Storing Up Trouble, стр. 93
“I didn’t send word because, frankly, it didn’t cross my mind, what with the more important matters I’ve had to think about of late,” Beatrix said, holding up a hand when it seemed as if her father was about to hug her, but given that his hands were covered in clay, she wasn’t really keen to have him do that. “And no, I wasn’t arrested again, nor have I done anything to annoy Aunt Gladys. She wanted to travel to New York with me, but Edgar came down with a horrible sore throat right as we were getting ready to go to the train station. That unfortunate situation had me encouraging Aunt Gladys to stay behind because she was obviously concerned about Edgar and wanted to personally see after him.”
Annie tapped a clay-covered finger against her chin. “Dare I hope that Edgar might be finally turning his thoughts to marrying my sister? He clearly adores her, and I’ve made a point to say prayers for him every now and again, praying that he’ll eventually set aside his pride and realize he and Gladys belong together—and not as employer and butler.”
“You knew that Aunt Gladys is more than fond of her butler?” Beatrix asked.
“She’s my sister. Of course I knew, even though she’s never bothered to broach the subject with me.”
Arthur picked up a rag and began wiping the clay from his hands, sending an affectionate glance to his wife. “And while Gladys is always an interesting topic of conversation, darling, what say we momentarily shelve this particular subject and move on to why Beatrix has returned.” He caught Beatrix’s eye. “I thought the plan was for you to stay at Gladys’s until at least Christmas.”
“It was, but there were extenuating circumstances that had me cutting my visit short.”
“And explaining those extenuating circumstances certainly deserves to be told while having coffee and cake,” Mr. Parsons said, wheeling in a cart that had her mother’s silver service on it.
As Mr. Parsons went about pouring out the coffee, Arthur strode from the room, returning a short time later, dragging a small table behind him. Her mother quickly excused herself to wash the clay from her hands.
“Why have you all but dismantled the library?” Beatrix asked as her father began pulling battered chairs around the table he’d brought in.
“Your delightful friend Mr. Murray Middleton told us the lighting in here was more conducive to working with clay because the floor-to-ceiling windows bring in just the right amount of natural light,” Annie said, walking back into the room.
“You’ve recently seen Murray?” Beatrix asked.
Annie nodded. “We frequently see him because he’s begun offering instruction in art.” She shook her head. “Your father and I attended a few of Murray’s classes on abstract metal sculpting, but we experienced somewhat of a problem with that.”
“Your mother almost burned Murray’s studio down when she got too close to the flame we were using to heat the metal in order to make it supple,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “Before anyone knew it, the mitts she was wearing to protect her hands caught on fire. Murray’s wife, Maisie, was quick to rush to your mother’s aid, dousing her with the water from a vase of flowers an earlier class had been using as their subject matter.”
Annie released a sigh. “Your father and I weren’t overly surprised when Murray offered us private lessons, but only if we’d agree to take those lessons here.”
Beatrix grinned. “I imagine he was most insistent on that.”
“Indeed he was,” Arthur said. “Which explains why the library is currently in a state of disarray, although because your mother and I have decided we really enjoy pottery, we might add an artist studio to the back of the house.”
“Have you actually finished any pieces of pottery?”
“We haven’t,” Annie said cheerfully before she tossed a rather flirty grin to Arthur. “But it’s been marvelous trying.”
“You do know you’re embarrassing me, don’t you?” Beatrix asked.
Annie’s smile was anything but contrite. “We’ve been alone now for weeks. Clearly we’re out of practice with how to comport ourselves when our children are underfoot.”
“Which does leave me questioning whether having the house to yourselves, save for all your staff, might have been a great incentive to banish me to the wilds of Chicago.”
Annie’s smile dimmed as she nodded to Arthur. “You’ve still got clay on you, dear.”
“Which I’m sure is your way of saying you’d like a few minutes alone with our daughter,” Arthur replied with a nod of his own. “I’ll be right back.”
“Give me at least twenty minutes.”
Arthur smiled and strode from the room, Mr. Parsons following him, saying over his shoulder that he was off to fetch additional treats from the kitchen before closing the door behind him.
Annie moved to Beatrix’s side and engulfed her in a warm embrace, the scent of lemons mixed with clay leaving Beatrix smiling.
“I’ve missed you, my darling girl,” her mother said before she gestured to one of the battered chairs. “Shall we sit?”
Taking a seat, Beatrix soon found herself under the unwavering stare of her mother.
“You’ve not been sleeping,” Annie proclaimed.
“It’s difficult to sleep on a train, even with Aunt Gladys reserving a private Pullman car.”
“A more pleasant way to travel than what you probably experienced getting to Chicago.”
Beatrix smiled. “You must know I wasn’t overly bothered by having to take a passenger car to Chicago. It gave me an opportunity to meet new people, and I did have quite the adventure on that ride to Chicago.”
“And I’m sure you’ll explain that more sufficiently in a moment, but returning to your lack of sleep. You’ve never had difficulties sleeping before, even when you’re on a train, which means . . . you’ve met a man, and one who is giving you trouble if I’m not mistaken.”
“How did you