Cry of the Peacock (15 page)

“Can’t we talk about something else?”

She gave him a petulant look.

David picked up the shawl from the floor, but she took it from him, and wrapped it around herself.

“Well,” she said at last. “Are you going to show me the room or not?”

“Of course,” David answered, trying, and with some success, to stifle the sound of resignation in his voice. He turned the gas sconces on, one by one, until the room was fully lit.

For a moment she looked impressed. “This is for her?”

“It’s my father’s gift. And Ruskin’s, I suppose.”

“Only you provided the books.”

“I merely arranged them, and only at my father’s request.”

She looked around at the shelves and minced her mouth to one side.

“I hardly wanted to do it, Kate. I was asked. I obeyed.”

“Do you truly disapprove of her so much?”

“I do,” David answered and thought it might please her in her jealous mood.

It did not, it seemed. She had made up her mind already, and jealous or no, she would champion her for Ruskin’s sake. “But why do you disapprove?” she asked him. “She really is so charming. And she will make Ruskin so very happy.”

“Why does everyone assume she will make him happy?” he demanded, and found himself actually angry. “Do you realize how different their lives have been? They have nothing in common.”

“They have a great deal in common. A love of this land…”

“I’m not sure it can be said that Ruskin loves it. He is proud of it. It’s not exactly the same thing.”

“They both have a sincere concern for the people who live and work here. They both want to see them, prosperous and happy.”

“Yes, I suppose they do,” he conceded. Though if it was true, it would no doubt prove to be for very different reasons, and brought about—if it was brought about at all—by very different means.

“And they are both determined in their aims,” Katherine added, as though this must necessarily be a good thing.

“Which may count more greatly against them than any other consideration.”

Katherine gave him a disappointed look. “Even with Ruskin aside, I think you do not approve of your family’s plans to raise her.”

“I don’t.”

“Why?”

David merely shook his head. He knew why. He could not quite put it into words, though. At least he didn’t dare. He crossed the room to stand at the window.

“Is your problem with her a personal one?”

Again, he had no answer. Perhaps it was, after all.

“Is it simply that you cannot stand to see a tenant raised to—”

“I don’t want to talk about this!”

Katherine, silenced, remained so for a long moment. “Very well.… What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know!” He took another breath, and determined to conquer his frustration. “You haven’t asked about my trip.”

“If you want to tell me about it, I’ll be happy to listen.”

He turned to her. “Yes, but are you interested?”

“I’m interested in anything you have to say.”

David hesitated a moment more. “We should go back to our company.”

“If you think it best,” she answered very quietly.

He held out his hand and she went to him.

“I do try to be interested in your gadgetry. Even if I cannot understand why it fascinates you so.”

“I know, Kate. It’s all right. I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”

A
BBIE’S CHANGE OF flowers the following morning arrived with a note and an invitation. Ruskin was at last making good his promise of visiting the laboring families, and he wanted her company on the outing. While she was grateful to introduce him into their homes, to help him familiarize himself with their ways, and even with their struggles, she was anxious, too. If she could persuade him to feel some empathy for his people, perhaps he would be in a better position to understand what it was she meant to accomplish here, and that her wishes, if carried out, might prove to be for the greater good of everyone involved. She prayed it would be so, and with this in mind, she prepared herself for the day.

Abbie had dressed in her riding habit, but they were not to ride. Ruskin did not much enjoy the exercise, but he did like to drive. The trap was prepared and waiting, and together they made their way, sitting very close together on the narrow seat. It was not, however, toward the old cottages they directed their course, but to the new. Ruskin, it seemed, meant to show her what, by her encouragement, he had begun.

Upon arriving, they stopped to marvel at the newly laid foundations. At least Ruskin marveled. Abbie gave it a very noble effort. She had seen them before, after all, and had not taken much pleasure then.

With a look Ruskin surmised her struggle. “It isn’t much,” he said, “but you can see what they will be.”

“They will be very charming, I’m sure,” she conceded.

He appeared troubled by her response. It had certainly lacked enthusiasm. “Yes, I think so. They’ll be a great improvement, at any rate.”

But why were they here? She wanted to know, but feared to ask. She feared what might come of his answer. “Will the rooms be arranged much the same as before?” she asked instead. “Will they be larger, for instance?”

“There will be two rooms above and two below, rather than just the one each.”

“That is an improvement to be sure.” But would the cottages’ larger size make up for their being so far away? Would it make up for the loss of the gardens they must abandon? “What of the allotments? Will they be larger as well?”

