Cry of the Peacock (21 page)

“And,” he continued with a smile, “I think I told you before, we mean to restore you to what you might have been had your mother married as she was meant to do. If her family had not disowned her. This is as good a means as any I can think of.”

“It is, perhaps, taking it a step too far, don’t you think? You have brought me here, and I thank you. You have endeavored to raise me up, and I thank you for that, too, and I pray I will give you no cause to regret it—”

“Then accept Ruskin’s offer.”

She was stricken apparently speechless.

“There is no one else, I take it? No love you left behind when you left your aunt to come to us.”

“No, sir.”

“Does his suit offend you?”

“Only in the manner of its delivery. He is impatient. He is always pushing, pushing, pushing. Consequently I find myself resisting. If he were more patient, gentle, it would not be so. I’m quite certain I could return his regard in equal measure to that in which it is bestowed. Even if I could not… I’m not opposed to marrying for reasons more pragmatic than romantic. I’m not a fool to think I could ever have a better offer than the one he is prepared to make. I know what this marriage could do for me, for my sister, for my family’s name.”

“For your sister?”

“Yes, of course. The invitation was for us both, was it not? I mean to bring her here to join me as soon as I may.”

That was not a part of his plan. He had feared the obstacle the younger sister might prove to be. He had feared she would prove a distraction. But might she not serve as a useful incentive, as well. “Of course when you accept Ruskin you will have it in your power to help her in any number of ways. Until then, let us concentrate on what we are meant to be doing for you, shall we?”

“Yes, sir. If you insist.”

“In the meantime, I will speak to Ruskin.”

“Would you, sir?” she said and sat forward. “I do realize the honor it is to be singled out by him, and to have it condoned by you. I am happy here, and wish to be always. Only… If he could only be more gentle, more patient in his addresses. I’m afraid I require more time than he seems willing to give me.”

Sir Nicholas released a great sigh. Yes, that question of time. They had not much of that, but if she required it, he could not exactly refuse her, could he? “Yes, I will speak to him. And while you are in London, I hope you will make the most of the opportunity given you to prepare yourself well. This is no idle holiday we are taking.”

“No, sir,” she said. “I understand.”

“I hope you will be mindful of the sacrifices we are making for you. This trip comes at rather an inopportune time so far as matters go on the estate. It is no small expense, either. We have invested a great deal in you. I’m not sure you can realize how much.”

“No, sir,” she answered meekly. “I dare say I cannot. Nor quite why, even still, though I am grateful.”

“Well, I very much hope you will show that gratitude.”

“I will try, sir.”

“I will admonish you then, to remember who you are, what and who you are meant to be. Will you do that for me?”

“I will, sir.”

“Very good,” he said, and prepared to dismiss her. “Ah, I nearly forgot,” he said, stopping before the door. He returned to his desk and from it retrieved a small purse. “This is for you. Your allowance, and a little besides.”

“So much, sir? I do not need so much as this. Not by half.”

“London is quite a different place from Holdaway. There you will have opportunity and cause to use it. Use it well, but do treat yourself, will you?”

“Yes, sir. And thank you.”

“Very good,” he said, and dismissed her at last. He hoped, very much, that his admonitions, and this time apart from Ruskin, would do what it was meant to do. In the meantime, he would speak to Ruskin. He had little choice, after all. He only hoped his son would listen.

A
BBIE’S FIRST JOURNEY to London had been one of anxiety and apprehension. She felt anxiety now, but for far different reasons. She had much to consider, and much to look forward to. And this opportunity, to be introduced into Society, to be near her sister, and, perhaps as importantly, to be away from Ruskin’s persistent importunings, was an opportunity she meant to make the most of.

Lady Crawford took advantage of the journey’s length by reminding Abbie of all the things, large and small, that she must remember while they were in Town. Abbie listened as attentively as she could, but it was not a comfortable thing to be admonished in front of one’s friends. Even more humiliating to be admonished so before one’s critics. Katherine occupied herself with her needlework and David with his paper, but she knew they were both listening.

“Will our schedule be very busy?” Abbie asked. “I would like to see my sister as soon as may be.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Lady Crawford said dismissively. “We’ve come early for a purpose, after all, and we must make the most of our time. We have Katherine for only a few days more before she returns home. Though I do hope you will agree, Katherine dear, to accompany us on all our outings?”

“I would be happy to,” she answered, “if you want me.” This last she added with a rather pointed glance in David’s direction.

“Of course we do,” he said in words barely audible.

“Yes, well, as I was saying,” Lady Crawford continued, “we have Katherine for a few days more, and before Ruskin and my husband join us I thought it would be best to get our shopping out of the way.”

“Shopping?”

“Well you cannot go out in these?” she said with a wave of her needlework in the direction of the tailor-made mourning attire Abbie’s aunt had provided for her. “We wouldn’t want people to mistake you for a middle-class suffragette, now would we?”

“I suppose you know best, ma’am,” Abbie said, though she was still unsure that it was not just a bit too soon to be thinking of throwing off mourning.

