Chapter 16
No. 5
Everton ladies and staff are never to be a burden on the client.
—The Everton Companion
Rules of Conduct
Markus has seen his father in every state of drunkenness over the last fifteen years, but he was not prepared for the wretch standing in his study.
Geoffrey Flammel, the Earl of Castlereagh, teetered near the bookshelves. His skin was a yellow color and his eyes red slits. While he wore a fine suit, it hung on him as if it had been made for someone else. “Where is the damn brandy?”
“I gave it up.” Markus sat behind his desk, hoping the enormous piece of furniture would distance him from the similarities in Father.
Father turned and stared at Markus, though his eyes never found focus. He waved a hand and collapsed onto the chair. “Wine will do.”
“There is no wine either, Father. I have given up drink.” Leaning back in his chair, he dreaded that he had ever appeared so weak and stupid to his sweet Elizabeth. If not for Phoebe, he might have found himself in this state.
“Gave up drink? What nonsense is this? A man does not give up what is rightfully his.” His head lolled to one side and his eyes closed before he snapped back awake and gazed at Markus as if he not seen him before. “Ah, son. Go and get me a brandy, will you?”
Markus leaned forward placing his elbows on the desk. “Father, there are no spirits in this house. I have given up drinking in favor of taking care of my family.”
Lips pulled back to expose his yellowed teeth, Father made a scoffing sound. “Do you think I’m blind and deaf? Do you think I don’t know what everyone is saying? You have no family. A mute child and a dead wife is all you have, boy. Now go and fetch me a drink.”
“You have no power over me, Father. I can see that you have ruined your health and I am sorry for that. I would suggest that you stop drinking or whatever vice you have fallen to, but I know my words would fall on deaf ears. I will tell you this: if you ever say an unkind thing about my daughter again, I will not wait for the drink to kill you.” This was not the man who had played with him as a small boy or even the tyrant who had railed at him in his teen and adult years. A wretched stranger sat across from him and while he said he was unaffected, his heart broke.
Cocking his head, Father blinked several times. “No spirits? You really have stopped drinking?”
“Yes, Father.” Markus pressed his hands to the wooden top and braced for whatever Father would say.
Running his hand through his graying hair, Geoffrey leaned forward, barely catching himself on his knees. “You are stronger than me, Markus. I let it all go to hell. I never hoped to be perfect, but there was a time when I had hoped to be a better father and husband.”
“There was a time when you were better. A time before you let your vices rule your life.”
“I tried to kill little Dory’s husband. Did you know that?” His voice scraped like stone against stone.
Markus wanted to comfort him, but Phoebe’s toughness had snapped him out of his stupidity. “I heard.”
“She will never forgive me.” His shoulder shook.
“No. I do not imagine she ever will. Certainly, not as you are.” He clutched the desk pushing away his jumbled emotions. Caving in or breaking down would not help this man, and it would not make him feel any better. He had to stand strong and be the stable force in his family. It was his duty.
Tears streaked Father’s cheeks when he lifted his face. “Is there any chance?”
It took his swallowing several times before he knew his voice would carry the strength necessary. “Stop drinking, pull yourself together, give up gambling, and stay away from the sort of people you have befriended in recent years. Show her that you have made changes.”
“Then my girl will look at me as she did when she was little?”
Unable to lie, he said, “Probably not, but after a time, she might not look at you with disdain.”
Geoffrey slumped farther into the chair and his eyes rolled back and closed.
Watching the rise and fall of his father’s chest, Markus sat back and made a mental list of the things he needed to see to. The pieces of his father’s estate that needed immediate attention, the repairs to the front of Rosefield and the fence in the north pasture. He wanted to meet with each of his tenant farmers before the spring planting to discuss George Harper’s methods and increase production. Time ticked away on all his plans and most of all, Phoebe. He had to convince her to come home, to be his.
“Where is the damn brandy, boy?” Father sat up and looked around the office with unfocused eyes.
“Perhaps you might have a bite to eat, Father. I shall have Cook prepare you some nice soup.” It was worth trying.
The green of Father’s eyes glowed against the bloodshot whites when they widened then narrowed. “You want me to eat?”
“I believe you need to eat. Do you even remember the last time you had a meal?”
His pasty skin flushed red and he shot to his feet overturning the chair. “I ask for brandy and you offer me soup. I am your father, not some beggar off the street.”
The hardest part was detaching his emotions from his voice. Markus stood as well. “You act more like that beggar you speak of.”
“I will kill you.” He gripped the other chair and smashed it against the wall and bookcase with more force than Markus would have imagined possible. Wobbling, he gripped the desk to remain standing.
