Heart Appearances (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 560) (2 page)

Hurrying after the woman, Brent watched as she threw the valise onto the wagon seat. Grabbing both sides, she vaulted herself up next to the baggage in a most unladylike manner and flopped down. He briefly closed his eyes. Charleigh had tried to warn him, but he’d been too intent on her remark concerning his stuffiness to pay much heed.

“Guv’ner, hain’t we goin’? I’m a mite ’ungry, I ham.”

Brent winced. Her brutal attack on the English language was nothing short of criminal. The way she dropped h’s and added h’s where they weren’t supposed to be thoroughly unsettled him. In addition, her vowels came out sounding like other vowels. It was a wonder he could understand a thing she said.

“Yes, I’m coming,” he muttered, striding to the driver’s side. Carefully he stepped up into the wagon and lowered himself onto the bench. With meticulous precision, he smoothed his suit coat and pants and adjusted his hat before grabbing the reins. Feeling her stare, he turned her way.

Her thin face wore an expression of humorous disbelief; both black brows arched high above her dark eyes.

“Something amuses you, Miss Evans?” Brent asked in a controlled voice. He guided the horses down the road leading to the lane that would take them to the reformatory.

“Nothin’, Guv’ner. Nothin’ ter squawk habout anyways.”

Brent concentrated on the drive.

The minutes passed in blissful silence. Autumn had come in a blaze of glory, wrapping the trees in a cloak of fire. The sky held a grayish white cast, as luminescent as a pearl polished to a fine gleam. He felt a poem coming on and wished for his journal.

CRRRAAAACKK!

Startled by the explosive thud—which shook the wagon seat—Brent whipped his head toward Darcy. Bent at the waist, she retrieved something from under her boot. She straightened and looked at him. Seeing his horrified gaze upon her, she hesitated and then held out her hand. A mangled walnut lay in her dirty palm.

“Would ye loik some, Guv’ner?”

“No, thank you.” Brent faced front again.

Social graces? The woman didn’t know the meaning of the term. Furthermore, judging from what he’d seen of her character thus far, her housekeeping and culinary skills were likely nonexistent. He doubted she could read or write. So why had Charleigh wanted to bring her to the States so desperately?

A ghastly thought hit Brent, making him gasp as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Surely Stewart and Charleigh wouldn’t do such a thing to him. No, Brent was only borrowing trouble, conjuring up all manner of ridiculous scenarios. Besides, nine small hooligans were enough for any schoolmaster to contend with.

CRRRAAACCCKK!

He braced himself against the wagon seat, closed his eyes, and sighed. It would be a long drive.

❧

The wagon eventually neared a wooden fence. Darcy could see a wide field of grass beyond the slats and a large stone and wood house in the distance. She sat up straighter and craned her neck. A sign at the open gate welcomed her, and she struggled to make out the words. The first word—“Lyons’s”—she recognized. It had been in the letter from Charleigh. The second word was harder, and she drew her brows together, sounding it out as Charleigh had taught her years ago.

Puzzled, she turned to the man beside her. “What’s ‘refug’?”

“What?” He glanced her way, incredulous, as if she’d just asked him what color underdrawers he wore instead of the meaning of a simple word.

“Refug. What the sign says.”

Brent sighed again. “That’s refuge. Lyons’s Refuge. The name of the reformatory.”

“Oh.” Darcy studied her new home.

A white picket fence enclosed vast grounds, where several horses grazed. Neat rows of vegetables grew on a small patch next to the two-story house. Dormer windows made the place look homier, and bright flowers spilled from window boxes in profusion. As she watched, a buxom red-haired woman opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Even from this distance, Darcy recognized her friend.

Before the wagon rolled to a stop, Darcy grabbed her bag with one hand, put her other to the back of her hat, and jumped to the ground, ignoring Brent’s warning to wait. She raced across the wet grass to meet Charleigh coming down the steps. The two women hugged each other tightly.

“Oh, Charleigh, don’t ye look grand!” Darcy exclaimed once she pulled away and eyed Charleigh’s plump figure and rosy face. “Married life agrees with ye, hit does.”