“As our social engagements must wait until you are in a state to be seen, it is imperative we attend to your wardrobe first and foremost. Your aunt can wait a few more days, surely.”

Abbie looked to find David watching her. Perhaps he was as uncertain as she of her ability to make the right impression upon their friends and peers. Though she had her doubts in respect to how she would be received by those of the Crawford’s acquaintance, she had an obstacle of her own to contend with. Should her sister’s circumstances become known, to the family, and certainly beyond, her chances of success would be nigh to impossible. It was this that inspired the next question.

“There is no reason, I suppose, why I might not go to my sister’s unaccompanied? It is not far, after all. Certainly Sarah’s companionship will not be necessary while I am amongst my own family. Perhaps my aunt might send someone to fetch me.”

David’s gaze returned once more to her, then shifted toward his mother.

Lady Crawford considered the question. “I believe such an arrangement might be permitted, my dear. But only if they can fetch you. Otherwise you must have Sarah. It is a precaution that cannot be dispensed with. Particularly now we are in Town.” She considered further. “Now that I think of it, I do not remember Sarah being at the station. Do you know if she was on the train, David?”

David cleared his throat and rattled his paper. Abbie could no longer see his face peering over it. “I haven’t seen her this day, now you mention it.”

“Hmmm,” Lady Crawford answered with a worried furrow in her brow.

“A maid, I should think, should be quite easy to acquire in London,” he continued from behind his paper. “The townhouse, you know, remains staffed year round…”

“Yes, yes, but this is very vexing. What can have happened to Sarah?”

“Maids are a dime a dozen, Mother. And Miss Gray did not find her entirely suitable.”

“What does Miss Gray know about servants, I’d like to know? Forgive me, Arabella, but you must own it’s true.”

“I know I did not care for her,” Abbie answered. “She was impertinent and nosy, and she tried my nerves to no end, if you want the truth.”

Lady Crawford put her sewing down on her lap and looked very long, though rather blankly, at Abbie, then turned to cast the same absent look upon Katherine. “Well, I suppose there is nothing for it now,” she said, resigning herself at last. “Perhaps someone might be spared, after all.”

“I might write to my sister,” Abbie said, which won enquiring looks from all present. “About visiting her, I mean,” she said, quickly amending her mistake, “and arranging to have someone fetch me.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my dear. I thought for a moment you meant to enlist Miss Mariana’s help in acquiring a new maid.” She laughed, then, and Abbie was grateful she had rethought her request as quickly as she had. “Yes, do write to her. If your aunt can spare someone to accompany you that will certainly remedy one difficulty, at any rate.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abbie said, and determined to write at the first available opportunity.

In no time at all they had quit the station and were rumbling through busy London streets, full of crowds and noise and the offal of civilization. That so many people could live together in one place never ceased to amaze her. To think that soon they would be travelling below ground as well as above it! She was not sure she would ever believe such a thing possible. But she was to see it for herself in little more than a week’s time.

*   *   *

The Crawford townhouse, when they at last stopped before it, presented itself as a towering and dignified edifice of white, if slightly soot-begrimed, limestone. There was something in its proud and gracious appearance, both outside and within, that made her yearn to make this house her home, to earn her place within it. Yet the thought that it was not under Ruskin’s roof she was now to reside, but David’s—for the townhouse was to be his upon his marriage—gave her an odd sense of futility. Here she was to try for things she was not yet sure she wanted. Here she was to resist wanting things she knew were never meant to be hers. Abbie looked to Katherine, watched her as she was led by David into the house. She watched as they crossed the threshold together, and as the door closed upon them. What was the use in resisting? She did want this life. And now, with a door between her and what might be hers, she knew it like she had never known anything before. Then and there she determined herself to do all that might be required to prove herself, to make a place within this family’s circle of acquaintances, and, when the time came, to prepare herself to accept a place within the family as well. She offered up a silent and desperate prayer that her time away from Ruskin would prove him a capable landlord, and she more conscious and appreciative of the compliment he was so eager to pay her.

*   *   *

The shopping trip occurred the next day but one. Kathryn accompanied them, as she had promised, and David tagged along under the pretense of chaperone, though truly his presence was motivated more by curiosity than anything else. How would Katherine choose to present herself on the eve of their engagement? How would Miss Gray find herself equipped to take on Society? He meant to watch and to find out if he could.

Upon entering the dressmaker’s, however, he immediately found himself in the way. London, usually quite dull in November, was witnessing a second life, for parliament had reconvened for an emergency session. Mr. Peel’s poor wife was sinking, and something must be done to ensure that the government would stand if the worst should come. Consequently London, and therefore, the dressmaker’s contained not the quiet atmosphere he might have expected to find. He soon found himself pushed to one side, while ladies shopped—and while they gaped at him, the lone gentleman among them—and while the patroness welcomed the women of his own party and introduced them to her showroom, separating them from himself.

