Cry of the Peacock (38 page)

Ruskin was first to arrive at the house, and was pacing the entrance hall when Abbie and Katherine entered.

“A moment?” he said to Katherine, who nodded and made her way upstairs to change. “A word?” Ruskin said to Abbie now. There was no denying him. He meant to have his say. “You are not hurt?” he asked and touched her face again. “You are quite certain?”

“I’m perfectly well. A little frightened,” she said quite honestly, and for more than her horse’s having been spooked.

“Good. I’m glad,” he said and dropped his hand from her face to take her hand in his. “You cannot know how worried I was. If something had happened to you…” He pressed her hand, squeezing it so that it actually caused her pain. “If you only knew what you mean to me. I think I am not always very good at expressing my feelings. I would tell you now, if you will listen. Say you will?”

“I’m not sure, after all, Ruskin, that now is a good—” But she broke off as David entered the house.

“You are home?” she said turning to him and perhaps looked as relieved as she felt, which was possibly unwise considering.

“I am,” David answered cautiously and gave his brother a penetrating look. “Am I interrupting something?”

Abbie approached him before Ruskin could answer in the affirmative. “James is at home, I believe. I only just heard a few minutes ago.”

“Yes,” David said, more cautiously still.

“I am told he is not at his best.”

“Hardly,” he answered with a deprecating breath.

“Have you seen him?”

“I have.”

She hesitated to ask the next question, for he was apparently reluctant to offer the information he must know she sought. “It can’t be as they say. I won’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Gray, but—”

“He returned home the night before last,” Ruskin said, interrupting them, “reeking of alcohol and spattered in blood. That is how it is with him. He’ll have a month or two of near respectability, and then—”

“I don’t believe it,” she said to David. “I won’t.”

“What makes you so certain?” Ruskin asked of her. It was almost a demand.

The look on David’s face seemed to ask the same question.

Could she answer it? She was not certain she could. She felt he had changed, and furthermore, that whatever change had been wrought in him during her residence with the family had been cemented upon Mariana’s arrival. In four days Mariana had inspired something in him that was not to be tossed away with one night of reckless living.

“Will you go to him?” she asked once more of David. “Find out what has happened. I know he has a good reason for returning home as he did, for remaining in his room as he does.

“If you wish it, Miss Gray,” he said.

“Thank you.” She turned to Ruskin. “I find I have a headache. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit.”

“Arabella,” he called after her as she mounted the stairs. She did not stop.

*   *   *

David knocked upon James’ door. There was no answer, and in respect to his brother’s incapacitation, he did not knock again. Quietly, he opened the door and peeked within. James was lying in bed, awake and staring at the ceiling.

“How are you faring, old man?” David said, entering and closing the door behind him.

James sat up and, groaning, rested his head in his hands.

“You can’t still have a hangover.” David looked to the table beside his bed and observed a bottle of brandy, and that it was nearly empty. “I think you’ve had enough,” he said, reaching for the bottle.

James, with a fierce look in his eye, took hold of it. He reached for the glass that sat beside it, but knocked it to the floor, where it rolled about and spilled the rest of its contents. “Would you mind?”

David picked it up, wiped it clean with his handkerchief, and reluctantly handed it back to him. James poured just a drop or two. He did not drink it, however, but dipped his finger in, and then proceeded to dab the top of his head. He winced.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Nothing,” James answered. He threw back the remainder and set the glass aside before lying back down and closing his eyes as though he meant to forget that David was there at all.

“May I ask what you have been up to? Where have you been these last three days if you’ve not been at University?”

“I’ve been home.”

“Not here.”

“Holdaway, you idiot. I’ve been trying to fix Ruskin’s mistakes.”

“And did you?”

“For the moment. I’ll need to get back if I want it to last.”

“But that’s not what has you so apparently knocked for six.”

Again, James didn’t answer.

“Well?”

“I met with Benderby.”

“Benderby? Great day!” David said and threw a bewildered hand through his hair. “What was he doing at Holdaway?”

“No. He was here in London. I saw him tailing Miss Mariana, and so I gave chase. He’s apprehended—the bastard!—but he very nearly got the better of me in the process.”

“So that’s what you’ve been-” He stopped then, and examined his brother. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll mend.”

“Do you know what they’re saying downstairs?”

“Let them.”

“You don’t care if it’s believed that you were out on another one of your drink-sodden sprees?”

“Not particularly. Now go away.”

David took a step back toward the door, but stopped again as James laid his hand on his head once more. “Are you sure you’re all right? I might send round for—”

“Go away!”

D
AVID RETURNED DOWNSTAIRS to find that a visitor had arrived. “Mr. Meredith, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come on business, I’m afraid. Miss Mariana sent me. You know, I think, what it concerns.”

David could not determine if the feeling that washed over him was one of relief or dread.

“Would it be possible to secure a few moments with Miss Gray?” Mr. Meredith asked when David offered no reply. “Privately, if I may.”

“Yes, certainly,” David said, awaking from his thoughts. “I’ll just see if she—” He was stopped again by the next statement.

“I only heard of the incident in Lambeth the other day. Perhaps you can tell me how she does?”