The shelf cracked and a dozen or more books tumbled to the floor. A short time ago Markus had caused destruction in the room and the comparison was not at all pleasant. “I would be more concerned if you could stand up straight for more than a moment at a time. As it is, I have little issue with stopping you, and you may feel free to break all the furniture in the house if it pleases you.”
Father pushed away from the desk and stepped toward the door forgetting about the overturned chair. His foot caught on the leg and he crashed down with a sickening thud.
Rushing around the table, Markus cursed himself for being so callous. No. It was not his fault. He pulled the cord for Watson. Gently, he turned Father face up and pulled his frail form into his lap. Leaning down, Markus checked if Geoffrey breathed but it was thready at best. The reek of brandy seeped from his skin sickening Markus. “Oh father, what have you done?”
Watson stepped inside. “My lord?”
“The earl has fallen. Prepare a room and call for the doctor. I will carry him upstairs.”
Watson rushed from the office and barked orders in the foyer.
The door swung wide as Mother stepped across the threshold. “Is he dead?”
“No. Sick and weak. He may have ruined his health. I have sent for the doctor to look at him.”
“I will get a footman to help you, Markus.” Mother’s eyes were clear and strong but there was a catch in her voice.
“No. I will carry him up. He barely weighs anything. I do not think he has eaten in some time.”
Tom stepped into the room as Markus lifted Father into his arms. When they had been spies for the crown, they had learned to assess every situation and Tom scanned the room as if he were in a French outpost gathering intelligence. “Has the doctor been summoned?”
“Yes,” Mother said.
“Did he fall or pass out?”
“A bit of each, I would say.” Markus carried Father out of the office and up the steps.
Watson waited on the landing and led him to a room where several maids and Mrs. Donnelly where rushing around with sheets and wood for the grate. The final tuck was put on the bed as Markus placed his father in the center.
“Watson, have these clothes burned. They are tattered and rank.”
“Yes, my lord. I will have his lordship cleaned up and dressed for bed.”
Gripping Watson’s arm before he ran off to do his bidding, Markus held his emotions just below the surface. “Be gentle with him, Watson. He is frail as a bird.”
Watson met his gaze and his stoic resolve eased. “Of course, my lord.”
* * * *
Geoffrey Flammel had never been a good father, but seeing him withered away and stinking like alcohol hurt Markus more than he’d prepared for.
Had he not come to his senses this could have been his fate. Phoebe had made him see that living in a drunken fog was not living at all. He hurt the people around him much like Father had hurt them.
Skin pasty and eyes sunken, Father wouldn’t last long like this. Perhaps food would help. The doctor had been located but was several hours away dealing with a sick child. Stepping outside the guest room, Markus nearly bumped into Watson. “Good, you are here. I think we should see if you can get some soup into him. I do not think he has eaten. Lord only knows where he has been for more than a month. Clearly, he is in desperate condition, but perhaps it is not too late.”
Dory stepped out of the shadows of the hallway. “Is he that bad, Markus?”
With a curt nod, Watson hurried down the hall to the servants’ stairs.
Markus opened his arms and Dory stepped into his embrace. “He looks very bad, Dory. I have no idea if he will survive or if he even wants to. His coming here seems a good sign. We’ll know more after the doctor arrives.”
She rested her cheek on his chest. “Even though he has been a terrible father, I am sad that he has done this to himself. I hate to see him end this way.”
Kissing the crown of her head, he sighed. “He is not dead and he may live on. Let’s not be too hasty.”
She stepped back and nodded. “Will you send for Adam?”
“I think I will send him a letter explaining the situation and let him decide for himself if he wishes to come. We each have had our troubles with Father. I do not want to bully Adam into coming.”
“That is fair. I am not ready to see him yet. Maybe tomorrow.” Dory had suffered the most at Father’s hand. He had tried to marry her off to an old codger who he owed money to. To save herself, Dory had eloped with Thomas Wheel. Father had been so enraged he publicly challenged Thomas to a duel. Despite Father’s drunken state, Thomas didn’t fire and had been badly injured.
“I completely understand. You can help me write to Adam, then perhaps a walk outside. I want to take Elizabeth to Emma’s grave this afternoon. Would you like to join us?”
Dory pushed a golden curl behind her ear. “I will help you with the letter, but you should go alone with Elizabeth. It will be good for both of you.”
* * * *
Markus called for the carriage and a reluctant Miss Cavot handed Elizabeth over to him.
