Cry of the Peacock (8 page)

“
Rebuilding
the cottages,” James corrected.

“Rebuilding, then, if you insist.”

“I do. And we do both.”

“We can’t do both. Not all at once. It’s not possible.”

“No,” David, answered. “It’s not. I would suggest we buy the shares firstly. We can next put the profit we’ll realize from the additional crops toward the new cottages. I’m quite certain it can all be accomplished within the year.”

“But the cottages must be built in time for winter,” Abbie veritably blurted out. “
This
winter.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible, Miss Gray,” David answered her very patiently.

“It must be possible. You’ve not seen them for yourself,” she said, speaking to Ruskin and David in turn and no longer able to keep her emotions in check. “You don’t know how deplorable it is to live in such a way. I can’t– I won’t stand by to watch another worker, or his wife or child, buried. There has been too much death as it is. I have seen too much of death.” She paused long enough to make her point felt, to remind all who listened that death had visited her door, as well. “I want no more of it.”

A heavy silence followed, but it was soon enough interrupted.

“You know,” Lady Crawford said, very thoughtfully, and Abbie was eager to hear her benefactress’s opinion on the subject. “I do fear that the pheasant had not quite enough fat on it to be sufficiently moist through and through. Still, it is lovely to have pheasant when one can get it, don’t you think?”

“Yes, of course, Mother,” her three sons said in unison.

Abbie should not have been surprised by the banality of her remark, but she found it altogether disappointing after so important a discussion—and one that had ended without a satisfactory conclusion.

“Now what do you say we leave the men to their vulgar money matters?” she said to Abbie and stood to lead her out and into the drawing room, where they would occupy themselves in further banalities and trivialities, until the men, should they desire to do so, would join them.

*   *   *

The gentlemen, thus left to continue their conversation unhindered, chose not to continue at all. At least not together. Ruskin and Sir Nicholas excused themselves to the privacy of the study, leaving David and James to each other’s company.

“Why do you look at me like that?” James asked him, as he poured himself another drink at the sidebar.

David exhaled a great breath and sat back in his chair.

“Out with it,” James pressed.

“She is still here.”

“She is.”

“I’m not sure whether to be relieved she’s not been sent away in disgrace, or disappointed that she remains and has seemingly installed herself so firmly. I take it you have not found a way to be rid of her.”

James did not answer, but resumed his seat at the table and contemplated his glass.

“She certainly has opinions, doesn’t she?” David observed. “That should please Ruskin to no end.”

“Does it displease you? You can’t say you disagree with her.”

“I’d be a fool to do it. There’s no arguing with dead parents, I’m afraid.”

James raised his brow and lowered it again in answer, but whether it was intended as agreement or something else, David could not say.

“She did make some valid points.”

“Indeed!” James said and finished off his glass.

“So what do we do now?”

“Drink,” James answered, lifting the decanter he had moments ago placed between them.

David knew when enough was enough. He placed his hand over his glass.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

James was suddenly serious, which gave David no very great sense of comfort. “We’re not going to do anything.”

“What?”

“Not yet, at any rate. She has her uses, it seems.”

Which, knowing James, only increased David’s anxiety.

“Ruskin
is
an idiot,” James explained. “And he may very well be in love with her, which may or may not prove him an even greater idiot.”

“But?”

“You know how hard I’ve tried to get our father to do anything to restore Holdaway to what it once was and what it might be again with a little determination and hard work. You have your business to conduct in Town. You see results in what you do, and you’re allowed to do it with a certain amount of autonomy, so you don’t understand what it’s like to know just what will help and what won’t, and to see that no one really cares, that all your good intention and hard work are gone to waste because Ruskin has other ideas, which he will not put into practice.”

“You think I don’t know what that’s like?” David said, sitting forward in his chair. “How many times have I suggested investing in the railways, or in engineering, or in the technological advancements that will see us into the next century? I
do
know what it’s like, James, to have your knowledge and experience disregarded. What I don’t understand is what this has to do with
her.
”

“She can make it happen. She can influence him, inspire him to do something. Forget my ideas. Anything is better than nothing. If she can convince him to do something, then I’m happy to let her. I
want
to let her.”

“And if she’s to be groomed in the meantime to be his equal, what will that cost us? We are only barely keeping afloat as it is. There will be parties and dinners and clothes… How will we afford it?”

“So it’s money you’re worried about?”

“Not entirely, no. There’s a great deal to consider besides, as you well know. Or should.”

