A Woman's Estate (11 page)

“I beg your pardon.” Abigail smiled and shook her head. “I
should not have said that. I know the provisions of Lord Lydden’s will. I
obtained a copy and read it carefully,” she added, a trifle mendaciously
because, if Sir Arthur objected, she did not want Alexander Baring blamed for
assisting her.

“You understood it?” Arthur asked uncertainly.

“Well enough to realize that because of Francis’ death you
really control the estate,” she replied.

“But why in the world should you think I would object to any
rational expenditure for you, and more particularly for Daphne?”

“Oh, I didn’t, not really,” Abigail admitted, rather
shamefaced, “but Eustace and Hilda kept insisting that you—”

“The situation,” Arthur interrupted coldly, “is not
analogous. Let me assure you that no one is being pinched or deprived. Lady
Hilda Lydden has an income large enough to support herself and her children in
luxury. I still think it was wrong to make Griselda and Eustace dependent on
her, but perhaps there was a reason. Lord Lydden was not a fool. In any case, I
had no right and, indeed, neither the time nor the power to do anything about
it.”

“For what little it is worth, since I am surely more
ignorant than you about those three, I agree with you,” Abigail stated, then
she shrugged and smiled impishly. “And I promise I will not redo and refurnish
the whole house because the drawing room curtains are too thin.”

“That rankles, does it?” Arthur said a trifle grimly. “Too
bad. I did not feel the changes to be necessary, particularly since I did not
feel that Hilda would be living in Rutupiae Hall for long. Whyever did you
allow—?” He cleared his throat.

“Sheer ignorance.” Abigail sighed. There were other reasons,
of course, like the sympathy she felt for any woman whose husband had a right
to use up her money and leave her penniless, but she was not about to discuss
that subject with a man—not even one she liked as well as Sir Arthur. “Francis
never once mentioned them. I had no idea they existed, until Mr. Deedes told
me. And I couldn’t push them out the very moment I arrived.”

“No, of course you could not. Besides, they have a right to
live in the Dower House, and you would have had to put out the tenant. No, you
did what was necessary. But speaking of changes to the house, if you feel there
is some alteration, even a structural change that would make your situation more
comfortable, do not hesitate—”

Abigail laughed. “Oh, no. Matters are not so bad as that.
Fortunately, our tastes are very different. I like to be busy and am beginning
to learn about the estate, in which Hilda does not appear to be interested, and
I have my children. With one thing and another, our paths do not cross much,
except at dinner. In any case, I would not want to make any changes. Victor is
twelve and will soon be old enough to make his own decisions. He might develop
an interest in the house or he might marry young. It would be ridiculous for me
to refurnish to my taste and then have his wife loathe everything I had done.”

“Some men do not marry young,” Arthur said.

Abigail was surprised and a trifle offended. Was he implying
that she was the kind of mother who would be jealous of every girl her son
liked? “Well, then he may furnish anew or not furnish at all just as he likes,”
she answered tartly, “for I do not intend to cling to him. I will be glad and
grateful to be free to live my own life as soon as he is able to manage for
himself.” Then she cocked her head, looking puzzled. “However did we get onto
this silly topic?”

“Hilda seems to bring out the worst in everyone,” Arthur
answered, smiling despite the fact that Abigail’s remarks had pricked him. He
wondered if for years his mother had longed to be free and whether, perhaps,
his demands upon her had kept her from remarrying, though Lady Lydden had said
nothing about remarriage, of course. Still, what else could she need to be
“free” to do? The whole subject was unpleasant.

Abigail shook her head in mock disapproval of his remark
about Hilda, then remembered his regret because Victor had not succeeded in
inserting a toad into Hilda’s chair or bed. “I mustn’t think in those terms,”
she said, barely restraining giggles. “Heaven knows it doesn’t take much to
bring out the worst in me. But, Sir Arthur, you cannot have known I wished to
consult you about the horses. I have been so intent on my own concerns that I
never asked whether you had some business you wished to discuss or whether you
discharged your errand in telling me about the arrangements you have made to
ensure my children’s safety.”

