Page 19

“Pleased to meet you,” Lizzie said promptly, though God alone knew what she made of the old woman, he thought, watching Ma pull a pipe out of her pocket and demand a light. Jack obliged, rolling his eyes as he struck a match and leaned forward.

Ma puffed furiously on the clay pipe and gave a sharp nod of satisfaction when smoke began to rise from the bowl. “What?” she demanded when she noticed all eyes on her. “She’ll have to get used to our ways if she plans on sticking around.” She eyed Lizzie malevolently and looked disappointed to evoke no answer.

“Her bark’s worse than her bite,” Frank said with an awkward laugh. He started pouring a concoction which looked like a gin punch into cups and passing them round. Lizzie took hers with polite thanks.

“Here’s to cheating the devil,” Jack proposed with a grin, holding his cup aloft. “May we never arrive, but always be on our way.”

Benedict’s gaze flickered to Lizzie who blinked at the toast but took a cautious sip of the brew all the same.

“You’ll arrive alright!” their grandmother cackled as she tossed back her drink in three gulps. “Never doubt it, you young imp.” She started ladling out the thick stew into bowls, and Benedict wondered idly where Frank’s wife, Maggie, was. She had done all the cooking in recent years, and Ma happily retired from such duties to swig her gin and smoke her pipe.

He cast a sidelong look at the wagon, but it seemed they were all assembled already.

“Daphne made the stew,” Jack said as though in answer to his unspoken question.

“Daphne?” Benedict repeated blankly.

“Aye, Daphne.”

“And who the hell is Daphne?”

Frank coughed. “Her mother’s the one Pa’s taken up with at the moment. He left Daphne behind when they cleared out last summer.”

Benedict narrowed his eyes. “Why should he leave her behind with you?” he asked sharply.

“You know what he’s like, Ben,” Frank said wearily. “He didn’t ask permission.”

“And where is Daphne this evening?” asked Lizzie suddenly.

“Oh, Daphne’s taking her supper with a couple of those actresses from The Philmore Players tonight. They’re old acquaintances of hers by all account.”

“Actresses!” spat Ma with disgust. “That’s a different name for it!”

“Ma,” Frank cautioned.

“One of those actresses is uncommon pretty,” Jack said thoughtfully as he took his bowl of stew. “Lips like a cupid’s bow and hair that gleams as gold as a guinea.”

Frank gave a short laugh. “Careful, Jack, you’ll be following Ben here into the parson’s trap.”

Benedict took a mouthful of stew, refusing to rise to the bait. When he’d swallowed it and still no one spoke a word, he asked. “Where’s Maggie anyway?”

If anything, the silence grew more pronounced. Ben had never been much affected by mood, so he listened to the crackle of the logs unconcerned as Frank replied in a low voice.

“She up and left me.”

“When?”

“Must be some eight months ago now,” Frank said gruffly.

Benedict’s eyebrows rose. “You make any effort to retrieve her?” he asked.

“Where’s the sense in that?” Ma interrupted sharply, as Frank ducked his head.

“She’s his wife,” Benedict answered. He gave his brother a hard stare. Frank’s face was averted and mostly in shadow. “You seemed happy enough last time I saw you. What happened?” His brother stiffened, but still did not speak.

“Drop it, Ben,” Jack urged.

“She made her choice,” Ma scowled. “She couldn’t hack the life, there’s not many that can. Your own mother turned tail and Maggie was the same. Quitters with soft hands and heads full of dreams,” she jeered. “This one of yours is no different, I’ll warrant,” she said nodding toward Lizzie with a scornful twist of her lips. “I could tell as soon as I clapped eyes on her! You Toomes men are all the same. Too fond of a pretty face to pick wisely.”