Chapter 10 #2
“Attending to some business,” he said, utterly vague and unhelpful. “I thought to see how you were getting on.”
“About as well as one might expect,” Mrs. Rawlings said, “having a stranger thrust into the innermost parts of one’s life.”
“We are fast friends,” I said. “As you can see.”
Mr. Rawlings raised one eyebrow but did not comment. He held himself stiffly, his arm without the sling, and I was quite certain he was in pain. But I could not inquire after him with his mother in the room, so I kept my concern to myself.
“Do we really think this will work?” Mrs. Rawlings folded her arms. “The servants are already suspicious.”
“We have little choice but to persist,” Mr. Rawlings said. “At least until we have word from London that Miss Lacey is safe to return.”
Mrs. Rawlings obviously found that answer dissatisfying, but she said nothing more, only sat and returned to her correspondence with a scowl on her face.
Mr. Rawlings warily stepped toward me, as if afraid I might snap at him for abandoning me this morning.
“I heard no screaming last night,” he said quietly so his mother could not hear. “You slept well?”
I bit my lip. In the light of day, I’d almost forgotten the strange sound I’d heard last night in the corridor, and the distinct feeling of being watched. But it seemed silly to mention it now. Clearly, it had been nothing, and telling Mr. Rawlings would only make me seem nervous and oversensitive.
“I did,” I said. “And I must thank you for sending Agatha to help me this morning. That was very gracious of you.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “I thought you might prefer her help to mine.”
The memory of his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin on my back flashed through my mind again. Yes, it was certainly for the best that he not help me in future.
Mr. Rawlings nodded to his mother seated across the room at her desk, her posture more rigid than ever. “I am sorry if this morning was . . .” He paused. “Uncomfortable.”
“I have certainly dealt with worse,” I said. “But I daresay your mother and I will not become bosom friends anytime soon.”
He turned back to me. “Let us simply hope the case progresses quickly. I am eager to return as soon as possible.”
“Are you so keen to escape your life of luxury here?” I asked. “Or perhaps you are escaping something else?” I shot a meaningful glance at his mother.
Mr. Rawlings did not take my bait. “I am only keen to return to work,” he said firmly.
I did not believe him. Not entirely anyway.
He was certainly attached to his work—though obsessed might be the better word—but there was more to it than that.
This was his home, yet he did not look any more comfortable here than he did at Vauxhall or at the Travers home.
In fact, he seemed even less so, if that was possible.
“How is your wound?” I nodded at his arm, still speaking quietly.
“Better,” he said. “I imagine I’ll be returned to normal within a week or two.”
I did not expect the small surge of relief that came at his words.
No matter our small disagreements and irritations with one another, I was truly glad he was on the mend.
I was about to make a quip about all the unwanted rest he would be getting here in the country when a quick pattering of footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the room.
The door opened, and a child stood on the threshold, a young boy with dark curly hair and devastatingly blue eyes. He could barely be three years old, his small frame still clinging to babyhood in the roundness of his cheeks and limbs.
He spotted Mr. Rawlings, and his face lit like the sun, a toothy grin spreading over his face. “Uncle Alex!” he shouted and barreled toward us, nearly knocking over a small table in his haste.
Mr. Rawlings bent and scooped him into his arms, the boy giggling madly. “Who is this strapping young man? Not Elijah, surely.”
“I am Elijah!” he protested. “Me, me!”
A tall woman swept through the open doorway, dark-haired and lovely, dressed in a neat, green walking dress. She had the same blue eyes and pert nose as the boy, and she smiled brightly. “I am sorry,” she said. “He quite got away from me at the front door.”
Then she spotted me standing beside Mr. Rawlings, and her expression turned to surprise, brows raising. “Oh, I am sorry. I did not realize you had company.”
Mrs. Rawlings made a sound, half scoff, half laugh, as she stood. “Company indeed,” she muttered, coming to greet the newcomer.
The woman seemed utterly perplexed as she kissed Mrs. Rawlings on the cheek. “How are you, Aunt?”
Aunt. She must be a cousin. I could certainly see the resemblance between her and Mr. Rawlings in their height and coloring, though I could never imagine a smile like hers gracing his lips.
