Season of The Shadow. Bobbi Ph.D. GrooverЧитать онлайн книгу.
spoken first was sitting in the seat and smoothing her skirt. "I'm not really sure. The horses were spooked by something, and we heard him shouting. We were thrown to the floor in a sharp turn and the next thing we knew, we were here. Perhaps he fell off in the turn?"
Fletcher thought a moment about the situation. He couldn't very well leave them here stranded, alone and unprotected.
"In that case, there's an inn nearby, and I insist on driving you there to rest. I can send for a doctor if you wish. Then someone will ride back to search for your driver."
He had driven them back to the inn, Whiz prancing with obvious indignation at having to be tied to the back of the carriage, and had them settled into a room. Having found their driver with a goodly sized egg on his head, Fletcher advised Miss Laura and Miss Flora Mathews to spend the night at the inn and proceed on their journey early the next morning. They giggled and thanked him over and over again for his help and his concern. He tried graciously to take his leave, but they insisted that he join them for supper, saying it was the very least they could do to thank him for saving their lives. They exasperated him with their insistence. Obviously Miss Laura and Miss Flora Mathews were accustomed to having their own way.
Fletcher brushed his hair and finished tying his neckcloth. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. It stunned him, this new look, every time he saw himself. Who was that person behind the bushy beard and the dark haunted eyes? When had the white hair over his right ear made him look so ancient? He wasn't sure whether the white hair was due to the vicious blows to his head or the hardship of his incarceration but the small area had never grown in black again. Luckily the head wounds had not affected his hearing, merely his balance and only with specific movements—movements he tried desperately to avoid.
The soothing feeling of the bath had left him. He sighed and tried to rid himself of the melancholy. How could he have let himself in for an evening of two plump spinsters and idle chatter? Mindless sewing circle conversation was not his best forte.
Time to go. He was supposed to wait on the ladies, not the other way around. He gritted his teeth, straightened his back, gave a wink and an abrupt nod to the face in the mirror, and opened the door.
* * *
The meal had gone as expected. Miss Laura and Miss Flora talked about everything that was mundane and dull. Fletcher was exhausted, laboring over the appropriate responses at the appropriate times—that is, when he could get a word in between their prattle. His answers were calculated, vague and misleading; no need to have his business bruited about.
Upon hearing Fletcher's destination, the sisters were in a flurry of excitement. "You know, Mr. Brown, we're making the trip to Crisfield again soon to attend the ball that my cousin is giving," said one of the sisters. Fletcher was having trouble remembering which sister was which.
"Indeed? I do hope you have an easier trip next time around. Perhaps you should bring two drivers instead of one in case you lose one of them again," he answered, wondering how he would be able to excuse himself and seek the refuge of his room.
The sisters laughed a merry, silly laugh.
"Yes, Laura, don't you think it would be splendid if our Mr. Brown here could attend the ball? I will write to my cousin and tell her that she must extend an invitation. Isn't it a coincidence that your parents know the Stedmans. Will you be staying with them? I do need to know because I will have to inform my cousin to include your name on the guest list."
These two peahens chatter faster than any female I've ever heard.
"Well, actually no. I'm staying at—" he started to say.
"No bother. My cousin will find you. She keeps an eye on every eligible bachelor to come into town. She's desperate to find a husband for that daughter of hers. Oh dear—you aren't married, are you?"
"Well, no. I've—" Fletcher was developing a throbbing headache.
"No, no of course you're not. I'm sure you've been too busy squiring the ladies around and breaking hearts with your dashing good looks and pretty wit. Don't you agree, Flora?" asked Miss Laura. Fletcher finally was able to pin down which side of him held Miss Laura and which chair held Miss Flora.
"I most certainly do, Laura dear. Oh, Mr. Brown, do say you'll attend the ball. We know you'll make such a stir and it will be fun telling everyone that we were the ones who discovered you." Miss Flora giggled again.
"I'm sure the Stedmans will be there so it's not as if you won't know anyone. Mr. Stedman will surely want to show off his new bride."
That statement caught Fletcher's attention. Father's remarried? Where was his mother? He felt himself starting to breathe faster.
"Mr. Stedman is recently married?" he inquired. "Samuel Stedman?"
"Oh no, Samuel died some years ago. It's his son who's recently married. That's where we've been. We were on our way back from their wedding. It was so lovely..."
Her voice faded from his hearing as he tried to digest what he'd heard. Oh God—father dead? Samuel's son? But that's impossible; I'm Samuel Stedman's son. Fletcher tuned back into the conversation.
"...she was dressed in her great grandmother's dress and looked like a princess—yes, a veritable princess—"
Fletcher felt his chest muscles tighten. He pulled at the knot of his neck cloth, felt it was choking him. "Who?" The word burst from him.
Miss Laura seemed stunned by his interruption. "Who—what, Mr. Brown?"
Fletcher summoned every ounce of his control. He wet his lips and swallowed. His fingers were turning numb where they gripped the chair. "Pardon my rude intrusion, Miss Laura. I was wondering who looked like a princess in her great grandmother's dress?"
"Why Kyndee Brock, dear. Didn't I mention whom he took for his bride?" She put her hand to her mouth and tittered. "How very silly of me. Of course you would wonder, not having been there. I guess my little old brain was shaken today more than I realized."
Kyndee—married? Can't be true. But...
"Miss Laura, I'm heartily confused. You told me that it was Samuel Stedman's son who recently married. I...uh...I heard...at least there was a rumor that his son was kidnapped years ago. I'm happy to hear that he obviously was found unharmed." Fletcher shifted his position in his seat.
"Oh no, dear, more's the pity. The dear boy was never found. His mother, Adeline, pined for him until she made herself ill. She rarely stepped out of the house again. It nearly killed poor Samuel. He paid investigators and even offered a reward, but there was never any news. The poor man nearly lost his mind. Thank heavens for their nephew—"
Buck!
"—he did his best to keep the plantation running, and be a comfort to his aunt and uncle. What a blessing he was to them..."
I'll kill the miserable bastard. Fletcher felt his heart pounding, could hear it in his ears until it was almost deafening. Under the table his fists were clenched tight. His mood darkened, and he sank deeper into the chair. Knowing what Buck had done to him years ago, this added injury caused him to shudder with pent up malice.
"Mr. Brown, are you all right? Your face has gone rather pale. Possibly you strained yourself unduly during our rescue today?" asked Miss Flora with a look of genuine concern on her face.
Fletcher forced a smile and waved his hand in casual nonchalance.
"On the contrary, Miss Laura, I'm finding the conversation most enlightening. Please go on."
"Where was I?" she asked with a charming frown.
"Laura, you were telling Mr. Brown about the nephew."
"Yes, that's right. Anyway, their nephew was such a comfort that Samuel wanted to adopt him so the Stedman name would carry on. Samuel died not long after that, and Seabrook passed to Buck. Adeline still lives there, of course, but she never goes out. She's been ill for years and now that her sight has left, it's rare for her even to have visitors. I'm glad the dear woman will have Kyndee in her old age as a help for