Cry of the Peacock (49 page)

“He was in the States for a few months. He’s in Germany, now. He found an opportunity to work with Wilhelm Maybach at his engine manufactury, and so has gone to learn what he can from him.”

“What a spectacular opportunity,” Abbie said, sincerely pleased for him.

“He rather thought so. My father thinks he’s gone ‘round the bend, but it is a magnificent opportunity for him. In fact he and my father have parted ways. It was what he felt he had to do, you know. Considering.”

Considering what?
Abbie wished to ask, but thought better. It was another question whose answer she feared. What more had been in that letter? She hated to think, and to prevent herself from doing it, she posed another question.

“Tell me, won’t you, how the estate does? Tell me that all is well.”

James smiled broadly. “It’s far from booming, but it is on its way to prosperity, I think. All we need are a few proper spring months and I think all will be well. The laborers have moved and are quite happy in their cottages, the more so as we are farming the land nearby, and so they needn’t travel quite so far as they had feared. The rents have been lowered, rather than raised, with the understanding that they will farm their allotments in tandem with the new crops. Garden vegetables is what I hope to make us known for, and it looks, so far, to be a promising venture.”

“I’m very pleased to hear it, James. More than I can say.”

“You may see it for yourself, I hope, by and by.”

“Of that I’m not so sure,” Abbie demurred.

“Why the hesitation? You cannot be opposed to visiting your old home?”

“What of Sir Nicholas and Lady Crawford? Will they forgive me, do you think?” She wished to know for herself, but she wished to know for James and Mariana’s sakes as well.

“Truly, Abbie, there is nothing to forgive. They’ll see that too before long.”

“And what happens to…?”

“What is meant to be yours? Well, I don’t know, really. There’s no reason to let the land sit and molder, now is there? We mean to farm it, as I said. I mean to restore Whiteheath Manor, if I can. If you will grant me permission. Who knows but that it might not be lived in again. There’s certainly no reason it might not be made self-sufficient in the meantime. The worst it can do is pay for itself. What do you think?”

“I think you are quite brilliant, James. And I think, if you ever get the opportunity,” she said to him, but looking at her sister, “you should try what you might to be very happy there.”

*   *   *

James remained in Town a few days only. But he was not, this time, to be kept away long. Indeed, it appeared his courtship of Mariana was in earnest now, and Abbie wondered if it was his success on the estate alone that warranted such eager pursuing. Certainly there were obstacles still. There must be, after all. How would Lady Crawford come to accept what she now knew was a part of Mariana’s history and background? Certainly Sir Nicholas and his wife could have no expectation of benefiting by Abbie’s fortune now, and if she thought such a fancy played any part in James’ motivation, she would never have dreamed of giving it to him. She did dream of it, though. She wished to pave Mariana’s way, and to reward James for his efforts on the estate. Why should her fortune not go to them?

She asked the question of Mr. Meredith, who took it upon himself to find the answer. If there was a way to transfer it, then she was determined to see that it was done. He engaged upon the errand without delay, and really seemed quite certain that some obvious solution would present itself. How he could be so certain, she did not know, but she took faith in his confidence and left the matter to him.

In the meantime, she wondered what Mariana’s marriage to James Crawford might otherwise mean to her. Could she accustom herself to the connection? She would not mind it so much were it not for Ruskin. If he was married to Katherine, did that mean he had forgiven Abbie? Did it mean he would harbor no resentments? She hoped so, though it was difficult to imagine engaging with him on any familiar basis. Katherine had always managed it. Abbie never had.

And what of the others? She would be grateful to be on good terms with Sir Nicholas and Lady Crawford once more. Their sons would be as brothers to her. It was that thought, more than anything else, that caused Abbie the most trouble. Would she ever be able to think of David Crawford as merely a brother? They would not be strangers, at least. For that she ought to be grateful. But considering all, perhaps such would be for the best. Until she learned to love another, could she ever bring herself to stop loving him?

*   *   *

It was not quite a month later that James returned, and yet he was not his usually cheerful self. It appeared he was a man of business, and indeed, he greeted Mariana very briefly, though warmly at that, before requesting Mr. Meredith’s presence in the library. They remained there in private counsel for some time, and Abbie was growing a little anxious in consequence, for the duration of it, the seriousness of their manner, seemed to bear an air of great portent. Even Mariana was fidgety and nervous, though she made an effort to be cheerful. It was the effort, more than anything, that gave her anxieties away.

