Cry of the Peacock (4 page)

“Yes,” Abbie answered, and found herself not entirely pleased to have her family’s embarrassment laid out before her so openly, and by he who had benefitted most by it.

“I regret the way your mother was treated,” he continued. “It has always been in my mind to do something to make up for the injustice she was made to suffer. I might have done far more yet, but your mother—God rest her soul—was a stubborn woman, and would not accept help, save when she had no other choice but to do so.”

“My mother possessed an independent spirit,” Abbie offered in her mother’s defence.

“Yes, she did,” Sir Nicholas answered with a knowing look. “I’d rather worried you had inherited the same.”

“Forgive me, sir, for not properly appreciating your offer before. It’s true I can be very proud. I only wished to do what was right, to accept no more than was my due. When my aunt stepped forward, of course there was no refusing her.”

“Wasn’t there? A woman who, before your father’s death, you did not know existed? You were grateful, admit it, for a chance to escape us.”

Abbie felt the color rise, but attempted no further answer.

“Now, now, my dear, it is not so bad. No honest person likes to take help from others when they can do for themselves. Pride is not a quality wholly to be lamented, but pride, when not kept in careful check, too often makes us our own worst enemy. Your mother did what she thought was right, I’ve no doubt, but she might have lived to have a far greater influence had she only humbled herself enough to accept the assistance offered her.”

“Did she have any influence, truly, though?” Abbie wondered aloud and did not think how ungrateful she must sound. “I know she wanted to. I know she tried with everything that was in her, but her efforts were so often in vain. My father’s, too. They needed your help in order to fulfill their obligations to you as your employees. If they would not have accepted it for themselves, they certainly would have done it on behalf of those who live and work here.”

Sir Nicholas adjusted his glasses and stroked his chin contemplatively.

“Forgive me, sir. I’m afraid I’ve a habit of speaking out of turn.”

“Ah, my dear, there is nothing to forgive. You are right to think that I have not done all I ought to restore the estate to what it once was and might be again. But have you not thought that the circumstances that caused the downfall of your mother’s family might have affected us as well?”

“My mother’s marriage to my father placed Holdaway at risk?”

“It wasn’t her marriage, my dear Miss Gray. Not that alone, at any rate. Times have been hard for everyone. Were hard for everyone, and in many ways still are. The seventies saw the worst financial crises this country has ever known. Bad weather, unscrupulous trading, banks failing, families selling up…We are still recovering, as you can see, from that ‘long depression’, as they call it. What I inherited was an estate greatly diminished. We have spent the last many years using our financial investments in Town, and abroad, simply to pay our debts. Consequently, matters at home have fallen by the wayside.  But now the economy is improving, there is hope once more for an estate such as ours to thrive. I mean to make amends.”

“Do you?” Abbie asked with unrestrained hope.

“The estate needs a stronger manager, than I. Someone unafraid to make the necessary changes, and to do it without kowtowing to the complaints of the neighboring estates, who do not see fit to follow suit. I mean to place Ruskin at the helm, and to do it immediately. There will be no new overseer. My son will manage the estate from home.”

Abbie was speechless. Was this good news or bad? Ruskin was likely well prepared to take on such a responsibility. He had spent years at university, longer still travelling, visiting with other estate owners, gleaning what knowledge he might of the ways of the modern landowner. He knew a great deal…in theory. In practice, though… Considering the years of neglect this family had suffered their dependents to endure, she was not certain the news would be welcome to them. His education counted for him with his peers, but against him with the common man, for in the time it took to gain it, he had been absent from them.

“I regret to say, my dear,” Sir Nicholas said, “that you do not look entirely pleased by the news.”

“It pleases me, sir, to hear that a plan is in place to make some necessary changes. It pleases me very much. I hope Mr. Ruskin is able to fulfill all your hopes.”

“And what are your own?”

“Mine?” Were her own wishes to be taken into consideration?

Sir Nicholas, leaning back in his chair, clasped his hands over the slight protrusion of his belly. “It has occurred to me what a unique perspective, and a valuable one, yours might be.”

“Mine, sir?”

“Yes, of course,” he answered and laughed. “You know, in a way perhaps none of us ever can, what it is our people need most. If you were to counsel with him…”

“Are you sure he’ll welcome that, sir?”

“I know it.”

This was the very answer she had hoped for. “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

“Good,” he said with a cheerful thump of his hand upon the arm of his chair. “I’m glad to hear it. In fact it is a very great relief to me.”

