Cry of the Peacock (34 page)

“You deem it impossible.”

“I deem it unlikely, that is all.”

“Can he be reasoned with? Can he be made to understand what he must do to win my sister’s respect and affection?”

David considered a minute and then: “Can you tell me what that is, if you don’t mind?”

“Her regard for him is wholly dependent on his success on the estate.”

“That is as I feared. It is as much as James has conjectured already.”

“Is there something you can do for her? Is there some way you can think to guide her through this?”

He did not answer right away. “I wish there was something I could do, truly,” he said at last, and appeared to regret, and very greatly, that it was so. “I’m afraid the extent of my power is merely in remaining here, as much as I can manage it, to be sure that Ruskin does not become too determined in his efforts. You should perhaps know that James feels it is time to tell her what we know.”

“The will?”

“Yes. Do you not agree?”

“I think, in fact, it may be necessary. But before you do…”

“Yes, Miss Mariana?”

“If I were to speak to him… Do you think I might be able to persuade him to be more gentle and patient? To be more attentive to the people of Holdaway and their needs?” It was not her only purpose in wishing to speak to him, but it was certainly a part of it.

“It would be your right to try,” he said. It was not very encouraging. “I would caution you to be careful in your approach. I think were anyone to awaken him to his true position, it would be someone who knew her better than anyone. He must believe you, after all.”

“But you warn me to take care.”

“He does not much appreciate being told what to do. He does not take it kindly when people see his weaknesses, much less point them out.”

“I understand you. Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, and she quit the room.

*   *   *

The door was closed again before David moved from his spot. He returned to his place at the study desk. No estate business was ever conducted here and so there were no restrictions on his, or anyone’s, use of the room. It was free for him to use to read, or to think, as he had been doing when Mariana entered.

Had he been right to recommend that book? He had thought, as he had been reading it these past few days, what wisdom Abbie might glean from it. But would she? She might. And she might see a bit of her own story in it, too. She might take from it some caution about marrying for anything less than love and sincere regard.

There was a knock at the door then, and Ruskin entered.  “You are home,” he observed.

“Should I not be?”

“I thought you had begun your work with Lord Barnwell already.”

“I have.”

“And yet you are not with him?”

“I’m not needed until later this evening, when there will be a private dinner with a few of his peers. Why any of it should be so great an interest to you, however, is quite beyond my ability to imagine.” Which was not entirely true, but he meant to make the point, nevertheless.

“I’m not sure it is,” Ruskin said and sat.

David understood his brother too well to believe his dismissiveness to be sincere. Ruskin wanted him out of the way. As if he were an obstacle. What if he were? He resisted a smile at the thought and put the idea away from him. He was not naturally of a vindictive nature, but he was not pleased with his eldest brother and did not care if his displeasure showed.

“You’ve come for something?” David asked him. “Not a book, I take it?”

“I wanted to finish our discussion.”

“What discussion?”

“The one we were unable to finish on the way home from Lambeth.”

“Oh, that. Well, I don’t,” David said and arose and headed for the door.

“You think I’ve made a mess of things at home.”

“I
know
you’ve made a mess of things at home.”

“I want the chance to explain.”

“Don’t explain to me!” David said, turning to face his brother. “You took my job from me. A job I liked, by the way. I no longer have a right to your explanations. If you must explain it, explain it to
her
. She’s the one you’ve disappointed.”

“I did it for her.”

“No you didn’t. You did it to impress her. If you had truly done it for her you’d have done it properly!”

“You speak for her now, do you?”

If only he could! He stopped to collect himself. “I said I didn’t want to discuss it and I won’t. You know what you need to do.”

“And what is that?” Ruskin asked, turning in his chair to watch as David crossed the room.

“Fix it. Fix the whole damn thing! Make it right. With the workers. With her. Prove for once that you have other concerns in this world besides your own. Give her the opportunity to make up her mind and if she refuses you, accept it like a gentleman.”

“She won’t refuse me.”

