Rescuing Mr. Gracey (24 page)

He looked down at his clenched hand before continuing. “The weakened souls stumble into my office, begging for a job. However, instead of purchasing food with the stipend given them, their meager funds are used to feed their children, or, worse, they save it for ships sailing to the Americas.” The captain shoved his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it vigorously. Leaning toward Alec, he continued, “In the south, men last perhaps three days, no more than a week, before they die. Women and girls replace the effort, laboring on the public roads, digging with the spade and pick, carrying loads of earth and turf for projects that have no purpose, while neglected children, too weak to help their parent or sibling, crouch around bits of lighted turf.”

The image given twisted until Alec imagined Mary groveling at the roadside, dirty and hungry and desperate. He swallowed nausea. “Proceed,” he managed.

The captain closed his eyes and then gazed at some blank spot on the wall. “I am a man not easily moved. I have seen battles and war, blood and death. Yet I confess myself unmanned by the suffering I have witnessed, the women scattered over turnip fields, their children devouring rotted roots while they themselves shiver in the snow and sleet.”

The man’s lips trembled. Alec could hardly breathe. “Now I’ve been given orders to step up…the projects, basically eliminating unwanted natives, especially in the south, by working them at more difficult tasks for less pay. Children have been expelled from the workhouses.”

A shiver overtook Alec, but he remained silent to encourage the end of the terrifying tale. The officer’s brow furrowed to a dark, pain-filled grimace. “I’ve approached you, sir, because there are many who believe you will use your influence and speak out against this atrocity. You have access to power, and we hope you may cast light on the shadows and give a voice to those who’ve been silenced.”

Sliding a piece of paper across the table, the tall captain rose, picked up his hat, and gave a quick nod. “If you wish to see firsthand, I would be honored to escort you, though such an action may end my career. You may reach me at this address.” Turning, he left as noiselessly as he’d entered.

A sobering hour later, Alec entered the front door of Gracey Manor. Immediately, he heard the roar of the elder’s voice: “Alec!” Gracey boomed once more.

Dennis bowed to the young master. “Your father is most eager to see you, sir.”

A strange combination of relief and anxiety washed over Alec as he realized that Almighty God had rushed a climax of conscience into one night. He only prayed he had sobered sufficiently with his long walk through the naked streets to handle the moment with proper fortitude.

Straightening his rumpled cravat, he inhaled. So be it! Filled with new purpose, Alec knew he must use his popularity to rally support for the Irish natives, even though the earl may retaliate. He must speak either by press interviews or by speech. The action might, by necessity, forever detach him from his family, but it was a sacrifice he was determined to make. He planned to stand carefully against the genocide of a native people while protecting his family. He was sure, after publicly exposing all that he knew of English maltreatment and abuse of the native Irish, Mary would trust him enough to accept his proposal.

“Alec…come here immediately!”

Emboldened by the lingering effects of drink, and challenged by the brave captain, Alec found himself impatient to face the next few minutes. With a cleansing breath, he locked hope and good thoughts into a very deep and protected place. Head held high, voice unwavering and commanding, expression as stubborn as any proud Gracey, Alec entered the library wearing his newly recaptured integrity.
 

~ 19 ~

“The priest he came

his hands he wrung, saying…”

This morning, Mary knew she could not marry Sean. Her friend dulled the shimmer of a day. Though hardworking, he never searched Mary’s heart, noticed her needs, asked about her dreams or hopes. How could she live an entire life with so little affection, so much emotional neglect?

Yet, on Alexander Jordan’s day, the very air was charged each time he turned his blue gaze on her. Gentle touches, teasing smiles, boyish laughter surrounded and nurtured her. Such a man would make an exceptional lover.

While pouring hot water into the large wooden barrels, she compared Alec’s constant, protective nature to Sean’s indifference. Like a guardian angel, the dark-haired man hovered, ever present with a remedy to her needs. Selfless and sensitive, he provided food, assisted with her work, shielded her from rainy weather. Such a man would always protect her.

