Читать книгу The Nanny's Little Matchmakers - Danica Favorite - Страница 13

Chapter Five

The children were already eating breakfast when Mitch entered the kitchen, hair tousled and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Polly had hoped he’d be able to sleep in, but with the room just off the kitchen, and the ruckus that always came with mealtime, she should have known his peace wouldn’t last long.

“Papa!” five voices chorused as they all jumped from the table and wrapped their arms around him.

As much as she wanted to hold Mitch’s inability to be forthcoming against him, and wanted to stay angry with him, she found that as she watched the loving interaction between father and children, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. For the first time since he’d gone away, Louisa was actually smiling.

“I see Polly still has all her hair,” Mitch said, looking up at her and smiling. “I hope that means you were all well behaved.”

The cross expression returned to Louisa’s face as she made a noise. “Well, she wasn’t as horrid as Mrs. Abernathy, but we would have done just fine without her.”

As the younger girl wound herself up for what Polly imagined was yet another argument for why she should be allowed to take care of her siblings, Mitch seemed to sense the direction Louisa was taking as well.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said, shaking his head. “I need an adult taking care of you, and Polly is doing a wonderful job.”

“How would you know? You’ve been gone.” Louisa’s dark eyes flashed, and she stepped away from her father, crossing her arms over her chest.

Polly turned to help Isabella get back in her chair, but not before she caught the reciprocal flash in Mitch’s eyes.

“It couldn’t be helped,” he said, his voice quiet, yet with an undercurrent of tension that made Polly’s heart ache.

She supposed he couldn’t be forthcoming with the children; after all, having their father be accused of killing their mother was a tragedy no child should have to experience. Losing their mother was bad enough, but to have to face the potential involvement of their father...

Polly took a deep breath. She’d been judging Mitch harshly, when he’d simply been doing the best he could do.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she said, straightening as she smiled at him. “Your brother thoughtfully provided a housekeeper to help with the cooking and such since apparently you hadn’t had time to engage one. Lucy has just gone down to get some more milk, but I think you’ll be pleased with her.”

Mitch nodded slowly, then sat at the head of the table. “Thank you. I guess I hadn’t realized what a mess I’d left behind.”

He spoke slowly, as though the remorse for the difficult position he’d left everyone in had finally dawned on him.

“We made it through just fine,” Polly said, handing him a plate. “Now we need to move forward as best as we can.”

She’d have liked to have told him that she was sorry for her accusations the previous night. The five accusing glances, even from little Isabella, must have weighed incredibly heavily on him. He didn’t need the additional pressure from her.

The back door opened, and Lucy bustled in. “There’s a crowd gathered out front, and they were asking me all sorts of questions.”

Mitch had just raised a forkful of eggs to his lips but hadn’t taken a bite yet. The fork clattered to the table as he jumped up and went to the front window.

He muttered something indistinguishable as he turned back toward the kitchen area. “Reporters.”

“Like when Mummy has a show?” Clara asked, her eyes lighting up momentarily, then dimming. “They don’t know she is gone?”

“No, you dolt. It’s because Mummy is dead. They all want to know how we feel about losing her.” Louisa’s face darkened, but fire filled her eyes. “Why won’t they leave us alone?”

Mitch looked over at Polly, his eyes locking with hers. A silent reminder that the children didn’t know the circumstances that hung over him.

How were they supposed to carry on with their lives with the reporters hanging about? One ill-placed question, and Mitch would have a great deal of explaining to do.

“Let’s forget about them and enjoy our breakfasts, shall we?” Polly tried to sound cheerful, but as the sullen children stared at their congealing eggs, she found she didn’t have much of an appetite either.

Isabella, however, was too innocent to understand the darkness surrounding her family, and she devoured her meal. At least one of her charges was eating.

Mitch made a show of finishing his breakfast. “It was delicious. Thank you, Lucy.”

He acknowledged their housekeeper with a smile, but his eyes weren’t in it.

How had Polly come to take such an interest in him? To notice his moods and his features? She shook her head. Just part of the job. Of course she had to be sensitive to Mitch’s moods—for the children’s sakes.

“I suppose we could start our lessons.” Once again, Polly tried to sound cheerful, but she was met with dull expressions. Typically, the suggestion of lessons would have elicited a few groans, or some argument. But with the mention of their beloved mummy, their grief came back up again, swallowing them into a pit of mourning that left them incapable of feeling anything else.

