Cry of the Peacock (24 page)

“And we find someone who can help us interpret the conditions of the will.”

“Have you any suggestions?”

“What of this lawyer friend of hers?”

David turned from him then, to finish buttoning his shirt in the mirror. “I suppose he might help us, if he can be persuaded to trust us. He works for the aunt, remember. But if he does, he’ll be serving his own interests as well. He’s quite obviously devoted to her.”

“Then I should think that would qualify him admirably!”

David chose a tie, and then knotted it as if it were a noose he meant to hang himself in. The degree of turmoil he seemed to be in was something wholly new to James, and he wondered at it. “Is there something else you’re not telling me?” he asked.

“No,” David answered pointedly. “I think that catches us up nicely.”

James hesitated a moment. David was a rotten liar. “Very well, then,” he said and crossed to the door.

“Wait just a minute,” David said, stopping him.

James turned back.

“You never explained about Miss Summerson. Are you tied up in that or not?”

“Indirectly.”

“Do you mind explaining?”

“Benderby.”

“Benderby?”

“He’s been sowing his oats and flinging them a few rows too far, if you see what I mean. When I heard he’d been playing the brute with those less than acquiescent, I decided enough was enough. Now Summerson wants reparations for my having got rid of the mangy bastard. You do know the girl is now with Miss Mariana.”

“I had heard that, yes,” David answered. “And Benderby is dealt with?”

“I believe so. Why?”

“There is trouble at home. Did you know?”

“No,” James answered slowly. “No, I didn’t. He doesn’t’ have anything to do with it, does he?”

“With the likes of him, I suppose there’s no telling.”

“No. You may be right there,” James said thoughtfully, and remained thoughtful as he opened the door and then closed it behind him.

A
BBIE LAY AWAKE. She could not help but recall the events of the day, the miraculous improvements Mariana had wrought in her aunt’s home, and in the charitable establishment she had founded. Neither could she help but wonder how much longer Mariana could bear up under the strain of it. She had hopes and dreams of her own, Abbie knew, and they were doomed never to be should she remain at Newhaven House. No, there had to be some solution. When her aunt recovered, perhaps… When would that be? Or would it ever be?

Abbie’s thoughts were not of Mariana alone, however. Hetty’s story replayed itself over and over, as well. Mariana had insisted that Hetty’s choice was the right one, that to raise a child in her situation would be a sort of condemnation of both the child and herself. It would render all of Mariana’s efforts to help her exceedingly difficult, if not impossible. Still, Abbie could not forget the look of anguish in the young woman’s face at the thought of giving up her child. At present, with no money, no resources that were not provided by Mariana and Newhaven House, Hetty had no choice at all. She must give up her child. Though in her mind Abbie knew it was possibly the right thing, her heart could not reconcile herself to it. At the very least, did not Hetty deserve the opportunity to choose? Would not the
choice
, make all the difference in the world, whatever way she should elect to use it? Abbie determined the answer was yes, and had determined, just as well, in what way she was to provide that choice.

But when to do it? Abbie had only been granted one afternoon a week to visit her sister. Could Hetty wait a week to postpone that decision? Her confinement wasn’t expected for another month. Yet Abbie felt the more time she had to weigh the decisions before her, the better.

If prayers were ever answered, hers were that night. For the following morning Katherine dropped in to see if Abbie would accompany her on a shopping errand and a drive about Town. With her lessons having taken on a more concentrated pace, she was not sure she would be granted leave to go. Lady Crawford, however, considered it a good idea, and for more reasons than one, it seemed.

“The timing is exceedingly propitious,” she said. “The dress you are to wear for the Opening Ceremony is ready. It would be wise to try it on one last time to be certain of it. It might also give you the opportunity of choosing for yourself something you might like to go with it, do not you think?”

“Yes, of course,” Abbie answered uncertainly.

“Good,” she said. “I look forward to seeing what you choose. And I look forward to seeing how well that dress looks on you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abbie said, and with a few more assurances that they would be careful, that they would not be too late, they were both out the door and climbing into the cab Katherine had hired for the occasion.

