve got everything we need. The villagers even brought us this set of fire irons, which was so kind of them.’ She pointed behind her to the hearth where a poker, brush, tongs and shovel hung from an iron stand, the items mismatched and well used.

‘And has the doctor been looking after you?’ Rory knew that Mr McGovern had enlisted a doctor from Bedford to come to the village and tend her.

‘He’s satisfied with my progress. I have more energy now than I did after…’ A flash of pain crossed her face and she blinked it away with an obvious effort. ‘The children are at school right now. They’ll be sorry to have missed you, especially Alfie.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sure to come back another time when they’re here.’

A silhouette passed by the window and she stumbled backwards in fright, her heel knocking the brush off the fire irons stand. She hastened to pick it up, her fingers trembling as she fumbled to slot it into place again. When she turned back to Rory, her cheeks were still flushed from her sudden alarm.

‘I think it was just someone walking by,’ he murmured. Gesturing towards the empty window, he added, ‘Whoever it was is gone now.’

She lowered her gaze. ‘I keep expecting him to show up at any moment. Every shadow, every footstep, every knock on the door. One day it’s going to be him.’

Rory clenched his fists inside his pockets, angry that the bastard continued to hold so much power over her. ‘You’re safe here. He’s got a cheap rent at Penny Close and more money in his pocket than he’s ever had before. If he has any sense at all, he’s not going to throw that away.’

She shrugged, still looking at the floor. Then she glanced up, biting her lip. ‘How’s your throat?’

‘Grand,’ he said blithely. ‘The bruises are mostly gone and so’s the hoarseness, as you can hear.’ He scrabbled about for a change of subject. ‘D’you miss Liverpool?’

He wished he’d picked any other question when her expression turned wistful. ‘I do,’ she admitted. ‘This village is nice but it’s a far cry from a bustling port town.’ She emitted a sad chuckle. ‘I miss Elsie too, if you can believe it. She might be odd but she was always a steadfast friend.’

‘Have you, uh, made any friends here yet?’

‘Ethel Cobb next door has been neighbourly in a no-nonsense sort of way, telling me to keep my chin high and make the best of it. Her granddaughter Ettie is a godsend. She always holds a seat for me on the cart that takes the women into Bedford to the lacemaking factory, and she’s been giving me a lot of advice while I’m getting trained on the machines.’ Maud grimaced. ‘It’s very different to the kind of work I’m used to. I thought I’d be quicker at it by this stage, but Ettie says I’ve got a keen eye so I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it. Once I do, I should be able to get full hours there.’

‘That’s good,’ Rory said, shuffling his feet. ‘I’m glad that—I mean, I hope that—uh, for sure.’ Damn, he should have invoked the Duke of Desmond for this visit. What would the duke say at this juncture? ‘If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come up to the Hall. I’ll be glad to help in whatever way I can.’

She nodded. ‘Thanks very much again to you and Mr McGovern for looking out for me and the children. All of this is more than we deserve.’

He dismissed her words with a shake of his head. ‘Ye do deserve it. After all ye’ve been through, ye have a right to be happy.’

Her eyes started to glisten at that, so he bade her a hasty farewell and left the cottage with a promise to come by again soon to see Alfie, Frankie and May. He heard her checking the latch as he walked away from the door.

He spent the ride back to Bewley Hall composing a letter in his head to his mother. He knew how to start it: he would ask after her wellbeing, and how Una, Sorcha and Brian were faring, and what life was like for them in Chicago. For Emily’s sake, he would request tidings of Orlaith and Charlie and how they were managing with their twins, who had to be nearly two years old by this stage. Out of politeness, he would extend his enquiries to Tess, Bronagh and Maggie too. That much was straightforward enough.

Then it would be expected that he would share his news and yet he didn’t have a notion how to go about it. ‘I’m progressing well in my training as the deputy land agent on the estate, and the tutor says I’ve got a knack for mathematics, and by the way I’ve given refuge to the woman your husband left you for, along with her three children as well.’ If he’d been physically writing the letter, the floor would be littered with crumpled sheets of paper by now.

He arrived back at the Hall no closer to resolving his quandary. Realising he would probably need Emily’s help to find the right words, he decided to retrieve her last letter, stowed carefully beneath his pillow, to double-check the date she was next due to return from Yorkshire.

He entered the house via the side entrance nearest to the stables but had hardly taken ten paces along the passageway when he heard a loud bang from deeper within the building, followed by a rumbling din that might have been something heavy rolling across a floor. Mystified and slightly alarmed, he went in search of the noise’s source and traced it to an open door on the next corridor, which led into a room he’d never seen before. It was lined with rich wood panelling and boasted a billiard table in its centre, gleaming with brass fittings and topped with green baize. Patrick and Jack stood beside the table clutching long wooden cues, while Gus was on his knees in a corner, salvaging a white ball that had rolled underneath a leather armchair.

‘Got it!’ he announced, holding it up.

‘Great,’ said Patrick. ‘Next time, mind you don’t hit the ball so hard that you knock it off the table. You’re lucky you didn’t damage the baize.’

Gus’s face fell but brightened again when Patrick winked.

‘I just need more practice!’ Gus exclaimed, jumping to his feet and hurrying over to Jack with his hand out. ‘Can I have another go?’

Jack surrendered the cue without protest and Gus dropped the ball onto the table’s surface, standing on his tiptoes to get a better angle.

‘Here, use this,’ Patrick said, nudging the armchair’s footstool over to the table so that Gus could climb onto it. As he put a steadying hand on Gus’s shoulder, he spotted Rory hovering in the doorway. ‘All right, Carey?’ he said with a cool nod. ‘Care to join us?’

Rory shrugged noncommittally but came further into the room.