“Are you certain you would not like me to accompany you, my lord?” As if Markus might toss the child in the woods, she gripped one of Elizabeth’s hands before finally relinquishing.
“I can care for her, Miss Cavot. She is my daughter and I am not an imbecile.” Markus smiled hoping it would put her at ease.
Elizabeth chirped and giggled in his arms. Patting his cheek, she said, “Papa.”
“Indeed.” Joy filled Markus’s heart. “Do not worry. We will be back in an hour or two if the weather holds. You should take some time off, Miss Cavot.”
Ducking into the carriage and settling them in, Markus knocked on the roof. “Drive on, Patrick.”
“I think we are making your Miss Cavot quite nervous, Elizabeth.”
“Winnie,” she shouted and clapped as best she could with the layers of clothes meant to keep her warm.
It was hard to become sad about their destination when Elizabeth brought such joy to his life. The horse chugged up the hill to where Markus had set aside property to be a family graveyard. The Flammels had long been buried at Castlereagh Manor, but he wanted Emma close and she had always loved the wildflowers that bloomed on the hill. They were gone until spring, but a few dandelions had still survived the cold.
Gray storm clouds and the chill in the air meant those remaining flowers would not last long.
The large stone came into view and Markus knocked for Patrick to stop. He stepped down and lifted Elizabeth out of the carriage. “We will walk from here, Patrick. I do not imagine we will be long.”
“I will be here when you are ready, my lord.” Patrick pulled his coat closed around his throat and leaned against the horse.
Markus put Elizabeth on her feet and took her hand as they walked toward the grave. As they neared the stone, Markus slowed then stopped still twenty feet away.
Elizabeth stared at him. “Go?” Her bright green eyes questioned him without censure.
“It is time, is it not? Let’s go and see your momma.” The first tear left a cold streak down his cheek. He brushed it away.
Elizabeth let go of his hand and approached the stone. She patted the flat front. “Momma.”
Kneeling next to her, he ran his fingers over the carved stone.
Emma Elizabeth Flammel
Beloved Wife and Mother
Forever in our hearts
Elizabeth patted the stone as if it were Emma’s cheek. Her little shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath and she sighed.
Markus settled back on his haunches and admired the beauty of the spot. From there, nearly half of his property was visible. Hills rolled down toward Rosefield. The fields lay at rest but in a few months the planting would begin again. Every season would bring new beauty to the spot and Emma would see it all. It was good and right that Emma rested up there where she could keep her eye on all of them.
Elizabeth toddled away and plucked dandelions as if they were roses and lilies.
“Forgive me Emma for not coming sooner. I am afraid I have not been at my best since you went away. I hope you were not watching as I tried to drink you out of my heart. A miserable failure, you will be happy to know. You are fixed in that spot, my love.
“Elizabeth has a good heart and has already forgiven all my transgressions. She is so much like you, Emma.”
Brushing dust from the stone, Markus kept an eye on Elizabeth’s progress with the last of the meager weeds. “Phoebe came and sorted us all out after I made a mess of Rosefield. I now see why you loved Phoebe so much. She is smart and kind, a very intriguing combination. The thing is, Emma, I have fallen in love with her. I never supposed it possible to love anyone but you in that way, but she opened my heart and I cannot remove her.”
He rubbed the ache at the back of his neck and tugged a long bit of grass. “Frankly, I do not want to. Emma, you will always be here in my life, my mind, in the face of our daughter. I never want to lose that and I will tell Elizabeth all about you until she is sick of my stories of our life together. Still, I want Phoebe to be part of our family as well. I love her as much as it is possible for a man to love a woman and I think it is too great a gift to ignore. A man does not get a second chance at love so often he can afford to wait. I hope you approve. I think you would. That is, if I can convince her to return. I have made a mess of that as well. Without you, Emma, I am all thumbs in every aspect.”
Elizabeth squealed as she ran over with her fistful of crushed blooms. She put them on the ground in front of the gravestone. “Momma.”
“I am sure she is smiling down from heaven and thinking how beautiful those are, dearest.” Taking Elizabeth in his arms, he stood. The first flakes of snow fluttered down as he walked back to the carriage. The tree on the hill left a shadow on the gray sky and the brown grass soon gleamed white. His footprints, left as evidence of his coming, would soon be filled white.
Glancing back at the snow that already covered the stone in heavy wet flakes, he smiled away his sorrow and dreamed of all that lay ahead.
In his arms, Elizabeth fell asleep on the ride home, and by the time they pulled in the drive, the snow was falling hard. Before long everything would be a stunning winter scene.