“Do not ask a question you do not want an honest answer to, Helen,” Mrs. Rawlings replied.
Elijah squirmed, and Mr. Rawlings bent to set him down. The boy darted off immediately, running toward the window and bumping a small table on which perched a ceramic statuette.
“Do be careful,” the woman—Helen—cautioned him.
“Bah,” Mrs. Rawlings said, looking rather fondly at the boy. “Let him be. I can buy new things.”
“You say that now,” Helen replied. “You may feel differently after he shatters your Meissen figurines.” Her gaze returned to me, and she moved closer, offering a curtsy and a smile. “I do apologize for our abrupt arrival. I heard Alexander had returned, but I wasn’t expecting a guest.”
The way she said it made it sound as though this were the very first time Briarstone had ever had guests. Although, considering Mrs. Rawlings’s prickly nature, it very well could be.
Mr. Rawlings stepped forward to introduce us. “Helen, this is Miss Beatrice Albright. Miss Albright, this is my cousin, Mrs. Helen Millard.”
How odd it felt to be addressed so wrongly. I managed a curtsy. “A pleasure, Mrs. Millard.”
“Most exceedingly,” she said, clasping her hands before her, still smiling. “A true delight to meet you. What brings you to Briarstone?”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “A new position.”
“Position?” Helen tipped her head. “What position is that?”
A moment of purely awkward silence passed. Mr. Rawlings exhaled. “I brought her here to be Mother’s companion.”
Helen blinked. “Truly?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Rawlings said dryly. “Alexander has got it into his head that I am lonely.”
Helen recovered from her surprise admirably. “Well, how wonderful,” she said in a firm voice. “No doubt you will cheer the place up immensely, Miss Albright.”
I could feel the touch of her smile like a sunlit breeze.
With Mr. Rawlings’s reticence and his mother’s active dislike and Stroud’s suspicion, I had not had a very warm welcome at Briarstone.
But the simple kindness Helen showed now made my spirits lift.
How different the room felt with just the smallest bit of graciousness.
Elijah went to a small bureau against the far wall and opened the bottom drawer. He immediately began pulling out armfuls of tin soldiers and lining them up on the floor.
Mr. Rawlings nodded at the boy. “I hardly recognize him. He’s grown so much.”
“Yes, well, if you visited more often, you might know your own godson,” Helen said matter-of-factly. “When were you last here? Spring?”
“It is not an easy journey,” he said evenly. “And you know very well I am kept busy at Bow Street.”
“Oh yes,” she said. “Far too many criminals to catch to spare a few days for your family.” She regarded me again, and the curiosity there made my stomach tumble. “Where do you hail from, Miss Albright?”
I swallowed. “London, most recently.”
“I might have guessed.” She glanced at Mr. Rawlings. Did she wonder about us traveling together? I hoped she would not question me on that. I did not like to lie, and I particularly did not want to lie to this woman.
“How old is your son?” I turned the conversation back toward her.
“A very rascally three,” she said. “He will tell you he is almost four, but his birthday is not for nine months.”
I smiled, watching him play with his soldiers. “He looks the very picture of you.”
“That is very kind.” Helen watched Elijah as well, pride in her voice. “But he takes after his father in spirit. He has already decided to join the Royal Navy to accompany Captain Millard as soon as he possibly can.”
“Your husband is in the navy?” I brightened. “Oh, that must be fascinating indeed.”
“It certainly was more so before Elijah came along,” she said with a laugh. “I often joined my husband on his ship, but we’ve since decided I’m to be landlocked until Elijah is older.”
I really could not imagine it. To live on a ship and go where the wind took you, to see the world and experience life. My existence suddenly felt very small.
A clatter. I looked down to see one of the toy soldiers tumbling across the floor toward me.
It came to a halt right at my feet, and Elijah scuttled after it on his hands and knees.
Then he pulled back, looking up at me in surprise.
I did not think he’d noticed I was in the room until that instant, and he was suddenly very aware of the stranger in his midst.
His eyes went to his mother and back to me, wariness filling his expression.
“Good morning,” I said with a smile, reaching down to pick up the soldier. I held it out to him. “Here you are.”
