Quiet Meg (21 page)

Sutcliffe wanted him dead.

As her hands shook she returned the cup and saucer to the
table, and fell once more into silent despair. She had thought
it difficult enough last night, moving numbly through the rest
of the ball’s festivities.

“Margaret?” her father asked.

“It is nothing, father. Just too much excitement, and too
little sleep. I shall feel better directly.”

“I should be surprised that you are here at all, given that
Lucinda has not troubled to make an appearance”

“We had a very gay time last night. Lucy could not have
been happier. But I believe she has a bit of a headache-as,
unfortunately, do I”

“Too much punch,” Bertie suggested, with a wink at his
father.

“And you, Bertram, I believe you had too much punch as
well,” Sir Eustace said.

“No, father. Just enough” He laughed.

“There is no question it is a phenomenon, Bertram. A
most unnatural one at that-that spirits do not appear to affect you”

“I am a lucky fellow, father.”

“I will not debate you.” Sir Eustace again turned his attention to her. “Margaret, I’m concerned. Will you be able
to travel tomorrow to Selbourne as planned? Or shall I delay the caravan?”

“Do not delay-please. If I rest today I shall be fine this
evening.” She rose from her seat and removed her deadly
missive from the table. “I must finish packing though.”

“My dear-Walter asked to see me today. Have you any
notion what that might be about?”

Meg drew a frustrated breath. Walter was much too precipitous; she had given him no encouragement. In the space
of four days he had advanced from resuming an acquaintance to attempting to seal his future.

“Father-I-have given him no sign”

“Tsh, Meg-have you ever given anyone a sign? Do not
worry. I shall deal gently with Walter. But I am just as glad
you are heading back to Selbourne and will spare me another round of simpering suitors. ‘Tis best you and Bertram
spend your time helping Cabot tear up the lawns.”

She felt his name, like a sorrow.

“Mr. Cabot said he would not return to Selbourne until
autumn”

“Did he?” Her father was concentrating on his breakfast.
“My mistake then. You and Bertram will have to tear up the
lawns on your own” His gaze flashed to her. “Go get your
rest, Margaret. I do not wish to see you again until dinner.”

Meg moved to kiss his cheek before exiting the dining
room. She was too distracted to engage him further. And
she was tired of feeding him fabrications.

Weeping would have been a relief. But Sutcliffe expected an answer. She doubted he would give her the day;
in fact, he might give her little more than the morning before seeking out Cabot.

Meg had known since the meeting at the studio that she
would be compelled to go to Sutcliffe, but some small element of what must have been hope had kept her from actually planning. She had wanted to continue with her dream,
with her family and Cabot safe and with nothing and no
one to be confronted.

In her room she again read the note, then stared pensively at her partially packed belongings. If she were to go to Sutcliffe, she might as well leave most of these things behind.

Her gaze settled on Cabot’s bowl of violets. Annie had
faithfully refreshed the water for them, but they would not
last long. They were as ephemeral as spring itself. It was
time for a new season, for yet another stage.

The threatened tears pricked her eyes.

She had had little sleep. Her mind had replayed the evening’s encounters with Cabot-seeing him in the hall with
her father. Having him remind her of their kiss in the park,
his gaze alone had demanded that she recall it. Having him
waltz silently with her and start, so very like a whisper, to
kiss her again. Not once, but twice.

He had walked away because of Sutcliffe, and now she
would walk away because of Sutcliffe.

Truly, the earl was a most powerful gentleman, to so intimately dictate the actions of two other people.

She should have been clever enough to do away with
Sutcliffe years ago. She should, perhaps, have hired an assassin. Or set his home ablaze. Carefully arranged for his
meals to be poisoned. Or stabbed him while dancing. All
sounded worthy of the novels Louisa had mocked. And
Meg could only imagine the horror of compelling Sir Eustace Lawrence to defend his daughter, a murderess.

She had tried fleeing and tired of it. Even with Aunt
Bitty she had felt a prisoner. She had missed her family and
she had not been free to begin one of her own. And if she
were to escape now, Sutcliffe would still blame Cabot.
With the long-sought prize lost Sutcliffe would persist in
attacking the apparent cause.