Mary smiled as she scrubbed the clients’ clothes and strung them upon the long line to dry. How many times had Alec stooped to the lowest rung of society for her sake? Washing clothes, carting deliveries through the streets, plowing another’s field. His actions were beyond Christian charity. Such selflessness proved him to be a man who would sacrifice all for the love of another.

Of course, he was not perfect. He never shared his history or his family or even his goals. And, she admitted reluctantly, late at night, old suspicions multiplied like yeast on a hot day. Yet as she bundled the clothes toward evening, a thrill coursed down her spine, and she whispered that which bubbled from her heart. She loved him.
Mary Smyth loves Alexander Jordan, and she will wait until he trusts her with his secrets
.

The charade with Sean must end, she decided as she finished the day’s laundry. She had waited too long already.

While she waited for Alec to arrive, distracted dreams compacted. How would she tell Alec that she was breaking off her relationship with Sean?

Her heart crashed nervously against her ribs when she heard the light rap at the door. Mary’s greeting died in midair. This Alec was not the Alec she knew. He wore a stiff expression and greeted her with formal indifference. His twinkling eyes had dulled, the teasing smile hidden beneath a disapproving frown. “If you are ready, Miss Smyth,” he said formally.

Her hands clenched.
No, ’tis your imagination, Mary Smyth.
He led her toward the shortcut as if to hurry the task before him. He did not offer an escorting arm; he did not engage in conversation; he kept away by several feet. Eerie stillness seeped into her hope and weakened her with its invisible poison.

Sliding a worried glance in his direction, Mary found no consolation. Like a soldier carrying out disagreeable orders, he stood too rigid, and his eyes scanned without seeing.

“Is your cold worse, Alec? You don’t seem to be yourself this evening,” she finally asked as they arrived at Castlewellan.

“No need to be concerned.” His gaze did not stray from the road ahead. “’Tis sniffles, nothing more.” After another moment, he cleared his throat. “Mary, there is something I must share with you.”

He shoved the cart with startling abruptness. She jumped. Mary tightened her cloak against a looming sense of doom.

“I’ve brought some burdensome news,” he continued.

She glanced back at him. His jaw now pulsed, matching the erratic beat of her heart. A deep yearning, bred from sweet memories, fluttered as a dying bird.

“Impossible,” he whispered. The wind howled around her, but he did not snuggle closer, did not raise the umbrella. She burrowed deeper into her cloak.

His voice grew sharper. “I’ve not wished to upset you.” He heaved a breath. “So I must speak the foul words quickly.”

Mary wanted to shush the world. It was coming. Something terrible was coming. Ducking farther inside her hood, she clenched her hands inside her pockets.

“I will be leaving.” He finished the sentence with a growl. “To attend to my father’s concerns.”

“Ohhhh,” she managed. Though his mood had warned her, the brutal words stunned as surely as a vicious slap upon her face. Of course, he must leave. A man like him, perfect, wealthy, beautiful, had never belonged in her world.

Ya knew it all along, Mary Smyth. ’Tis your fault for dreamin’…

“I will travel to Dublin on the morrow.” He rushed the next sentence. “And it will be permanent.”

“Dublin,” she whispered. Trembling as a weak leaf tumbled by the wind, Mary stumbled. His arm reached, looping around her back until she steadied. He kept one powerful hand on the handle of the cart and the other around her. She averted her gaze as his strength propelled them forward. Blackness closed in. Treasured hope withered along with childish dreams. His clove-and-wool smell, his tall protective frame, his teasing and laughter, the signs of admiration, and her ridiculous idea of a happy home all dissolved with his one word.

Dearest Lord, am I to have known this wonderful man for only these few months? ’Twould have been better never to have known him at all.
Cold sweat broke over her brow. She prayed she would not be sick.
Have some pride, Mary Smyth. Don’t beg him.

