Page 85 of An Unwitting Alliance
Alan looked at his lap. “Mama wouldn’t like me being bad.”
“All little boys are naughty once in a while. It takes lots of practice to be very good.”
“Like you?”
Tom would’ve laughed had the gravity of their circumstances been different. “There are a lot of people who might say differently.”
“Then, we are the same. Is that why you have a bruise by your eye?”
Tom lifted his hand to his face, touching the sore spot by the corner of his right eye. “I suppose so. I do try to help people when I can, as you were trying to help your mother. You should be very proud of your courage.”
“Can we go see Mama now? Please? I know she misses me. If she could just hold my hand, she would get better. I know she would.”
“Alan.” Tom swallowed the moisture gathering in his throat. “I want more than anything to bring you to your mother.”
“Then, let’s go.” He jumped off the bed and held out his hand. “Come on.”
“We can’t, Alan.”
“Yes we can. You can fight them all this time. You just weren’t ready before.”
Such confidence in him both touched and tortured Tom. A tear leaked down his face. “I would fight all of them if it could make a difference.” He wiped the moisture from his cheek. “But I was too late, and I am so sorry. Your mother died last night.”
Alan’s eyes widened. “You’re lying. She’s not dead. She cannot be.”
Tom put his arms out to Alan, but the boy pulled away, his whole face scrunching up as large tears streaked down his little face.
“Come here, lad.”
This time Alan came to him, throwing his arms around Tom’s neck. His sobs lasted a long time, and Tom’s were a silent accompaniment. Nancy brought a tray in and left it for them, but the food was completely ignored. Time was temporarily suspended as Alan alternated between crying and hitting Tom’s shoulder in anger. Tom just held him tightly and whispered every apology he could think of.
When the lad’s tears were spent, hiccups followed. Tom rubbed Alan’s back until he fell asleep. Then he laid him down on the bed and sat beside him, watching his even breaths come and go.
How could a small child go through so much? Tom replayed in his mind the night he had learned of Charley’s death. His own tears had soaked his shirt and pillow, and the sound of his mother’s wailing had haunted his sleep for years. His memories of Charley mixed with his sorrow for Alan, compounding his grief. Hours passed, maybe more, but Tom remained by Alan’s side.
When Alan finally stirred, Tom rubbed his back again. “I know it hurts, but can you be strong for your mother? Can you eat just a little?”
With a great amount of coaxing, Tom managed to get a roll and a few sips of lemonade down the boy. Then a knock sounded on the door, and Alan jumped from his seat. “Is it Mr. Longbottom?”
“I don’t think so.” But Tom could not be sure either. He went to the door and opened it, relieved to see Ian on the other end. He let him in and said, “This is Lord Reynolds, Alan. He helped rescue you.”
The boy dipped into a solemn bow. How admirable. Despite being in the throes of grief, he still remembered his manners.
“It is a pleasure to meet you formally, Alan. I am so sorry it is under such heart-wrenching circumstances though. My condolences for your mother.”
“Thank you, Your Lordship.” Alan’s voice was small, almost a whisper.
Ian nodded before his eyes lifted to Tom’s. “Paul and Louisa send their goodbyes. They had to return to Brookeside.”
Tom nodded. “It was good of them to have come.”
“And Jemma and Lisette and Mrs. Fielding have retired for the night. They expect to return home tomorrow morning. Miles will stay another day to sort out the details Paul has outlined for a new committee for the workhouse. Mr. Miner will take over from there.”
“You have all done admirably.” Tom glanced back at Alan, then returned his attention to Ian. “You are surely ready to return home too. I can take it from here.”
“But can you?” Ian eyed him. “I have never seen you like this before.”
“We’ll manage. Won’t we, Alan?”
