"I'm taking a step back from inside,
Forsaking the life that I once had.
I'm making a run from the dark side,
Replacing night with the sunlight."
"Step Back" –Evans Blue
Chapter Thirteen:
It was pouring outside when Bruce approached Margot one cold afternoon, drenched and shivering in just his shirtsleeves.
"Bruce!" she exclaimed when she turned to him. "What are you doing out here? And why aren't you wearing a coat?"
He looked up at her with a serious expression, his arms pressed tightly to his sides. "You were in the army, weren't you?" he inquired.
Margot frowned, a little taken aback by the question. "Marine Corps."
"What did you specialize in, exactly?"
"I was a sniper. Why?"
He shook his head. "Nothing." Bruce paused, and then asked, "If I needed you to do something besides gardening, would you do it?"
Margot hesitated, replying carefully, "That depends." She regarded the boy seriously, then asked abruptly, "Is Alfred bothering you? Do you want me to shoot him in the foot for you?"
Margot's joke worked. A small smile crossed Bruce's face, and he let out a soft laugh. "No, Margot. Thank you. You should come inside," he added, noticing her shiver as rain trickled down the back of her collar. "I'll have Alfred prepare some hot cocoa."
She smiled. "Thanks, Bruce, but I've got work to finish out here. All this rain will only encourage the hedges' unruliness."
"This evening then. I insist."
Margot dutifully joined Alfred and Bruce in the study that evening, where she was greeted with a pair of smiles and a warm blanket.
"You really need a better coat," Bruce noted as Alfred took hers.
"Yes," agreed Alfred. "People might start to think we pay you peanuts."
She laughed softly and took the seat that was offered to her while Alfred disappeared briefly to hang her coat in the foyer. He had already prepared the cocoa. When he returned, he poured it straight from a tall, slender chocolate pot, adding a generous dollop of whipped cream to each cup and sprinkling it with nutmeg. She noticed he splashed a bit of whiskey into her cup before pouring in the cocoa.
"This ought to revive you after spending the day out in that downpour," he murmured as he handed it to her.
She smiled and took it gratefully.
"How are your studies?" Bruce asked from his place on the sofa. "Have you finished Chaucer yet?"
Margot grimaced, but it was Alfred who answered. "She'd have finished it twice by now if she'd do her reading," he said with a reproachful look at her. "As a student, it seems Miss Vallant has less dedication than a twelve-year-old boy."
"How many 'prithee's and 'doth yonder's am I expected to read through?" Margot retorted. "It's like studying another language."
A slow smile crept over Alfred's face. "Treacle, you have no idea," he responded knowingly.
She simply snorted and sipped at her cocoa.
Bruce watched them with a curious smile. After a moment, he asked, "Margot, do you have any plans for that plot where the hydrangea used to be?"
Alfred shot a glare at the boy, who pointedly ignored him.
Frowning, Margot shook her head. "Not yet. Why?"
"I think you should plant roses," Bruce replied, his eyes briefly darting towards Alfred, who pursed his lips and looked fixedly away.
"I don't see why I can't do that," she said with a shrug. She was about to let it go at that, but her curiosity had been piqued. "What's with all the dirty glares between you two?"
Alfred stiffened and refused to answer.
Bruce had no such qualms. "Alfred has expressed interest in breeding roses. I thought that plot would be perfectly suited for such an endeavor."
"That's the last time I tell you anything," the man growled at the boy, grumbling, "Can't keep one bloody secret."
Margot stared in astonishment at the man. "Rose breeding? What do you know about roses?"
Alfred frowned. "I dabbled a bit," he replied stiffly, glaring at the boy and adding defensively, "It was a long time ago."
"I'll look into it," Margot told him.
Alfred looked at her abruptly. "You will?"
She shrugged. "Sure. If you'd like, I can take you by a nursery sometime. You can have a look at all the varieties."
The man seemed surprised and slightly pleased.