“That was one purpose, of course,” he answered, not very
truthfully.

Actually, it was his strong impulse to look at her and speak
to her again—only to convince himself that the image he retained of her beauty
and the pleasure he had in talking to her was grossly exaggerated—that had
teased him into finding a reason to come to Rutupiae. He did not let himself think
about that, for Abigail’s loveliness and his delight in her had not been
exaggerated, and he was not at all sure what he wanted to do about the
situation.

“I could have sent a note about that,” he went on quickly,
“but I had an idea that needed some discussion.”

“Then had we not better sit down?” she suggested, suddenly
realizing that they had been standing—rather close to each other—the whole time
they had been talking.

She gestured toward a pair of armchairs flanking the
fireplace, now empty and concealed behind a very handsome, fan-shaped
decorative screen. Sir Arthur moved toward one of the chairs, standing politely
until Abigail seated herself in the other.

“You told me yesterday that your son was twelve,” he said as
he sat down. “It occurred to me after you left that he must go to school.
Francis went to Westminster—well, so did I—and I thought I would put his name
in there, unless you would like him to go to your father’s school. There is
also the question of whether Victor will need special tutoring—” The expression
on Abigail’s face made him stop and add hurriedly, “Forgive me, I did not mean
to imply that Victor is slow or that his education was inadequate. Remember, I
have never met the boy and am totally ignorant of both his background and the
system of study in American schools.”

The phrase “he must go to school” was a shock to Abigail.
Was this the first step in wresting the control of her son from her? “You are
totally ignorant about a Iot of things,” she snapped, “such as the fact that
I
am Victor’s legal guardian. Whether or not he goes to school is
my
decision to make.”

“I am not at all ignorant that your son is your ward,” he
said, much surprised. “But what in the world do you plan to do with the boy if
you do not wish to send him to school? How will he make friends? All the boys
of his age—at least those I know of in the area—go to school.”

The open acknowledgment that she was Victor’s guardian as
well as his mother, and the tone of surprise, which indicated clearly that he
had no intention of contesting her right, calmed Abigail’s fear and made her
rather ashamed of the violence of her reaction.

“I’m sorry. I should not have snapped at you,” she
apologized. “I have already admitted that it takes very little to bring out the
worst in me.”

“Apparently so,” Arthur agreed, somewhat ungallantly, “but
what did I say to annoy you? I have been outstandingly civil—for me, anyway. I
know Bertram says that some of my endeavors to be polite could give a fish a
fever, but—”

“Now you are trying to make me feel more ashamed of myself
than I do already,” Abigail protested, laughing.

She did not wish to discuss her instinctive fear that
control of her children would be taken from her—not because she could be proven
unfit to raise them but simply because she was female. That fear was tied up
with the fact that her father had been unable to will anything directly to her.
If he had done so, the money, property and business would have legally belonged
to Francis, since all a wife’s property passed immediately into the possession
of her husband. Aside from the fact that Sir Arthur might well think such an
arrangement right and proper, the whole thing was so complicated to explain. In
addition, Abigail did not want to admit to the elegant Sir Arthur that she was
a common shopkeeper. It would be far better, she thought, to avoid
explanations.

“You have been so very kind in your efforts to protect my
children and your offer of mounts,” she said. “And I realize that your advice
to put Victor into Westminster was kindly meant.” He made an impatient gesture,
and she added, “I know it was not your intention to place me under an
obligation, but it
was
kind, and I should not permit myself to catch
fire so easily.”

“Yes, yes, I agree that you have a flammable disposition,” he
said impatiently. “I don’t mind that. I just want to know what I said to ignite
you.”

Abigail laughed lightly. “Now, now, it is not very civil to
agree with me quite so emphatically, you know. You could have murmured
something about—”

“Damn it!” Arthur roared. “What did I say?”

For a moment Abigail was so startled that she made no reply.
Then she got to her feet, looking anxious. “It was nothing important. Truly, I
know it was unintentional, and you did not really hurt me.”