Precisely the answer he had expected—and which he feared. “And you won’t accept it like a gentleman.” David, finished with the conversation, and more particularly with his brother’s company, quit the room.

*   *   *

Abbie set her book aside as Mariana entered. She had occupied her entire day in reading. The book Mariana had brought her was a rather sensational one, about a young woman and the lengths she had gone to—and unsuccessfully—to avoid having to marry a cruel and selfish man who would secure her fortune for life, if only she would accept him. The coincidence was humorous, and that was all, for though Ruskin might certainly at times be accused of selfishness, she had never known him to be cruel . It was an entertaining novel, however, and she was enjoying it thoroughly.

Mariana had left her to her book. She had letters to write and news to catch up on. She always read the papers now, she said. It was the best way of knowing where and how one might be of the most use to those in the type of distress Newhaven House was accustomed to relieving. The Times was notorious for hidden messages of missing persons and lost loves and hopeless misadventures, all disguised, and some not so disguised, as personal advertisements in the classified section of the paper. Mariana scoured these almost daily, looking, hoping for a chance to help.

But Mariana had completed her days’ errand and had found for herself another. She entered with an armload of packages and Becky following with more. “Your gowns have arrived,” she announced and placed them on the bed, then directed that Becky and one or two, or perhaps three, of the maids that followed, should do the same.

Abbie simply looked at it all in wonder.

“Shall we open them?” Mariana suggested, her curiosity betraying a hint of excitement.

Both eager to see them for herself, and curious what her sister’s reaction to them might be, Abbie eagerly agreed, and together they unwrapped the lot. When the papers and boxes had been set aside, what remained was a pile of velvet and brocade and satin and organdie. They were beautiful, truly. Even if they were somewhat brighter and more ostentatious than she would like. Of course there was not a black gown among them. Abbie looked to her sister. She appeared to be struggling with something.

“It was not my wish, Mariana, to throw off mourning so soon.”

Mariana looked at her. There was no hint of condemnation. “I know that, Abbie.  Though I do not wholly agree, I do see the wisdom in it. This is a rare opportunity— to come to Town just now, for you to be introduced into their social circles and to help you to make a place. You could not hope to do it half as well in black. It’s a rare opportunity, indeed, and I want you to make the most of it. And,” she added, with a hint of excitement in her eyes, “I know you will make the most of these,” she said and drew her hand across the finely embellished bodice of one of the gowns that now lay upon Abbie’s bed. Mariana looked up at her sister once more. “Will you try them on?”

Abbie was quite happy to comply. Each gown was so great an improvement over her usual manner of dress, even over her mourning, that the effect was close to miraculous. She had never had anything so fine. Had never dreamt, even, of owning anything like these. And they were not all so bright, for Abbie had been allowed a little of her own way. Lady Crawford had been willing, in the end, to agree to a few compromises. There was a plum walking dress, which Abbie was quite fond of, with grey-black braiding and a hat to match with black and plum feathers. There was a lavender ball gown that was particularly stunning on her and complemented her coloring strikingly. This, at least, might be considered half mourning, were it not for the iridescent beading that adorned the bodice. If only she had the grey.

“What is it, Abbie?” her sister asked her. “You look disappointed.”

“No, not disappointed exactly,” she said and was suddenly aware of how ungrateful she was being.

“What are you thinking of?”

Abbie looked to her sister. Did she dare tell her? “It’s the grey I told you of. I was wishing I had it. Silly of me, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Mariana answered. “Do you regret it very much?”

Abbie turned to examine herself once more in the mirror. She was wearing the lavender. It would be an admirable ball dress. It suited her well. But it was the grey she longed for. The grey with its jet beading. She might go out in it and not feel ashamed for having abandoned the visible signs of grief that announced that which she still felt, and quite acutely, the loss of her father.

“It was a dress,” Abbie said at last, “and it is petty of me to be pining for it when I have all this, don’t you think? I fear I am becoming trivial if the loss of one gown among a dozen is such a disappointment.” She looked to her sister. Had she changed as much as Mariana had? “I have been ungrateful, haven’t I?”

