Cry of the Peacock (37 page)

“I think, at least, that I’ve earned the right to know it,” he said.

“I’m not sure there’s any avoiding it now.”

He looked at her, tenderly, sympathetically, and waited.

“And since you refuse to stay away…” She said it with a smile, but it felt a hollow gesture.

“And will do, Mariana, unless you tell me you don’t want me.”

“I’ll leave that for you to do.”

“It won’t happen.”

“You say that now…”

“Mariana,” he said and reached out to take her hand once more, “tell me what it is you have to tell me. Tell me what it is that stands between us.”

She hesitated still. Could she do this? She knew she had to, but could she bring herself to speak the words that might—that would, no doubt—separate him from her forever? She knew it had to happen. She did not know until that moment how desperately she did not want it to.

“You know already of Hetty’s circumstances,” she began at last. Of course you do. But I wonder if you had thought why it was she was to come to me.”

“Because you were her friend, I supposed. Is there another reason? I take it there is.”

“Hetty is not the only young woman in desperate circumstances to find her way to this house.”

He looked at her, plainly confused.

“It is not so uncommon, you know. It is the way of things sometimes. When a man wants something, he often finds a way to get it by one means or another. Not all men, of course, are the scoundrels Mr. Benderby is. Smooth speeches, promises, spoken or implied, of better things to come,…there are any number of ways a woman might be persuaded to give up that which is most precious to her.”

“Wait,” James said, releasing her hand and holding it up to stop her. He said nothing more for a moment or two. He seemed to be struggling to understand her words through the pain and confusion of his injury.

“Think of Hetty,” she continued when he said nothing more. “Think of any woman in the world, who, having lost her good name, must find a means of getting on in the world. How is she to do it without someone to help her? Having given up her virtue once, she is too often forced to give it up again and again, simply to get by. You must see that someone must take care of them? Someone must step in to—”

“And this someone is you. That is what you are trying to tell me.”

He was not pleased. She would have been a fool indeed if she had thought he would be. She could not read his face, however. It was blank. Numb. Stunned, perhaps. But what did he think of this venture her aunt had begun, and which she had adopted almost as if it were her own? What did he think of her now he knew her part in it?

“It began with my aunt,” she said very quietly. “She is not well enough to see to all the duties necessary to manage it as it should be, and so I—”

“She brought you here,” he said, interrupting her again. “You and your sister?”

“Yes,” she answered more quietly still, and waited for his reply. None came and she began to feel a little desperate for some kind of definitive response, something, one way or the other, that might tell her what he thought of it, what he thought of her now.

“Of course if your parents should find out. And they must, I suppose. Katherine knows, and—”

“This is the source of the matter between her and David?”

“Yes.”

James sat up, then leaning back, clutched at his head. “Damn it!” Glancing briefly at Mariana, he apologized for the vulgarity. He leaned forward and rubbed at his forehead.

“James?” she said at last. It prompted no response. “Will you say something?”

He stood, and clutched at his head again. He said nothing this time, but ground out a moan.

“I’m not sure you should be moving about so soon. The doctor wanted to see you once you’d woken. Won’t you sit and—”

“No,” he said. “No. I… I think I should go.”

“Will you tell me at least what you think of me? Are you angry? Perhaps I should not have told you.”

“No!” he said. “You should have. I’m glad you did.”

“You will not share what I have told you?”

“Good Lord, no!”

“And will you tell me what you are thinking? Do you despise me?”

He was silent again, silent and apparently thinking. Had he even heard her? “I have to go,” he said at last, and this time he did. He was out the door in an instant, and in another was gone from the house.

So that was that. She would not cry. She refused to do it. A week ago she had known James Crawford only as the roguish younger son of her landlords. A week ago he had been nothing to her at all. She would simply have to accustom herself to the idea that he would be nothing to her once again. She wished, desperately, that she had the strength to do it. She feared she did not.

S
UNDAY ARRIVED, AND Abbie, as she had promised, made herself available to attend Ruskin. They rode in the Row, where, during the Season, crowds gathered to ride and to drive, to socialize and to parade, in a more relaxed environment than any more organized form of entertainment was ever likely to allow.

It was a warm day for December, and though there was a chill in the air, the sun shone brightly. The King’s Road, in consequence, was a little more populated than Abbie had hoped to find it. Ruskin, however, was pleased by the turnout, and they had not been long in Hyde Park before she realized what Ruskin’s purpose was in suggesting the outing. It was for the same reason, after all, that he had desired her companionship at next week’s party. If it was his intent, however, to make a point of their supposed union, he was not wholly dedicated to his task, for Katherine had accompanied them, and it was upon her he focused the greater part of his attention. While Abbie could not attribute her feelings regarding the slight to jealousy, she felt it nonetheless. At least she found it odd. But, in truth, it offered her a reprieve that was both welcome and unexpected.

“Where is David today?” Abbie at last thought to ask, when, for perhaps the third time, Ruskin and Katherine’s conversation began to run on a course that must, by mere necessity of subject, exclude her. “Certainly he would have liked to join us. Or perhaps he, like Ruskin, prefers his exercise in other forms.”