They arrived at the dressmaker’s in good time, and Abbie was soon standing in front of the mirror wearing a walking dress of cornflower blue with brown velvet and trimmings. It was beautiful, certainly the finest thing she had ever owned, but it was so very different from that which she had been wearing but a few minutes ago that she wondered how she was to reconcile herself to so abrupt an alteration. One typically did not trade in full mourning black for color, it was meant to be a gradual transition. Her gaze shifted to the mannequin, upon which the gown she had previously admired, the one in grey and jet, was yet on display. She thought of the money she was soon to give away, and wondered if a portion of it might not be used in this manner. Was she not to choose something for herself, after all? But no. Hetty needed it far more than Abbie needed yet another gown, however much she wished to have it.

“It looks very well on you,” Katherine observed.

Abbie returned her gaze to the mirror and answered her friend’s compliment with a grateful smile. She
would
look well; there was no doubt about it. The smile faded as she turned thoughtful once more. “Do you not find it odd, this request of Lady Crawford’s that I leave off mourning?”

“It’s only to allow you the most of this rare opportunity. No disrespect is intended.”

“I understand that. But what will people say if they realize that today I am in mourning and on Tuesday next I will not be?”

“Well, the idea is to prevent anyone from knowing. Perhaps we should go before we chance across anyone who might recognize us.”

Abbie agreed and, with the dress carefully wrapped and tucked beneath her arm, they were once again on their way.

“I wonder, Katherine,” Abbey said, stopping her from giving the driver the directions to their next destination, “if it would be possible to make just the slightest detour? I need to deliver something to my sister. She’s very nearby, actually, and it won’t take but a minute.”

“I suppose it will be all right,” Katherine answered hesitantly. “If you are certain you will be quick about it.”

“You have my word,” she said.

With this assurance, Katherine agreed, if reluctantly, and Abbie gave the directions to Newhaven House.

The carriage had barely come to a stop when Abbie alit from it. She stopped again and turned back to Katherine. “You won’t mind waiting here for me, will you?”

Katherine seemed a trifle put out. “I suppose not,” she replied, “Though I was hoping to meet your sister.”

“Another time. I’ve only come to deliver something. I’ll be back before you now it.”

“Yes, very well,” Katherine conceded, and Abbie immediately approached her aunt’s door. It was opened to her by the housekeeper, Mrs. Giles.

”Miss Gray,” she said. “I did not expect to see you again so soon. I hope nothing is the matter.”

“Nothing at all,” Abbie said. “Is my sister at home, by chance?”

“She is at home, but otherwise engaged, I’m afraid. Miss Summerson’s time has come.”

“Already?”

“It
is
early. The child will no doubt be very small. Let us hope he is strong.”

Abbie was suddenly quite anxious. She knew very well what the words ‘early’ and ‘small’ meant. She knew, at any rate, what they had meant to Mrs. Brownley and her poor child, whom Abbie had helped to deliver. Neither of them survived the ordeal.

“Would it be possible to speak with Mr. Meredith?” Abbie asked.

“I’ll be happy to inquire,” the housekeeper answered. “If you like you can wait in the parlor. Or in the study if that will suit your purpose better.”

“I’ll wait in the study. Thank you, Mrs. Giles.”

“Of course, Miss Gray,” the housekeeper said, and left immediately upon her errand.

It was some time before Abbie heard the front door open and close again. She checked the clock repeatedly in the interim, and when at last Mr. Meredith appeared within the study door, she was actually quite elated to see him. He looked at her a moment before entering and closing the doors behind him once more.

“I didn’t expect to see you this morning, Miss Gray. Is everything well?”

“Oh yes. Though it seems I’ve come at the worst of all possible times. I had come to see Hetty, in fact. I have something for her.” With that pronouncement, Abbie drew forth her allowance.

“What is this?” Mr. Meredith asked cautiously.

“It’s for Hetty. I wanted to do something. I wanted to reassure myself that all had been done to provide her with the opportunity to make a choice independent of what her lack of resources might otherwise provide.”

“That is what we are for, Miss Gray. It is why we are here, after all.”

“Yes, but…”

“Don’t refuse my offering, Mr. Meredith. Not for her. And not because you think you’re doing me a favor. Because you’re not. I want to help her. So many of my efforts to help Holdaway’s families have been in vain.”

Abbie handed him the purse, and very reluctantly Mr. Meredith took it. He held it in his hand, weighing it. “It seems a large sum,” he said. “Are you sure—”

“Don’t deny me this,” she said, interrupting him.