“I would never say that, Abbie. And I would never think it.”

“I will do better,” she said. “I will try harder to be grateful. I will try harder to do what is wanted of me.”

“Only if it makes you happy to do it, Abbie. Some sacrifices, after all, are not worth it.”

Abbie studied her sister a moment. Was it a warning? If so, why offer it now? She turned back to the mirror.

Happiness. What would secure it? Her opportunities, she knew were not many. The choices before her were few. It was here, before her, that her happiness was to be found. Perhaps it was in Ruskin, after all. Of course it was. For to remain here having refused him would be a kind of twin hell. She might find someone else in time, given the chance. What chance would there be, though, once they had returned to Holdaway? No. It was Ruskin. One way or another, it must be Ruskin.

A
BBIE WAS STILL dressed in lavender when Becky announced that it was time for dinner. She had not time to change, and perhaps there was no need. Hadn’t she promised to be more acquiescent? To be more grateful and dutiful? Was there a better way to show that resolve than to go to dinner dressed as she was?

The men stood as she entered, and remained standing.

“Would you look at this?” Sir Nicholas said, his eyes wide in apparent approbation. “I had suspected you might polish up nicely, my dear Arabella. We are quite astounded. Are we not, Ruskin?”

Abbie glanced in Ruskin’s direction and tried to feel flattered by his hungry look. She felt something. What was it? A twinge of excitement? Or was it a pang of apprehension? Was it possible she felt both at once?

“Oh do come here and let me look at you!” Lady Crawford said and beckoned Abbie to turn. She did, and when she had made a full circle, she faced her benefactress to find that there were tears in her eyes, but she said nothing. It was plain, however, that Abbie was forgiven, and with that knowledge came a reassurance that her resolve would be rewarded. She turned to Ruskin.

“You are magnificent,” he said, taking her hand to draw her nearer. He held onto it a little longer than necessary. “Forgive me,” he said. “I bear some responsibility for what happened. I do see that. I hope you will give me the chance to make it up to you.”

“If you will forgive me,” she said in turn.

“There is nothing to forgive.” He said it so earnestly she believed him. She felt, in that instant, and for the first time, that they were on equal ground. It was possibly wrong of her to think so—perhaps she had grown more accustomed to this life than she had supposed—but she relished it. This—this moment, with Ruskin at her side, his family beaming upon them appreciatively, her sister here beside her—this was happiness, and she resolved never to forget it.

Dinner was announced, and they went in.

“You received the flowers?” Ruskin asked her, as he pulled her chair out and waited for her to be seated.

“Oh, yes,” she said. She regretted very much that they had ever annoyed her. “They are beautiful. And roses in November are rather a novelty. At least for me.”

“We’ll have to remedy that,” he said as he pushed her chair in.

He helped Mariana to be seated as well, which earned him another bright smile. Indeed, Abbie grew more optimistic as the evening progressed. Between her book and the gowns and Ruskin’s humbled manner, she nearly forgot the terrible experience in Lambeth. She clung to her resolve as though it were a lifeboat in rough and open seas. Perhaps, in a way, it was.

*   *   *

Mariana tried very hard to take comfort in Abbie’s sense of determination, but it was impossible not to notice the cracks in the façade. Though her sister’s manner toward Ruskin was certainly warm and welcoming, there was yet a sense of reservation, not actually observable, but palpable, nevertheless. Perhaps she would not have found it so remarkable had she not the benefit of comparing it with Abbie’s manner toward another.

David arrived home that evening as the family were retiring and as the ladies had emerged from the drawing room. His mother greeted him, and he her, with that casual familiarity so common in near relations. He had removed his hat and gloves mechanically, but stopped midway in the doffing of his coat to look at Abbie. Considering her altered appearance, it was not so remarkable that he should allow himself a second look. But it was his manner, exactly opposite to that which she had observed in the intercourse between her sister and Ruskin, that Mariana found remarkable. Instead of an air of determined familiarity on his side, there was one of determined reserve. Instead of the feeling that Abbie inwardly, perhaps secretly, held herself apart, it was as if inwardly, secretly, she was drawn to him. The attractive current between them was every bit as real as had been the one of resistance between her and Ruskin.

