Cry of the Peacock (2 page)

“Y
OU SAID YOU saw her?”

“I did.”

“With your own eyes?”

“How else?”

James Crawford whistled and sat back in his chair before the fire. They had met today, at their London club, where they could share a drink and a cigar and discuss the recent news from home. There had certainly been a lot of it of late.

The brothers were not so close as their proximity in age might have suggested. As boys they had been the best of friends, but as young men they’d begun to grow tired of each other’s company. David, always serious and rather intense at times, did not find much to admire in his younger brother’s more flippant and irreverent manner. They had little in common, indeed, save for their opinion of their elder brother and his recent matrimonial pursuits.

“It was a week ago you saw her?” James asked. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“It didn’t matter then.”

“And she is…?”

“Finish your sentence, if you will,” David answered, and contemplated his brother’s somewhat rakish appearance. He looked tired. As though he’d been out all night—again. He was in need of a haircut and a shave.

“She is…” James shook his head impatiently, “. . . as common as we supposed her?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“No it isn’t. Say it. She is common tenant riff-raff, a wanton opportunist and a mercenary grasper.”

“I couldn’t possibly tell all that simply by looking at her.”

“Then what did she look like?”

David turned the glass in his hand methodically.

“Good heaven! Don’t tell me she’s a stunner?”

“I never said anything of the sort.”

“You didn’t need to.” James looked at him, and then laughed. “David Ransom Crawford, are you that soft?”

“Well, you don’t think Ruskin would be moony over a plain faced waif, do you?”

James took in a deep breath and released it with his answer. “I suppose not… But as you say, it doesn’t really matter, as she’s not to come after all.”

“Oh, but she is. In fact she’s to arrive within the week.”

“Good Lord! You can’t be serious?” James sat up and examined David more carefully. “You are, aren’t you!”

David offered no reply, only took a sip from his glass and laid it down again with that concentrated calm he always possessed no matter how trying the situation. It certainly helped him when he was working with the facts and figures that were his current method of employment. It was a great boon to him in knowing when to buy and how long to hold onto the shares he invested in on behalf of his father and the estate. It did not always serve him so well where James was concerned.

“So she’s changed her mind, has she?” James asked now. “I ought to have supposed she would.”

“It does seem so.”

“How was it she was to come in the first place? I still can’t quite understand it.”

“I’m not sure there
is
any understanding it, really. Not while we’re both from home, at any rate. You knew, of course, that her father recently died.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry to hear it. I rather liked the fellow.”

“Did you?” David asked, a little surprised.

“He was a good man. Knew his place, you know. Not like his confounded daughters. I had occasion to talk to him back when I was the one assisting our father on the estate. Before
Ruskin
came home to take charge of things.” James took a resentful puff of his cigar and nodded at a passing acquaintance. “So Mr. Gray passed on, God rest his soul and all that, but what has it to do with the girl?”

“Well, they were alone then, the sisters, and in need. Our father took it upon himself to help them, and to make Ruskin acquainted with their trials.”

“He was successful there, wasn’t he! Once again, Ruskin’s spied something he wants and so he’s decided he must have it. Our father can’t truly have meant to encourage him to consider our late overseer’s daughter as a candidate for marriage. It’s absurd!”

“I think he meant to engage him, through her, in the tenants’ plight, and from there in that of the workers. To make him see that things were in a bad way and could not remain so. It’s impossible he could approve of Ruskin’s attachment to her, and yet…”

“He makes no objection,” James finished for him. “As if he cannot see where it must lead, he invites her to live with us. What
can
our father be thinking?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” David answered.

 “And it’s Just the one now, is it?”

“Just the one.”

“Well, she can’t stay, and that’s a fact,” James declared and stubbed out his cigar.

“And what do
you
mean to do about it?” David’s question was a rhetorical one, but a rather wicked look was playing upon James’ face. “What are you thinking?”

“You don’t want to manage it, I take it? You have your work to keep you in Town?”

“Yes, I have. And no, I most certainly do not want to
manage
it, as you say.”

“You’ll trust me to do it, then?”

David laughed. “I trust you can find a way to mitigate the risks posed by our parents’ newest project, but do I trust you to do it without causing further trouble? Of that I’m not so certain.”

James merely answered with another narrow and too cunning look.