“Or, I was thinking, we could go to the parsonage and take our lessons with the children there today.”

“Wif Nugget?” Isabella’s big dark eyes brightened as she hopped off her chair and bounded toward Polly.

In the days Mitch had been gone, the children had spent a good deal of time with the parsonage children. Partially because it was easier than keeping them cooped up in the tiny apartment when they were clearly used to living in a larger home. But also because Polly had seen how much the children needed to be around others their own age. Nugget had taken a shine to Isabella and relished finally having a child younger than herself to mother.

Oddly enough, Isabella seemed to relish the attention just as much.

“Yes, my sweet. With Nugget.” She ruffled the little girl’s hair, then looked over at Mitch. “With your father’s approval, of course. It might provide a nice distraction.”

Mitch gave her a warm smile. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” Then he looked over at Lucy. “Had anyone followed you to the back?”

“No, sir. It’s not a well-used entrance, and the only reason I knew of it was because the other Mr. Taylor suggested it to avoid the reporters.”

Then he turned his attention to Polly. “Let’s go now, before anyone discovers it.”

* * *

Madness. That’s what the whole situation was. He would take the children out of the apartment now, so they wouldn’t see the people standing in front of the building holding signs that said Murderer, but what then? Eventually, they’d have to come home, and those people, as well as the reporters, would still be there.

Everyone thought he’d killed Hattie. The newspapers in Denver already blasted the headline that he’d killed her in a fit of passion. Passion. Ha! He hadn’t experienced passion toward Hattie in so long, he couldn’t even remember what it felt like. But the sensational headlines sold papers, and convicting him of Hattie’s murder would get the sheriff reelected. No one cared about the truth.

Had it not been for his lawyer calling in a favor with the governor, who’d called in a favor with the judge to allow Mitch to be released on bail until his trial, Mitch would still be sitting in a jail cell.

He appreciated the way Polly bundled up the children and hurried them out the back door.

“Let’s be as quiet as we can,” she said softly, putting a finger to her lips. “We’re hiding from those people, and we don’t want them upsetting you further.”

Five heads nodded at her.

“Lucy, you take the older two and meet us at the parsonage. If they see a woman and two children walking down the street, they won’t realize it’s us. I’ll go with the younger three, and Mitch, you may follow in a few minutes.”

Efficient. Strong. And yet, there was a tenderness to her voice that made him think she really did care for the children and sparing their feelings.

Then she looked at him, piercing him with those blue eyes. “I’m assuming you know your way around town enough not to take a direct route? No sense in leading them there, though I know Uncle Frank will do his best to shield everyone.”

Mitch nodded slowly. “You’ve thought of everything.”

Polly shrugged. “We’ve had to deal with our share of reporters over the years. Don’t worry, your children are safe.”

The tension seemed to evaporate from his chest, and suddenly, he felt like he could breathe again. Polly had very easily managed everything in his absence, and for the first time in a long time, he could almost believe that everything would be all right.

“Thank you, Polly. I’ll see you all there soon.” He kissed each of his children as they passed and almost bent to kiss Polly as well. Then he shook his head. Where was he coming up with all this ridiculousness?

Habit, of course. He just kissed every head that passed, especially now, knowing how very precious each moment with them was.

Polly seemed to sense his hesitation because she ducked her head away, but not before he caught the pink tingeing her cheeks.

As he exited, Mitch was pleased to note that none of the reporters or people carrying the horrible signs had discovered the service entrance. Perhaps it was because the rear stairs led to the storeroom of the Mercantile, then out the back door of the Mercantile. People probably didn’t even realize the two were connected. He could only hope that the commotion didn’t hurt his brother’s business too much. Iris was expecting another child, and they’d just built a nice house down the road.

Though no one had seemed to notice Mitch’s departure, he still carefully wound his way through town, taking alleys, backtracking and going the most unlikely routes possible. When he finally arrived at the parsonage, he could hear laughter coming from the backyard.

Polly opened the front door before he could knock. “Good. You made it. Everyone is waiting for you in the parlor.”

Everyone? “I thought I told you to keep my family business private.”

“And I have,” she said, looking him so firmly in the eye that if he were one of the children, he’d obey her immediately. “However, if you think that you’re going to be able to continue to shelter your children from the reporters and those people with the awful signs, then you can’t keep them at the apartment. Uncle Frank has said that we can all stay here until the furor dies down.”