“Miss Mariana,” he said and bowed. It seemed he’d only just observed her and was feeling slightly abashed in consequence of his neglect.

“Good evening, Mr. Crawford. I hope you have had a pleasant day.”

He smiled stiffly, uncertainly, fidgeted with his watch fob as he glanced toward the drawing room door and back again. And then he straightened his jacket as though he had some cause to recompose himself.

Mariana smiled to herself and followed after her sister and the others. Was there anything of significance to make in David’s manner? She looked back to see if he meant to join them. He did not, and the spark of hope extinguished itself. It was an idea pointless to consider, and she regretted giving it a moment’s thought.

Instead she turned her attention to Abbie and Ruskin, who seated themselves together by the fire. He was certainly making an effort to be charming and agreeable. Perhaps Abbie had given him, by her gesture tonight, reason to do it. Perhaps he was feeling the weight of his responsibility to make amends. How she wished to know! How she wished to encourage him! It was more than this, however, that had her anxiously waiting for a chance to speak with him, to find out for herself what he meant to do to make up for the damage done. She wanted a chance to look into the heart of him, to find out what drove him, what were his aims and goals and ambitions, and how did her sister fit into these. Was she a means, through equal influence and partnership, in achieving his aims? Or was she merely one more acquisition, one more step toward accomplishing all he desired and felt he deserved?

The opportunity presented itself the following evening, when Sir Nicholas was called away from the table by a telegram. The ladies had announced their intention to withdraw, but Mariana had hung back.

“I was hoping I might have the chance to speak with you, Mr. Crawford.”

“I’m glad of it,” he said and seemed genuinely pleased by the prospect. “In fact I was hoping to have the opportunity of speaking with you, as well.”

“Were you?” she said and resumed her seat.

He took a chair for himself. Not his own this time, but his father’s, at the head of the table. “I was hoping you could help me.”

“I’ll be glad to, if I can,” she said, pleased to know that his purpose and her own might align toward the same goal.

“During your stay,” he said, “you have no doubt observed how well your sister gets on here, how well we treat her. You can rest assured we mean to provide for her in every way.”

“Indeed. It seems to me you mean to provide for her in every possible way. But I hope you mean to provide for her happiness, as well.”

“Of course I do,” he said, slightly taken aback. “How can you doubt it?”

“Can I ask in what way you mean to accomplish it?”

He answered with a sweep of his hand, which took in the glittering dining room, with its silk papers and crystal chandelier. It took in the house and London and the counties that stretched out beyond. It took in Hampshire and a struggling estate, that, with Abbie’s help—at least with her money—might once again be a thriving and prosperous one. “Everything I have will be hers,” he said.

“It is possibly not enough,” she said, which won from him a look of abject confusion. “For another, perhaps any other, it would certainly be enough. It’s possible you have placed your hopes in the one woman in your whole circle of acquaintance for whom it can never be enough.”

He swallowed, lowered his hand to rest in his lap, and she went on.

“I certainly see that my sister, through you, stands to gain a great deal. She is not unaware of the fact, I assure you, but her chiefest concern yet remains with the welfare of the people of Holdaway. Your success with her lies there and there alone.”

“You speak as if I do not understand her, Miss Mariana. It is one of the reasons, out of many, that makes her suitable to govern beside me. We share a common interest, a common bond.”

“Then why are you here?”

He gave her an uncertain look. Clearly he did not understand her point. Perhaps she was not doing a very good job of making it.

“I understand what you hope to achieve in London,” she continued, “but certainly matters at home take precedence. What do you care if Society approves or disapproves of your choice? If you mean to impress her, this isn’t the way. Impress her, secure her, by enacting real and lasting change on the estate in a way that will benefit the workers and their families before any more selfish consideration.”

“I have built the cottages she wanted so badly, have I not? Cottages they do not want, as it so happens.”