It seemed the interview was over. Abbie arose to go, but stopped again at the door. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your kindness, sir. I do hope I’ll prove myself worthy of the faith you have placed in me.”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt you will,” Sir Nicholas answered her.

She quit the room then, to stand in the hall, thinking over the interview and the reassurance she now felt upon having her questions answered, very nearly, to satisfaction. It
was
like her to be so consumed by the injustices she witnessed around her, to justify her own pride by the evidence of pride she saw in others, that she failed to remember there was suffering beyond that which she could observe in her immediate field of vision.

It had never occurred to her before today that the financial hardships felt by herself, and by so many of their neighbors, had been felt by the Crawfords as well. Even this revelation might not have absolved the Crawfords of quite all their sins had Sir Nicholas not expressed a sincere desire to make amends for them. And that answered the greatest question of all. She had been asked to come, to assume a place within her lofty landlord’s family, almost as one of their own, to make up for the injustices her mother, and Abbie and her sister, had been forced to endure. It made complete sense. Well, it very nearly made sense. What elucidation was yet lacking, namely that which pertained to her mother’s history with the Crawford family, Abbie would surely learn in time. Her existing reservations owed much to her hesitancy to believe any such good fortune should be hers. She would simply have to overcome those reservations, and it appeared that she would be given every encouragement to do it.

That Sir Nicholas would not only permit Abbie to offer her assistance on the estate, but that her assistance was actually desired, fairly astounded her. It was all—more, even—than she could have wished for. What would such news mean to the estate’s families, those who struggled daily to get the work needed to put food on the table?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

*  *   *

Abbie, on returning to her room, immediately prepared herself to go out of doors. She had retrieved her wrappings and was tying on her bonnet when Sarah entered.

“Are you going out, miss?” she said in what might have seemed as concern if there were not something vaguely reproachful in her manner.

“I am at that, Sarah,” Abbie answered a little impatiently.

Sarah took on a more conciliatory tone. “Are you sure you are recovered enough for an outing, miss? You’ve been so very ill.”

“I’m stronger today than I’ve felt in a month. I mean to make the most of the weather, while it lasts, and to get a little exercise. I’ve not taken a proper walk in longer than I can remember.”

Sarah hesitated for a long moment, as if uncertain still of Abbie’s resolve. Abbie finished her preparations by putting on her gloves and taking up her umbrella—just in case.

“Shall I come with you, miss?” she asked and actually moved to get her things.

“No,” Abbie answered, stopping her. “No, but thank you. I think I would like a little time to reacquaint myself with my old home.”

“As you see fit, miss,” she answered at last and apparently reluctant still. And she was left to watch as Abbie commenced, alone, upon her errand.

A
BBIE LEFT THE house through the rear entrance and stopped upon the paved portico to look out upon the large park which spread out before her, and which was divided from the fields and meadows beyond by a long row of trees. In the distance she could see the great rolling hills of the Downs, at the bottom of which were the cottagers’ rows, which housed the poorest of Holdaway’s people, and those who had endeared themselves most to Abbie. She crossed the lawn, her mind wholly occupied with thoughts of what she might find upon arriving there. With the assurance of an ambassador on an important mission she made her way, and was preparing to pass the border of junipers when she heard her name. She turned to find Ruskin catching up with her.

She was pleased to see him. He was apparently as pleased to see her. “Mr. Crawford. Have you come to join me?” she asked him.

In answer he offered his arm and a warm smile. She accepted both quite happily. “Where are you off to?” he asked her. The question was asked casually enough, but there was the slightest edge to his inquisition. Was he worried for her? Perhaps, after all, she ought to have brought Sarah, but what use would she be? Nothing but a hindrance amidst such familiar company as she was to see today.

“I was just on my way to the laborers’ cottages,” she told him. “I’ve been very anxious for them since I left.”

“I suppose it’s natural you should be,” he said. “It is a happy coincidence I have found you. I was very much wishing for some air, myself. And perhaps a pleasant companion. You are looking much better, I must say.”

“I’m
feeling
much better.”

“You had us all quite worried, you know.”

“I
am
sorry,” she said. “If I’d known what dangers London would pose to my health I might have reconsidered my obstinacy in going.”

“You confess to being obstinate?” he said in apparent surprise.

“If it’s true and I mean to repent of it, can there be any better course but to recognize it and confess it?”

“Your self-improving spirit will prove an example to us all, Miss Gray, and will serve you well, I think, as you embark upon this new life.”

“You may be right, Mr. Crawford. At least I hope I am up to the challenges before me.”

“
I
have no doubt in you.”