At last the two men emerged, and stopped in the hall to contemplate the women who had been waiting for them. James quickly drew Mariana away, leaving Abbie and Meredith alone.

“What is this?” Mr. Meredith asked of her, plainly puzzled by her apparent anxiety.

Abbie could think of no excuse. Was she making something of nothing? “Are we not to take our walk today?” she asked him.

He checked his watch. “Hmmm,” he said. “Yes, of course,” but appeared uncertain still. “You’ll wish to change, I imagine.”

“Yes. I might have done it already, only I didn’t want to presume.”

“Presume away, my dear. Some air is just what I need, I think. And it is one of the rare pleasures of my life to walk out with a beautiful woman.”

Were it not for the last she might have argued with him. At least his manner confused her. How could he consider walking out with her a rare pleasure when it was something he did every day? She said nothing, however, save to excuse herself to change. He was checking his watch again upon her return.

“Am I keeping you from something?” she asked him.

He put his watch away. “No. Not at all,” he answered and looked around for something he appeared to have lost. “What have I done with my umbrella, I wonder.”

“I believe it’s in the stand by the door, where you usually put it.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, and very slowly put on his coat, then brushed it free of dust, after which, he put on his gloves, taking a great deal of trouble over them as well. Was he usually this fastidious? She had never known him to be so. Perhaps she had simply never noticed.

“Ready?” he said at last, and only after checking his watch again. He took up his umbrella.

“Yes, of course,” she said and laughed, and wondered after his manner a little more.

He held the door for her and they stepped out upon the walk, where the late summer flowers were fading fast and where a hired cab was sitting at the curb. The sun was hidden behind clouds today. The air bore the chill of approaching winter.

Mr. Meredith studied the street, the waiting cab, the sky. He tapped his umbrella on the ground.

Why did he dawdle still? “Shall we?” she said to him.

He smiled at her solemnly, almost regretfully. “We have been very good friends, Miss Gray.”

“I certainly consider it so, Mr. Meredith. And will continue to be, I hope.”

“If I’ve ever given you the slightest reason to be uneasy, I beg you to forgive me—and forget it, if you can.”

“Mr. Meredith, if you are worried for the future, if you think that by my remaining here, without my sister, I might somehow consider my position compromised—”

“No,” he said, and stopped her. “That wasn’t what I meant at all.”

“Then I’m afraid I do not understand you.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Perhaps I’m being a little cryptic.”

“I believe you are, sir,” she said, growing increasingly alarmed. “Would you mind explaining yourself?”

He looked at her a moment longer, looked again at the carriage and back at her.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said unexpectedly and handed her the umbrella. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind waiting here a moment, I seem to have forgotten something.”

“Yes, certainly,” she answered, and watched him as he left the little yard, as he passed the parked carriage and nodded to its passenger, as he entered his own gate, and then his house as well. She continued to watch, too, waiting in growing confusion for it to open again. His manner today was most peculiar.

“Hello.”

She started and turned at the sound of the voice. She had not seen the gentleman approach, but upon observing him, her hand tightened around her umbrella handle, and shook, as her heart thudded painfully against her chest.

She had not seen the gentleman approach.

“M
R. CRAWFORD. WHAT are you doing here? I thought you were in Germany.”

He smiled, uncertainly, and looked at her. As he had once done so many months ago. Kindly. Sympathetically. Only there was regret there too. She wondered what could have brought him. And remembered.

“You have come to see your brother. I’ll take you to him if you—”

“I didn’t come to see my brother.”

“No?”

“I came to see you.”

She knew not what to say. No words would come. Hardly any coherent thoughts.

“Were you just going for a walk?” David asked her.

“I was actually, only…” She looked to Mr. Meredith’s door and realized. Had his dawdling a purpose? Had he only been waiting for David to arrive?

“Mr. Meredith, I think, is otherwise engaged,” he said. “Would you mind it very much if I accompanied you today?”

Again, she hesitated.

“There is a park, I believe,” he said, “very nearby.”

Still, she did not answer him.

“Please, Miss Gray.” He opened the gate. “It’s sure to rain if we wait much longer.”

He offered his arm. And she took it at last.