Elijah made no move to take it from me, though he seemed to be debating, head tilted.
I’d always hated it when people towered over me, and I assumed children felt no different, so I crouched there on the ground, skirts pooled around me, and held the soldier a little closer to Elijah.
He finally grew brave enough, scooting the last couple of feet and taking it from my hand. I expected him to return to his line of soldiers, but he grinned up at me, apparently overcoming his fear. “Play with me,” he said, then reached out and tugged on my hand.
“Oh.” I was taken aback. “I don’t . . .” Then I realized this was the perfect excuse to escape more conversation with Helen.
Not that she wasn’t perfectly kind and agreeable, but I was quite certain I would be caught up in our charade sooner or later.
“Yes, very well.” I followed him back to his play area. “Which shall I play with?”
“These.” He shoved a pile of five or six soldiers at me. “You’re the Fwench.”
“Ah,” I said. “I speak French very poorly, but I shall give it my best effort.”
He laughed, though I did not think he really comprehended my words, and began forming his own soldiers into a circle surrounding mine.
I sat on the ground, legs to one side, skirts spread modestly over my feet, and lined up my soldiers to face his.
As he pretended to shoot my troops, I gave them all very dramatic deaths befitting the battlefield, and he giggled in pure delight.
“Again!” he demanded when all my soldiers were defeated.
“If you insist,” I said. “But I think I’ve earned a cannon, at the least.”
He shoved a cannon on wheels in my direction, then bent his face to the floor, ensuring his soldiers were lined up perfectly straight. I glanced up and blinked.
All three—Mrs. Rawlings, Helen, and Mr. Rawlings—stared at me.
Mrs. Rawlings had a perplexed furrow in her brow while Helen looked on with a smile.
Mr. Rawlings, however, watched with his mouth parted slightly and a softness to his expression that I’d never seen before.
When our gazes clashed, a strange, fervent heat lit up my spine, and a thread of energy strung between us.
My heart thumped wildly in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, words tumbling over themselves. I made to stand. “I should have asked.”
“No, no,” Helen protested. “Please, don’t stop on our account.”
I settled back down with no small amount of trepidation. Had I overstepped? I’d simply wanted to be friendly, but Mrs. Rawlings was glaring at me like I’d killed the family pet. And Mr. Rawlings . . .
Well, the way he was looking at me was very different indeed.
“Play with us, Uncle Alex,” Elijah insisted. It appeared as though he had much of his uncle in him, with that domineering tone.
I expected Mr. Rawlings to make an excuse.
Instead, he came and sat beside me, one elbow propped on his upright knee.
He ought to have looked a little ridiculous, a man as tall as he sitting upon the floor, but he could not quite manage it.
Instead, he looked almost at ease, and when his eyes flitted over to mine again, there was something in them that settled my racing pulse.
“You be the Scots.” Elijah pointed to a group of soldiers painted with red-and-green plaids and kilts.
“Terribly apt,” I said.
Mr. Rawlings gathered his soldiers, arranging them into a tight formation. “I’m not Scottish, you know,” he said quietly, so only I could hear.
My brows lowered. “I find that hard to believe, what with your accent.”
He shook his head. “I lived near Inverness for many of my formative years, but I was born here.”
I chanced a glance at Mrs. Rawlings, who was speaking with Helen on the sofa, pretending not to cast furtive looks at us every few seconds. “I did wonder why your mother does not speak the same.”
“Yes, she did not adopt the language as I did,” he said, “eager as I was to blend in.”
I wanted to pry more, to ask why he had lived in Scotland for so many years. It did not fit in my mind with the picture I’d been forming of him, that of a rich and privileged child. But he said nothing more, so I followed his lead.
We played with Elijah, waging silly wars against one another. Mr. Rawlings won my cannon in an epic battle, and I retaliated by pretending a rockslide had pummeled half his army. Elijah delighted in it all, laughing and charging the both of us with his cavalry.
A few times, I caught Mr. Rawlings watching me over the boy’s head. And whenever that inscrutable, fascinating gaze of his met mine, it never failed to send a curl of heat through my stomach. Which was curious and baffling and entirely unexpected.
I resolved to ignore it.
A resolution I already knew I would be hard-pressed to keep.