His expressed confidence in her abilities reminded her of those he was soon to exercise, and those she was, even this minute, endeavoring to assist him with.

“I’ve been speaking with your father this morning,” she said. “I’ve had some news that has pleased me very much.”

With an arched brow, and one word, he encouraged her to speak on. “Oh?”

“I have it from Sir Nicholas that you are soon to take over management of the estate.”

His countenance took on an air of pride, but his glance was yet uncertain. “I had worried you would wish to see your father’s position filled. I see you are as aware as I am that not just anyone could fill his shoes.”

“I think you will do wonderfully. Truly, I have great hope in what you might accomplish.”

“That makes me very happy to hear, Miss Gray. Your encouraging powers are wonderful.”

She felt the heat of the compliment in her face, and dared to speak on. “Your father gave me reason to believe I might be of some assistance to you in your endeavors. If you do not mind the encouragement, that is.”

“I could hope for nothing more. No one knows the workers and their families like you do, after all.”

She felt that hope burn anew. All the more so for knowing they were to waste no time about it. Only their rambling, it seemed, had taken them somewhat off course. She stopped and looked about her. “This is not the way to the cottages.”

“I fear it looks like rain. Perhaps another day would suit our purposes better.”

Abbie looked to the sky. The clouds had darkened, it was true, but in a quarter of an hour they might find shelter amongst friends.

“And I fear you are not yet strong enough for so long a walk, nor so trying a visit.”

“Trying?”

“Perhaps another day. When I have more time to afford you.”

“I needn’t keep you. I can manage well enough on my own.”

He laughed again, kindly, but proudly, too. “It would hardly be gentlemanly of me to send you off alone, in foul weather and amidst the workers no less.”

“Certainly you don’t consider the workers a danger to me?” She thought the idea absurd, but the fact that he did not answer her, offered, in fact, no attempt at reassurance, made her wonder all the more. Was he merely being overly protective? Or did he truly believe there was something to fear? They had arrived before the house, and she was about to press him for an answer, when he turned to her.

“Now you are so much better, I hope you’ll be joining us for meals. For supper at least. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you this evening?”

The attentive manner with which he offered this invitation was enough to distract her, at least momentarily, from her irritation at not being answered, and at finding herself so soon returned to the house.

“Say you will?” Ruskin pressed.

“I… I do hope so,” she answered, still caught off guard by the ardency of his request.

“Good,” he said, and looked quite pleased. “I’ll be sure the directions are made to set you a place.” He bowed then, leaving Abbie to stare after him in silent confusion.

*   *   *

Abbie returned to her room, her mind, once more, full of questions—and of the variety that would not be so easily answered. Her interrupted and redirected walk had left her more puzzled than ever. Mr. Crawford’s attentions fairly astounded her. Certainly there could be nothing to them but brotherly concern, and yet they were certainly pointed. And he was right, after all. She felt fatigued and was, in that moment, grateful for the foresight that had prevented her from taxing her strength further than she was yet prepared to endure.

She spent the rest of the afternoon resting, but joined the family that evening at dinner. Sir Nicholas and his wife sat at opposite ends of the long table. Ruskin sat adjacent to his father, and Abbie was placed at the corner nearest Lady Crawford. James was conspicuously absent, but the knowledge that he would have no inhibiting effect on the conversation gave her cause to hope for more openness than she might otherwise expect. At least it would prove so for her part.

“It is such a delight to have you at table, my dear Arabella,” Lady Crawford crooned, “and to see you looking so well. You are a spitting image of your mother, is she not, Nicholas?”

“Quite, my dear.”

“Your lovely hair is just the same shade of walnut, and you are tall like her, too.”

“You must have known my mother well.”

“I did at that. The Crawfords and Fairbournes were very close friends at one time. In fact, if all had worked out according to plan, your mother might have been—”

Lady Crawford was interrupted by Sir Nicholas, who, after clearing his throat, was now coughing almost violently.

“Why, whatever is the matter with you?” Lady Crawford asked of her husband.

“Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all. It seems that last sip of wine did not know which way to go down.” And before his wife could continue on in the old vein, he started a new one. “I understand you ventured a walk today,” he said to Abbie.

She felt the disappointment of having the subject turned so soon, but she was too distracted by Sir Nicholas’ sternly asked question to give it much more than a passing thought.

“Yes,” she answered. “That is, I wished to. I had hoped to visit the lower cottages, but Mr. Crawford thought it unwise.”

“Unwise, indeed,” Sir Nicholas answered very gravely. “Your health is too newly regained to risk it again so soon. The fevers and illness are much diminished, but they have not yet wholly abated.”

