Page 26 of A Family Of His Own
The shorter, younger, barrel-chested man held a small sheaf of red roses. “We would like to speak with Fraulein Locke.”
Mindful of the orders his master had given regarding anyone asking after Fraulein Locke, Huber paused, assembling the correct words.
Impatient, the shorter man gestured with the roses. “These are for Fraulein Locke on the occasion of her father’s death.”
Despite his training, Huber’s surprise showed in his face. Herr Locke had died three weeks ago.
Noting his reaction, the second man—older, thinner, with a scarred face—said, “We only just heard the sad news.”
Huber didn’t believe that for a moment. “Ah.” He nodded. “I see. Sadly, Fraulein Locke is no longer with us.”
The older man’s colorless eyes narrowed on Huber’s face. “She’s left?”
It was a necessary skill for all good butlers to be able to bend the truth convincingly, and Huber prided himself on being an exemplar of his craft. His expression open, with not a flicker of hesitation, he replied, “Our understanding is that Fraulein Locke has left Vienna and is not expected to return.”
The older man’s eyes hardened, but his tone was civil, if commanding, when he asked, “Do you know how she intended to travel?”
“Or,” the younger man added hopefully, “by what route?”
Huber paused as if consulting his memory, then vouchsafed, “I believe that the last time she called, when she took her leave of this household, she mentioned she was traveling to London, but was as yet uncertain of her route.” He tipped his head. “That said, she gave the impression of wishing to reach London as soon as possible, so I imagine she would choose whatever was the fastest way to get there.”
The younger man grimaced.
The older appeared to be grinding his teeth. After a second’s pause, he nodded a dismissal to Huber. “Thank you.”
Huber half bowed. He remained standing in the doorway as the leather-coated pair retreated down the front path and through the gate, then strode off down the street.
Allowing a small smile to curve his lips, Huber stepped back and closed the door.
* * *
As the morning wore on,Toby sat in the rocking carriage, eyeing the children and wondering how long their distraction with the novelty of setting out on the journey would last.
The trio still had their noses pressed to the glass—in at least two cases, literally—and remained absorbed with pointing out and exclaiming over the various country sights. Cows, horses in paddocks, sheep, men working in fields, some children playing about a haystack. The game of spotting anything interesting had started as soon as they’d passed out of the embrace of Vienna’s old walls. Even Roland had been drawn into the activity.
Toby was keeping a close eye on the older boy. He was fairly certain that, unlike his younger siblings, Roland had a reasonable understanding of death, of its finality, and therefore, that their recent parting from their father would be forever.
That he would never see his father again.
The loss of a parent was a major life hurdle Toby himself had yet to face. Roland had already lost his mother. When awareness of what had occurred that morning—the irreversibility of it—sank in…
Consequently, Toby remained watchful on that front.
At present, although less exuberant than the younger two, Roland remained engaged in pointing out the sights visible from his side of the coach, yet whether he was genuinely engrossed or participating only because his juniors expected it, Toby couldn’t tell.
He slid his gaze past Diana—seated beside him—to Bryce, who was ensconced on her other side. Although just a year younger than Roland, Bryce was clearly unsure what the emotion-laden parting truly meant. Yes, they’d left their father behind, but Toby wasn’t convinced Bryce didn’t assume that he would see his father again. That this journey was merely a trip, an adventure, and ultimately, they would return to the house in Lowelstrasse, and everything would be just as it had been.
While in the main, Bryce took his lead from Roland, in this instance, separated from his older brother by the width of the carriage and with Evelyn’s untempered exuberance in front of him as she bounced on the seat opposite and gaily pointed at this and that, Bryce had eschewed the adult seriousness he didn’t understand and readily plunged into the game with his sister.
She, of course, was enjoying herself with the unfettered delight of childhood, when so many sights, sounds, and things were new and novel, and security and safety were always there, taken for granted.
Toby felt certain Evelyn had no real idea she would never see her father again. She was at that stage of childhood in which life was simple, a series of events that occurred each day, and with her sunny disposition, she saw the best in every situation.
Seated between Evelyn and Roland on the rear-facing bench, Helga appeared relaxed and, possibly, dozing. The maid was, Toby judged, somewhere in her later forties, with steel-gray hair drawn back in a neat but not severe bun. Her face was round, her features soft and pleasant, and her figure of the well-padded sort that promised hugs and cuddles.
Despite her gentle, comfortable appearance, Toby had seen Helga steer the children—not command but guide—with a firm hand, and the three, even Roland, accepted her directions without question.
That was reassuring. They had three adults to manage three children; that sounded safe enough.
