Hounds of Autumn (19 page)

Chapter 31

T
he next morning, the family
gathered for breakfast before going to church. Only Ambrose and Mrs. Malone were absent, the latter taking her time in descending from her room. Beatrice looked fresh as she nibbled at her toast. Her husband sat beside her, his manner cautious even as he leaned toward her and spoke in low tones. Though her cheeks were pink, her small smile reminded Chloe of a marble statue, whole of form, but without life.

Fascinated with the pattern on the rug, Giles walked the perimeter, pawed at a corner and walked the perimeter again.

Upstairs, Ambrose was in bed, his eyes dull and his skin ashen. Chloe had not needed to persuade him to stay home from church. She hesitated to leave him, but aside from ensuring that he ate and drank a little, there was nothing more for her to do. She set a few interesting-looking books on his nightstand and asked his valet, Mr. Frick, to check on him.

Mrs. Malone strode into the dining room and nearly tripped over Giles, who leapt sideways with a metallic yowl. Mrs. Malone cried out in alarm and bumped into a chair, losing her balance. Chloe darted forward, grabbing Mrs. Malone’s elbow and held her firmly until Mrs. Malone managed to steady herself. No sooner was the crisis averted, then a crash sounded from behind Mrs. Malone.

A serving mechanical swayed drunkenly in the doorway. Giles scrambled for purchase on the mechanical’s flat top, finding his balance amid the teacups, saucers and a steaming teapot. The mechanical teetered sideways as Giles shifted his weight, his legs splayed and his tail pointing straight up.

“No!” Chloe cried and ran to grab the cat. Thankfully, Giles did not struggle as she lifted his stiff and straining body, but as she lifted his weight from the still-wobbling tray, the serving mechanical overcompensated for the sudden imbalance and tipped sideways. She lunged for the tea set, throwing her arm around the mass of dishes to try to catch them all. The teapot was the heaviest, and as it hit the thin brass railing at the edge of the mechanical’s flat top, it flipped over, pouring boiling water over her arm.

Her burning sleeve clung to her skin. She sucked air in through her teeth, only just managing not to scream. Pulling desperately at the cloth, she managed to peel her sleeve up to her elbow. The delicate skin of her inner arm was a furious red, and hurt like the devil.

Alexander was at her side in an instant. “Are you all right? Let me see.” He took her arm with gentle fingers and shook his head. “Mrs. Block can help with it. I think it’s bad.”

Chloe knew that already. “Thank you. I’ll find her.”

Alexander insisted on walking her to the kitchen. Pots and pans hung from rows of hooks and all of the dishes were dried and neatly stacked in preparation for luncheon after church. Mrs. Block was chatting with the cook. She turned, and her smile faded as she saw Chloe clutching her arm. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried forward to get a better look.

“Ah, that’s a good one. How’d it happen?”

“I knocked over the teapot. It was stupid of me.”

“Now, now. I can’t count on both hands the number of times I’ve been distracted and burned myself. See?” She pointed out two old rubbery scars on her own forearm. “No shame in it. Now let me get something before it blisters.”

Alexander saw her to a chair and left her to Mrs. Block’s tender ministrations. Her bulk disappeared into the pantry and Chloe heard her searching through the bottles and boxes that lined the shelves.

“We’ve got onions that I can put on it, but they’re not chopped yet. I do have some treacle though.”

She saturated a clean cloth with treacle and pressed it over the burn. Chloe flinched as the scratchy cloth made contact, but then relaxed as a cooling sensation spread over her skin.

“Now that’s just for now, to take the heat out,” Mrs. Block said. “I’ll make you a poultice, but it takes a little while to prepare.” She disappeared back into the pantry and alternated between rummaging through the clinking bottles inside and pulling bottles from a shelf below the kitchen window. She didn’t appear to read the labels, grabbing instinctively, sometimes opening a bottle to sniff, and then either setting it back or placing it on the table. By the time she finished, six bottles sat in a row on the table.

Robert appeared in the doorway. “Are you going to be coming to church?”

“I don’t think she’ll make it,” Mrs. Block said for her. She was in her domain and Chloe thought of how many scrapes and burns she must have tended in this kitchen over the years. The boy disappeared and Mrs. Block continued to drop pinches of herbs into a ceramic mortar.

“Do you do a lot of doctoring these days?” Chloe asked.

“Ah, not much. Not since the children were grown. Robert hasn’t hurt himself badly in a long time. Broke his arm when he was eleven. I suppose that was the last time he was hurt badly.” Her full face curved into a fond smile. “I do miss those days in a way, though. Alexander always laughing and bringing me bouquets of flowers he picked from our garden, and Ian sitting right where you are now and chatting with me as if he were already grown. That boy was born old.”

She poured a splash of hot water into a bowl, added more herbs and mashed them with a pestle.

“Tell me more about when the children were young.”

