Twixt Two Equal Armies (30 page)

Holly gave a little laugh. “Well, I know it was you when we were going to cross the river in our bare feet, and you dared me and just would not shut up! Until you slipped and ended up too wet to pester me anymore.”

“We were younger, though, when we climbed the tree,” Elizabeth said, “twelve perhaps. The summer after . . . after your father died.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” she sighed. “Our lives have certainly changed since then.” She gave her cousin a shy look. “And I think yours will change even more soon.”

Elizabeth did not answer but twisted her fingers through Holly’s.

“And you?” she said. “What do you want out of life now?”

“Not so much anymore,” Holly replied softly. “Regular letters from you, sugar for Maman’s tea . . . and that Sir John’s friend will find funding for his publication.”

“Holly! So little?”

Holly stared at the swirling fog outside the window.

“Oh, Elizabeth, it feels like those wishes are ambitious enough in themselves lately. Once they are achieved I might set my sights a bit higher, but . . . ”

She could feel her cousin’s eyes upon her and though she continued to gaze out the window, she could just picture the creases of concern on Elizabeth’s brow.

“I know,” she went on. “I used to have such lofty dreams, didn’t I? But Elizabeth, they were just dreams, too ambitious for a girl to achieve. I had always hoped that, with such parents as mine, I could make a difference in the world. Even after my own dreams had wilted, I, at least, hoped that I could teach and inspire others, but that only leads to slander and disgrace.”

“My dear Holly,” Elizabeth cried out in distress, “please do not sound so bereft! It tears at my heart.”

“And don’t
you
sound so despairing!” Holly turned to her cousin and gave her a half-smile. “It is nothing more than coming to terms with realities and my own limitations. I have always wanted my life to be meaningful, but I wonder if I have been looking for that meaning in the wrong place. Maybe for me, the daughter of Jean-Baptiste and Arabella Tournier, my duty is not to inspire those coming after, but to care for the one who has done her duty and suffered for it. In short, Elizabeth, I will do my best to take care of Maman and see that she lives in comfort and without worry. What loftier goal can there be for a daughter?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and tried to speak sternly, “It is a lofty and admirable ambition indeed, but I don’t believe that one must exclude the other. I know that you have already touched many lives, despite the fact that those horrible men stopped you, and I am sure you will touch many more. You might be discouraged right now, but you have always lived with such passion! I will never believe you can abandon it completely.”

“Very well then, cousin, I promise that if any opportunity for the betterment of mankind comes across my path, I will pounce upon it. And now, in a demonstration of my philanthropic intent, I am going to charge into Maman’s room, throw myself on her bed and disturb her piles of books and papers, and allow her to yell at me until her heart’s content — and I think you should join me.”

“I will.”

D
ARCY WAS DIRECTING HIS BEST
glare at him. The one that made footmen shiver and maids break out in uncontrollable sobs. Baugham had great respect for that stare, but at the same time he viewed it with more interest than fear. And besides, he was right in this and he knew it.

“I spent half an hour in the same carriage as that . . . man last night and I’ll be damned if I will spend anymore under any other circumstances.”

“You owe me a stag, remember?” Baugham said calmly and put down his glass.

“I did not promise it in Mr Pembroke’s company. How is he going to contribute towards it exactly?”

“As I told Mrs Tournier, your aim is flawless when you are fuming.”

The glare, however ineffective, had not diminished. “And why exactly was my aim a topic of conversation between you and Mrs Tournier?”

Baugham calmly pulled the stopper from the bottle and topped off his drink. His silent gesture of offer was waved off by Darcy in irritation.

“I offered to take him off of her hands for a day.” He held up his hand to forestall the coming protest of indignation. “Darcy, you had your fill of him after thirty minutes in a carriage; the ladies have been trapped in that small cottage with him for
days
. Where is your sense of chivalry? Do you not wish to be of service to at least
one
of the residents of Rosefarm?”