If only she had prepared for this abrupt end. But she’d let herself believe that, since he accepted the terms of her father’s restrictions, he was committed. Even two days ago, his hand had protectively, possessively captured hers, placing it within the bend of his arm. Leaning a hair’s breadth from her lips, his gaze oh so tender, she believed he would ask for her hand in marriage. She believed he desired her.

“Here’s a stop,” she said. She stepped away from him and walked around the cart. She delivered the laundry in a daze, reprimanding herself.
What a fool ya are, Mary Smyth…
Yet, even now, if he asked, she would go with him this very night.

Though her throat tightened, she managed to speak. “The next stop is down the hill.” Unbalanced with dizziness, she weaved. The air, oppressive, heavy with the threat of rain, made movement hard. Somehow her feet continued forward.

“Aye,” he said. She glanced at the silent man again, and she saw a frighteningly hard expression within the glow of yellow streetlight. Mary touched his arm, but he stepped away.

“I cannot promise, but I’ll try to abide by your request for the sake of our friendship.” Mary glanced at the cart. How had she delivered three packages already? Only one remained.

Deliberately slowing the pace, she stuffed her empty hands inside her cloak. “I’ve very much enjoyed knowing you, Mr. Jordan. I shall never forget this summer and your kindness.”

Though the bitter wind surrounded her, he kept a cruel distance. Questions and guilt hammered her. Had she done something offensive that he could not bear to touch her? Perhaps he thought her too forward. Perhaps he grew tired of the competition with Sean. Mayhap the poverty and constant need of her family wore away his attraction.

Alec filled a cup with cider. “Please drink this. You look so tired and chilled.”

’Twill be the only comfort this night.

“I’m thinking your brother Patrick will escort you on the deliveries or…or…Mr. Dennison.” He released a rough exhale.

“Aye. If ya wish it.”

“’Tis not my wish,” he growled. He cleared his throat and steered the cart around a puddle. A moment passed before he spoke again. “’Twould ease my mind if you would avoid the lake unless escorted. I…I have an urgent need…a desire for your safety.

Mary’s chest filled with anxious regret, and tears gathered in her eyes.
Don’t let me break down,
she thought desperately. “This is the last stop.” Her voice cracked. She tried to lift the package.

He tugged her wrist, but then, as if scorched, he snatched his hand away. “Don’t think you’ve any fault in this.” He huffed like a runner trying to complete an impossible race. “’Tis my fault and my fault only. You must believe me. I am most reluctant to…to leave.”

Mary nodded, awaiting further explanation. When none came, she said, “Excuse me, sir.” Tears flooded her eyes, but she rapidly blinked them away. She had to wait until she was home—if only she had the strength to hold on until then.

They turned for home once she loaded the dirty clothes. He chose the path through the earl’s forest, silence and dark and shadows seeming to make an ever-widening chasm between them.

“The crops are strong and good,” he said unexpectedly. “There should be enough money to adequately provide for you…for your family. Your brother Michael agreed to come down from Belfast for the harvest, and Patrick will help as well. I don’t want you pulling…” Cursing low, he paused. Clearing his throat, he said, “I have no right to ask, of course.” His distressed sigh joined the angry wind whistling through the forest.

A thousand questions went unasked. Bewildered emotion stayed buried inside a shattered heart.

Arrived at her door, Mary turned toward him. He stepped back and bowed. “Good eve, Miss Smyth. It has been a pleasure knowing you.” The formal, dismissive words pierced her heart beyond anything she’d yet experienced.

When she had no reply, his gaze locked on the road leading back to Castlewellan as if he longed to be there, while silence ate the brief time left. He shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. He wanted her to leave first, she thought. This was not easy for him either.

Lips pressed to keep the flow of pitiful pleas inside, Mary reached for the door’s latch. Her gaze lingered a moment longer, memorizing details. Stiff as a weary soldier entering his last battle, he did not even blink, but she saw the tiniest tremor in his hand.

He cared for her.
I know he does.

Her hungry fingers reached of their own accord and touched his arm, his shoulder, his cheek. Stroking his dark bristles, she lightly touched the scar. She regretted not asking about the injury.