Quiet Meg (6 page)

“Oh, but that is ages!” Lucy protested.

“I have my commitments, Miss Lucinda, and promises.
My foreman and crew and your father’s gardeners will still
be working to plan in my absence.”

“That is not what I meant!”

“Well, it should have been,” her father countered. “Mind
yourself, young lady. If you carry on so in town, our stay
may be briefer than anticipated.”

Lucy looked sulky, but she settled into silence.

“Let us show Meggie your plans now then, Cabot,”
Bertie said, “so that she has some notion what is going forward while you are away.”

When Sir Eustace pushed his chair from the table, the rest
of them rose. Meg accompanied her brother to the rooms
allotted to Cabot’s use, while Sir Eustace kept Lucy
behind-for what Meg suspected would be rather a severe
scold.

There was no evidence that anyone was residing in the east
rooms, apart from the large table now dominating the center of the parlor. The table was covered with papers, but Meg’s
quick glance around revealed little of a personal nature
upon the shelves or other furniture. She was beginning to
comprehend that Mr. Cabot was a model of transience. But
there was nothing flighty or superficial about him. Indeed,
his demeanor, with her at least, was most serious.

He walked over to the table and pushed several scrolls of
heavy vellum to the side, revealing underneath a layout of
Selbourne in its entirety. Though Meg had never seen such
a rendition of her home, she knew it immediately by the
shape of the house alone, depicted at center. But much else
about it surprised her.

“Why, ‘tis Selbourne as a … a wheel,” she said.

Cabot’s glance at her was pleased.

“It is indeed, Miss Lawrence. I’ve laid out the grounds
largely on a radial plan. That is unusual, but Selbourne, as
you can see, lent itself to it rather well. I had only to work
with what was in place. See here,” he leant one hand upon
the table as he took up a rule to point to the plan. “The
house itself is the center, or hub. The beech avenue in front
is one spoke of your wheel, and the other spokes are sight
lines from the house or, as in this case”-he drew his forearm out from the house to the east-“a new walk. The
wheel’s rim consists roughly of the river, the paddocks and
farms beyond the stables, the north woods, and here-the
rising ground I term the knoll. We are trenching a ha-ha
along the line of this dry rill, with a culvert either
end.. As he moved his arm across the page Meg leaned forward.

“With the pathways, father might move about more.”

“Yes, I was thinking of your father,” Cabot said, “when I
set the route to the knoll. And there is a possibility for something similar here to the lake and out beyond these
pastures” He opened one of the scrolls and showed her a
drawing, a detailed drawing in pen and ink and the faintest
of colored washes, depicting the anticipated view from the
house looking toward the river and the knoll. An inviting
path advanced through open ground toward a belt of trees,
disappearing at last in the distance. The drawing was simple, beautiful, yet so convincing that it took her breath.

“It is … extraordinary, Mr. Cabot,” she said. “Father
will be able to move with ease where he once rode. And yet
‘tis still the park as he has always loved it. It looks … so
natural.” She reached to touch the page, as though to satisfy
herself of a dream’s veracity. In doing so, her arm brushed
Cabot’s sleeve.

The contact startled her. Yet she knew it should not have.
It should not have affected her in the slightest.

As though aware that the enthusiasm had suddenly
stilled, Bertie pointed out a few items on the larger plan.

“Look, Meggie. There will be a terrace to the east of the
house, to balance your kitchen garden. And you haven’t noticed that Cabot removed some of the tallest pines beside
the stables”

“I did notice … I noticed the light,” she said softly.
“The sunlight at the front of the house. When I arrived..

She vividly recalled the unexpected light and warmth
when she’d arrived. And Cabot was looking at her in such a
way-such a way that she could not meet his gaze. She
took a step away from him.

“Your plans are very promising, Mr. Cabot” She did not
recognize her own voice. “I look forward to seeing themseeing them in place”

“That will take some time, Miss Lawrence. Your men
and one of my crews will be working into the autumn, and
some aspects of execution will move into next year. I hope,
though, that you will find a moment to review these plans,
and the start of some of the work, while I am away this
week. All of these papers and drawings are at your disposal. You must question, or suggest, anything you wish.”

“I … thank you. I must apologize now, but I am quite
fatigued.”

“Of course” He bowed to her as she took Bertie’s arm.
She thought he must realize the effect he had on her. He
had to.

“How early, Cabot?” Bertie turned to ask.

“At first light, if you don’t mind, Lawrence. I should like
to reach Surrey by late afternoon.”

“Fair enough. I shall sleep all the rest of the day, while
you head off on your jaunt.”

“Have a safe journey, Mr. Cabot,” Meg managed.

Again he bowed to her, but held her gaze. She was treating him as coldly as she could; she sensed that he knew she
made an effort.

She forced herself to turn away, and left the room.

Her father’s greeting the next morning did not surprise
her.

“I thought some stranger posed as my daughter-that
you should miss a ride your first morning back. I hope
you’ve not acquired such lazy habits from my sister.”

“No father,” she told him, leaning to kiss his cheek. “I
thought it best to unpack first. Has Bertie returned?” She
knew very well when Bertie had returned.

“Back by nine. And we saw Cabot off early as well.
They spent two hours up in the north park, nosing about,
with nary a sight of a mysterious rider. But I would still
prefer you take a groom with you, my dear, if you do not
ride with Bertram. Just for a while. I would feel easier.”

“Yes, father,” she said, though she chafed at the restriction.

“What do you think of his plans then? Did Cabot show
you all?”

“He showed me much, though I should like to review the
drawings. His work is most impressive.”