Darcy leaned back in admission of defeat, though his demeanour had by no means changed.

“Your tactics, Baugham, are underhanded and detestable. Very well, I will agree to it, but at the end of it I will never owe you anything more — ever! Mark my words, by the end of the day you will see just how right I am.”

Taking a sip, his eyes grown a little colder, Baugham replied, “Oh, I don’t doubt that. Not at all.”

W
OMEN’S LAUGHTER AND VOICES INTERRUPTING
one another filtered into the Rosefarm kitchen from the parlour. Mrs Higgins put her used iron back on the hearth and picked up a hot new one.

“That Mr Darcy is such a fine and considerate gentleman! I wonder if he realised just how much service he was to this house when he asked Mr Pembroke to come and shoot with him and his lairdship?”

Mrs McLaughlin was helping her cousin by dipping her fingers into the water bowl and sprinkling the fabric at regular intervals, but she suddenly stopped.

“Mr Darcy? It was nae Mr Darcy who came up with that thought. His lairdship it was. For some queerie reason,” she added muttering.

Mrs Higgins also stopped with her iron for a moment. “Really? Aye, well he wasnae aware of the gentleman’s true nature, I would suppose.”

“And ye are, Rosie?”

“I’ve seen enough of his behaviour the times he comes to stay to know what sort of man he is. Which makes me just as thankful as the rest of the household to his lairdship — whate’er his motives.”

There was a slight silence when Mrs Higgins let the heavy hot iron gently smooth over the wrinkles of a petticoat and Mrs McLaughlin played with her fingers in the water between sprinklings.

“What is it with ye?” Mrs Higgins gave her cousin a suspicious look.

“His lairdship is a good man,” Mrs McLaughlin slowly said, “but he is nae charitably inclined, as ye might say. Especially here at Clyne. He doesna go out of his way to oblige folk if he can help it.”

“So?”

“So there must be something in this that gives service to him, too. Or someone.”

M
R
D
ARCY HAD FULFILLED ALL
expectations and was not only instrumental in bringing down a magnificent stag with two well directed and very cold-blooded — if not foolhardy — shots, but also had been very busy adding to the gentlemen’s bounty by shooting practically every piece of fowl that crossed the sky on the way up and down to the hunting grounds. Despite this obvious triumph, his glare was worse than ever and his jaw was set so tightly he had long ago ceased trying to wrench it open to take part in the general conversation as they returned home to Clyne.

Baugham on the other hand, whose irritation rather expressed itself in restlessness and sarcasm, had a very light bag and a very dry mouth. The bottle of whiskey had very soon been emptied and not only by his lordship. Pembroke was a decent shot, but he was evidently more anxious to prove it through nonchalance and boasting than by actual deeds.

They left their helpers to deal with the carcass and following in Mr Darcy’s urgent strides, headed towards Clyne with their bags filled from Darcy’s work.

Baugham marched on, listening to the crunch of the dried brush and leaves under his feet, regretting the empty bottle in Mr McLaughlin’s pack and steeling himself for his next unpleasant task. Soon enough, a marginally gracious invitation to dine was offered and accepted, with only one indiscernible grunt emanating from Darcy as a consequence. The gentlemen headed to their quarters, Mr Pembroke was given the use of a guest room and in half an hour’s time they were seated in the library, washed up and somewhat refreshed — and conversing awkwardly while awaiting dinner.

Darcy’s temper had recovered sufficiently to try to take some of the pressure off of Baugham, so he started a conversation while their host generously filled three glasses.

“Do your plans keep you in Clanough for much longer, Pembroke?” was all he asked, but he felt quite pleased with himself for managing that much.

Pembroke accepted the glass from his lordship, sniffed it inquisitively and took a small taste. He then, to Baugham’s great irritation, lifted it up in acknowledgment of its quality and gave him an approving nod. Exhibiting a great deal of self-control, Baugham smiled back tightly and availed himself of a large swallow of the commended substance.

