Twixt Two Equal Armies (23 page)

She smiled. “No. Everything is well, thank you. It is just that . . . it looks as though we will have another houseguest as of tomorrow and Maman is not quite as fond of this one . . . ”

She trailed off and again that unreadable look came over her. He waited for her to continue, but when she did not, he sensed the weight of the silence and felt the need to break it.

“Another cousin?” he asked.

“No, it is Mr Pembroke. He is an old friend of the family. Or the son of friends
at any rate. The Pembrokes own Rosefarm Cottage and have been very good to us. Their son, however — ”

She stopped suddenly but the disjointed manner in which she spoke disconcerted him somewhat and he felt compelled to continue the conversation.

“I can imagine, with the limited space at Rosefarm, that too many guests at once can be quite inconvenient. It must get a bit crowded.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he prepared himself for the probability that Miss Tournier would take offence at any perceived slight of her home, but to his surprise she did not.

“Yes, there is that. Rosefarm will most probably be short of both space and patience for the next little while. Maman and Mr Pembroke do not get on well, you see.”

“I think my sympathies must be with your mother.”

Holly looked out at the road ahead of her.

“Well, spare some sympathy for my cousin as well, if you would, my lord, for she will have to move into my room for the time being,” she said absentmindedly.

“Really?” Baugham drawled. “I thought girls liked that sort of thing.”

Holly snapped back to give him a contemptuous glance.

“I suppose girls do, yes; however, when a valued friend has travelled a great distance to visit, it is nice to feel that you can provide her with a comfortable place to sleep and a small space to call her own.”

“Well then, this friend, Mr Pembroke. He ought to postpone his visit to a more convenient time.”

Holly shook her head. It was obvious that Lord Baugham had no concept of living under obligation to anyone. As if a simple letter of explanation would have any impact at all on Mr Pembroke’s feelings of entitlement regarding Rosefarm Cottage.

“Mr Pembroke does as he pleases,” Holly retorted.

“I wonder at your use of the term ‘friend’, then, Miss Tournier. It would seem to me you are far too liberal with that epithet. No one in my acquaintance could earn such a name based on so little.”

“Yes, I am sure that you would never be required to consider such a thing, or be forced to place a more pleasant face on an unhappy and uncomfortable circumstance. One is not always lucky enough to be able to choose their ‘friends’, my lord. Nor plan the timing of their visits.”

“I would not call that luck, Miss Tournier, precaution or prudence would be more appropriate. Which, well applied, would render your other hesitations redundant.”

“If you harbour any doubts as to the proper running of our home, whether prudence or precaution is exercised in a manner that you feel is inappropriate, or if you have objections as to the suitableness of our friends, I suggest that you take it up with my mother, sir!”

Baugham narrowed his eyes. “Miss Tournier, you mistake my meaning. I was merely trying to express my concern for your dilemma and perhaps offer some perspective, but I see you are determined to misinterpret my words and my intentions.”

What an infuriating woman! There she was, shooting daggers at him and twisting his words to make him seem petty and spoilt when all he wanted to do was to have a polite conversation on dispassionate matters. And in the end, being forced into saying insulting things after all due to her stubborn insistence on misunderstanding his every word!

As he stood there, lips pressed tightly together against the flow of words threatening to spill out at her, at the same time flabbergasted as to why he should be so angry as to nearly lose control — something he never did — she pulled her cloak around her and said decidedly, “I should be getting home now; there is much to do to prepare. Good day, my lord.”

Baugham watched her stalk off and suppressed an oath. Somehow she had left him with the feeling that he was by no means finished with her but at the same time he realised that to continue could only be more disastrous. He shook his head both in loathing and self-disgust and turned on his heel to get himself home.

“
M
AMAN . . . WE HAVE
a letter . . . it’s . . . it’s from Mr Jonathan Pembroke . . . ” Holly hesitatingly handed the page to her mother. “He is coming tomorrow.”

Mrs Tournier watched the letter with her mouth curled in disgust before she took it carefully between her thumb and forefinger.

“Tomorrow?” she said in a cold voice. “Well then!”

Letting the sheet of paper float down on her desk and then to the floor, she got up and walked out of the door. Picking up the letter, Holly almost gave a little shriek of surprise as the door slammed shut with a bang. She listened as her mother made her way through the house to the kitchen, slamming every door in her wake. After a few minutes she came back and told her daughter she had spoken to Mrs Higgins.

“I’ll be in my room, Lie-lie,” she said her jaw clenched so hard the words hardly came out. Holly nodded and once again stayed listening as her mother took herself up the stairs until at last her own bedroom door was shut with a resounding bang that made the walls shake.

Holly sighed. She had better warn Elizabeth.

A
LL OF
E
LIZABETH’S BELONGINGS HAD
been moved across the hall to Holly’s room and the two girls were now crowded into her narrow bed. The arrangement held great promise for keeping them both warm throughout the night, but did not bode quite so well in assuring an early or especially restful slumber.

“Holly,” Elizabeth whispered, “why does my aunt dislike Mr Pembroke so? She has been positively ill-tempered ever since she heard he was coming.”

Holly lay still, wondering how much she could or should tell about Mr Pembroke, but of course she soon realised that she could do nothing but be upfront and honest.

“Elizabeth,” she spoke into the darkness above their heads, “I . . . we don’t talk about this, Maman and I, it is the only thing we cannot talk about . . . since that night she has never . . . ”

Elizabeth strained her eyes to see Holly as she stammered through a most astonishing admission that her cousin and aunt had a subject they avoided between them.