“I find it so, Margaret. I am very happy with it. And
pleased that Bertram finally brought us a friend who does
not spend his days sleeping and lounging. Not another useless fribble. Now come across here and take a look at my
terrace “

They moved to the east window and gazed out at the
stakes and cleared earth marking the limits of the planned
addition. It would be of smaller dimension than the kitchen
garden on the opposite side of the house. Apparently Cabot
intended that this large window in her father’s sitting room
should become a door.

“I shall find it easier to steal a whiff of air now and
then,” her father said.

The notion was simple and sensible. They should have
thought of it years ago. Yet a stranger had had to suggest it.

“Look across there” Her father pointed to the eminence
to the east. “As you know, ‘tis more than a mile away.
Cabot’s calling it the `knoll.’ He intends I should be able to
wheel out to it-and up to it. I shall have to get stronger.”

Meg smiled, pleased to hear him sounding so determined. She had much for which to thank Charles Cabot.

From Sir Eustace’s rooms, it was possible to see down
the shaded avenue, across to the river, where the tall pines
had lost their lower limbs. Meg had not seen the river’s far
bank from the house since she was a child.

“I’d like to walk out a bit and survey the work, father.
Shall I have you brought out front with me?”

“No, no. You must go at your own pace. There is too
much of the business going on out there at this time of the day for me to tolerate. But I shall be watching you when
you come into view, so mind you try nothing reckless-like
removing Cabot’s carefully placed markers.” He winked at
her. “He does fuss.”

When she exited the house five minutes later, she waved
to her father behind his sitting room window, then set off
along the marked path to the knoll.

She had thought to walk all the way, but the path did not
advance directly-it dropped and turned, at one point apparently leading instead toward the river, such that the
knoll seemed ever more distant. Meg wondered just how
that illusion had been achieved. But given the number of
workmen busy on the earthworks just then, and the noisy
level of activity, she decided to leave further exploration to
morning rides.

That her father should have consented to any alteration
in his beloved home surprised her, but she had no doubt the
impulse to consult Mr. Cabot had been Bertie’s. With their
father’s injury, Bertie had assumed the practical supervision of Selbourne. Though other matters had never interested him greatly, the running of the estate and prospects
for improvement had focused his most earnest attention.
And Meg allowed that Bertie must do as he thought best for
Selbourne, since it would eventually be entirely his responsibility.

Their neighbors had begun to seek Bertie’s advice regarding the latest agricultural innovations. Meg supposed Cabot’s
transformations were but one more step in her brother’s enthusiasm for the latest trends, but there was nothing merely
fashionable about them. Indeed, Cabot’s revisions enhanced what made Selbourne so special, adding perspective and, for
her father, access. The result was ingenious. She had thought
her kitchen garden an enterprise, yet Charles Cabot worked
routinely, masterfully, on a grand scale.

She continued on her circuit of the house. Large areas
had been leveled smooth and sodded. At the east side, masons worked on a foundation for the terrace. Around to the
north, the courtyard between the wings looked unchanged,
but Meg noticed variously painted stakes placed out on the
lawn.

At last she turned into the lane between the garden wall
and the stables. She crossed to the stalls to greet her favorites, particularly Arcturus and her own dear Paloma,
and to tell the head groom that she would ride at dawn the
next morning. Then she stopped in at the kitchen garden.

It looked untouched, which relieved her. But as she
crossed to the south gate, she noticed a single stake planted
near the teahouse. She was frowning as she reached the
front court, where Cabot’s men were again employed with
the planting beds outside the windows of the drawing room.

She did not pause even to remove her bonnet before hurrying to compare her observations with Cabot’s plans.

Her father came to join her.

“Trying to understand it, are you my dear?”

“‘Tis a great deal, father.”

“Indeed, though he assures me he will not change fundamentals. We were spared much worry and expense on tedious items like drainage. I fear we’ve not been enough of
a challenge for Mr. Cabot. No doubt he hoped to inspire us
to building canals and cascades.”

She smiled.

“You are certain-that he is reliable?”

“My dear Margaret, I can vouch for the man’s honesty.
What would be his motive in damaging our home? He is
rumored to be capable of purchasing several Selbournes,
should he wish it. I am not inclined to contest the details.”
He watched her as she concentrated on Cabot’s sketches.
“You do not mind, my dear, that Bertram furthers such
changes-without your consultation?”

“I trust Bertie, father. He loves Selbourne more than any
of us. And he appears to trust Mr. Cabot” She looked again
to the plans. “Most of this seems plain enough, but the
rest … Has he explained his painted stakes? I regret I am
not an instant architect.”

“Should you wish to be, Margaret?” She avoided her father’s too discerning eye. “You must quiz him, daughter.
Something about sight lines, if I recall. And some of them
are for trees. Perhaps Lucy will remember-she is most attentive to Mr. Cabot,” he smiled. “I hear her across the way
with her confidante, Miss Burke. No doubt they will demand your company for tea. But I”-he was already signaling a footman-“have most pressing correspondence.”

His hasty departure was no surprise, since Lucy was
prone to chatter even more incessantly with her doting
friend Amanda Burke. Indeed, Meg clearly heard Lucy’s
excited tones before they entered the room.

“Oh, Meg,” Lucy said. “Mandy wanted to see Charles’s
drawings as well, so we’re having a tea tray brought in
here.”

“How pleasant,” Meg said, though she would have preferred the quiet. “Are you well, Miss Burke?”

Lucy’s faithful shadow mumbled something before bobbing a curtsy.

“Don’t be so shy, Mandy,” Lucy admonished. “‘Tis just
Meg. Look here, these are Charles’s drawings, first his
maps to show where everything will go, and here his pictures of how everything will look when he’s finishedalthough I do not intend he shall ever be finished here!”