“David is a wonderful rider,” Katherine said almost defensively. “You should see him. He rarely has the time, however. Particularly now.”

Abbie looked for some evidence of resentment in Katherine’s manner but could find none.

“I do hope he takes to his new position,” Katherine added. “He is suited perfectly to it. And I know, when once he has resolved himself to his career he will find it immensely satisfying.”

“No doubt he will,” Ruskin assured her, “when he realizes what it will do for him. You will be the making of him, Katherine.”

Katherine colored a little in receipt of this. “You know I’m counting on the Christmas ball to make him see just how certain his success must be. With so many important people in attendance, he is sure to make some invaluable connections.”

“It is to be a large event, then?” Abbie asked.

“Large? Why simply everyone will be there. Everyone who matters, that is. All of the right people will be there, and none of the wrong ones.” She exchanged a knowing look with Ruskin, and Abbie wondered at it. “Do you remember last years’ ball, Ruskin?” Katherine asked him now.

“Do I? Great day! Lord Havistock was so drunk he could hardly stand.”

“Well, he didn’t do much standing, if I remember correctly. At least he wasn’t standing when his wife found him closeted in the cloak room with Lady Armitage. The row she raised!”

Which reminded Katherine of yet another story. Which soon led to another. Ruskin was so engrossed in these reminiscences that Abbie was all but forgotten. But whenever they happened upon anyone of any notable import, Ruskin was suddenly all attentiveness once more.

“Arabella, why do you linger behind?” he would say, and slow his horse enough to place himself once more at her side.

Ruskin’s gelding was accustomed to taking long strides, and Katherine’s to keeping up with him. But the mare Abbie rode this morning was skittish, and she found she had to hold the reins rather tightly in order to keep the animal from prancing around at odd angles. Ruskin took little notice, so engrossed in conversation was he.

In time their voices lowered, and their conversation appeared to grow a little more confidential. At last Katherine looked over her shoulder at Abbie. Was she now the topic of their discussion? She was, it seemed, and she was not long to wait to have the impression confirmed.

“Miss Gray,” Katherine said with unusual formality. Was it for the benefit of those who were now passing them, and to whom she nodded respectfully, or had she another purpose? “Ruskin says you will not agree to allow him to be your escort at the ball. Why will you not?”

Ah, so she was to be scolded. “I’m concerned it may be a little too soon to imply a pairing. At least for Society’s sake. I come as a special guest of the family. Why must I be singled out further than that?”

“Do you not realize the honor it would signify? It is one thing for a family to find themselves with a ward in their charge, whom it is their privilege to raise to their level. It is not entirely unheard of, after all. But it is quite another thing altogether if they considered her of such great merit that they would recommend her for marriage within their own family circle.”

Abbie was rendered extremely uncomfortable by this turn in the conversation. Ruskin himself had never addressed her so directly on the subject. Perhaps her mare felt the tension as well, for she was almost jogging now, though they remained at a walking pace, and Abbie’s fingers were beginning to cramp with the strain of holding the reins so tightly.

“Perhaps such a vote of confidence within the family might serve as an example to others without the family circle as well.”

“Well of course it would,” Katherine said haltingly. “In certain respects.”

“Not in all respects, then?” She was not sure why she’d said it. Perhaps because, after all, it was a question she very much wished to have answered. Ruskin glowered, and she was sorry for it, but she really wanted to know. If she refused Ruskin, just how disappointed would the family be? Certainly it would not be a devastating disappointment, not for long at any rate. No doubt Sir Nicholas and Lady Crawford would prefer, after all, that the heir to their estate and fortune should marry someone better suited to the position than she.

Katherine examined Abbie keenly for a moment, then turned to offer a confidential word to Ruskin. A moment later, he was riding on ahead, while Katherine lingered to ride beside Abbie.

“That was cruel,” Katherine said, scolding her in earnest now. “You know how he feels about you.”

“I don’t, if you want to know. He has set his mind upon having me, I know that.”

“And his heart. Has he never said so?”

“No. But then perhaps gentlemen such as he do not say such things.”

“We nevertheless like to hear it, don’t we?” Katherine said as though she felt in sympathy with her.

“I don’t know,” Abbie answered her. “I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it, to tell you the truth. If he were to make some bold declaration, and I were not prepared to return it…

“I do not understand you, Abbie. He is prepared to give you everything! Why do you persist in being so cold to him?”

“Am I? I do not mean to be. I only mean to be honest—and to be dealt with honestly in kind. I do not like these manipulations and maneuverings. To be honest, I’m still having a difficult time accepting the fact that he—that they—would consider me worthy to be singled out so.”

“If that is all, conquer it, dear Abbie. All that he has is meant to be yours. Don’t refuse it. Accept it. Accept him and be happy.”

“I will try,” Abbie said, and felt a little guilty for her boldness. Had she done wrong, though, to demand that his plans for her did not outrun her own?

