After complimenting Mrs. Ryan on the most excellent supper, he had retreated into himself, sitting before the fire at the hearth unusually quiet, as he had since our return from Scotland. At least he was not of a mood to return to our previous conversation, which he could not win.
The thought ‘brooding Scot’came to mind. I had discovered they were inclined to brood over just about anything—the weather, which no one could control in spite of a fist shaken toward the darkened sky as a downpour set in. It was usually Mr. Hutton, who managed Old Lodge for my great-aunt, with complaints about his rheumatism as he set off through the snow from the main lodge to the distillery.
Or it might have been an affront over some past issue—Munro, his good friend was inclined to this. Or possibly someone’s late arrival for an appointment—usually mine, however always with a good excuse.
Yet, this was different and I knew the cause. Knowing him quite well and not one to pry, I let him have his thoughts. Eventually he had shared them.
It was about Rory, a young boy caught in the middle of that previous murder case.
Brodie and the boy’s mother had been together for a time, years before, and he had reason to think the boy might be his own son.
He had spoken of Rory, how fine he was, how smart and good, in spite of everything he’d been through. How proud he was of him, as any father might be, and he had been spending a good deal of time with the boy.
“There’s somethin’ I want to tell ye,” he finally said.
I listened as he explained, even as I felt a tightness at my throat, knowing what the boy meant to him.
It seemed that Rory had a distinctive mark on the back of his left shoulder. He had been born with it, and it was identical to a mark his father had.
“It would seem that Stephen Matthews was his father.”
I could only imagine the effort it took to say those words, knowing how he had hoped that Rory might be his son.
I took a deep breath against the pain I felt for him, and saw it in the expression on his face. I knew about loss.
“When our great-aunt took Linnie and me to live with her, I couldn’t see how an old woman who had never had children and had never married could possibly know anything about what a family was,” I began, drawing on those old memories as he took another swallow of whisky.
“I was angry, and hurt, and scared, I suppose,” I added. “She would have none of it, of course.”
I thought I caught the slightest softening of his mouth surrounded by that dark beard at the mention of my great-aunt and her stubborn determination. He was quite fond of her.
“Of course,” he replied.
“During a particularly difficult period, we had an argument,” I continued to explain. “I told her that she had no right to order me to study harder or inquire where I had taken myself off to, that she was not my family.”
At the time, I had taken myself out the second story window at Sussex Square and was gone for hours.
“I canna imagine,” Brodie sarcastically replied. He could, of course, as he knew me quite well.
I then told him that my great-aunt had not sent the servants out to search all of Sussex Square. Instead, she had left me to myself, even as a storm set in. Cold to the bone, soaked through, I had eventually sneaked back into my room the same way I hadleft, and lay there cold and hungry through the night, certain her wrath would come crashing down on me the next day.
“The next morning, she explained to me how she was raised, for the most part by her governess,”I told him then.“Her father was often away on some matter or another, and quite simply didn’t know what to do with a headstrong young girl.
“She considered her governess to be her family, the person who was always there to guide and love her, patched up her scraped knees, cared for her when she had a fever, summoned the physician when she fell from a tree and broke her arm.”
I caught his slightly bemused expression. It had been said more than once that my great-aunt and I were very much alike.
“The woman quite bravely stood between her and her father over some matter when he thought she needed to be reprimanded,” I continued.
“There is a point to this?” Brodie had replied.
I had joined him before the hearth.
“She explained to me that family is not always those who share one’s blood, but those who love and care about you, share your life, the good moments, the difficult ones. Those who are there for you, as she was for Linnie and me.
“I’ve seen how you care for Rory, and his affection in return,”I told him then.“I think that it does not matter who sired him. He will need a strong, good man to be there for him, to guide him, to love him… to be a part of his family, and I know that Mrs. Matthews feels the same.”
His expression was sad, wounded, and should have been a warning. Or possibly I didn’t want to see it, so badly had I wanted to ease his pain.