“It’s Society, then?” James asked mockingly. “That must be it. It’s the threat of the gossips, and all the damage
Ruskin’s
matrimonial plans may have on
your
political ambitions?”

David ignored this. He had no political ambitions, and James knew it. Neither had he much respect for Society’s approbation. It meant a great deal to others, however, to his father, to the woman he was soon to marry. It was therefore not entirely beyond his consideration.

“If she is hard at work here, she’ll hardly be in your way, you know,” James needlessly pointed out. “You’ll be in London. You’ll have your life there, your Katherine and the townhouse. Why should it matter what she does here?”

“She is the daughter of the estate’s overseer, James. She is not one of us. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Watch her.”

“I mean to!”

“No, I mean watch her. Pay attention. I don’t think she’s what we thought her at all. Does she seem misplaced to you? Does she look or behave like common tenantry?”

David’s ring clicked its anxious pattern against the arm of his chair. “Mother has done her work well, I suppose.”

“You said yourself she was very beautiful,” James reminded him.

“I never said anything of the kind!”

“You did, though. Not with words, but you said it.”

“Are you in love with her, James? Is that what this is about?”

“Great day, no. I haven’t lost my senses quite completely. I know to keep clear of Ruskin when he’s set his mind upon something. But I think she’s equally determined in her way.”

“I’ve no doubt of it.”

“What I mean is, if she’s here to get what she can out of the family, then it isn’t for herself alone.”

“You are that converted, are you?”

“You heard her. She’d fight tooth and nail for those people, and I know because I watched her among them. She was like a fair ambassador to them, benevolently condescending but no less above them.”

David released a breath of derision.

“Her coming is at least as much for them as for any other incentive. She may be receptive to Ruskin, but no woman with an aim to ensnare the heir of an estate would take the risk of challenging him at table. You must admit that much.”

True or not, David was not prepared to admit any such thing and arose to pace the room.

“Just give her a chance,” James pressed. “Don’t judge her too soon. I’m not saying it’s impossible I’m wrong, but if I am, I want to know it for certain before I toss her out to make her own way. Perhaps I sound a bit mad, especially when I was so dead set against her two months ago, but I think it possible she may do us, the estate, even Ruskin, a great deal of good. Considering the direction matters here have lately taken, I’m willing to give her that chance. You
do
think me mad. I can see it.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of drunken idiot, but yes.”

“I would have thought this would be your thing. A social experiment of the first order, and one that was as likely to succeed as fail. It’s not as if she has nothing to recommend her, after all. Her mother was one of the Whiteheath people, you know.”

David sat. “What?”

“Her mother was Elizabeth Fairbourne. You didn’t know?”

“No. I…”

“Does it truly matter?”

It shouldn’t. He knew it shouldn’t… “She married the overseer?” he asked, confused.

“He wasn’t that then. They married before, eloped, I think. Caused a great scandal.”

“Do you see?” David said and was on his feet again. “Do you see what we stand to risk? There is more to this story than you or I understand. Do you know it? Do you know the whole of it?”

“No. And to be honest, I don’t care. Not at present, at any rate.”

“And so you cannot know what secrets might be lying in wait to be revealed. You don’t know that the whole family won’t be dragged into it by the time all is said and done. I don’t believe in this project, James. I
cannot. Her background will not be hidden. You know very well that Society will not care who her mother was. Paternity is what matters. It’s all that matters! Her father was a tenant, a retainer, a paid laborer. Our good parents might very well wish to forget that fact, but Society will not. We cannot make her what she never was meant to be. I’m not sure it’s even right to try. Consider the facts, James! If you won’t, I certainly must. If she is not here to get what she can out of us, then
she
is an idiot, and I have seen enough of her to know she’s no such thing as that. You know I do not like to cast aspersions on anyone, but if her motives are not mercenary, then I’m not a gentleman!

James, with his glass full and once more in his hand, pointed his finger at him and narrowed one eye. “You’re the idiot,” he said, “and I do not like you when you’re sober.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” David said and left the room, throwing the door open wide before him. He strode out into the hall, just in time to come face to face with the subject of his grand speech. With a scarlet face she stared at him for half a moment—no more—and then turning on her heel, she retreated to the drawing room, from whence she had no doubt come.

“Damn it!”

“Did you say something?” James said, poking his head out of the dining room door.

“I did, as a matter of fact.”

“I wouldn’t repeat it, if I were you. Mother won’t like it. Shall we join them?”

David closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. Did he have any choice now?

James smiled slyly, straightened his coat, belched into his elbow, and was once more fit for company.

She was not prepared to answer.

