Quiet Meg (2 page)

“But she won’t want to, Papa! Not after. . ” Lucy bit her
lower lip and glanced toward Chas’s spot in the shade. He
directed his gaze once again to the river. “This is my comeout. She knows what this means to me! It would be tootoo much to have everything tattled about again!”

“And aren’t you just too, too particular,” Bertram teased.
“Are you afraid Meggie will squash your expectations?
Perhaps spirit away some of your suitors?” He smiled affectionately at his sister. “Don’t be bird-witted, Luce. You
shall be the toast of the season. And attention is the last
thing Meggie wants.”

“But she draws it. She cannot help it. She …. Lucy
again looked Chas’s way. “Mr. Cabot will think me most
ungracious.”

“Mr. Cabot,” he assured her, “is only ever charmed by
Miss Lawrence”

“Coming at it a bit too strong there, Cabot,” Bertie
laughed. “Since you’ve known Lucy all of an hour.”

“Our guest is too kind, my dear,” Sir Eustace said. “I
will not have such talk about Margaret. I’d wish her home
today. I have missed her. You should be mindful of my ill
health and advancing years”

Lucy looked concerned, but the others grinned.

“I thought Meg was expected last Christmas,” Mr. Ferrell volunteered.

“Oh, but Ferrell, you must remember!” Louisa said. “I did
tell you … How Meg stayed on, because of Bitty’s concerns
about the move? It’s been most distracting-”

“Margaret’s been away almost ten months,” Sir Eustace
told him. “‘Tis long enough. She must stop hiding.”

“Meggie doesn’t hide, father,” Bertie said. “She could
not hide even if she wished to”

“And that is just what I dread,” Lucy said.

“Oh come, Lucy,” Louisa said. “Having Meg back will
not make one whit of difference to your season. You shall
see.”

“We are boring you, Cabot,” Bertie claimed. “Here you
sit suffering our domestic squabbles, when we sought your
help with problems out-of-doors! I cannot believe this aids
you in your planning.”

“Only if you habitually entertain on the lawn,” Chas said
mildly.

“Never,” Sir Eustace conceded. “Uncomfortable business. With all the bumping and rolling to set up here on the
grass-what there is of it. Groundskeepers have slacked
off for ages. And look at that copse of pines by the river!
Grown so tall now they block half the view. Time was I
could sit right where you are and see clear to Milford.”

“I can still make out a good bit of the far bank, sir. But if
you prefer to see more of it, something could certainly be
done.”

“By no means let my preferences guide you, Mr. Cabot. I
am not long for this world-” This time his family protested,
“So you must listen only to the desires of my son and my
daughters”

“I hope to accommodate all of you,” Chas said. “Perhaps
you might each choose a direction-east, west, north, and
south.”

“And you mustn’t forget Meggie,” Bertie added. “She is
a direction all her own.”

“She might be our pole-star, then,” Chas suggested, battling an unreasonable dislike for the absent `Meggie,’ “and
set our direction when the sun is down”

Sir Eustace shot him a swift, keen look.

“You are a poet, Mr. Cabot. I fear you plan to clutter the
place with posies and showy statuary”

Bertie laughed.

“That is not his interest, father.”

“Nor is it my intention, sir,” Chas assured him. “I have a
fondness for parks. Had your estate here at Selbourne not
had sufficient scope, you would have found me unsuited for
this commission.”

“Perhaps you’d have found us `unsuited,’ young man,”
Sir Eustace observed, too astutely. “Mind you’re not presumptuous”

“You cannot snap at Cabot now, father,” Bertie told him
cheerfully. “You signed the papers yourself, and you are
the jurist! Since he’s pledged to the Duke of Clare come
May, you must pocket your pride and let him get on with
the matter.”

“Bertie,” Louisa cautioned, “you sound most uncivil.”

“I don’t suppose you’d take my daughter Lucinda here
off my hands, would you Mr. Cabot?” Sir Lawrence offered blandly. “‘Twould spare me the expense of her season, and help defray some small portion of your crew’s
excessive costs”

“Papa!” Lucy cried.

Chas smiled at the girl.

“Miss Lawrence would be a rare prize. But I fear I would
have little to offer her at the moment.”