That his mother had requested Katherine’s guidance was something of a wonder to David. Certainly Katherine was better equipped to direct Miss Gray in the ways of modern attire for the active attractor of the opposite sex, but her tastes, though finely developed, were not of the variety Lady Crawford was likely to influence Miss Gray toward, for his mother had an eye for fashions two seasons late and decidedly matronly. Her colors were always a shade too loud, her ornamentation a touch too showy. She, however, had nothing to prove, save the family’s financial solidity—which was perhaps why she always took it a step too far. Neither was fashion in the case of society’s matriarchs fraught with the perils it was for the young. Katherine’s guidance would certainly serve Abbie better than could his mother’s, and far better, or so he dared to suppose, than she could ever do for herself.

Attempting nonchalance, David browsed the shop for himself, and happened upon just such a gown as he considered the modern ideal. As it stood before him, having been fitted to a dressmaker’s form, he imagined, or tried to, Katherine wearing such a gown. It was difficult to do. She was too stiff, too conservative in dress or manner for such a thing, though he supposed it would become her well enough were she to dare it. But this sort of thing, this bit of artistry in silk and brocade, the skirt gathered to the back, accentuating the natural beauty of a woman’s form, the typically narrow—but not too narrow—waist, and a bodice unadorned by ostentatious frippery, such would make an entirely new woman of Arabella Gray.

He dared a glance in their direction and found that they, after making a few selections of their own, were now joining Lady Crawford in the back showroom, where the elder lady had accumulated a mountain of samples, all which now required trying. No longer able to see or hear them, David turned his attention to the patterns and fabrics for waistcoats. The selection was not large, for men had not so very many options when it came to dressing. And yet he could do with a new waistcoat for evening, particularly now they were returned to London. Perhaps in a velvet. Grey of course, but now to choose a pattern… A new cut-away coat might be wise too. Especially on the night he was to announce his engagement. Was he really ready for that?

“I think not,” he heard his mother say, and laughed uncomfortably to have the answer so quickly provided for him. It was not his question she was answering, however, but that of Miss Gray’s current selection.

David turned to find the curtain parted and Abbie standing before the mirror. She was wearing the
Ideal
. He had not been mistaken in his supposition. In iridescent grey and black silk she was a vision worth beholding. The family would soon be engaging in a series of social events, and as their guest, and dressed as she was now, she would be presented to Society. It was no longer so difficult to imagine her the smashing success his mother and father, Ruskin, and even James, expected her to be. She would charm and woo, and attract…in just such a gown—and in just such a gown she would be admired. She certainly would.

Or perhaps not. For his mother roundly disapproved.

Yes. Cover her up. Cover her in petticoats and brocade to her neck! Hide her. Disguise her. Great day! Why couldn’t they just get rid of her?

But now…now he actually regretted the thought. No. She should be here. She was meant to be here. And if she could find for herself an alternative to Ruskin… Well wouldn’t that be far better for everyone? Well, wouldn’t it? Why could he not answer the question? Why could he not stop looking at her?

The curtain dropped again.

The vision thus disturbed, he turned from it, and did not stop until he was standing on the pavement outside. He allowed the bracing air to restore him. It was not quite enough. There was a bookstall a short distance down the street. He crossed over to inspect its wares.

There was little of interest.
The Egoist
? No. Meredith’s aphorisms and soliloquies of a doomed romance could do nothing for him now. Neither was
David Copperfield
’s misery at the hands of a first love, too impulsively realized, the diversion he sought. A gilt and brown leather copy of
Daniel Deronda
appeared before him, placed there by the proprietor, who glanced at him pointedly. David picked it up and opened to the first page.

Was she beautiful or not beautiful? And what was the secret of form or expression which gave the dynamic quality to her glance? Was the good or the evil genius dominant in those beams? Probably the evil; else why was the effect that of unrest rather than of undisturbed charm?

If only Miss Gray
would
display some flaw. Any unforgivable failing would do. If she would only yield to the avaricious nature that must be within her somewhere, that would naturally emerge in anyone else who had come into similar fortune. What was it that kept her from laying hold of all the opportunities so recently handed her and securing them irrevocably? It would take one word and all her desires might be hers to own. One word and Ruskin would make her his.

David tossed the book aside and walked briskly on. Up the street a distance, to a small park, where he wasted another half hour or more before he made his way back, feeling somewhat restored and almost in possession of himself.

The ladies were just finishing up their order when he returned to the shop. Miss Gray, it seemed, was to be fitted out in high style. Hats, gloves, everything she could possibly imagine but had never known might be hers. The dresses and gowns that had been chosen were largely of his mother’s taste, save a simple yet elegantly tailored walking dress in cornflower blue that she was to have for the Opening Ceremony. To both his relief and disappointment, she was not to have the
Ideal
, not in any color, but certainly not in black and iridescent grey, for nothing even hinting of mourning would do. It was a pity really, and perhaps Miss Gray thought so too, for she appeared to bitterly regret the omission of it. Perhaps there was a touch of triviality in her, after all.