The Solemn Bell(74)
He passed through their kitchen, stopping to hastily place the kettle onto the cast-iron range, and stepped out the back door. The bricked courtyard steamed in the afternoon sun, criss-crossed with lines of laundry hung to dry. Angelica stood over a vat of murky, grey wash-water, scrubbing and churning their dirty clothes. The whole place reeked of Sunlight Soap.
Angelica pinned his underdrawers on the line to dry. Her drab, second-hand frock clung to her sweating skin, but she smiled and chatted to the ladies next door. His little wife worked tirelessly. Even now, as her rounded belly had begun to show, she never once complained of their lot.
He stepped out onto the courtyard. She turned at the sound of his boots on the pavers. “Hullo. Markie is here.”
“Oh, so soon? I was going to change…” She untied her apron, and dropped it onto the basket of fresh laundry.
“No need. You’re beautiful just as you are.” The other ladies giggled. They thought it was sweet, and just a bit soppy, how devoted he was to her. Brody didn’t mind. He’d vowed a long time ago to always let Angelica know how much he appreciated everything she did for him.
Taking her hand in his, they walked back to the house. The kettle began to whistle as they crossed the threshold. Angelica paused to pull it off the stove, but he stopped her. “Let me make the tea,” he said. “You deserve a rest.”
She smiled—impatiently. “You don’t have to fuss over me, Brody.”
“I know. But I like to.” He pulled three clean cups down from the cupboard. “Go on. Markie’s waiting.”
Reluctantly, Angelica made her way to the sitting-room. He heard Marcus stand to greet her, his brother’s voice smiling and bright. They chatted as he shuffled around in the kitchen. Angelica had bought biscuits the day before, and he shook a few out of the tin onto a chipped saucer. Their meagre tea was a far cry from the elaborate affair Marcus was accustomed to, and, for an instant, Brody felt the sting of shame.
Ah, well. Nothing for it. He arranged everything on the tray, and then carried it through the narrow doorway. He’d rather live like paupers with Angelica than pretend to be a prince beneath his father’s heel.
She poured the tea while he settled himself into a comfortable chair by the solitary window, which was lifted to let the breeze flow. The thin curtains flapped, and from where he sat, he could hear the barking dog and squealing laughter of the children at play.
His attention was only drawn back to the room when he heard his name in conversation.
“…Have you had any luck with your inheritance?” Marcus had asked.
Angelica shook her head. “Brody is optimistic, but I’ve given up all hope. There are mountains of paperwork that I cannot read, and so many questions that I cannot even begin to answer. We’ve made the trip back to my house to look for some of the information, but it’s hours on the bus, and then ten miles walk from the nearest village…really, who has the time?”
The interminable process of disentangling Angelica’s inheritance was beginning to feel a bit like ‘Jarndyce and Jarndyce’. Brody could barely afford to take time off from his job, and when he did have an afternoon to spare, he was too damned exhausted to work on her case. What they needed was a good lawyer, but without Father’s blessing, they’d be laughed out of the family solicitors’ office.
Marcus cleared his throat. “I wish there was something I could do…”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Markie,” he said, finally. “I know what a devil our father can be. No use throwing yourself into the flames for our sake. Angelica and I are quite content as we are.”
She rubbed her tiny belly, and smiled. “It’s true. I can’t imagine my inheritance will make us any happier, though I do hope we get it someday—for the baby’s sake.”
Marcus sat with them for an hour, sharing tea and stories. His presence was a welcome gift for Angelica, who laughed as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She talked excitedly about their forthcoming addition, and spoke proudly of their plans for the future.
That, alone, made all his sacrifices worthwhile. Truly, he was thankful for his busy work schedule, and the lack of any ready money. When he came home each night, sliding beneath the covers to hold his sleeping wife, Brody’s old life was the last thing on his mind. Oh, he’d been tempted—at the very least, to join some of the lads down at the pub—but he always remembered Angelica, and the promise he’d made to her.
As their visit drew to a close, Brody walked his brother back to where the chauffeured Daimler sat. Marcus leaned against the bonnet, giving his bad leg a rest. He studied his younger brother for a long moment.
“I’m happy for you, Brody. You have yourself a lovely wife, a steady job, and damned if you don’t look healthier than you have in years.”
Brody shrugged, and grinned. “It’s not how I pictured it, but at least my life is my own—well, mine and Angelica’s.”
“You are a lucky man.”
The two brothers shook hands, bid each other goodbye, and then, finally, Marcus climbed into the waiting automobile. When his driver pulled away from the kerb, he leaned out the window to wave one last time.
Brody put his hand up as his brother disappeared down the busy street. After a few minutes, he shoved his cracked, grease-tinged hands into his jacket pockets, and headed toward home.