“Well, as I said, Alexander was a trickster. Always laughing and making jokes. He ran through a period when he liked to drop little frogs and things in his sister’s shoes and pockets. Poor Dora. He tormented her so. But then one day, like that,” she snapped her fingers for emphasis, “he started acting like a gentleman. He matured a bit, no doubt.” She chuckled to herself. “Either that or she gave him something to think about. Whatever happened, he never troubled her afterwards.”

“Now Ian and Robert, they were both good boys. No playing pranks or tormenting their sister. Robert was such a sweet little boy, always eager to please, but Ian could be a tad prickly. Still can be, in fact. Always telling Alexander what to do, and going on about how he should behave better. Of course, the more he went on, the worse Alexander got. Alexander was stubborn, in his way. That’s why I was surprised when Alexander turned one day from wicked older brother to being kind to Dora. I don’t think Ian had anything to do with it, though. I think Dora put a stop to it herself.”

She shrugged and turned back towards to the pantry. She returned momentarily, carrying a long piece of cheesecloth, which she laid flat on the table then coated thickly with the mass of herbs. She peeled off Chloe’s makeshift treacle-soaked bandage, which was now warm from the heat of Chloe’s skin, and placed the poultice on the pink area. Drawing a piece of lavender ribbon from her apron pocket, Mrs. Block and tied it loosely, making a small, neat bow on top.

“There you go, pretty as you please. But you’ll have to hold it on. The little ribbon won’t be much good for that,” she said, smiling faintly. “I used to do up Dora’s little scrapes like that, with a bow. A pretty little thing like a cheerful bow and she’d forget all about the hurt.” She stopped for a moment, lost in a memory, and then brightened. “Would you like some tea? This time for drinking, not for bathing?”

Chloe laughed and agreed. “Could you tell me about Rose?”

“Ah. Curious about your husband’s sister? She was a lovely lady. Kind. And a fine mother as well. She had dark hair, just the shade of Dora’s. In fact, the older Dora gets, the more she looks like a younger version of her mother.”

Chloe accepted a cup of tea and Mrs. Block settled into the chair across the table from her.

“I do miss her,” Mrs. Block sighed. “Mr. Aynesworth hasn’t been the same since her death. Not that I’d expect him to be, but you’d think he would heal in time.”

There was a scratching at the door, and then a muffled, “Brrr?”

“That’s my cat.” Chloe opened the door and Giles came in, tail high. He strolled around the room, completely unaware of the chaos he had caused.

Mrs. Block watched him. “Now that’s a strange little thing. I’ve never seen its like.”

“And probably never will again. Although I hope that someday engines like his can be improved upon to allow mechanicals to perform more dangerous tasks.”

“Like serving hot tea?”

“Precisely.” Chloe thought of Ambrose upstairs. “Do you think I could bring some tea up to my husband? He’s not doing well today.”

“Certainly. I’ll send some up. And I’ll make him some of my special soup. Takes a few hours to simmer, so I’ll get it started and he can have some this afternoon.”

Chloe thanked her and set down her cup. Giles was reluctant to leave, as he had developed a fascination with the copper pots and pans. Chloe picked him up.

“You had better be careful, my friend,” she murmured to him as she climbed the stairs. “Or I might start keeping you on a leash.”

He looked into her face, and she paused. It was almost as if he understood her.

Chapter 32

A
fter church, the family returned
for lunch. Chloe examined the faces of Alexander, Dora and Ian. She tried to imagine the solemn little boy Mrs. Block had described who would sit and talk with her in the kitchen. She tried to picture Dora in braids, admiring a purple ribbon tied around her bandaged finger. Chloe pondered for a moment the mischievous Alexander, who had gone from a mischievous miscreant to what? But those children were gone, and in their places were these people. Ian, sitting grim-faced in the corner, avoiding looking at his brother. Alexander was a solid presence beside Beatrice, but even Chloe could feel the distance between them. Dora chatted with Robert, who listened with a weary patience as she went on about the places she wanted to visit once she was married.

“You could come visit us,” she said. “Maybe stay with us for a few months.”

Robert nodded, though at a glance from his father, the hopeful look on his face faded.

“Mrs. Sullivan. I am sorry that your husband is doing poorly today,” said Beatrice.

“Yes. He has been in bed most of the day. Mrs. Block said she has a special soup that she makes that will make him feel better.”

“Her soup has medicinal herbs in it,” said Robert. “Though it won’t cure him, it will ease his symptoms a little. Settle his stomach too.”

Chloe thought of the envelope of herbs that Maggie had given her. She probably should toss them out. She trusted Mrs. Block more than the madwoman who spoke to bees.

The butler came into the room then bent toward Ian and whispered a message in his ear. In an instant, Ian leaped up, tossed his napkin across his full plate and rushed from the room. The door banged shut behind him.

“What was that about?” William demanded of the butler.

“If you would, sir?” The butler motioned to the hallway, his expression neutral. William followed him out of sight, but returned a minute later, his expression dark. No one dared to speak to him the rest of the meal.