“Yes, sir Nicholas. Of course you are right, though I’m sorry to hear it.” She looked up to find him studying her seriously.

“I wonder,” he said, “if you realize just how entirely your circumstances have changed.”

“Yes, of course, sir, but you did say—”

“It is true you might do more now for the estate and its people than you ever could have done before. I very much hope you will. You must remember, though, that you are no longer on equal ground with them. You never were, you know, but now it is more important than ever that you remember it.”

“I hope you do not mean to say I am not to go among them. You wish for me to help them. I do not see how I am to do it otherwise. Whatever I may be, whatever I may have been, I will not abandon these people, especially now, when I am at last in a position to help them.

“Perhaps you are right, my dear.” Sir Nicholas seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Of course it is impossible to think of your going out alone among them. Of walking out alone under any circumstances is not wise. Not at present.”

“To think of it, dear Arabella!” Lady Crawford said and was suddenly quite fervent. “With the weather as unpredictable as it is… With all those men about, too! It’s almost more than I can bear to think upon. You know I would never have allowed such a thing of my own daughter. I cannot conscientiously allow it of you.”

With this, Abbie was reminded of the one great tragedy in the Crawford family’s experience—the loss of their only daughter.

Abbie was but a child, perhaps seven, when Emily Crawford had died. She had been a very willful and adventurous young woman, but much admired by those who knew her. A great deal was expected of her, too, until her life was cut short. She had been out riding and had been caught in a downpour. Her chill quickly turned to fever, and a week later she was gone. It was little wonder, then, that the family should be so protective of Abbie.

“In the future,” Sir Nicholas said, “I think it would be wise to keep your maid as a sort of companion. Both within the house, and when you are out of it, though for the time being at least, you will confine your walks to the immediate grounds.”

“Yes, sir Nicholas,” Abbie answered, inwardly reluctant, but conscious of her duty, and of her gratitude. She felt the constrictions of her new life, and bristled beneath them, but she understood them now. They were not entirely unreasonable, considering all.

“In a week’s time, perhaps two, we’ll see how things stand,” Sir Nicholas continued. “If you are still increasing in health and strength, we’ll arrange for you to pay some visits. Ruskin might accompany you. In fact, that might be just the thing.”

Abbie looked to Ruskin, who was watching her uncertainly. Was he opposed to paying such visits? And yet they were utterly necessary. He must see that.

“In the meantime,” Sir Nicholas went on, “I think you will find there is much we mean to do for you. We have great plans, my dear. Lady Crawford means to make a companion of you, to take you under her wing and train you up to be the lady you were meant to be.”

“You will be my comfort,” Lady Crawford answered earnestly, patting Abbie’s hand as tears filled her eyes. “You will be to me as a daughter. I will have a daughter of my own once more.”

A daughter? Did they think so highly of her as that? If an answer was wanted, she had none to give. She was struck speechless.

“We mean to make something very special of you, if only you will let us,” Lady Crawford pressed. “Say you will?”

“I really don’t know what to say,” Abbie answered honestly. “I don’t know how I can ever properly thank you for all you have done for me.”

“You can thank us by way of your success,” Sir Nicholas answered, “and by your willingness to do all that is expected of you. Study Lady Crawford carefully, learn all you can, and that, at least for the present, will be thanks enough.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered him. “You have my word.”

“What have we pressed Miss Gray into now?” James said, as he entered the dining room.

“You’re late again, James,” Sir Nicholas observed. “Do you not have a watch about you?”

“Of course I do,” he said and patted his pocket as if to provide the proof. Or perhaps to be sure it was there after all. “But I try not to pay it too much mind when I can help it. It’s rude, you know.” He took his place at the table.

“How is it rude to be aware of the time?” Lady Crawford exclaimed as though she had not learned, in her twenty-one years as his mother, when he was trying to provoke her.

“
Wear your learning like your watch
, and all that. What is the aphorism?”

“
In a private pocket
,” Abbie finished for him. “
And do not take it out and strike it, merely to show that you have one
. Those, I believe, were Chesterton’s words.”

James acknowledged this with a look that was at first half impressed, but quickly grew glaring. He offered a sardonic nod, and said nothing more.

“Yes, well,” Sir Nicholas said with an air of impatience. “As your grandfather gave you the watch, and as it is a very good piece, I suggest you use it and keep a more mindful eye of its measurement. As for your education, you might very well be reluctant to put that on display, after the humiliating results of your last exams.”