“They cannot afford them. It is not the same thing. And you have done nothing for their sakes alone. You have done it for her.”

“Forgive me if I’m confused, but is that not what you have just advised me to do?”

Mariana stopped and studied him. Did he not understand that what Abbie wanted was for him to have the same honest and sympathetic interest in his people that she did? Perhaps it was impossible, after all, that he should. They had always been beneath his notice. How was Abbie to change that?

“Do you truly love my sister, Mr. Crawford? Or is there some other motivation driving you?”

“What else would drive a man to marry so far beneath him?”

“In this day and age, any number of things,” she answered, trying not to feel the offense of his declaration. “Lust, infatuation. Money.”

His eyes widened and he appeared to be on the brink of losing his temper. But he could not lie to her. Had she said too much? The truth must out itself some time. Why not now?

“I care very much for your sister, Miss Mariana,” he said instead. “I only wish I could convince you to understand how much. For that matter, I wish I could convince her.”

“Then show her, Mr. Crawford. For heaven’s sake, show her. Treat her with the kindness and patience and regard she deserves. I ought, I suppose, to be offended that you regard her as someone so far beneath you.”

“That was not what I—”

“It is true, after all, I suppose. If you are willing to look past it, however, then you must see beyond it as well. You must esteem her as your equal. Not your equal in training. Not one day to be your equal. If you love her, regard her, honor her, listen to her. Wait for her!”

“I do!” he said. And then more quietly, “I am.”

“In the meantime, go home. Make amends with your people. Show them what you mean to achieve, that you understand that your welfare is dependent on their welfare. Because it is, you know.”

He seemed to consider her words, and while he considered, she went on.

“If you were to go back to Holdaway and attend to matters there properly, make whatever sacrifices are necessary to ensure lasting peace, think of the pleasure you will give her. Her confidence in you will be unassailable.”

“I’m not sure it can be done, what you require. If I were to sacrifice everything I own to create a Utopia on Holdaway, I might yet fail. And what of your interference? You must take part of the blame for Benderby’s dissatisfaction?”

“Me?” she said, surprised by this sudden turn in the conversation.

“Benderby may have taken sides with the disgruntled workers, he might very well have been angered for having been deservedly sacked, but was it not your involvement with the Summerson girl that had him on a rampage?”

“His treatment of her was unforgivable. Tell me what she was to do when—”

“I’m not asking why you did it. I’m merely asking you to acknowledge your hand in it. Perhaps Arabella, too, bears some responsibility. Did you not enlist your sister to help you?”

Mariana knew better than to answer this. To tell him that it was quite the other way around would do nothing to help Abbie. Or perhaps he knew already, and was simply counting on a defensiveness she did not possess to inspire her to reveal more than she had already done.

“You arranged to have your sister take Miss Summerson to the station. She met a gentleman there, a gentleman who works for your aunt. Do you deny it?”

How could he know this? Abbie had made the journey with David alone, and certainly David never would have confessed it. Would he? Somehow she did not think so. But how else could Ruskin have learned of it?

“Well?” he demanded of her. “Will you confess it?”

“My aunt’s lawyer met her, for her safety, and for the safety of Miss Summerson.”

“And this lawyer, he has formed an attachment to your sister as well, I believe.”

“How do you know—”

“Answer the question.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t—”

“I am not leaving London until I have your sister’s promise to marry me. If she wants to return to rescue her darling cottagers, then you had better persuade her to make up her mind to accept me.”

“I’m not sure I’m of a mind to do that, Mr. Crawford.”

“No? After your grand speech, I would have thought it was in your interest as well as hers.”

“I want to see my sister happy,” Mariana said, rising from her chair. “I am not certain, after all, that you are the man to do it.”

He sat up straighter and then arose, too, as was proper, though he seemed a little dazed by her declaration.

“I believe you are in love with my sister, in your way,” Mariana continued, “but yours is a possessing love, an enslaving love. What I would wish for her is something far more dignified and selfless. A sincere regard, companionship, respect… These mean more to her than anything money can buy.”