“Why should they require larger allotments? What we have given them is more than the required minimum already.”

“But they will have to start over, don’t you see? It will take months before they can make up for their losses. I think larger allotments would go a long way to placate them.”

Ruskin looked at her suspiciously. “What need, pray, have they for being placated?”

She had given herself away. He knew already that they were unhappy. What he had not known, until she had said so, was that she knew it too.

“I asked you a question, Arabella. I hope you will do me the courtesy of answering it.”

Still, she hesitated to make her confession, and so kept her gaze fixed upon the spot ahead of her, where the builders were working.

“You needn’t be coy. I know you went out yesterday.”

She looked at him. “Your mother told you?”

“No.”

“David, then?”

“Why would he-” Confusion changed to frustration. “It does not matter how I learned of it. You went out. I do not know who you visited, or why, but I know you went out without me.”

“Without you?” She was not aware that that was now a stipulation of her outings.

“You went out alone, was what I meant.”

Was it, though? He was plainly as disappointed in her as she had feared he might be. But if he had not learned of her doings from David, and if it was not his mother who had told him, then who? She quickly replayed the day’s events. From her early and fretful waking, to her preparations for her anticipated outing, she had seen no one. No one but David and… Sarah! Her blood ran chill at the thought. Sarah, however, could not have told Ruskin more than she knew. Abbie had gone out. Apparently alone. What her mission was, he could not know, for Sarah had not known.

“I paid a call on Miss Summerson,” she said at last.

“And how did you find Miss Summerson?” he asked cautiously.

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

“She left. I saw her the day she spoke to you. I gave her money to go, and she went.”

“Arabella,” he said and leaned back hard against the trap’s seat.

“Don’t be angry with me. She needed help and I was in a position to offer it.”

“Arabella,” he said again, and looked at her beseechingly. “If you had any idea… It is not safe for you to go out alone. I know you only wish to help them, but giving them money is not the way. It only teaches them to be dependent.”

She wanted very much to argue this point, to warn him that there were equal dangers in expecting too much independence from one’s dependents.

“If you had any idea how much we worry for your safety. The pains we have undergone to see that you are happy and comfortable here, how much we have invested. The risks we have taken.”

“Risks?”

“This,” he said with a hand pointing cottageward, “this is all for you. I had hoped you would be pleased. Are you not at least grateful?”

But she did not know what to say, and so waited for him to go on.

“I meant it to honor you. That they are to be built at all, it is owing to
you
. They are
your
cottages. It’s only fitting they should be built upon
your
land.”

It was as she feared. This was a tribute, a grand gesture. She did not want it. “It’s not my land. My mother’s perhaps, but not mine. It is yours now.”

“Arabella,” he scolded, and the look he gave her was decidedly too warm to be brotherly. “It is yours. At least it might be. It would only take a word to make it so.”

She was not ready for this. “Ruskin, I—”

He would not listen. He
would
go on. “My father has told you already. We mean to restore you. What you once were, or might have been, you will be again.”

“I can’t change my past by playing a part.”

“Then don’t play it. Make it true.”

“It is not so easy as you say.”

“Of course it is! One word will do it.”

“You make it sound so simple. It isn’t simple at all. I’m not ready for this, Ruskin. I’ve only just begun to accustom myself to being here at all. Now I am to be introduced into Society, too. I do not know that I am up to this. And now you want more from me yet!”

Ruskin calmed himself. “I want no more than you can freely give, Arabella. Truly.”

Was
it true, though? It must be, she supposed. Her doubts, however, remained—in his abilities, in the limit of his patience, in his willingness to be influenced by her, and too—and perhaps most importantly—in her ability to become what he wished for her to be.

“I will try, Ruskin, to deserve this honor. You cannot ask more of me than that. Give me the opportunity to prove myself, and then we will see what might be accomplished.”

He looked at her for a moment more, then looked away. His apparent disappointment pained her greatly. More than she could have supposed. She laid a reassuring hand upon his arm.

That hand was suddenly in his. “If you would trust me,” he said, not looking at her, but at her hand held firmly in his. “Depend upon me. I will show you the way. You will succeed, if you would only learn to trust in me.”

“Then fix this. Find a way to make your people happy. Grant them what they need, give them the respect they deserve. If they must live here, and I suppose they must—”

“You do not ask that we dig up the foundations and move them once more?” he asked with a smile.