“I was very foolish when it came to Mr Pembroke once,” Holly said. “Very,
very
foolish . . . ”

The unspoken, but obvious, meaning hung in the darkness between them. Elizabeth swallowed.

“Oh,” she said. “And . . . he still comes here? Why?”

“Well, not for that original silly thing, to be sure,” Holly scoffed. “I think . . . . No, I shouldn’t. I cannot be fair or even reasonable when it comes to him or his motives. You had better see for yourself. And I have no doubt you will see exactly what he is about very quickly. But it is just for a few days thankfully.”

Elizabeth stayed quiet, but the oddest sense of protectiveness towards both her cousin and her aunt filled her. Holly did not seem overly distressed, but it was quite obvious she was anxious and fearful on her mother’s behalf. To be at the mercy of someone like that! Elizabeth clenched her fist. Oh this world really was full of undeserving young men and it seemed not even an intelligent, sweet and reasonable girl like Holly was completely safe. It is a hard thing indeed to learn from such mistakes, but thankfully it seemed they had been spared the worst ramifications of such an error.

I
F
E
LIZABETH HAD BEEN PRESENT
during any of Mr Pembroke’s previous visits, she would have recognised that dinner on the night of his arrival was typical of all dinners in which he was in residence at Rosefarm. Mrs Higgins would serve in a tight-lipped and perfunctory manner, Mrs Tournier would be uncharacteristically quiet and excuse herself after only a few bites, while Holly, not entirely at ease herself, would feel the burden of responding to their guest’s pronouncements and opinions and keeping some sort of polite discourse going.

She could not forget Holly’s confession of the night before and her own astonishment at the presumption of the man to continue visiting as often and for as long as he did under those circumstances, so when he turned to her and began to lay before her his future plans and his past struggles, she found that she was hard pressed to show any interest or sympathy. For the latter, especially, he was relentless in his quest, explaining to this newest captive listener his struggles to find acceptance among the scholarly community for his innovative ideas on economics and the redistribution of wealth among the populace.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, leaning forward and fixing his intensely passionate eyes upon her, “you must understand that even during my University days, I was subjected to the bitterness and jealousy of my peers and my instructors. I knew I could find neither recognition nor encouragement in such a stodgy and stifling atmosphere, so I came to Scotland where free thinkers are generally welcomed and encouraged, and to a house with a legacy of fighting for justice and equality, but even then I met with resistance . . . ” his gaze shifted to Holly, who was quietly eating her dinner and offering no comment or even appearing to hear his conversation. “It was a rare thing to find someone whom I
thought
understood me completely.”

Holly’s eyes shot up then quickly returned to her plate, but Elizabeth noted a new tightness around her mouth.

Pembroke continued as if oblivious, but he now directed his gaze at Mrs Tournier, who was scarcely able to keep her countenance civil, and then back to Holly. “
Very
few ever understood the importance of my work and how much it took out of me, and even among those who did, none had the courage to stand by me in support. So you see, Miss Bennet, I now must struggle on in a solitary — ”

He was unable to finish his tragic history due to the interruption of clattering silver and a scraping chair as Mrs Tournier abruptly threw her napkin onto her plate and left the table without a word.

Rising next, Holly managed a quiet, “If you will excuse me, I must speak with Mrs Higgins,” before leaving as well.

Elizabeth was incensed at his shameless manipulation of what was necessarily a painful memory between mother and daughter, and at his apparent willingness to use it for his own amusement, for he sat there with a self-satisfied smile, his eyes bright with undisguised mirth.

In a tone exhibiting heroic self-control, she asked him mildly, “And even after all these years, the professors and the great minds of the universities do not accept your way of thinking? How tragic for you.”

He sighed and shook his head, drawing his breath to speak but Elizabeth would not give him the chance.

“Well, as tragic as that is for you, I suppose that it
is
for the best that learned, old men — the authorities of our age — should take everything under sober consideration and cannot be as easily beguiled as innocent and idealistic young girls. I suppose
they
cannot be swayed by passionate appeals and shameless playing upon their romantic notions surrounding a beloved late father.”

Elizabeth brought her napkin up to her lips and then rose from the table as well. “I do pity you though,” she added in an apparent afterthought, “for it seems that even idealistic young girls can find the capacity to resist such tactics.”

T
HE LADIES OF
R
OSEFARM
C
OTTAGE
spent the afternoon of Lady Tristam’s grand event in the kitchen. Partly due to its consistent warmth and partly due to the fact that, since Mr Pembroke had taken over the writing desk in the parlour, it was the only place where the three could gather to discuss and plan the occasion. Additionally, Mr Pembroke’s absence from the kitchen assured that Mrs Tournier would be present, and the girls very much desired her company.

“Now you see, Holly,” Elizabeth said, plying her needle as busily as she was employing her tongue to convince her cousin that the evening had definite possibilities of actually being enjoyable, “this dress will be perfect once we replace the lace around the bodice and ruffle up the hem a bit. It has such classic lines, no one will know that it isn’t this year’s latest.”

“No one,” Holly muttered as she vigorously applied the brush to three pairs of dress slippers, “except those who have seen it twenty-five times at least. I never thought I would ever miss Hockdown, but at least if I were there I would not have to go to this thing.”

“Why should you be so against a
musicale
, Holly? You are very fond of music.”

“I am fond of music,” she answered, “but you know how these things always degenerate into long displays of marginal female talent and since I can’t sing a note, I will have to play and that usually ends up . . . Elizabeth. Maman. You must both promise me that I won’t be trapped at the instrument all night, playing the dances.”