Charleigh smiled. “Now, let me look at you.” She scanned Darcy’s scarecrowlike form and frowned. “The reform still skimps on clothing allowances, I see. And meals.”

“Hain’t so bad,” Darcy insisted. “Hat least I got me a spare dress. Some girls don’t get that. Has for food, well. . .I ham a mite ’ungry.”

Charleigh laughed. “Of course you are! Come along.” She hooked her arm through Darcy’s and led her to the porch. “Irma has prepared a special meal to welcome you. And about clothing, I have some dresses I can no longer wear. We can alter them to fit.”

Darcy halted. “Charleigh! You’re not—”

“No,” Charleigh said, shaking her head. Pain filled her eyes, but she gave a wobbly half smile. “I was, but I lost the baby two months ago. And another at the beginning of the year.”

“Oh, I ham sorry. I ought not ter ’ave said a thing.”

“You didn’t know.” Charleigh squeezed Darcy’s arm. “It’s the one thing I wish I could give Stewart—a child. But maybe I never can.” Her brow furrowed, a ghost of the past flitting across her face. Darcy had seen it often when they shared a room at Turreney Farm.

“Charleigh?” Darcy prodded softly.

Charleigh blinked, and a bright smile replaced the frown. “Just listen to me—all gloom and doom, and on your first day here! Come along, and let’s see you fed.”

❧

Brent watched the women enter the house. Then, remembering the reason for his delay to the train station, he stepped down from the wagon and strode to the vegetable patch. Three boys knelt in dirt furrows, pulling up turnips under an older boy’s watchful eye.

Herbert, a recent admission to Lyons’s Refuge, flickered an uneasy glance at Brent. His freckled face reddened, and his gaze zoomed back to the vegetable in his hands as he slowly dropped it in the bucket beside him. He’d always been as easy to see through as a windowpane. His every action pointed to his guilt.

Joel dusted his hands on his trousers and met Brent’s inquiring stare with a steady, questioning gaze. To a stranger, his angelic face, clear blue eyes, and halo of white blond hair would have labeled him an innocent. Yet Brent knew better. Joel was often the mastermind behind pranks. He could lie through his teeth without flinching, a convincing look on his face the entire time—confusing the questioner and making him feel at fault for even asking the boy if he was involved in any wrongdoing. That his father was a con artist serving time in prison came as no surprise.

And then there was Tommy. Brent inwardly sighed. Poor lad. A clubfoot disabled him, and he was wont to jump to another’s suggestion of mischief in the hopes of being accepted by his peers. He swiped away a lock of mousy brown hair from his forehead and studied Brent with solemn dark eyes that held a world of pain. The boy had been thrown out by what was left of his family, scorned by many, and later found scavenging in the streets. Stealing the grocer’s apples had been his first offense, but Stewart had taken pity on the lad when Judge Markham presented Tommy’s case and had brought him to Lyons’s Refuge more than a year ago.

“Boys, there’s something I wish to discuss with you. Samuel, please unhitch Polly from the wagon and tend to her.”

“Yes, Sir.” Samuel, one of the original members of Lyons’s Refuge, moved toward the horse, his expression curious in the eye not covered with the black patch. He’d come quite a ways from the boy who’d set fire to a farmer’s field years ago. Upon coming home from fighting in the Great War, blinded in one eye from shrapnel, he’d sought a job at the Refuge and did whatever was needed of him.

Brent produced his most stern gaze as he assessed the three young culprits in his charge. “As to the matter of what I found on the wagon seat earlier—and I’m certain all three of you know to what I refer—I wish to know which one of you was responsible for leaving me that undesirable gift.”

Herbert sniggered nervously. Joel affected his usual innocent pose. Tommy looked down at his hands.

Brent lifted an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Very well. If none of you will admit to the crime, then all may suffer for it. I suspect the smaller boys didn’t have a hand in this; but if I don’t learn the truth soon, I’ll be forced to inflict group punishment.”

Tommy’s glance shot upward, then dove to his hands again. “I did it, Mr. Thomas,” he admitted in a low voice.

Joel gave him a look of disgust, Herbert one of surprise.

