Cry of the Peacock (35 page)

“Or honor, or duty, or familial obligation?”

The words chilled her. They were the motivations she feared most that he would count on when all others failed.

Mariana was angry now. “She cannot be bought. Not for anything less than true affection. And if you are counting on acquiring her so cheaply, then you do not deserve her at all. If she can learn to love you, I will support her with everything I possess. But if you push her too hard, if you cause her a moment’s anxiety more than she’s been made to suffer already, you must believe me an enemy to your purposes. It’s not impossible, after all, she might return to live with me.” She was not certain Abbie would, or even should, agree to such a thing, but if such a threat should serve as motivation to consider her words, she was willing to use it.

“You can’t possibly mean that, Miss Gray.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t understand what she stands to lose. You don’t understand what is at risk.”

“I understand far more than you realize, Mr. Crawford. As I see it, the risk is entirely on your side. If wealth and position truly bore the allure you expected them to, would she not have claimed them already?”

She did not wait for an answer, but left him to ponder the question alone.

J
AMES DESCENDED FROM the cab and paid the driver. Looking up at the three story building that was his family’s London home he wondered what he would discover within. Would all be well? Would it be chaos? And would Miss Mariana still be here? He prayed he would find it so.

It had been a long absence. Seventy-two hours, and he had counted each one, from the moment he’d disembarked at Fareham, to the time, an hour later, when he had been met at the Hall by a group of workmen, their sundry tools of labor in their hands and ready to make mischief. Three hours later, after listening attentively to their grievances, he had decreed that the allotments were to be restored to their originally appointed sizes.

On the morning following, James had awoken early to harness the horses and to take them to the construction site, where he plowed a good portion of the new allotments himself. He was quickly relieved, however, and by the end of the day—hour twenty-six—all was set to rights in that corner of the estate.

The following day they finished up the planting and prayed that the earth would somehow nourish the seeds, and that the weather would stay warm and wet enough to make up for the time lost. It was a risk, but a necessary one. The show of good faith proved its worth. A measure of good feeling was rekindled. It also helped that James that evening—hour forty-nine—had instructed that the men should be paid, despite what the bailiff had been told, and that a modest bonus should be included.

This morning—hours sixty-one through seventy—he had helped them to make cuttings and to dig up certain portions of their old gardens and to transplant them into the new, raising small shelters and providing jars and all the necessary materials to keep the plantings insulated against the shortening days and the advancing winter. Again, it was a risk, but when it came to avoiding rebellion and outrage, any risk was worth taking. What would Ruskin and his father make of his interfering? He dared not think, but there would be time for that later.

At present, he was glad to be in London, and looked forward to company more congenial than that which the semi-placated laborers had been willing to offer him. Might Miss Mariana form a part of that company?

James entered the house to find that his prayers were half answered. Mariana was here still, but making preparations to quit them, as her trunk, hoisted between two footmen and carried past him out the door, seemed to indicate. At least he had not missed her. Without wasting time in the removal of his coat, he went in search of her. There was no need to look far. He mounted the staircase to find she was just descending it.

“Miss Gray!” he said, greeting her cheerfully, and careful not to betray the disappointment he felt. “I was afraid I’d missed you.”

“James!” she said as if surprised, but relieved—happy?—to see him. “You very nearly did, you know.”

“When will you return? Soon, I hope.”

“I doubt very much I will be able to return at all.” She was plainly troubled, and he was not such a fool to imagine it was for the regret of parting his company.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Well, I hope not. Ruskin is with my sister.”

He gave her a questioning look.

“I had hoped to say goodbye to her, but I can’t wait much longer. And I am not eager to speak with Mr. Ruskin again.”

“Is there something the matter between you?”

“I had words with him last night. I’m afraid it didn’t go as well as I might have wished. I came with mild concerns, I’m afraid they have matured considerably since. David said you thought it time to tell her about…what she stands to gain.”