“Oh,” Pembroke finally replied to Darcy’s question, “I think I will be here for several more days. I have some writing to complete before I return to Edinburgh and Rosefarm Cottage is a quiet, convenient place to work. I find it to be a very satisfactory arrangement.”

“I wonder,” Baugham drawled, “how convenient or satisfactory your hostess finds this . . . arrangement? The cottage is very small and they do already have one houseguest.”

“I suppose,” Pembroke smiled, “that is the advantage of being the landlord. My convenience takes precedence. And Miss Bennet appears happy enough to share with her cousin. Girls like that sort of thing, you know.”

Lord Baugham was not at all pleased to hear his own words repeated by this pompous, inconsiderate man, and he felt a renewed sympathy for Miss Tournier’s irritation at hearing them from him. They had a paternalistic and patronising sound, and he was sorely tempted to repeat the lady’s response to the man across from him. Thankfully Darcy jumped in at that moment.

“I suppose that space will not always be so much of a problem on future visits. Miss Bennet will be returning home and Miss Tournier will surely marry at some point. After that, you will only have Mrs Tournier for company.”

Baugham could see a comment rising to Pembroke’s lips, a comment, if spoken, he was certain he would find offensive and then be compelled to ask the man to leave. Trying to keep to his purpose of providing a very much needed respite for the ladies, he deflected it with the first thing he could think of to say.

“It’s a bit curious,” Baugham began quickly, “in my experience, country girls tend to marry and settle down earlier than Town girls, but yet neither Miss Bennet nor Miss Tournier are married — nor are either of them spoken for I believe.”

He watched to see if Darcy would take exception to his hasty remark, but to his surprise, Pembroke spoke up instead.

“Well, I know nothing about Miss Bennet’s prospects,” he snorted, “but Miss Tournier has had more offers than one would expect.”

Baugham’s eyebrows rose slightly at this intelligence, “Indeed? And she has accepted none of them?”

“Nor will she, as long as she is in the clutches of that mother of hers.”

“So,” Darcy smiled tightly in an attempt to inject some humour into the exchange, “one must court the mother in order to win the daughter? This has the makings of a Shakespearean farce.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Darcy,” Pembroke said, “this drama will not tie itself up as neatly
or
as quickly as that. I have spent the past five years trying to get back into that woman’s good graces. It can’t be done, I tell you. She doesn’t believe anyone is good enough for her precious daughter, and Miss Tournier is fully ruled by her mother in that regard.”

“
Back
into her good graces, Pembroke?” Baugham idly questioned, but to his irritation, Pembroke seemingly lost interest in the subject and returned his attention to the glass in his hand and Baugham’s best whiskey.

“The Tourniers are very lucky, you know,” he drawled, “and not the poor pitiful country bumpkins you make them out to be. They have been treated very generously by my parents who, even though their original friend, Monsieur Tournier, is long since deceased, and Mrs Tournier is in no way without relatives of her own she might appeal to, have let them stay on at their property on
very
generous terms. A bit too generous one could even say, since they seem to object to the actual owner of their cottage using it for his immediate needs on quite reasonable terms.”

At the mention of Mrs Tournier’s relations Darcy lost his resolution to contribute to a civil conversation and drained his glass in one go. He thrust it out towards his friend, who promptly filled it to the rim. Looks were exchanged and Darcy sunk into a morbid silence.

Baugham sighed. This was going to be a long evening indeed.

W
HEN THEY FINALLY SAW THE
back of Mr Pembroke, Darcy had practically turned into an effigy of stone and Baugham contrasted his friend’s pale and set countenance with his distinctly flushed and agitated one. As the door closed behind him, Baugham grabbed the poker and viciously attacked the dying embers in the grate, sending a flood of sparks upwards in a final display of fury. Darcy looked at him and, while still maintaining his exact position in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.