“Did not your uncle, the Duke of Braughton, just make
over Brookslea to you, Cabot?” Bertie winked at him.
“With such a sweet property in the family I would be
pleased to claim you as a brother-in-law”

“Do stop this, Bertie,” Louisa said. Young Lucy’s color
was high.

“Were you raised at Braughton, then,” Mr. Ferrell asked,
“in Leicestershire? Is it your home?”

“I spent many summers there, sir, and now exercise
some oversight at Braughton. But before school I lived on
the Continent, in Austria and Italy. And since university
I’ve traveled a good deal. I’ve been back in England only
these past two years”

“You knew Bertie at university?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, Miss Lawrence. Your brother made quite an impression on me. ‘Twas Mr. Bertram who convinced me my
path lay in designing landscape.”

“And how was that?” Sir Eustace asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Your son required a golf course early one morning, sir.
Unconscionably early, I regret to say, since he was a bit
bosky, the result of a lucky win-” As Bertie grimaced and
shook his head, Chas smiled. “In any event, he wished to
celebrate. I convinced him that I’d devised a course, thus
keeping him from a more ambitious public display. He’s
claimed to be in my debt ever since. And I found my calling, which demands more of persuasion than architecture.”

The others laughed. The tale was a stretch, but held
enough of the truth to be credible. It dismissed all the hard
hours of study, and all the years of tiring application. His
distinguished clients did not wish to hear about the cultivation of his competencies, they wished only to enjoy his cultivated landscapes.

“You needn’t persuade me this time around, Cabot,”
Bertie said. “You can see for yourself the place needs attention.”

“I frequently must persuade even eager clients, Lawrence.
The most unlikely objects can rouse unlooked for loyalties.
These beeches, for example,” and Chas gestured to the dig nified gray row behind him. “You’d probably resist their
removal.”

The group looked predictably shocked.

“Surely … surely you jest, Mr. Cabot,” Louisa Ferrell
said in a strangled voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Ferrell. But I make my point. You may believe
you give me license, but I know that in your hearts such is
far from the case, hence the many hours to survey what now
exists and to obtain your approvals. Nature is resilient, but
does not adjust well to abrupt changes” He patted the smooth
gray trunk behind him. “Before I tear down your copse of
offending pines, Sir Eustace, I shall try to give you some
concept of the likely result-so you might object”

“Do you make the drawings yourself, Mr. Cabot?” Lucy
asked.

“Many of them, Miss Lawrence. But I have draftsmen
do much of the preliminary recording from surveys, to line
and rule measurement. ‘Tis painstaking work, and I have
done enough of it in my day. Now I prefer to render the visuals.” Even as he spoke, he pulled a folded piece of paper
from his waistcoat and, placing it on his knee, rapidly
sketched the view to the river in a few bold pencil strokes.
He passed it toward Sir Eustace and Miss Lucy.

“Astonishing,” Sir Eustace murmured.

“Why, you’ve simply removed the lower branches of the
pines, so that Papa can see Milford,” Lucy exclaimed. “How
clever!”

“Cabot has always been clever,” Bertie said with satisfaction. “I told you so.”

“Perhaps less clever than cautious, Lawrence. As you
see, I move in increments.”

“Margaret draws,” Louisa remarked idly, as she fingered
the sketch that had been passed to her. She had not addressed anyone in particular, so Chas did not respond. He
was developing an antipathy to a complete stranger-to
Margaret Lawrence, who sounded so willful and proud.
The girl’s preferences seemed to demand too much consideration from her pleasant family.

“Come, Cabot,” Bertie said, rising purposefully from his
seat. “We have at least another hour left of good daylight.
Let us make an effort to see a bit of the place before you
head on to town”

“You must show him the office as well,” Sir Eustace
said. “Mr. Cabot, I have arranged for you to stay with us
when you are here. ‘Tis an apartment in the East wing. We
must not have you languishing at the Buxley inn. You will
always be welcome to join us”

“I thank you, sir. Ladies-Mr. Ferrell.” Cabot bowed. “It
has been a pleasure.”

“Oh, but Bertie, I wish to come as well,” Lucy protested.

“Perhaps next time, Luce. We are riding, for which you
are neither dressed nor much inclined. I promise nothing
momentous will be decided this afternoon. Father, Ferrell.”
With a salute to his family, Bertie led Chas away from the
table and a pouting Lucy.