“She’s well,” David answered him. “She was shocked, of course, but she seems to have recovered quite completely.”

“She was unharmed?”

“Yes. Entirely.”

“Because of you?”

“I’d really rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind,” David said, placing his own, still bandaged hand, in his pocket.

Mr. Meredith observed this, offered David a questioning look, and relented. “Of course,” he said. “Forgive me. If you would be so good…” He nodded toward the door.

David hesitated. This was possibly a very bad idea, considering what a raving lunatic Ruskin could be when he was jealous. Yet it was possibly the very thing. Abbie needed a friend and one in a position to do something more for her than he could ever hope to do. Who better than Meredith, who could and would help her in any way—in all ways—she required? She deserved to know. Considering the interview he had happened upon only half an hour ago… Had Ruskin truly been on the verge of offering to her? And there, of all places, in the entrance hall? Yes, perhaps the time had at last come to give her the information that was her right to have before she should be asked to make so great a decision as the one looming before her.

“If you’ll allow me a minute,” David answered at last, “I’ll let her know that she has a visitor.”

He went to her door and knocked, and when Becky answered he gave her the message. The door shut again and a minute or two later, Abbie emerged, Becky following. It was plain Abbie had been crying, and he regretted it, though it gave him a measure of relief as well. If Ruskin meant to put the question to her at last, it could not be a resounding yes if tears such as these were involved. Would there be more tears yet when she heard what Meredith had to say? And would they be of happiness or despair?

The silence that reigned as they walked the distance between her room and the front parlor was not only awkward, it was ripe with tension. David could think of nothing to say, no warning to offer, no preparation to provide.

“You were right,” he said eventually. He had nearly forgotten, but she was no doubt eager to know the result of the errand she had sent him on. “James, I mean. You were right about him.”

“Then he was not out drinking?” she said, placing her hand on David’s arm.

Perhaps he should have given this more thought. “He was not. At least that was not why he returned home in the state he did.”

“Then why? Tell me?”

How was he to explain? Truly there was no time to do it, for they had arrived before the parlor door. She dropped her hand from his arm, and he took it and squeezed it briefly before letting it go. “We’ll talk about it later, shall we?” he said. “At the moment you have a guest.”

“You won’t tell me who it is?”

He answered by opening the door.

“Mr. Meredith,” she said, plainly surprised.

David observed the lawyer’s pleasure at seeing her, and seeing her well, despite the signs of recent emotion on her face. His look and manner were attentive as he took Abbie’s hand in greeting. Becky took a seat a little distance off, and, satisfied that privacy had been secured as well as it could possibly be, David closed the door and turned his back upon it to stand watch.

He had not been there ten minutes when Ruskin happened upon him. David’s attempts to appear as though he were merely lingering casually in the entrance hall were not quite convincing.

“Why are you home?” Ruskin asked him.

“I live here, Ruskin, in case you’ve forgotten. Beyond that it isn’t any of your bloody business.”

Ruskin sniffed in disapproval but said nothing more. His attention settled upon the hat and gloves on the console in the entrance hall. “Have we visitors?”

“Someone to see James, I believe.”

Ruskin accepted this and was about to turn away when he stopped again. “Do I hear voices?”

“Only you can tell me, old man, but I’m not sure I’d let it get around if you do.”

“Very funny. Who is in that room?”

“It’s really none of your business.” Which was usually the wrong thing to say to Ruskin, who considered everybody’s business his own. He moved toward the door, but David blocked his way.

Ruskin reconsidered. He moved at last to the table whereupon lay Mr. Meredith’s things. He examined them closely and then found the card. Why had Meredith left a card? Habit, David supposed, but if there was ever a time to break it, today would have been ideal.

“
Mr. William Meredith
,” Ruskin read aloud. His brow creased. “Arabella’s lawyer friend?” he asked with incredulity. “What is he doing here?”

“On business from her aunt, I suppose. I knew better than to ask. You might follow my example.”

“Is she in there alone with him?”

“It’s business, Ruskin. There is no harm in it. Besides, she has her maid to—”

“Get out of my way!” Ruskin said, and pushed David aside.

He caught himself on his injured hand, and when he recovered, a split second later, it was too late to prevent Ruskin from entering.

*   *   *

“Mr. Meredith,” Abbie said upon receiving him. “It’s very good to see you. A surprise, certainly, but a pleasant one.”

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you looking so well,” he said.

“Yes. I’m perfectly well. Thank you. And how is my aunt?”

His answer came haltingly. “She is a little better since your sister’s return. But it would be dishonest of me if I led you to believe she was in any way recovered from her ailments. She is, in fact, not at all well. She is comforted by Miss Mariana’s presence, but she is generally doing poorly at present.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said, and was. “How is Mariana holding up?” she asked, not quite knowing what else to say.

Mr. Meredith didn’t answer her.

“She is not ill as well?”

“No. Not ill. Only a little low, of late. It is from your sister I come, actually.”

She waited for him to go on, to deliver his news, but she was not prepared for the question he asked next.

“Do you trust me, Miss Gray?” he said.

“Trust you?”