“Do take care, will you?” David admonished him. “If you want to discourage her from staying, or even from coming at all, that’s one thing. Just promise me you won’t do anything to cause her any real harm. I think her life has been difficult enough without your meddling.”

James, with a frustrated breath of air, arose and threw his coat on. “You c
an
trust me, you know. I’ll soon have it all under control. You’ll see.”

But David was not certain he did see. There was nothing more to say on the subject, however, and his brother, draining off his glass, set it down with a parting nod and turned from him.

“Have I told you that you smell of cheap perfume?” David called after him.

“And watered brandy, yes,” James answered. “Twice today.” And the door closed between them.

David finished his drink and set it back down. He studied the empty glass, recalled the events of that day, not more than a week ago, when, out of curiosity, he had paid a visit to an unnumbered house in a quiet London borough. The signet ring he wore on his right little finger clicked against the polished wood of the chair’s arm as he considered what he had seen there; a young woman, hauntingly beautiful, plainly distraught and looking altogether lost. The spell she had cast had mercifully been broken, but he understood now how easily his eldest brother had been ensnared. Well, James would know how to deal with that problem. David rubbed at his brow, for the thought, as much as he wished it to, did not give him much comfort. Pray God he would not have to clean up James’ mess, too.

They had little in common.

“H
AVE YOU EVERYTHING you need?”

“I think so,” Abbie answered. “If I’ve forgotten anything, you know where to send it.”

Mariana nodded and, brushing aside a dark lock of her sister’s hair, she checked to be sure Abbie’s cloak was secured tightly enough about her.

The door opened and Mr. Meredith entered. “The cab is here,” he said.

There was silence for a moment. The time had come. Abbie would be gone from London—this very morning, in fact—and miles away from her sister. How would she bear it?

“You will take care?” Mariana asked with a voice choked by silent tears.

“You know I will.” Abbie answered and wiped away her own. They would fall however hard she tried to hold them back. “I do wish you would come with me. Are you sure you will not?”

“If only I could,” Mariana said, shaking her head. “But my place is here now, with our aunt. I can’t leave her. You must see that.”

Abbie accepted this reluctantly and moved to the door, where Mr. Meredith waited to escort her to the carriage that waited outside.

“So you are leaving us.”

Abbie stopped again and turned to find her aunt standing at the foot of the stairs.

“You leave us to go to
them
, do you?”

“Why is it you despise the Crawfords so? I have asked you before and you will not tell me. If there is some sordid history between our family and theirs, oughtn’t I to know it now?”

“I have told you before we do not speak of them here. I do not call my house a sanctuary so that I can be constantly bombarded with reminders of my family’s embarrassment. Have you no feeling at all for what your mother sacrificed?”

“If I had anywhere else to go, Aunt… I do not wish to leave you, but you know I cannot remain. The doctor said so himself.”

Aunt Newhaven closed her eyes and released a sigh. “Go, then. But don’t think I’ll be here to help you when you are in need of rescuing.”

“Mrs. Newhaven, really,” Mr. Meredith objected.

“Well!” she answered him. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I can. Especially when I know you don’t mean it.”

Aunt Newhaven scowled at him. “You will go with her,” she answered at last, though clearly it had been his plan already. “You will see that she is safely delivered.”

“Please, Miss Gray,” he said with his hand at Abbie’s elbow. “We will be late for the train if we do not leave now.”

Abbie nodded and followed him. Passing her sister, she embraced her once more and then stepped out onto the pavement, where she waited for Mr. Meredith to open the gate for her.  She had greatly recovered from her recent illness, but she was weak still, and her head was nearly as foggy as it had been when she had succumbed, only a few days before. She recalled that day, recalled the appearance of that strange gentleman. What had been his purpose? Or had she dreamt it all?

“Miss Gray?” It was Mr. Meredith. He had returned and was holding out his arm to her. “Shall we go, Miss Gray?”

She nodded her assent, and after turning one last time to contemplate her aunt’s house, she entered the cab.

*   *   *

“Miss Gray?” she heard her name again. Was it thrice now, or more? “Miss Gray, we are nearly there.”

The whistle blew and she grew conscious of her surroundings, and of a vague stiffness in her neck that made her head ache all the more. “Did I sleep the whole way?”