“She was welcome to join us,” Chas told him.

“Lucy is a pest, Cabot. You will find her constantly underfoot. I advise you to discourage her early and often. The
little minx is already half in love with you. Did you not see
her making sheep’s eyes at you across the table?”

“As a gentleman I would never say. .

“Oh, you saw all right. Don’t let her start. Else in a week’s time you’ll be running to me begging, `Oh, what is
to be done with little Lucy?’”

They laughed as they reached the stable and their mounts.

Chas was at home in the saddle; he had been riding all
his life. He was surprised that Bertram Lawrence did not
appear as thoroughly at ease.

“I know you are a bruising rider, Cabot, but I’m only
minimally better on a horse than the average,” Bertie confessed. “Father was a legend, as you must know, and now
Meggie matches him. But I consider myself a fair hand
with the ribbons, if you recall”

“I do indeed. And now may I express a preference for
starting off down the avenue to the gate? ‘Tis the equivalent of opening the front door.”

They set off along the carriageway, between the magnificent beeches. Chas would have preferred to tour alone,
but the suggestion would have seemed churlish. Bertram
Lawrence was, and always had been, genial company; he
would ramble on with only the occasional acknowledgement.

Chas was largely free to do what he did so well-listen
to the land. After years of practice his ability to absorb a
place was intuitive. His eye quickly gauged elevation and
hollow, sun and shade, exposure and shelter. In a familiar
county like Berkshire, where he knew the soil and flora, he
could save himself and his men weeks of measurements
and testing, simply through close observation on a few
pleasant walks or rides. Only bad weather had ever made
such initial tasks uncomfortable.

They rode to the gate, went out along the road paralleling the river, considered the hedges and trees hiding the house from public view, then reentered the grounds to set
off across the deer park. Chas realized the property was
more extensive than he had at first supposed, and said as
much to Bertie.

“It’s about twelve hundred acres, Cabot. But we don’t intend you to do much over to the west, the grazing and so
forth, and certainly not the tenant farms,” though Chas
knew full well that alterations to one area tended to require
answering attentions in others, even those a landholder
might dismiss.

As they rode, Chas’ imagination was engaged at least once
in attempting to picture the wayward Margaret Lawrence.

“Is Miss Margaret your older sister?” he asked.

“Meggie? Oh no, Meggie is the middle-between
Louisa and Lucy. She’d be-twenty now. Just this month,
as a matter of fact.” Bertie fell silent. Again Chas had the
impression that the young lady, or at least the thought of her,
oppressed the family.

“Miss Lucy seemed upset at her return,” he prompted,
irritated with himself for troubling to pry.

“Lucy is a silly goose who can think only of her comeout.
Even if Meggie’s letter did just arrive today, Lucy should not
have been quibbling. Meggie will not return for weeks yet,
I’ll wager. Probably not before you’ve finished with us”

“Lawrence, I mentioned this project will continue long
after my planning is over. Well into the fall, at least.”

“I know, I know. But I meant you are unlikely to cross
paths with my sister this spring”

Bertie sounded relieved, but Chas had to wonder if that
was the assurance he had sought. He still could not picture
the creature.

“Meggie planned the kitchen garden for our cook many
years ago. Should you wish to change it, Cabot, you may
face some opposition there. Come to think of it, I might object to that myself! But I shouldn’t imagine you will wish to
change it. ‘Tis the only comfortable spot out-of-doors. I’ll
show you before you leave this evening”

Chas halted his horse to look toward Selbourne from the
height they had reached about a mile from the house.
The small hill afforded the finest vista he had yet seen of the
place, but there was no easy route from the house and no
spot of repose from which to enjoy it.

Selbourne itself was imposing, with its weathered gray
stone and sturdy formality. Chas appreciated that it was
properly scaled for its site. In the shape of a flattened H,
with east and west wings, twinned chimneys and limited
ornamentation, the house had clean, pleasing lines. Jones
was said to have designed at least part of it; the family was
not certain. It had been built for the ages, regardless. But
the best views at Selbourne, as Chas had reason to know,
were from inside the house-to this promontory in the
east, across the park to the river in the south, past the
rolling fields and farms westward, and back to the flanking
wooded hills of Burley to the north.