Brent doubted Tommy was the only boy involved; but before he could comment further, Irma called from the porch.

“Look lively, boys! Dinner’s a-waitin’.”

The three shot up from the ground at the cook’s announcement, grabbed their pails, and scuttled like fleeing mice. Tommy shuffled behind, trying to keep up.

“Stop where you are!” Brent’s shout halted them in their tracks, and they turned, fidgety. “This conversation will resume after the meal. Is that understood?”

All three nodded, obviously relieved to have escaped judgment for however long it lasted. They tromped up the steps and disappeared through the doorway.

Shaking his head in frustration, Brent followed. If the past three hours were anything to go by, he would be better off returning to his room at the back of the schoolhouse and staying there for the remainder of the evening. Surely things couldn’t get any worse.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Brent released a humorless laugh. Then again, at Lyons’s Refuge, anything was possible. And with the unpredictable Miss Darcy Evans afoot, Brent had an uneasy feeling the absurd would soon be considered the norm.

Two

The tantalizing aroma of roast beef and potatoes teased Brent’s senses as he approached the dining table. Her face now free of soot, the newcomer sat next to Charleigh and stared ravenously at the platters of steaming food Irma set down. Brent took his usual seat, one catty-cornered across from Darcy, and she glanced at him.

He was struck by the intense midnight blue of her eyes—eyes so dark he’d thought the irises almost black earlier. But the electric lamps overhead revealed a trace of bluish purple in the dark orbs, something he hadn’t noticed until now. Irritated that he
should
notice, Brent looked away, shook out his napkin, and placed it on his lap.

Once the boys were seated, with freshly scrubbed hands and faces, Charleigh bowed her head. “Merciful Lord, we thank You for this bounty. We ask You to bless everyone at this table, and thank You for granting safe passage to my friend, Darcy. We most humbly pray for Stewart’s safe and speedy return to us from Manhattan. Amen.”

A chorus of “amens” sounded. Clinks, scrapes, and muted thuds followed as helpings were scooped onto plates and platters, and dishes were passed among them.

“Tell us about your voyage, Darcy,” Charleigh said from the head of the table. She spooned peas onto the plate of the youngest boy, Jimmy.

He screwed up his pixie face. “Don’ want no peas.”

“Hush,” she admonished, “and eat them like a good lad.” She turned her gaze Darcy’s way. “Did you encounter any problems aboard ship?”

Darcy shook her head. “Nothin’ ’appened—nothin’ ter squawk habout, anyways,” she said, her mouth full. “But it liked to scare me witless when I ’eard a bang, and hit turned hout to be a clumsy crew member, what dropped a box o’ books on deck!” She laughed with unsuppressed glee. “I thought someone were takin’ a shot hat us and the war ’ad started all over again.”

Brent grimaced, carefully cut a bite-sized portion of meat, and slipped it into his mouth.

“Why does she talk so funny?” a boy said in a loud stage whisper to his peer. “And look at that ugly dress.”

“We’re not s’ppose to talk with our mouths full,” young Jimmy informed Darcy with a superior air. “Mrs. Lyons says it ain’t proper.”

Brent looked up from his plate. Darcy appeared ill at ease as she fumbled with her glass of cider.

“Jimmy,” Brent said, “children are also not supposed to correct their elders. Or speak unless they’ve been spoken to.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jimmy bowed his head.

Brent looked Darcy’s way. She studied him, clearly puzzled, creases in her milk white forehead. Uncomfortable, he looked away—to Charleigh.

A gleam of wonder lit her eyes as she looked back and forth between him and Darcy, a soft smile on her lips.

Brent focused on his plate, determined to keep his mind on his meal. Was it so unusual that he’d taken up for the poor guttersnipe? He’d always possessed something of a soft spot for the underdog. That was one reason he’d taken the job of schoolmaster to a bunch of misfits who’d each experienced short careers as a hooligan. The other reason had involved his brother Bill.

Darcy cleared her throat, and Brent looked up. She straightened in her chair, shoulders back, her chin lifted in a regal position. With as much dignity as Brent imagined she could muster, she spoke to the boy across from her and two seats down.