“W
HAT IS IT, dear?” Lady Crawford asked upon Abbie’s hasty return to the drawing room. She’d gone to get her writing materials, determined, at last, to write to her sister, but she had been waylaid upon passing the dining room by the sound of loud voices. They were speaking of her. She had not heard much, very little in fact. But she had heard enough. And then
he
had discovered her there, listening. She could not have been more humiliated.

“Won’t you come play for me, Arabella?”

She drew in a steadying breath and approached the piano to play, very quietly, the piece she had lately been working on. She stopped again as the door opened.

“Oh, don’t quit now,” James said with apparent disappointment.

David, who had entered along with him, approached to stand beside his brother at the far end of the piano.

She looked at the piano keys. She would not look at
him
, and waited until he had moved off to take a seat beside the fire before she answered. “I’m afraid I’m not used to playing for an audience.”

“Then what, Miss Gray, is the point?”

She looked up to see James smiling. He was teasing her, and she was grateful for the effort. It was unexpected, but she deemed it a sincere one, for it was not David’s words alone she had overheard.

“She will play for us later,” Lady Crawford said. “When we are all together.”

“Much later, I hope,” Abbie demurred. “When I am better prepared to do it.”

“When you are ready, then,” James answered with a nod and joined his brother.

Lady Crawford excused herself to go in search of her husband and eldest son, who had, or so she felt, neglected them long enough.

Abbie, left alone with the younger brothers, did not quite know what to do with herself and so stood, awkward and uncertain near the piano. The doors had been opened to the evening air, and they tempted her. As did the prospect of escaping the company of he who had made it so apparent he did not and would not sanction her presence in his house. The tension in the room provided an added chill, and so she took up the shawl she had left here on a previous occasion and wrapped it around her shoulders. She would go outside. If only for a moment.

“Here you are!” Ruskin said, stopping her. She was truly pleased to see him. “Mother says you are to play for us.”

“Did she?” Abbie asked, offering a furtive glance toward his younger brothers who were watching her and Ruskin, and quite intently. “I’d much rather not, if it’s all the same.”

Ruskin appeared instantly deflated.

“I am sorry. I will play for you, if you wish it so much. Only not tonight. Please.”

“Is that a promise?” he asked her almost eagerly. “That you will play for me?”

Once more she looked to the brothers, who were exchanging a glance between them. She felt her cheeks redden.

“Say it is?” Ruskin pressed.

“Very well,” she answered quietly. “If you wish it.”

He smiled and offered a proud look to his brothers, who, in answer, turned from him to examine the fire. James, at least, gave her a half respectful nod before doing so, but David’s manner was as reserved as before.

“If you will not play tonight, will you walk with me instead?” Ruskin asked her.

“Do go, my dear,” Lady Crawford admonished her, as she entered the room.

Abbie was rather relieved by her encouraging manner, all the more so for the fact that her desire to be out of doors, away from James—and more especially David—had grown almost desperate.

“Certainly I will,” she said, answering Ruskin and Lady Crawford at once. “I would like that very much.”

Ruskin offered his arm, and the pair of them stepped out into the garden, leaving the glaring lights of the gas jets behind them, and the weight of the awkward interlude too.

There would be no uncomfortable silence now, it seemed. Indeed, no silence at all, for the moment they were securely alone, Ruskin posed his first question.

“Your acquaintance with James, I think, is improving. Am I mistaken?”

He should be pleased by the fact, but she had the feeling it was not pleasure, nor relief, he felt as regarded her relationship with his youngest brother, but something else entirely. “It would appear so,” she said, “though I’m not quite certain how it has come about. I’m hardly confident it will last. Do they disapprove of me very much, he and David?”

“Does it matter?”

“If my life is made more difficult because of it, then yes, I think so.”

“You shan’t have to worry about James much longer.”

“Oh?”

“He’ll be returning to University soon enough. And David is any day expected to announce his engagement—”

“Engagement?” she asked, in wonder, and not a little surprised.

“He will get over his objections in time. You will see.”

She accepted this, but hesitated to believe it.

“Can I make a request of you?” he asked next. “I’m afraid you may find it a little bold, though I hope you will see the practicality in it.”

She did not answer, but waited for him to state his desire.

“I would like it very much, Miss Gray, if you would call me by my given name. It’s far too confusing to be all of a party and having you call us all Mr. Crawford. Besides, I should think we are too good of friends for so much formality now.”

She blushed. He could not see it in the dark, but she could feel it. And she smiled, which he did see.

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered him.

“And you will allow me to call you Arabella.”