“You did,” Mr. Meredith answered, “and I dare say you needed it. Though I had hoped to speak to you before we arrived.”

“To speak to me?” she asked him cautiously, but felt she already knew. “You share my aunt’s concerns.”

“It is, after all, what I am employed to do.”

Abbie sat up straighter and smoothed her skirt. “Do you know why she despises the Crawfords so?”

“I don’t know the particulars,” he answered and straightened his hat over his darkly curling hair. “Mrs. Newhaven’s history with that family has never been a point of business between us. Under no other circumstances is she likely to discuss it.”

“And yet you suspect them of some dark motive?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” he said and thought a moment. “It is strange, though, isn’t it, that they should wish to raise you so high as they propose to do? Why should they take in the daughter of their late overseer and raise her up as their own? You must have asked the question of yourself. It’s why you refused when they first made their offer, isn’t it?”

“It is partly that, yes. And it is partly for knowing how they have left their tenants and dependents to suffer while they sit comfortable in their grand house, neglecting the estate and everyone on it.”

“You have not set aside quite all of your reservations, then.”

“No. Not hardly. But, what else am I to do?”

“Of course you must get out of London, at least for some time if you want to regain your health. I’m not saying you are wrong to do it.”

“Then what are you saying? You never felt my aunt’s house suitable, and you object to my returning to Holdaway.”

“Newhaven House is no place for a young woman who has not yet had her chance in the world. I know you felt you could make a place for yourself, and I admire you the more for your efforts to do it, but it isn’t a respectable situation for a woman who has every right to hope for a respectable future. Holdaway may be the place. I sincerely hope it is. At least it may be a stepping stone to greater things.”

“Greater?” Abbie asked, confused. “I thought you doubted I could live up to the Crawfords’ expectations.”

“No, indeed.” He laughed awkwardly. “I only fear it may go to your head.”

Abbie turned from him to look out of the window. There was little to see but blurring landscape and rain.

“I am sorry your sister could not accompany you,” he said eventually.

“As am I,” Abbie answered.

He looked at her. “I trust you will make a place for her when you can.”

“And if she does not want it?”

“It was you, as I understand it, who made the decision to refuse the Crawfords in the first place. It was not her first choice to come to Newhaven House.”

“She does not regret it.”

“Are you sure of that?”

She was not. She knew very well that Mariana would have chosen wealth and station over any other opportunity. That she had found a place for herself in her aunt’s home (something Abbie had failed to do) did not mean there was not some part of her that yet longed for the opportunities that Abbie was soon to enjoy.

“Miss Mariana is a great asset to the establishment,” Mr. Meredith continued, “and yet she must have dreams and aspirations of her own.”

“No doubt she does.”

“And have you thought… If Sir Nicholas and Lady Crawford should learn of your connection with a lying-in house and a charity for the reformation of fallen women, it will not help you.”

“
If
they learn of it,” Abbie qualified.

“The sooner you can find a necessary place for her at Holdaway, the faster you diminish that risk, don’t you think?”

Abbie did not answer but looked once more out the window. They were pulling into the station now.

“I
do
think this the best place for you now. You have reservations, however, and you may be wise to maintain them, after all. The breach between your families is likely a very wide one. If it proves too wide a gulf to bridge, if you find life at Holdaway Hall not what you had expected, you
can
call upon your aunt.”

Abbie gave him a dubious look.

“And failing that,” he said, answering it, “you can call upon me.”

She was somewhat surprised by this, not so much by the words themselves, but by the ardency of them.

“Will you remember?” he asked her.

Tired of conversation, she nodded her answer. “Yes, Mr. Meredith. Of course I will.”

The train at last stopped, and together they disembarked to find the Holdaway servants who had been sent to meet them. As it was a small station, this was easily accomplished, and Abbie was soon enclosed in the Crawford carriage.

“I will hold you to your promise, Miss Gray,” Mr. Meredith said in parting. “Take care, get well, and do write to your aunt. She will want to know how you get on.”

Abbie acknowledged this with a nod, and raised a hand of farewell.

Mr. Meredith answered it with a bow.

At last free of the lawyer, and the noisy station, Abbie released a sigh and sank heavily into the seat, determined to ignore her aching head, if she could, and Mr. Meredith’s warnings, as well. It was difficult to do.