They entered through the park gate and silently, companionably, made their way along the winding path. She was growing more anxious as they walked, and yet she could not quite believe he was here beside her. Had he a purpose to his visit? She almost feared to know it, and thought to fill the silence with conversation. There was much, after all, to say.

“I’m sorry about Katherine,” she began. “How awkward that must be for you.”

“It strangely seems natural, to tell you the truth. I’m only sorry we dragged it on as long as we did.”

“Certainly you must miss her?”

“We have always been friends. I imagine we always will be. But Ruskin is more suited to the life Lord Barnwell and my father shaped for me than I ever was.”

“And now James has taken Ruskin’s place on the estate.”

“More or less. James is more of a glorified overseer. He’s even living at Oak Lodge. He knows better than to take it all on himself, though. He’s hired help, and he has left the finances up to someone better able to manage them. He knows his weaknesses, which is perhaps the greatest strength of any man.”

“He has not left them to you, then?”

David looked at her a moment. “I’ve determined to make my own way, Miss Gray. I have divided myself from my family, from my father, at least, and I have severed all financial ties. I could never be a pawn for the sake of another’s gain. I could not stand before you now were it even possible.”

There was apparently more he wished to say, more at least, that he wished to imply, but here was not the place. With a nod he suggested they walk on, and so she allowed herself to be led, who knew where, and who knew to what? At least she resisted the temptation to hope.

“James has taken residence at Oak Lodge?” she said when the silence threatened once more to become awkward. “That’s very strange.”

“Not so strange when you think of it. Though he has rescued the estate in many ways, he has defied my father to do it. He means to defy them again. If he gets his way, he’ll make your sister his wife.”

“Your parents will certainly object.”

David stopped to brush a fallen leaf from Abbie’s shoulder. “They won’t like it just at first. But they’ll adjust. They have no choice, after all.”

“If she accepts him,” Abbie went on, “if they marry, then you and I will be brother and sister, after all.”

They were merely thoughts spoken aloud. She had forgotten how easy it was to speak openly with him, but she reconsidered her words when he stopped this time to look at her. Standing as they were in the middle of the path, they stood as an obstacle to those who had been walking behind them, and who must now find their way around. They did, and passed by without his paying them any notice. Abbie, however, was aware of the stares and gruff looks of annoyance expressed for their behalf. She was equally aware of his eyes boring into hers.

“Have I said something to offend you?” she asked him.

“I’m not sure. Do you mean to discourage me from my purpose?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he said with an air of mild frustration.

“Am I supposed to know what your purpose is?” She had a hint of it certainly, and yet it did not seem quite possible he had come to say the words she had heard him say in her dreams and thoughts a hundred times. She feared to be mistaken. Whatever his purpose, she wished for him to state it plainly.

He studied her for half a moment longer. “Can we find somewhere quiet to talk?”

Quiet, she supposed, meant alone. And what then? Once more she answered with a nod. And once more he led her onward. At the far end of the park was a Japanese garden, where, in the enclosure of shrubberies and densely growing trees, privacy might more easily be found, if not absolutely guaranteed.

The red maples and cherry trees that surrounded the little pond, where the fish swam, and where children watched and threw bread crumbs, provided a picturesque little spot. At last, when the children left, called away by mothers and governesses, Abbie and David were left alone.

It was here that the peacocks had gathered. Regal blue with feathers displayed, or tucked behind in a great train of vibrant color. They were serene in their silence, and went on with their fawning and preening, with a wary eye at the imposing pair, but gaining courage now that the noisy children had gone.

Abbie turned from these to him, and, unable to bear his too steady gaze upon her, she turned again to cross the little bridge that spanned a narrow channel of the pond. She stopped at the top of it, while he continued to watch her.

“James told me what has taken you to Germany,” she said to him, stalling still for time and yet desperate to fill the silence. “You must be very happy there.”

“I like my work,” he answered. “I like the country. It’s very beautiful. But I’m conscious of the fact that I am alone there.”

She knew not what to say to this. Her mouth was dry. Her heart beat a little more quickly. She asked the next question. “And your time in America? How did you find it there?”

“Abbie,” he said, ignoring the question and approaching to stand at the foot of the bridge. “You must know why I have come. You must know what has brought me here. Must I say it?”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I think you had better, actually.”