"Why the sudden interest in gardening anyway, Alfred?" teased Bruce with a soft laugh.
"Oi! I'm starting to get the feeling that it's your bedtime, mate," the butler retorted sharply.
Bruce lifted his narrow shoulders in a shrug. "There are some files I'd like to look at anyway," he said calmly, rising to his feet and going to the desk. He tucked a couple of folders under his arm and turned back to Margot and Alfred. "It's been a pleasure, Margot. Goodnight, Alfred."
"Get on, you little bugger," the man growled fondly, watching the boy with a bit of a smile as he left.
Margot hid her own smile behind her cup of cocoa. She and Alfred sat in amicable silence for a while, the only sound that of the fire crackling in the hearth. Discreetly, she watched the butler over the edge of her cup, noticing that he seemed distracted. She also noticed, upon closer inspection, that despite his gray hair and the weathered face with lines of worry creasing it, he wasn't nearly as old as she'd first assumed, back when she'd started working at the manor. He wasn't a young man either—not by a longshot—but there was a certain spark of vitality in his sharp blue eyes, a great deal of spryness in his movement that belied his age. And, she thought vaguely, if he ever relaxed his face and let those ever-present worry lines fade, he could quite possibly be very handsome.
Margot suddenly became aware that his eyes had met hers, and instantly she felt guilty for staring. Hastily, she looked away. Glancing around, she saw that Bruce had made quite a bit of progress through the files she and Alfred had exhumed from storage those several weeks ago. He had all sorts of pictures and documents pinned to a board behind the desk, at which she stared curiously.
"What's that?" she asked, indicating the board with a jerk of her chin.
Alfred followed her gaze. Margot could have sworn she saw him wince a little as he regarded the board seriously. He hesitated, thumbing his lapels and rocking on his feet a bit. Finally, he sighed and explained, "Master Bruce has been investigating his parents' murders."
Margot glanced at the man in shock. "And you haven't stopped him?"
The butler shot an irritated look at her. "You think I haven't tried? You try dissuading the boy."
She fell silent, thinking of some of her more recent encounters with the boy, remembering the solemn determination in his dark eyes. She recalled her brief conversation with him that afternoon.
"Alfred?"
"Hm?"
"I don't think he'd want me to tell you this," she began slowly, "but you should know that Bruce asked me about my service in the Marines today. He wanted to know what I did and, more importantly, if I'd be willing to do something for him."
"What exactly did he want you to do?" asked Alfred suspiciously.
She shrugged. "He didn't say. He only made it clear that it wouldn't be gardening."
Alfred nodded slowly and sighed. "I see." He seemed sad and tired. "Thank you, Margot, for telling me."
She glanced down at her cup, which had been empty for a long time. "I should go."
The man cast a glance at the window. "It's still pouring out there. Are you sure you'll be all right?"
She set her cup on the table and stood. "I've ridden in rain before."
"I'd be happy to give you a lift," Alfred offered.
A soft laugh escaped her. "Thank you for the concern, Alfred, but I'll be fine. We Marines are good at toughing it out." She clicked her feet together, pinned one arm to her side, and raised the other in a mock salute. "'Shut up, straighten up, and quit your bitching'," she growled in a fair imitation of her drill instructor.
Alfred couldn't seem to help a wan smile. "Very well. I'll show you out."
In the foyer, he reached for a coat, holding it open for her.
"This isn't—" Margot began, pointing back at the coatrack, where her coat still hung, dripping on the floor.
"I know," Alfred interrupted, still holding the dry coat out for her. "Take it." When she hesitated, he added, "We can't have you catching a cold now, can we? Then I'd have to trim the hedges, and I'd just as likely raze them to stubble."
"Thanks, Alfred," Margot responded with a laugh, slipping into the coat. It was one of his. She could tell by the fit and the faint smell of his cologne on it. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He opened the door for her, answering as she passed, "Goodnight, Margot."