“I much prefer, Abbie, if it’s all the same.”

“Arabella is far more dignified a name. Surely you must see that.”

She wasn’t prepared to insist. She was not certain there would be any use.

He placed his hand over hers as it rested on his arm, and they walked on for a little distance in comfortable and companionable silence.

“Ah,” he said at last, as if remembering something. “I nearly forgot. My father said you had read all there was to read and wished for something more.”

“You make me sound ungrateful. At least greedy.”

“I would rather see it as evidence of your desire to improve yourself by every opportunity.”

She felt the kindness and answered it with another smile.

“And so my father thought it wise to have the old library stocked for you.”

“For me?”

“You should have a room for your own use, I think. It has been cleaned and prepared already. I believe the furnishings have yet to be replaced, and the books must be unpacked yet, but I should think it would be ready for you within the week.”

“So soon as that?”

“You are pleased?”

“Overwhelmed, more like. But yes. How lovely it will be to have a little sanctuary, a place to go to get away from my cares.”

“I wish we could do something about those, as well.”

“Perhaps you will. In time.”

“Perhaps we will,” he answered meaningfully, and she was offered the opportunity to ponder it as they entered the lime walk. They walked the length of it in silence, and stopped again at the far entrance, where the lights of the house could be seen twinkling through the trees as the wind gently swayed the branches. It was a beautiful view, and though it was almost too dark to see anything else, she could see Ruskin beside her, looking proudly at the house that would one day belong to him. She, in turn, felt quite proud to be his companion tonight. Did she dare hope for something so grand as Ruskin’s admiration? She felt her heart swell a little at the thought, then chill again with the cry of one of his mother’s pet peacocks. It was the sound, or so her mother used to say, of a heart breaking.

“Your speech at dinner was quite impressive,” he said, as they made their way back toward the house.

“Forgive me if I spoke out unduly. At times my thoughts escape me before I have time to properly consider the wisdom in uttering them.”

“There was no harm done. In fact you very possibly effected a great deal of good tonight.” He gave her another meaningful look. “My father and I have been talking, and we’ve decided that you are right. The cottages must be rebuilt, and without waste of time.”

Abbie stopped and turned to him. “Do you mean it?”

“It does please you, then?” he laughed. “I thought it might.”

“Oh, very much! Truly, I could not be happier.”

“It’s important to me that you are happy. If there is any way I can help you in that happiness, I want to do it.”

She was grateful for this, but felt, at the same time, that his purpose was somehow broader, that there was an implication in the statement she was not prepared to answer.

“You do see you belong here. I hope you are beginning to feel a part of us.”

“In many ways I do, and yet it is hard to feel a part of something when you know others stand against you. It isn’t your brothers alone who will disapprove of your parents’ plans for me. I’m not your equal, Ruskin, and if James and David are adamant to make the point, others are sure to do so as well.”

“We mean to make you an equal, Arabella. Don’t you see? You once were, or might have been. You might be again. It only requires the right connections.”

“Residing in your house is possibly not enough.”

“No,” he answered with another of his knowing smiles. “Possibly not. There are connections, however, that are incontestable. A wife, for one example, assumes the rank of her husband, always.”

“Is there another?”

“Do you need another?”

Her heart was suddenly in her throat. What answer could she possibly give for this? She had only begun to consider the possibility of loving him, and now he was asking her to do it. Could she? She was certainly conscious of the compliment he was paying her, and she understood very well what the benefits to marrying him might be; money, station, influence. None of these were trifling matters. But he had so far failed to inspire in her any very strong emotion, save for a hope in what he might yet do and become. It was enough to persuade her to consider him. It was not enough to commit to anything more than that. And yet an answer was wanted.

She summoned the words, and had just prepared herself to offer them, when she realized they were no longer alone.

“Ah, here you are,” David said, appearing unexpectedly on the path, his gaze fixed steadily, studiously, upon herself. He looked then to Ruskin. “I trust I’m not interrupting anything.”

“You are,” Ruskin answered at the same moment Abbie said, “Certainly not.”

David looked back toward the house, but it was not his intention, it seemed, to return. His gaze fell once more upon Abbie. What was he looking for? Perhaps some answer to her present purpose? If she meant to prove him wrong about her, being discovered this way, engaged in confidential and ardent conversation with Ruskin in the dim and cloistered recesses of the lime walk, was certainly not the way.

Eager to remove herself from so uncomfortable a situation, desperate for some time to think, and unable to bear David’s scrutiny a moment longer, she excused herself and returned to the house, where she retired early.