At supper, a servant ladled onion soup from a white porcelain tureen and placed the steaming bowl in front of Chloe. No sooner had she blown on the first spoonful than a second servant ran past the open dining room door. The pounding of his feet ceased abruptly as another servant barked out an order, sending him running back from whence he came.

A door slammed in the front of the house, and muffled voices exchanged pitched tones. Suddenly, a high-pitched wail sounded loud and shrill, drowning out everything else. It stopped and started again like a bugle call, this time louder than before.

Chloe turned back to the table to see her surprise mirrored in the expressions of the rest of the family, save Alexander’s. He was bent over his soup. He lifted his spoon and then returned it to the bowl. Beatrice stared blankly, a look on her face that vaguely repelled Chloe.

Chloe identified Mrs. Block’s voice amidst the cacophony. The woman barked out an order and the chatter eventually faded out. Blessedly, the shrill crying tapered off too, and Chloe let her fists uncurl in relief. For a heartbeat, no one at the table moved or took a bite. Then William rose, breaking the spell, and with a muttered apology, headed for the door. He stopped short as Ian appeared in the doorway, his hair a rumpled mess and his face haggard. Aside from seeing him argue with his brother, Chloe had never seen the man in such a state. Robert and Dora gasped, confirming that they too were shocked at his appearance.

Ian gripped the doorframe. He looked at the people around the table before addressing his father.

“I have an introduction to make,” he said. “I have put it off for too long.”

“Enough of this!” Alexander slammed his palm on the table and shot up from his seat. “This cannot stand. It is unconscionable.”

“What is unconscionable?” said his father, but Chloe saw a grim satisfaction in his expression as he looked at Alexander. William’s position afforded him a view into the hallway, past Ian, but if he was shocked or surprised, he did not show it.

Alexander rubbed his neck, agitated. “Father, this is madness. We cannot do this,” he said.

“It is already done,” said Ian. He stepped into the room and a little girl in a worn brown dress followed him in, reaching to thread her small hand into his. “This is my daughter.”

The girl was about five or six years old. Her hair was long and dark and she had the same straight, long nose as her father. Her eyes, a vibrant grass green, must be a gift from her mother. Though the color shown unnaturally bright, set off by the tear-stained, swollen red skin around them. Her right hand clenched about the worn handle of a yellow flowered carpet bag, though it appeared nearly empty, its sides curving inward. Her simple dress looked as if it had been taken in and let out too many times.

After a shocked pause, the room erupted; the high-pitched tones of Mrs. Malone and Dora vying for most shocked. Robert watched the little girl with an expression of concern, as the other adults gesticulated and shouted. Amid the chaos, he slowly got up from his chair, knelt before the girl and said something quietly. She pulled back shyly and pressed her face into Ian’s hip.

Only Beatrice was still. She watched Ian with an expression of awe and confusion. Her expression changed to one of careful evaluation when she looked at the girl. Surely she must see the family resemblance, Chloe thought. She probably was trying to ascertain who the girl’s mother might be.

In the midst of the melee, Alexander grabbed Ian’s shoulder and spun him around, but Dora pushed between her brothers, facing Alexander. He shouted at her, and she pointed a finger into his face, not backing down an inch. Chloe could not hear what she said, but Alexander took a step back from her.

“Enough!” bellowed William. He gradually drew the family back to the table, and everyone took their seats except for Ian and the girl. A servant set two bowls of soup down at two empty places.

“You can sit here,” said Robert to the girl, patting the chair beside him. But the girl looked up at her father, uncertainly, her lower lip trembling. Her head dropped, her hair falling in a dark cascade to obscure her face, and her shoulder began to shake. Ian bent down and picked her up, adjusting her weight expertly, as if by old habit. The girl buried her face in his neck, her body limp and exhausted.

“I will take her to bed and see that she eats,” said Mrs. Block from the doorway.

The girl clutched Ian all the harder. He murmured something into her ear and she raised her head and looked him straight in the face. She released her grip on his neck long enough for him to transfer her to Mrs. Block’s arms. The pair disappeared down the hall.

“Outside,” hissed Alexander. “Now.”

“No, brother. I haven’t eaten a bite since midday and I’m famished. I’d like to join you all for supper if you will allow me.” Ian seated himself and scooted in his chair. He took up his spoon.

Alexander, face red, looked as if he might drag Ian outside by force.

“Her name is Josephine,” said Ian evenly. “Not that any of you asked or showed any sort of civilized welcome to her. She is six years old and her mother died this afternoon.”

Voices rose in protest and shock once more, and William slammed his fist on the table so hard that the dishes clinked and the wine in his crystal glass sloshed dangerously.

“I will speak with both of you after we eat,” said William to Alexander and Ian in a tone that brooked no argument. Ian was almost too calm and even seemed pleased as he nodded his assent.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Beatrice pushed the food around her plate and sipped her water. She glanced at her husband and Ian now and then, but Chloe could not tell what she was thinking.