“And, Abbie, please, do promise to let Ruskin escort you to the ball. Try to make the most of—”

But Katherine was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a dog, who had made his way onto the bridle path and was barking ferociously. The horses made room for him, and the riders sidled past, but it was Abbie’s horse, snorting and prancing fitfully, that the dog had focused his attention on. He lunged at them. Abbie stifled a scream, and swallowed it down entirely as her horse bolted from beneath her to make a mad dash down the path. She leaned forward to keep her balance. She knew, at least, how to ride a galloping horse, but she was scared nearly senseless and struggling to regain her grip of the reins. At last she had them in hand, and pulled with all her might, leaning back at the same time. The animal slowed to a canter, and then to a slow lope.

A gentleman ahead of her, seeing her distress, placed himself and his horse in front of them. Her horse must dodge or stop, and with a carriage on the one side, and his companions on the other, her mare had little choice but to slow to a halt at last.

“Thank you,” she said to him, out of breath.

“Not at all,” he returned with a respectful bow of his head. “I see you know horses, though this one could use a little more exercise, I think.” He appeared on the verge of saying something more, but instead looked up as the sound of hooves came rushing toward them. It was Ruskin.

“Thank heaven you are all right!” he said, and quickly dismounted to take Abbie’s horse, jerking the mare’s head hard by the reins and snapping his boots with the end of his crop. He was clearly angry, and Abbie was frightened.

“Get down,” he snapped at her.

“She seems to have it in hand, Crawford,” the man said to him.

Ruskin, for the first time, acknowledged him. “Hargrave,” he said, but did not make the introduction. “Get down, Miss Gray, won’t you?” His request, this time, was offered with a little more effort at gentility. She obeyed his request, and he made a show of helping her more than was necessary.

“Are you all right? You were not hurt?” he inquired of her as he led her toward the patch of grass.

“No,” she answered him. “I’m not hurt at all.” She was shaken, but unharmed.

He placed a hand to her chin to examine her face. Satisfied, he turned again to address the mare. He pulled the animal about in a tight circle, and when he had her at a convenient angle, he applied the handle end of his riding crop to her flank.

“Ruskin!” Abbie yelled at him. “Stop it!” Had he such a temper, truly?

He struck the mare again, but with a sharp word or two from Mr. Hargrave, who reminded him that there was an audience to watch him in his fit, he stopped and looked around. He was more embarrassed now than angry, but his change in manner offered Abbie little comfort. Amidst the murmuring and gawping of the crowd that had now gathered, Ruskin gave a sharp yank of the reins and turned to lead his and Abbie’s horses toward home, leaving Abbie and Katherine, leading her own horse, to follow.

“If my brother was any use at all he’d have exercised these horses properly!” he said as he passed them.

The girls watched him for a moment and at last fell in line behind him. “You
are
all right?” Katherine asked Abbie as she walked beside her.

“Yes, I’m perfectly well.”

“I hate to think what would have happened if Ruskin hadn’t—”

“Ruskin?”

“Yes. If he hadn’t saved you, I don’t know what we—”

“Saved me from what, Katherine? It was Mr. Hargrave who at last persuaded my horse to stop.”

“Mr. Hargrave? I hope you don’t consider him a hero.”

“I only meant to say that it was he and not—”

“Do be careful, Abbie. Not everyone is what they seem. Ruskin will keep you safe, if you let him.” She was suddenly beseeching. “Only abandon your selfish pride and do let him, will you?”

Abbie did not answer this, but walked on in silence.

“I cannot believe James did not think to exercise your mare,” Katherine said at last. “It’s simply unforgivable!”

“How is it James is to blame?” Abbie asked her. “He’s not even at home.”

“But he is. He’s been home these last two or three days.”

“How is that possible? I’ve not see him.”

Katherine appeared apologetic now. “He’s not at his best, I’m afraid. He does have his episodes.”

“Episodes?”

Katherine looked at her but seemed disinclined to answer.

“Tell me what you mean, Katherine,” Abbie pressed.

“Well, he was seen to come home Friday evening a little worse for wear.”

“Worse for wear? What does that mean?”

“He came home drunk—nearly too drunk to stand, or so Ruskin said—and he appeared to have been in some brawl or something.”

Abbie was having a hard time believing this. “James?”

“That is who he is, Abbie. He has been putting on a good show for you, but he has always been a little wild. You can’t be completely ignorant of his reputation.”

She wasn’t. She had been very familiar with it, in fact. But she thought he had changed. She believed he had changed.

“I’m sorry, Abbie,” Katherine said and was quiet a long time, while Abbie replayed in her mind the day’s events. And it wasn’t even midday! They were nearly to the house when she spoke again. “I hope you are not too disappointed in him.”

“In Ruskin?”

“Ruskin? Why would you be disappointed in Ruskin?”

Dared she answer this? Because he was impatient, manipulative, easily provoked to anger? Abusive? If she did not comply with his wishes, would he deal with her as he had dealt with her mare?

“It was James, I meant,” Katherine clarified.

Abbie looked at her. “I suppose I can’t answer that until I see him for myself. I can’t believe it is as you say.”

Katherine looked at her sympathetically, and held her arm tightly within her own.

“Let’s not talk, shall we?” Abbie said. “I have such a headache.”