He smiled, but there was a little of sorrow, and of fear, too, in the gesture. “I came…” he said at last, “for you.”

A ripple of thunder rent the sky, not loud, but low and gentle, like waves in a pond when a pebble is dropped from no very great height.

“Why?” she found herself asking him, and really wanted to know.

“Why?” he echoed, plainly confused.

“Yes. Why me? Why now? You could have anyone.”

“Anyone won’t do, I’m afraid.” He studied her for a moment. “Have you really no idea what you have done to me?”

She was unprepared for the question, which sounded as an accusation. She shook her head in answer.

He mounted the bridge. “I am a miserable—pathetic—lonely—wretch,” he said, dropping a word with each step he took. He stopped to stand just before her. “You have taught me what unhappiness is. I lived it each day that I watched you trying to love someone else. I live it every day that there is an ocean between us and me never knowing when you will begin to try to love someone else.”

“I don’t. I can’t.”

The look on his face was one instantly of relief. He smiled, but he was sober still. “You gave me my life, Abbie. That is what you have done. You made me see that I have a responsibility to seek out my own happiness and to strive for it, to fight for it with everything that is in me. And never to forfeit it to those who deem their own needs and desires superior to mine.”

“I think I know a little of what that means,” she said to him.

He smiled very tenderly. “I believe you do.” He took her hand. “You gave me my life,” he said again. “But it is hollow without you in it. I want you, need you in it. I love you, Abbie. I’ve waited an age to say it.”

There was silence as he waited for her reply—any reply. It was broken by another long, low roll of gentle thunder. The rain began to fall, and he took the umbrella from her. He opened it and held it above their heads, stepping nearer still that he might share the shelter it provided.

“Marry me, Abbie. Say you will?”

A peacock, parading its glorious and many eyed feathers in the near distance, let out a great cry that pierced the air—and pierced Abbie’s heart. No words were uttered, and yet the tears came.

“Don’t cry. For heaven’s sake, I had hoped you’d be happy.” He drew her suddenly to him, enfolded her in his greatcoat and kissed her while the rain poured down. And he kissed her more, tenderly, ardently, and long. His lips, warm and passionate on hers, his hand at the small of her back, pressing her to him, she found herself at home in his arms and never wanted to leave them again.

“Is that a yes, then?” he whispered into her hair.

“Yes,” she said, and laughed and cried at once.

“Shall we go now and tell them?” he said far too soon. “Your sister will not thank me if I return you to her chilled and wet to the bone.”

“Yes,” she said.

He began to lead her from the bridge, but she stopped him. “Wait!”

He turned to look at her, somewhat puzzled.

“Will not your family object?”

“What my family feels about it does not matter. They are less likely to object than you think, which is precisely why I have distanced myself from them, don’t you see?”

She suddenly did see. If she were to marry David, the family might have a chance, once more, at gaining by her fortune.

“If you want it,” he said, “what was meant to be yours is yours. I want no part of it for myself. It is up to you. Meredith told me that you might—”

“I want James and Mariana to have it. All but the railway. That is for you.”

“For us,” he said and smiled. These plans plainly pleased him as much as they pleased her. “Shall we?” he said, and moved once more to go.

But she had one more question to ask him. “The dress. Was it you?”

For a moment he looked confused, as though he did not know what she was speaking of. And then, ever so slowly, a smile crept across his face.

“It was you! Why did you do it?”

“It was yours. You were meant to have it. I wanted you to have it.”

“Did you mean to tell me something by it? Was it a confession?”

“Perhaps it was, though it was a brash and cowardly way of doing it.”

“It was the only way you could do it.”

“I suppose it was.”

“I very much hoped it had come from you.”

He smiled at this, though he looked somewhat abashed.

“Tell me again,” she said to him.

“Tell you what, my darling?”

“That you love me. I don’t quite believe it yet, you know.”

“I can convince you, I think. Given enough opportunity.”

“And how do you mean to do that?” she asked coyly.

Without waiting for permission, he offered once more those tokens of true affection. He kissed her and whispered the words into her hair. “I love you.”

With the declaration once more confessed she found the courage to whisper them back. It was as a breath of wind, but at last the confession was made. “You have rescued me after all, David Ransom Crawford.”

“No, my dear. Quite the reverse, I assure you.”

THE END

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