‘Pat’s teaching us how to play!’ Gus said, maintaining his balance on the footstool. ‘He said every self-respecting gentleman should know his way around a billiard table. It’s as important as being able to tie a cravat.’

That stung Rory more than he wanted to admit. He watched as Gus tried to line up the cue.

‘Hold it with a lighter grip,’ Patrick advised. ‘It’s about control, not force. Like this.’

He leaned over the table with his own cue, curling his fingers loosely around the smooth wood and resting the upper end on the bridge he formed with his other hand. Gus tried to copy him, his tongue peeping out of his mouth as he concentrated. He prodded at the ball and it rolled away a few inches.

‘A decent attempt,’ Patrick said, standing back. ‘I think it’s Jack’s turn now.’

Beaming, Gus hopped down from the footstool. He passed the cue to his brother, who scarcely had time to step up to the table when footsteps sounded in the corridor outside and Mr McGovern appeared in the doorway.

‘I reckoned this was where all that noise was coming from,’ he said with a grin. ‘Jack, will you come with me? Your mother and I would like to have a quick word with you.’

‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’ Gus asked anxiously.

‘No, but you are,’ Mr McGovern replied, arching his brow. ‘You’re to report to Mrs Hawkins this instant and explain why she appears to be missing a whole jar of blackberry jam after checking her inventory.’

‘Oh, I wanted to feed a robin that came to the window—’ Gus began enthusiastically before wilting under his father’s stern gaze. ‘I’ve just realised I forgot to put the jar back afterwards.’

‘Off you go and apologise,’ Mr McGovern said and Gus scurried out of the room. ‘Come along with me, a mhac ,’ he added to Jack in a gentler tone.

Brow furrowed, Jack handed the cue to Rory and departed from the room with his father, leaving Rory and Patrick alone.

Patrick coughed. ‘Fancy a game?’

‘I’ve never played,’ Rory replied. ‘I guess I’m not one of those self-respecting gentlemen.’

Patrick rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s not be sensitive today, shall we?’

He reached for the white ball Gus had hit, positioned it near the head of the table and leaned over once more with an easy confidence. His cue struck the ball, which streaked across the baize and knocked another ball, this one red, directly into a corner pocket. He straightened with a smirk. Rory was impressed but refused to show it. Patrick rounded the table, fished the ball out of the pocket and dropped it onto a random spot of the baize.

As he lined up his next shot, he said offhandedly, ‘You know, you’re something of a puzzle to me.’

Rory frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’

Patrick hit the white ball and sank the red again. ‘I mean, I can’t figure you out. Why did you marry my cousin? Apart from her manifest charms—which hardly require marriage to appreciate—the answer seems obvious: for her money and all the privileges that come with it.’ He waved his cue to indicate their surroundings. ‘And yet you don’t seem to indulge in those privileges at all. You don’t even have a valet, isn’t that right?’

‘Do you?’ Rory challenged.

‘Of course. I left him behind in Bedford to make my visit to Bewley Hall, but he will join me now that my uncle has invited me to stay for a few days.’ Patrick set the end of his cue on the floor and leaned casually on it. ‘Why did you marry her, if not for a comfortable life?’

Rory reddened. He had no desire to explain himself to a fellow for whom he held little regard, but he couldn’t leave his relationship with Emily undefended.

‘Because I love her,’ he said firmly, relieved that he didn’t stammer over the words.

Patrick’s mouth curved with amusement. ‘It always fascinates me to encounter people who are determined to stake their whole lives on something entirely imaginary.’

Rory threw him an incredulous look. ‘You think love isn’t real?’

Patrick snorted. ‘I know it isn’t. It’s just a fairytale romantics use to convince themselves that their entanglements are more than transactions of lust or convenience.’

Rory gaped. Notwithstanding his dislike of Patrick, he had always viewed him as a man of the world, with more sophistication and experience than Rory in numerous areas. It stunned him that the fellow could be so na?ve on this one matter.

He was ready to argue the point, but then Patrick said, ‘When I first heard about your marriage, I assumed you’d got her with child so you had to hasten to tie the knot. Figured you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.’

Rory gripped his cue tightly, his jaw clenching. ‘Watch your mouth.’

‘It was a reasonable assumption,’ Patrick said, undeterred. ‘But no child materialised, which made me wonder whether the opposite was true and you were too afraid to do the deed. Or maybe you tried, but something’s broken. Then again, that could be her fault too. Women are usually—’

Rory’s arm snapped out and he smacked his cue against Patrick’s with a sharp thud of wood on wood. Patrick lost his balance as his cue clattered to the floor and he flailed, grabbing onto the edge of the table to stop himself from falling on his face.

‘What the hell!’ he barked.

Rory loomed over him. ‘Don’t you ever, ever , say that in Emily’s presence. D’you hear me?’

Patrick stared up, his expression a mix of ire and confusion. ‘What—’

‘The one thing she wants more than anything else on this earth is a baby.’ Rory took a deep, controlled breath. ‘And, whether by her fault or mine, ’tis looking more and more like the one thing she’ll never have.’

Patrick was silent. He straightened and took a step backwards. ‘I didn’t realise,’ he said quietly.

Rory felt his wrath leaking out of him as swiftly as it had risen. He stepped back too, his shoulders sagging. ‘I’m just warning you there are lines you can’t cross.’

Patrick nodded. ‘Noted.’ Brushing off his sleeves, he bent to retrieve his cue and inspected it for a moment. ‘No damage done—at least, not to anything other than my dignity.’ He shot Rory a wry glance.

Rory emitted an unsympathetic grunt, tempering it with a light tap of his cue against the table. ‘So are you going to show me how a self-respecting gentleman plays this game or not?’

Patrick responded with a faint grin. ‘Very well. But I must forewarn you: true mastery takes years of idleness.’