“Or lose,” James added.

“Yes. He said you thought Mr. Meredith the one to do it.”

“Do not you?”

Mariana considered a moment. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, I think that might be best, after all.”

“If only there were a disinterested party.”

Mariana nodded in reluctant agreement.

“I will do what I can,” James assured her. “You know that.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I do know. Only… I would feel better knowing you were at home.”

“I’m here for a few days only. More than that I think it unwise to risk. But of course David is here.”

“Only he is more and more often with the Barnwells. They keep him quite busy, particularly in the evenings.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” James said and was. He had rather hoped his brother would find a way to remain at home. Of course there were limits to that, and he’d likely reached them already.

“I’m leaving Becky,” Mariana added. “She is with Abbie now.”

“That’s something, I suppose. He cannot press too hard with a witness.”

“Yes. I thought so, too. She can be trusted. And Abbie needs someone trustworthy. She told me about the last maid she had.”

“Yes. Well. If this new maid proves as loyal as the last, David will certainly put her in her place.”

“Was it David who got rid of Sarah? I had wondered.”

“Yes, though it’s a bit of a secret. My mother would give him an earful if she found out. I think he would prefer it if Abbie remained ignorant as well.”

“Is it a habit of his to do kind deeds anonymously?”

James considered this a moment. He’d certainly made a habit of it of late. “I think he is generally a man who requires little in the way of recognition, but is quick to fill a need when he sees one.”

Now it was Mariana’s turn to consider.

Perhaps he should not have spoken so kindly of his elder brother. He did not wish to put ideas into her head. “He’s also rather dull and tedious,” James added, “what with his prepossessing interest in machinery of any and all kinds. It’s enough to bore one senseless.”

“James Crawford,” she said, scolding him.

“You can trust me, you know, to do what I can. To do
all
I can.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you?” He took a step closer. He almost took her hand, but he resisted the temptation. “Would you trust in me entirely, were you at liberty to do it?”

She reddened briefly and stammered. “What- I-”

“You must know how I feel about you.”

She hesitated a moment. Was it a good omen or bad? Did she not, could she not, return a portion of his regard? “Your confession cannot help Abbie, you know,” she said at last and began putting on her gloves.

“It might. With you and I working together as her allies, it just might.”

“You know it’s impossible.”

“You do not rebuff my confession?”

“Have I been remiss?” she asked with the faintest twinkle in her eye.

“I certainly hope not!”

She recalled herself then from her almost flirtatious manner and sobered. “I have to go,” she said, and moved to pass him on her way to the door

“Mariana, please. I need to know that I have permission to seek your counsel, even your company, if I should need it. Or want it.”

She didn’t answer him, but stopped in the entrance hall as the footmen took the last of her things away.

“What good am I to you, or your sister, if I cannot confide in you? If you cannot direct me as to how best to help her?”

Mariana sighed, and seemed, for the moment to relent, if only a little. It was enough. She turned to him.

“Don’t refuse me, Mariana. Not outright.”

“It
is
impossible, Mr. Crawford.”

“I am Mr. Crawford now?”

“You never should have been other. Not to me.”

She turned from him again, but he took her hand and held it. “Nothing is impossible. I don’t see how it should be impossible.”

“You would if you knew my circumstances.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t,” she said and took her hand away.

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“I won’t, then, if you demand honesty.”

“Mariana,” he pled.

“Goodbye, James.” She blinked and amended her mistake. “Mr. Crawford.”

“Mariana, wait.” But she would not stop. He watched from the door as she was handed into the carriage by the footmen who would accompany her, as the door shut upon her, obscuring the view of her. And then as it moved to go. He watched for a moment more. At last he turned back toward the house.

He turned back again with a start. Was he mistaken, or had he seen…? Dear heaven, no!

Without hat or gloves, with his coat on still—thank heaven!—he followed after Mariana’s carriage. In pursuit of James Benderby!