Meg could see no option but to go to the earl. She had to rely on him to keep his word, though she had little enough
with which to bargain.

She moved to her writing desk and sat down to pen her
response. Outside, clouds gathered; for the middle of the
morning her room was unusually dark. She lit a candle, and
carefully wrote:

I shall come to you at your pleasure, with the understanding that you will keep your promise. Margaret
Lawrence.

She folded and sealed the thin sheet, wrote its direction as

The Earl of Sutcliffe, Grosvenor Square

then rang for Annie.

Annie was surprised to see her already back from breakfast.

“They are still at table. Miss Lucy has just gone down.
Did you not eat anything, Miss Meg?”

“I was not hungry. Annie, I must ask you to run an errand for me this morning. I know you have been busy with
the packing, but this is more important and perhaps, perhaps it will not be necessary to complete the packing today
at all.”

Annie’s brow furrowed.

“What would you be wanting, Miss Meg?”

“I would have you take a note to Lord Sutcliffe at
Grosvenor Square.”

“I will not!”

Meg sighed.

“Please, Annie-it is critical. And it must go at once.”

“I tell you, Miss Meg, I will not! You should not be writin’
to that devil! You should have naught to do with him!”

“Annie, you make too much of this. .

“I cannot make enough of it!”

“Oh, Annie …” Meg placed a palm to her forehead. She
had pleaded a headache earlier; now it had become a reality. “What do you know of this after all? You are making it
so much harder.”

“I know enough! That you now think to do what you
would not do before-and it’s wrong as it ever was.”

“I am wrong either way. But Annie, you were married
once. You should understand that I … I love the man”

“Sutcliffe?”

“Oh, do not be absurd,” Meg said wearily. After a moment’s silence, Annie said,

“You should be holdin’ yourself even more for him now
then, Miss Meg. For I’m thinkin’ he loves you, too”

“I … cannot know that.”

“Glaikit!” Annie looked stern. “‘Tis foolishness! You
say that because you want an excuse to decide without him
havin’ a say!”

“Decide what, Annie? How can you know?”

“I seen that milord with you. Like a cat with a mouse.
“‘Taint no walk in the park he’s wantin’ of you, Miss Meg”

“Whatever he may want, he first needs a response from
me. If he does not receive it, something very dreadful will
happen. Do you understand me, Annie? I do not command
you to go, but I ask it of you as a friend.”

“Then as a friend I mustn’t go. You should have no truck
with the devil, Miss Meg”

“I cannot afford your scruples. Someone must go to Lord
Sutcliffe, without father or Bertie hearing of it. If you will
not oblige me, I must have Thwaite send one of the footmen. And you know how they talk. Perhaps I must go myself, now, and let that be response enough”

With her lips set grimly, Annie held out her hand for the
letter. Meg did not find any compassion or resignation in
the older woman’s gaze, simply determination.

“Give it to me, then, Miss Meg, and I shall see it where
you wish. But mind you, I know I do you no favor.”

Meg thanked her and gave her some pocket money to
pay for a hackney. Before departing for Grosvenor Square,
Annie fetched her something for a headache, but Meg
knew the response to Sutcliffe would be speedy.

The subsequent solitude should have been welcome, but
she could do little but worry. Her packing remained unfinished; the few farewells she had intended to pen went unwritten. She tried to rest, but could not put Cabot from her
mind.

He must have known how it would be-even as they had
been alerted to the intruder in the garden last night. He
must have known-that from that moment he was a
marked man. His deliberate but hasty departure had been
the result.

It started to rain. After so many days of fine weather the
change seemed ominous. Seated at the escritoire in her
third floor room, Meg could look out over rooftops at the
darkening sky. But the sound was steady, soothing. With
the page before her blank, Meg rested her head on her
arms. Her tears dampened her sleeves.