“Yes. That is, do you trust that as your friend, and as a man of law, that I would always act on your best interest, despite my own feelings—”

“Your…”

“…speaking candidly when I must, and only withholding what information I deemed more harmful than useful?”

She was not sure how to answer this. It seemed a presage of something significant. Something she might not, after all, wish to hear. “You have something to tell me, I think.”

“I do. And what I have to say is something that perhaps ought to have been told you some time ago, but those involved felt it…expedient to keep the secret a little while longer.”

“You are frightening me, Mr. Meredith.”

“Don’t be frightened. You might, after all, find a great deal to interest you in my news. You will find it, I’m sure, enlightening at the very least.”

“Does it regard my family? Does it have something to do with those secrets my aunt refused to tell me before?”

“It does. But before I reveal that story, and what it must mean to you in consequence, I want to assure you that whatever choice you make, I will stand by you. As will your friends.”

“My friends? Meaning?”

Mr. Meredith was not to be granted the opportunity of answering, for the door opened and Ruskin entered. He was not pleased, and Abbie having experienced his anger already once today, was anxious to avoid exciting it again.

“Ruskin, this is my aunt’s lawyer, and my friend, Mr. William Meredith,” she said, standing to introduce him.

Ruskin received this as if it were an announcement and in no friendlier terms.

“I came to see how she does,” Mr. Meredith said. “I heard of your trial at the Opening Ceremony, and—”

“She does very well, as you can see. We know how to take care of her—what is best for her. And so it seems to me you have accomplished your business here, sir.”

Mr. Meredith hesitated.

“Good day to you!”

Mr. Meredith had little choice, but bowed and quit the room.

“What did he want?” Ruskin demanded of her the moment the door was closed.

“I don’t know. Whatever his business was, he never got to it. I think it was important.”

Ruskin examined the closed door with narrowed eyes. He crossed to the window, yanked the curtain back to look without, and let it drop again.

“You have no idea what his purpose was? Are you certain?”

“He did tell me my aunt is unwell, and that Mariana, since returning home, is very low. I think I should go to her.” Preoccupied by this news, she turned from him with the intent of going to Lady Crawford to enquire if such a thing would be possible.

Ruskin, with a hand on her arm, stopped her. “You saw your sister but two days ago.”

Abbie had already been prepared to be angry with him. She was actually incredulous now. “You don’t mean to say you refuse to let me go to her? Not when she needs me?”

His manner softened considerably, as did his grip on her arm. She freed herself.

“I wouldn’t refuse you anything, Arabella,” he said. “You know that.”

She felt instantly relieved. “Thank you,” she said. “I might go tom—”

“It is possibly not wise, though. Not just now. If you were to find yourself ill as well…”

“My aunt’s malady is not a contagious one. It is her heart, I believe, and—”

“I don’t think it a good idea. Not just now.”

“So you
do
refuse?”

“I want you here with me,” he said with considerably more determination. “Our time in London is short. I think it best we make the most of it.”

She looked at him a moment. Was he really saying his own desires were more important than her aunt’s, or even her sister’s, wellbeing? She did not know from whence the next words came, but they came, and in profusion. “Do you never keep your promises, Mr. Crawford? You issue them and take them back again in almost the same breath. Do you think so little of me as to disregard my own wishes and desires so completely? Do you regard me at all or am I some acquisition to you? Some captive bird kept only to be displayed in your garden? Because I’m not a pet, Ruskin! And I’m certainly no ornament to be hidden away one day and placed on exhibit the next! That is not the life I want!”

He was apparently stunned. “For shame, Arabella,” he said at last. “Your temper. It is
most
unbecoming.”

His hypocrisy galled her “I ask for time; I am told I might have all I need, and yet am never given it. I ask for patience; I get speeches and ardent importunings. I ask for room and a little liberty; and I get this! You ask me to love you. Tell me, Ruskin, will you, what reason have you so far given me to do it?”

“Wait. Please,” he said, stopping her as she moved to go.

She did stop, but she would not look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and heaved a great sigh. “I want to give you time. I do. But the fact of the matter is, there isn’t any.”

She looked at him, then. “There is no time? What does that mean?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, but he did not answer the question, only continued on in the same, desperate, pleading vein. “When we return to Holdaway, the estate will once more take up the greater part of my time. Now, while we are in London…now it is time for us to learn how to love each other. If you go, Arabella, today, tomorrow, next week, how will you teach me to love you the way you need me to?”

But it was too late for that. It was far too late. She did not, could not love him. She was not certain she did not actually despise him. What was she to do, though? Would refusing him mean she must quit the family? What was this great struggle for—to raise herself, to overcome her past, to take advantage of the opportunities now afforded her—if she was simply to return to her aunt’s? Such would mean utter defeat, and there would be no going back then.

“Your aunt will be well,” he continued. “You will see. Now that Miss Mariana is there to care for her she will be well and soon. Give it a few days. If she is not wholly recovered in a week, you can go to her then.”

“A week. Do you promise?”

“I swear it.” He laughed a little and approached to take her hand. “You make me sound a villain, Arabella. All I want is to make you happy. Will you never give me the chance to do it?”