But they were both interrupted in turn when the library doors flew open. From the doorway, Mariana made her announcement. “Hetty is well, and the boy shall live! The doctor is certain of it. He is small but very strong.”

With these glad tidings, Abbie rushed from the room to embrace her. Joyfully, volubly, she wished Hetty Summerson and her child well. She thanked her sister for allowing the girl to come, and made her swear that if there were anything at all she could do to help her in her new life, or the fatherless child, or the Magdalene Society which had rescued Hetty and so many like her, to please let her know, and she would gladly do it. She then took Mr. Meredith’s hand in both of hers and thanked him for all he had done to aid Mariana and her aunt, and for all he had done, or had ever been willing to do, for her sister or herself.

“Abbie?”

Abbie released Mr. Meredith to find Katherine standing in the doorway.

“Katherine,” she said. “I’m sorry. I–” But what more was there to say? How much had she seen and heard? And what might she make of it?

Katherine turned and walked back out the door. Abbie followed her to the carriage, and only when the doors were closed upon them and they were once more rattling along the cobbled streets, did Katherine speak.

“I see now why you did not want company to complete your errand. Do Sir Nicholas and Lady Crawford know you have come to them from a Magdalene Society? Does Ruskin?”

Abbie was a little shocked by the question. She knew the association might do her harm, but she had never considered her position in quite so pale a light. “Surely you won’t think ill of me because of the good my aunt and my sister do. You won’t judge me, you couldn’t, for wishing to help them in their endeavors to ease the suffering of others.”

“But it was once your home, too, Abbie! If people should learn of it– Have you any idea? You won’t stand a chance! If the family should learn of it… If
my
family should learn of it! I don’t think you can possibly understand quite how you have placed all our plans in jeopardy. How it places
my
plans in jeopardy!”

“You?” Abbie asked, confused and a little alarmed. She had never given the consequences much thought outside those she and her sister would be made to face. “How does it place you at jeopardy?”

“I am to marry David, of course, and he shares his home with you.”

She had not thought of that. She had not thought that there should be consequences to him and to Katherine, obstacles that might bar his way, both in his career and in his marriage. That he should have so much cause to despise her…

“They needn’t know,” Abbie said, and choked back the tears. “No one need know. You won’t tell them. I know you won’t. I am free of the place now, after all, and with any luck, so will Mariana be, and very soon.”

Katherine, with a scoff, turned toward the window, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers until Abbie thought it would tear. “If you had any idea how disappointed they will be. How disappointed I am in you, Abbie! And to take me there! Have you no thought?”

Evidently she hadn’t thought. At least she had not thought it out well enough. She wished to aid Hetty, and had seized upon the first opportunity to do it, despite the risks. Would Katherine truly keep this secret? She was not so certain. Surely Ruskin would learn of it. He would be angry. He would, perhaps, retract his offer. Was it so great a loss? She could not tell, for the idea that she might lose the good opinion of another overshadowed any other consideration.

“Please don’t despise me, Katherine” she said, and did not think of her alone. “How can you despise me for wanting to ease another’s burdens? Those like Hetty cannot help the trouble they’re in.”

“It isn’t about whether you can or cannot help her. It is about a reputation. A young woman’s life amidst Society is dependent upon her keeping good society. If you do not keep good society,
you
are not good society. You have no idea what you have done!”

“Do you have no causes you are engaged in, no charities that you volunteer your time and resources to?”

“Of course I do! But I do not visit them, and I most certainly have never lived in them. I resent very much that you took me there today, Abbie, and I resent the burden of this secret you are asking me to keep.”

“You will keep it, then? I’ll tell them myself, in time—of course I must—but you must keep my secret for now. Until I can convince Mariana to come away as well.”

Katherine gave her a rather disgusted look but said nothing, and turned toward the window once more. She rapped upon the carriage roof and directed the driver to change his course. Abbie was returning home.

“What about our drive, Katherine?” Abbie dared to ask.

“If you want me to keep your secret, you must go home now. They will expect to see me when we return and I cannot see them.”

“You mean Ruskin will want to see you,” she found herself saying. “He will want to know what we did and saw, and what I said to you and what you said to me, and what he is to make of the whole of it. Is that it?”

Once again, Katherine didn’t answer. She only looked at her as though she had now made some gross accusation and that those Katherine herself had made quite paled in comparison.