She had tried to discourage Cabot. Yet from the first he had acted-bringing her the gift of the tree, helping to trap
Sutcliffe’s spy, leading her into the waltz at Almack’s, right
under Sutcliffe’s nose. She realized he had known even
then what he was about. He had been most purposeful; he
had designed all. Did he expect her to sit idly by while he
went to his grave? She could not. Sutcliffe was far from
trustworthy, but Meg did trust in the violence of his hatred.
If Meg did nothing, Cabot was most assuredly a dead man.

She at last raised her head and dried her cheeks. Annie
had been gone a very long time. It was past noon-the candle was guttering. Perhaps the rain had caused delays, or
Annie awaited a return message with Sutcliffe’s proposal.
Sutcliffe’s proposal! Well yes, Meg knew what that was.
But the arrangements to implement his wishes were another matter.

Again she stared at the sheet of paper before her. At first
she thought to leave some explanation for her father, but
she decided he would comprehend everything. He knew
her very well. Would her father believe his sacrifices had
been in vain? They had not been. She was stronger now
than she had been at seventeen, and she knew what it was
to love. Sutcliffe would not break her.

Meg dipped the pen in the ink and began to write.

`Dear Mr. Cabot’-she paused. Surely she should call
him Charles? But much as she thought it should signify,
she knew it no longer could.

Dear Mr Cabot,

You will think it strange that I write to you under the
present circumstances, since you have done so much to
attempt to prevent them. For your many efforts I thank you, and I know my father thanks you. What I do now
I should perhaps have undertaken a long time ago,
before so many I care for surrendered so much on my
behalf. I do not wish to add your name to my list of
regrets.

I believe I know what you intended. Such an endeavor speaks well of your nobility and great kindness to me and to my family. But I cannot ask it of
you, and I cannot accept it from you. I am forever in
your debt for believing me worth such a sacrifice. To
assume you would have acted out of anything more
than generosity can only be painful to me-I pray it is
not so. I shall always remember you as a man of good
heart and determination to do right. You have my
highest esteem. I pray that you will find in future the
happiness you deserve.

Mr Cabot, will you allow me to apologize for the
many times I chose to misinterpret your words and actions? I thought I would have more time to make
amends. Please do forgive me. God bless you,

Margaret Lawrence

She stared at the page for a long while before folding
and sealing it. As an expression of her feelings it was clear
enough; the letter would serve adequately as a thank-you.
She could not say what most needed saying-as she went
to one man she could not very well confess her sentiments
for another.

She wrote Cabot’s name across the front. She rose and
stepped to her dressing table to find Cabot’s violets, but Annie, in watering them, had moved the card. Meg could
not find it, but discovered that she had memorized the direction in any event. She scribbled it shakily.

Having noticed in her dressing mirror the evidence of
her weeping, Meg turned to the washstand to rinse her face.
She was patting herself dry when Annie returned.

Annie glanced at her face, then frowned.

“You’ve been cryin’, Miss Meg”

“Which would not be surprising. Did you have difficulty
finding the earl? Did he have a response?”

“No difficulty. But I had to wait for the response as hehe had to make various arrangements”

“I should have imagined he’d be well prepared,” Meg
said bitterly, “he has been that certain of me.”

“Well,” Annie said, “he had to make arrangements as to
time an’ all. I’m to fetch you to his coach this evening. He
said-let me see-‘out of concern for her sensibilities’ he
will send it to wait at the end of the alley.”

“Lord Sutcliffe is most gracious,” she said dryly. “I’d
have thought he would prefer me to announce my departure to the neighbors. He sent no note?”

Annie shook her head.

“He just said you should bring only what you most need
and cannot do without. And to dress for travel.”

“Travel? Did he say where?”

“No, miss.”

“And the time I am to meet the coach?”

“Five, Miss Meg. I am to go with you”

“Oh, Annie!” Meg reached to squeeze the maid’s hand.
“That at least is something. If you can bear it?”

“I will not leave you, Miss Meg. But I must pack a few
things for myself. And I must also order you some tea, as
you have had so little and we must not rely on dinner.”

“Yes” Now that the plans had been set, Meg felt oddly
resigned. “Was it-was it an imposing residence, Annie?
He is said to have extraordinary collections, to have many
fine things.”