Miss Cavot rushed out the front door and down the steps to meet them, her cape flapping around her.
Markus restrained his laugh. “I will put her to bed. She has been asleep for ten minutes.” He carried Elizabeth up to the nursery, pulled off the layers of warm clothes and put her to bed.
A smiling Miss Cavot curtsied as he left.
Markus walked down the hall to the room where his father lay. Entering, he found Mother sitting by the window and Doctor Johnston putting a bottle in his bag.
Mother glanced at him, then back out at the falling snow. The back of the chair stood high above her head. The window frames made a light pattern on the bed, dividing Father in parts. The sum was not greater than his parts as it turned out.
Wearing a powdered wig, Doctor Johnston bowed. “My lord, your father is very ill. I do not believe the small bump on his head from the fall is at fault. He has a fever and his lungs have taken on fluids. I would like to sit him up with some pillows, as that might help him breathe easier. You did well to feed him soup. I will instruct your cook to fix a light broth to be fed to him every few hours. I think he has starved himself, and it would be best to get him used to eating slowly.”
“Will he live?” Markus was prepared for the worst, but after the trip to Emma’s grave he didn’t know if he could take more.
Dr. Johnston rubbed his round belly. “I do not know. If his lungs clear and he eats, his heart is strong enough and he should recover. Honestly, if he does not modify his life, it will not matter. He is ruining his health.”
“I understand.” His gut twisted. Once again, Father’s selfishness affected the entire family and his own behavior had not been much better.
“I will leave my nurse with you, my lord. She will know what to do if his condition worsens, and I will return tomorrow to check on him. I do not believe his condition is critical for tonight.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
After the doctor left, Markus stood near his mother and put his hand on her shoulder.
The nurse came in with a few of the maids toting pillows and they worked to prop Father up.
Geoffrey moaned and coughed but did not wake.
The nurse pressed her fingers to his wrist for a few moments, nodded, and left them alone.
Mother took Markus’s hand. “I would not be very sorry to see you as earl. I know that is an unkind thing to say about my husband, but he has not been much of a father or husband.”
Squeezing her hand, Markus sat on the window seat next to her chair. “Do you remember going to Bath when I was a boy, Mother?”
She smiled. “You were only six, and Dorothea was just a baby. I had grown sad after she was born and your father insisted that the waters would lift my spirits.”
“We walked along the street and a parade of circus performers danced by. Father laughed and laughed.” Markus let the memory warm him. It had been years since he’d remembered the holiday so long ago.
“Geoffrey loved fanciful things like the circus or an amusing theatrical. Back when he was young he wanted to join a circus as a high wire walker. Of course, it was more to drive his father’s ire. He did love to laugh.”
“You did too, Mother. I remember the two of you when you laughed quite a lot.”
“That was a very long time ago.” She brushed the moisture from the corner of her eye.
So much time had passed while his family was sad or angry. “Did the waters help?”
She stared out at the snowy afternoon. The hint of a smile lit her eyes. “After a month, I felt better and we went home. Geoffrey insisted it was the water and I did not dispute his claim.”
“I am going to ask Miss Hallsmith to marry me.” Markus had not intended to speak of his intentions to his mother, but suddenly he wanted her approval.
She turned away from the window and took his hand. “I am happy to hear that. I know she will make you happy. The way you looked at her it was clear that you had feelings for her.”
“Was it?” He didn’t realize his regard was so obvious. “I asked her to stay, but she was determined to return to London. I will go to London when Father’s health recovers.”
“And if he does not recover?”
“Mother, we shall all cross that bridge when we must and not a moment before. There is no preparing for these things. I am in no rush to become an earl.”
She drew a deep breath. “As much of an ass as your father is, I am in no rush to become a widow. It is only that things would be easier if he were not always making them so hard.”
It was the first time he had ever heard such language from his mother and he couldn’t help laughing. He squeezed her hand. “We are a tough bunch, we Flammel men.”
“You are not like him, Markus. You made some mistakes, but you are stronger than your father.” She used a scolding tone, but that was Margaret’s way.
The tone, more than the words, comforted him. He kissed her cheek. “Do not sit here too long, Mother. I will send the nurse in. You should rest. I know that I am exhausted from this very long day.”
“A short nap might be just the thing. You go. I will have a word with your father, then go to my room.”
It was the most relevant conversation he had ever had with Mother. “Thank you, Mother. You and I have had our differences, but you have been a very good mother.”
She blinked through unshed tears and smiled.
He left Father’s room and went to his own. Sitting on the edge of his bed he longed for a drink to ease his sorrow and blur his memory.