He should be angry with her. Had every right to be angry with her. Polly MacDonald was so efficient at managing everything around her that she’d forgotten that he was an adult, perfectly capable of managing himself.

Except in this instance, she was right.

If they went back to the apartment, the children were bound to see the signs. Were bound to ask questions like, “Did you kill our mummy?” just as Polly had.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “But I don’t see why everyone needs to be gathered in the parlor over all of this.”

“Because you’re in a serious situation,” a deep voice behind him said.

Mitch turned to see a tall man younger than he sporting a badge prominently on his vest.

“Will Lawson,” he said, holding out his hand as he examined Mitch.

Mitch shook, wondering what this lawman was going to do in the situation. Polly had mentioned a close family friend being a lawman, but that didn’t mean the man was going to be on his side. None of the lawmen in Denver seemed to care about the truth. Why would this guy be any different?

“Mitch Taylor, but I suppose you already know that.”

“Seems to me you’re in a bit of a pickle.”

“My lawyer is handling things.”

“Fair enough. But I’m happy to do some investigating of my own.”

What would Will find that the deputies in Denver hadn’t already found? Supposedly, they’d exhausted every lead, and everything seemed to point right back to Mitch. The last thing he needed was more evidence suggesting he was guilty.

Back in Denver, Mitch had hired an investigator of his own, a man who promised he’d find something on the real killer. That man now worked for the deputies, claiming there was nothing that said Mitch didn’t do it.

Mitch swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you, but I believe my lawyer has everything in hand. I’d hate to take you from your important work here in Leadville.”

“It’s no trouble,” Will said, obviously not accepting the easy way out that Mitch had given him.

What was the other man’s agenda?

“All the same, I think we’ll be just fine.”

Actually, they weren’t. That was the trouble. So much evidence was stacked against him, or at least that’s the way it seemed. It didn’t appear to matter that they couldn’t prove that Mitch had been at the murder scene, or that Mitch had any connection to whatever had been used to bludgeon Hattie to death. But that’s what happened when all they really wanted was someone to take the fall so the sheriff looked like a hero.

Mitch turned to Polly. “I believe you said people were waiting on me.”

Her brows furrowed as she pursed her lips, but she didn’t argue with him. She meant well, he knew, but Polly didn’t understand what he was up against. What he’d always been up against. People were constantly trying to be his friend, hoping to gain access to the amazing Hattie Winston. And now that she was gone, every charlatan in town was offering “help” with the case, only their motives weren’t so pure. Whether it was to prove his guilt, or get the inside scoop for the latest newspaper, all the supposed offers of help never had Mitch’s best interests in mind.

Did Will have Mitch’s best interests in mind? He had no idea. He’d barely met the man, and while Polly’s recommendation might mean something to some people, Mitch had too much at stake to trust just anyone.

Polly led him into the parlor, where Pastor Lassiter, Gertie and Maddie sat waiting. Before Mitch could speak, Pastor Lassiter stood.

“Now I know you object to receiving help, but I have to say that in this instance, you are going to accept what we offer. Those children of yours need protection, and if they’re staying with us, no one is going to know who they are. Folks around here are used to us having all sorts of children running around, and not one will question who these children are. Pride isn’t going to keep your children safe.”

Mitch nodded slowly. “Thank you. I am grateful for the offer. In fact, I was afraid of what would happen if I had to take them back home. They don’t need to be subjected to the scandal.”

The older man looked at him solemnly. “Now, Polly assures me that you’re innocent, but I need to hear it from you. I won’t harbor a murderer in my home.”

The ever-present lump in Mitch’s throat threatened to cut off his airway. It seemed like all he ever did was proclaim his innocence, but no one ever listened.

“I didn’t kill Hattie.”

There. The words were his own, but he hardly recognized his voice. He had children who were grieving a lost mother, and rather than focusing on them, he had to continually defend himself.

“Where are my children?”

Polly smiled at him. “They’re playing in the yard. We’re letting them get their wiggles out before we start lessons.”

Once again, Mitch nodded slowly, trying to process the information. Laughter drifted toward him, and somewhere in there, he thought he recognized the sound of his own children. Pastor Lassiter walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I believe you, son. But from what I’ve seen in the papers, you’re going to need to do a lot more than what you’ve been doing to get the rest of society to believe it.”

Mitch’s body went cold as he looked around the room. “You’ve seen the papers? Are they here? I don’t want the children—”