“Perhaps not,” Arthur said ominously, also rising, “but I
will soon do so deliberately by wringing your neck if you do not answer my
question. My dear Lady Lydden, when I asked the question, I was merely mildly
curious. Now I intend to have an answer because I do not choose that you go on
believing you can lead me around by the nose quite so easily as you seem to
think you can.”

Abigail’s soft violet eyes turned bright and hard as anger
brought higher color to her cheeks. “Just how do you think you can obtain an
answer from me if I do not choose to give one?” she asked gently.

“By waiting five minutes—if it takes that long—for you to
recognize that no man likes to be thought a fool and that since I caught you
trying to lead me up the garden path, I deserve an answer.”

For a few seconds longer, Abigail stared at him. Arthur
looked back steadily and seriously. Then she sighed, stepped forward and held
out her hand, not in a gesture of feminine appeal but to be shaken as on
concluding some business arrangement.

“You are quite right,” she said. “I was avoiding an answer
because I do not like to look foolish either. I knew—”

“You need say no more,” Arthur interrupted. “I only wanted
you to understand that I was aware of what you were doing.” Then he sighed too,
and his lips twisted wryly. “I suppose I should beg your pardon again. You are
an exceptional woman, Lady Lydden. Almost any other would have wept and told me
I was rude and unreasonable.”

“So you are,” Abigail replied pertly, “but you were also
quite right, unfortunately.”

Arthur made no verbal response to her remark, but the clasp
of his hand on hers changed subtly and the slow smile he gave her sent a
warning quiver along Abigail’s nerves. Still, she did not attempt to extricate
her hand, and before either of them could speak, the door burst open and Victor
and Daphne erupted into the room.

“Mother, Mother, there’s an old mill,” Victor cried.

“And the wheel still goes round,” Daphne put in.

“And the pond is full of fish and frogs and—” Victor’s voice
checked. “Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t notice you at first.”

Daphne had already dropped a curtsy, and Abigail was able to
speak calmly, having had time during the first passionate exclamations to
realize that her children were only excited by a discovery and not reporting a
further attack. She wondered whether they had overtly disobeyed or deceived
Mrs. Franklin, but she did not intend to ask, at least not in front of Sir
Arthur. Despite his seeming acceptance of her status as guardian, she did not
wish to give him any reason to think she could not control Victor.

“This is Sir Arthur St. Eyre,” she said.

Both children came forward and shook Arthur’s hand, but
their faces showed little joy. They had made a thrilling discovery and feared
they would not be able to tell their mother about it while it was still fresh.
Somehow any adventure turned flat if it could not be recounted to a sympathetic
ear at once. However, Abigail did not, as they half expected, send them away.
Instead, she asked, “How did you find the mill?” She did not want Mrs. Franklin
bursting in on them next to report the children’s sins—if they had sinned. But
they had not.

“Mrs. Franklin asked if we would like to walk down to her
cottage with her,” Victor said, his expression lightening.

“She wanted to water her plants,” Daphne explained. “It is
the prettiest place, Mother—”

“Never mind that now,” Victor interrupted. “She asked about
the mill. Mrs. Franklin showed it to us on the way back. Did you know about the
mill, sir?” he asked, politely including Sir Arthur in the conversation in the
hope that involving his mother’s guest would permit a protracted discussion of
the subject.

“Yes, I did,” Arthur replied, looking interested. “It was in
use when your father and I were about Daphne’s age, and the miller let us watch
and even help carry the flour bags sometimes—but only if we stayed away from
the gears and millstones.”

“There aren’t any gears now,” Victor reported, “but I think
the millstones are there—big round things with a hole in the middle.”

“Yes. Your grandfather had the metal stripped out and sold,
but the millstones weren’t worth moving.”

“But why?” Daphne asked. “What happened?”

“The miller died,” Arthur replied. “He was a very old man,
and the mill was too small to make much profit, so no one else wanted to be
miller here.”

“Too bad.” Daphne sighed. “It would have been fun to get
flour from our own mill. Anyway, Victor can fish in the pond—”