*   *   *

“You are a vision tonight,” Ruskin said to Abbie when once they were alone. She had dressed again for dinner, this time in an evening gown of iridescent green. “I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see you out of mourning black.”

And yet she was not certain it was a relief to be out of it. She was glad to have a little color in her wardrobe. She was not so pleased by what the sudden alteration suggested of her more inward feelings.

“I haven’t had much opportunity to speak with you,” Ruskin said now. “Not since the incident in Lambeth. Well, not since I arrived in London, actually. If I did not know you better, I’d think you have been avoiding me.”

“I’m sorry for it, Ruskin. It was not intentional,” she answered not quite honestly. “What with the Opening Ceremony, so much to prepare for—so much to recover from—and with my sister here… I should go and wish her goodbye.”

Mariana had not quite stayed her week, but she was leaving this evening. Before dinner, even. She had received word from Miss Russell. Aunt Newhaven had taken a turn for the worse, and requested Mariana’s presence at once. Mariana was all too happy to comply, it seemed. She had not been made to feel very welcome during her stay, and Abbie regretted it.

“I had hoped,” Ruskin went on, too intent in his purpose to realize Abbie had another of her own, “that you might find a little time to spare me now your sister has gone and your time is not so taken up with your other responsibilities.”

“My sister is not quite gone yet,” she answered patiently. “I
would
like to speak to her before she goes.” She moved toward the door.

“Will you ride with me tomorrow, Arabella?” he asked, not quite so patiently as he had done before.

She was irritated, and tried not to show it. “Yes,” she said stopping and turning to look at him. “If you wish it. But you do not care for riding.”

He smiled. “No, not particularly. I know you do, though, and I would like to share your enjoyment in it, if you do not mind.”

This concession, then, was for her. She was pleased by the effort, felt the honor in it, and returned his smile. “I’d like that, Ruskin.”

“Perhaps you will agree to grant me a little time each day? We might ride, or drive. Or walk, even, if you prefer. Will you?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Of course, I will. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

But he stopped her again. “The Christmas ball is a little over a week away.”

As patiently as she could manage, she turned to him once more.

“I was hoping you would attend it as my especial companion.”

“But wouldn’t that…” She stopped. Of course that was his intention. Should Society view them as a couple, then it was all but done.

“Of course I will be happy to attend as your
family’s
especial guest. That is the point, is it not?”

“Yes, but that is not quite—”

That patience, that resolve to be acquiescent to his, and to his family’s, desires, crumbled away with his thinly veiled machinations. Did he think she would not see through them? “I understand you. I have asked for time. You have asked for the opportunity necessary to make up my mind to accept what you are prepared to offer. I think both requests quite fair and reasonable. What is not reasonable is to presume upon the results of both and to make up your mind as to what the outcome must surely be. There is nothing certain about it.”

He looked suddenly angry, and trying hard to hide it. “Forgive me if I look forward to the happiness I know—”

“You do not know. You cannot, because I do not. If you will excuse me, Ruskin, I must say goodbye to my sister before she leaves.”

His countenance fell. “Of course,” he said, and with apparent regret, with irritation even, he opened the door for her.

Abbie quit the room, with Becky following, and stopped in the entrance hall. Her sister, and her things, were nowhere to be seen. Mariana had gone and she was bitterly disappointed. In her place, David had arrived, early it seemed. Her annoyance at missing Mariana was somewhat abated by his presence, though she could not say why. She was always more comfortable at home when he was in it, as if he offered some inexplicable barrier between herself and Ruskin. Perhaps it was wrong to think of him so. No, it
was
wrong, and she knew it.

“Is something the matter?” David asked, observing her.

She awoke from her meditations. “Mariana has gone, it seems. Did you happen to see her?”

“I did not,” he answered. “I’ve only just arrived this minute.” And as if to prove the point, he removed his hat and then his gloves. “I’m sorry to have missed her myself. Was she not to stay a day or two longer?”