“Of course not,” she said. “But do make it worth their trouble. Make the allotments larger. Help them to transplant what they have grown successfully already. Give them seed, give them men and tools. Whatever it takes, you must make this right.”

“You have my word, Arabella.”

“Thank you,” she said, and felt hope rise anew.

“Might I have your word, that you will consider my suit? Consider it. That’s all I ask.”

“Of course,” she answered. And how could she not? Bearing in mind all that was at stake; her future security, that of her sister’s as well, the friends of her youth, all she owed the Crawfords in counting her worthy of this…it was simply impossible not to consider all Ruskin might offer her.

*   *   *

Abbie was met, upon her return, by Katherine, who offered to help her to change from her riding clothes. Eager for any opportunity to get her mind off of her outing with Ruskin, and the promise she had made him, she readily accepted.

“How was your ride?” Katherine asked as she helped Abbie to unpin her hat.

Perhaps she was not to find that sought for distraction, after all. “It was lovely,” she answered dismissively.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Katherine said and turned Abbie around so she could examine her face. “How did you find Ruskin today?”

Abbie turned back to the mirror and began unbuttoning her jacket. “As attentive as ever,” she answered with affected cheerfulness, and looked up again to gauge Katherine’s response to this. A smile revealed her pleasure in this news.

Katherine wrapped the veil very carefully around Abbie’s riding hat and placed it in the box, then returned and helped her with the buttons and then to remove the riding jacket. “Did you talk about anything in particular?” she asked with an air of casualness that felt just a trifle affected.

“Besides the new cottages, do you mean?”

“Yes, of course.”

“To tell you the truth, there was not much conversation.”

Katherine looked truly puzzled now. “How can that be?”

Abbie’s skirt was unfastened and removed before she was prepared to answer. “I’m sure we talked about any number of things on the way out.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not sure I remember.”

“You mean to tell me he said nothing memorable to you the entire drive?”

Abbie wondered at the motivation behind Katherine’s appetite for details. “Well,” she said, and thought to test her friend. “I suppose I do recall him mentioning the progress on the plowing.”

“Plowing? That’s not very inspiring, is it?”

“And I think he mentioned how they had at last made their minds up to winter wheat, and that the old dairy might be restored. You know there is no end of demand for fresh milk and butter in the city.”

Katherine, with Abbie’s riding skirt folded neatly in her arms, only stared at her. “
That
was the extent of your conversation?”

“Why on earth would you imagine it should be more interesting than that?”

“Because he loves you, Arabella.”

Abbie was struck speechless by this. She shouldn’t have been, she knew. Yet she was. Hoping to regain her composure, she turned her back upon her friend once more and began inspecting her hair in the mirror. She regretted that her face was so very red. It was impossible to affect composure when one was blushing so profusely.

“Arabella?” Katherine asked with an air of concern. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she answered and began unbuttoning her blouse. “Only do call me Abbie. I detest Arabella.”

Katherine watched her for a moment, then moved to place herself in front of her. “Let me help you,…Abbie,” she said, and looked up at her to add, “Please?” Was it only with her dressing that she wished to help? Or did she mean to offer something more significant? “It cannot be a surprise to you,” Katherine said after a long moment wherein nothing but Abbie’s stubborn buttons were attended to.

“No,” Abbie answered, “but I was hardly prepared for it to be blurted out.”

“You are not pleased to hear it spoken?”

“I’m not displeased,” she answered. “I’m flattered. I am. But it baffles me. Why should he think of me? Why should I be considered worthy of being thought of by him?”

“You are a beautiful young woman, come to live in his house, why should he not think of you? Indeed, how is he to help it? There is…”

“What, is it?”

“Forgive the question, dear Arabella… Abbie, I mean. There is…no one else?”

“No. Of course not, Katherine.”

“You’re quite certain. I spoke to you last night of James…”

“James?”

“Yes. I said he needed someone to ground him. It’s true, but I hope you did not think I meant to encourage you in that vein?”

“You’ll encourage me toward Ruskin, though? James is a younger son and may marry as he wishes. Ruskin is the heir, and you would prefer he married me?”

“Why not you?”

“I can tell you why,” Abbie said, stopping Katherine’s hands and thereby insisting she look at her. “Because it isn’t done. The eldest son and heir of a wealthy landowner does not marry the daughter of the estate’s overseer.”

“But your mother, Abbie.”

“And my father is to be forgotten, is that it?”

“No one wants you to forget your father. They only want you to think what you might do to restore your mother’s name.”