The Monstrosity, Part Six

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R

LINK TO PART ONE

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I won the second game of chess. Drew was not a magnanimous loser—he made it clear that it was a bit of carelessness on his part that had allowed my victory. It was not, in his opinion, any skill of mine.

I bit back a smile at that. Drew had a good deal to learn about social graces. That was puzzling, because Jack Clayton could be suave enough when he chose, even if he couldn’t quite hide his air of self-importance. But he hadn’t taught Drew anything but the most basic civilities.

I suppose I couldn’t fault Jack, knowing how difficult their early lives had been. The fact that Jack had stuck by Drew, no matter the cost to his own comfort, spoke volumes for the man. But I wondered if Jack had been too easy on Drew when it came to discipline. I could imagine just how trying Drew was as a child, yet I doubt that Jack had ever spoken a harsh word to his baby brother.

I was still mulling that over as I dressed for dinner. How would I have handled a brother with as many difficulties as Drew? It wasn’t only that he was blind. He had also been so wary of people as a child that he had refused to speak to anyone but Jack. And considering his history, I couldn’t blame him for that.

I gave myself a wry smile in mirror as I adjusted my cravat. I’d been sorely tempted to take Drew in hand any number of times since we’d met—his adulthood not withstanding. And if I’d had the raising of him, I’d have given him all the affection and warmth that Jack had, but I wouldn’t have put up with his tantrums or ill manners. I’d have been every bit as strict with him as my father had been with me (and as I'd been with my own brothers, especially Joe.)

My God, that was arrogant of me. I shut my eyes. Who in hell was I to judge Jack Clayton for the way he had raised his little brother? Why did I assume that I could have done better?

This smug, cock-sure arrogance is what Kane saw in me, I reminded myself. It’s the reason he set out to destroy me.

I opened my eyes again and stared at the mirror. It was an ugly piece that was far too ornately framed. But that's not what caught my attention. It was my own reflection--I couldn’t stand the sight of it. Before I could stop myself, I slammed my fist into the glass, shattering it instantly and slicing my hand open in the process.

It took me a moment to realize what I had done. It was so unlike me that I stood there gaping. Only the sound of Drew’s voice broke me out of the spell.

“Adam?”

I turned to find him standing in my doorway. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him; his room was just across the hall. But I was so shocked by my actions that I hadn’t even heard him open the door.

“Everything’s all right, Drew,” I managed.

“What happened?” he demanded.

I shrugged. “I, uh, broke the mirror. That was carelessness on my part—I’m sorry.”

I’m not sure what I would have said if he had asked me to explain how I had broken the mirror. And I could tell by the look on his face that the question was on the tip of his tongue. But for some reason he swallowed it.

“Are you hurt?” he asked instead.

“I cut my hand on the glass, but it’s not serious.”

“Ring the bell for a servant,” he ordered. “We’ll get the glass cleaned up and your hand bandaged.”

I obeyed him. Soon a housemaid and footman were sweeping away the glass while Brian helped me wash the blood off my hand. Then he applied bandages to it.

I knew Brian well enough; he’d experienced the coach wreck with Drew and me. He was a sharp young man with an Irish lilt to his voice and an easy going temperament—a necessity, no doubt, for anyone who worked closely with Drew. Even Drew admits that he’s a prickly, difficult master.

But Brian was devoted to Drew, ill temper or not. And Drew, in his own way, was fond of Brian. I knew for a fact that he paid the valet—and his wife, who worked in the kitchen—quite handsomely.

Fortunately neither Brian nor the other servants asked how the mirror had come to break. I’m sure they knew that it hadn’t shattered on its own, but they were well trained enough to keep their questions to themselves.

At length the servants left. Drew remained standing by the door, however. I sank down into a chair and told him to sit down.

He hesitated, but then he stepped inside and began feeling along the wall as he walked, searching for a chair. I could have kicked myself at that—I don’t know why I had expected him to know the layout of one of the spare bedrooms.

I stood up, walked over to him and took his arm. “Here,” I said.

He didn’t refuse my arm—but he didn’t let me lead him to a chair straight away either. Instead, he put his hand out. “May I?” he asked.

I knew what he was asking. He wanted to explore my face with his hand. This wouldn’t be the first time—although I knew that Drew rarely made this request of anyone.

“Of course,” I said, releasing my hold on his arm. I didn’t mind him taking that liberty. In fact, I wanted him to feel as comfortable with me as he felt with his brother or his valet.

Still, it was an odd experience. Each time I felt his fingers trace my chin, my lips, my cheeks and my forehead I had to force myself not to redden in embarrassment. I wondered if he knew that. And I wondered if he was just as embarrassed himself.

At length he let his hand drop. “You’ve changed,” he commented.

“How so?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You’re harder somehow—and more on edge. I noticed that in your voice when I came to see you at the Ponderosa—when I asked you to visit me here, I mean. And now I can feel it in your face as well.”

I smiled a little. “Are you disappointed in that change?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m just commenting on it, Adam. I’m not judging it one way or the other.”

A lengthy silence fell between us at that. I was the one to break it.

“Would you care to sit down?” I asked.

“Let’s make our way to the sitting room instead,” he told me. “Jack will be home soon—I know he’ll want to give you the ‘grand tour’ before dinner.”

I grinned at his words. He was likening a tour of the Monstrosity to the traditional ‘grand tour’ of Europe. I wondered suddenly if Jack Clayton appreciated his little brother’s barbed wit. Probably not, I decided. Firstly, Drew rarely directed it at his brother. Secondly, it was just the sort of thing that would sail over Jack’s head.

“To the sitting room,” I agreed, taking up Drew’s arm again.

LINK TO PART SEVEN