The House Between Tides (22 page)

The visitors broke into general laughter as Baird continued to tease his wife: “. . . a pea
cock
not a pea
hen
, my dear.”

“You had been provoked, I think.”

Theo was standing a little way apart, talking to Charles Farquarson and the factor, but he now raised his head and caught
Beatrice's eye, signalling a move indoors. Cameron caught the look and bent to gather up the afternoon's spoils, adding quietly, “And for all that he could do more, Mr. Blake is a better landlord than many. I'm sorry for what I said.”

Then Theo called out and beckoned him over. “We must think of something to entertain our visitors tomorrow, Cameron, if the weather's fine. Your father's joining us for dinner, so come too and we can discuss ideas.” And he put out an arm towards Beatrice, ushering her indoors.

Theo

Theo surveyed the dinner table that evening with wry amusement. Halfway down the table, John Forbes sat quietly in his tweeds listening to the gentlemen's accounts of the afternoon's exploits, exaggerated for the ladies' benefit, looking like a man who expected to enjoy his dinner rather more than his company. Theo offered him a silent apology, but he had to include John if he was to invite Cameron, and he had wanted Cameron here tonight.

It had been an appalling trip back in the boat the previous evening—heavy seas and a treacherous wind made worse by the heavy rain. But Cameron had command of the situation, hauling on the tiller, shouting instructions to his brother, tightening ropes and shortening sail, and the gentlemen had responded meekly to his authority. Theo suppressed a smile, thinking that perhaps only he and Donald would have recognised that a slightly different point of sailing would have spared the gentlemen the worst of the drenching spray. But he did not begrudge Cameron his cool revenge, and inviting him tonight would, perhaps, belatedly signal to the guests that Cameron's status was not that of a lackey they could order about and insult.

He looked across at Cameron now, his dark head bent towards Baird, politely attentive to some interminable tale, occasionally interjecting a remark, his lean outdoor face contrasting sharply with that of his florid neighbour. Entirely at his ease, Theo mused, playing with the stem of his wine glass. He had sent across a set of evening clothes for him, old-fashioned but of good quality, from a time when his own girth was somewhat less, and Cameron wore them with a casual indifference, appearing as much the gentleman as the others, despite the worn cuffs.

Theo signalled to one of the girls to replenish a butter dish and continued to watch Cameron as the young man nodded and smiled, exhibiting faultless manners, apparently unaware that he was attracting concupiscent looks from the ladies across the table. But Theo knew only too well how much Cameron despised his company. He'd seen the sudden shuttering of his face when he'd invited him to join them, giving him little choice but to accept—he could hardly plead another engagement.

He turned at a tap on his arm from Diana Baird beside him and gave her a semblance of attention. Cameron might not thank him for the invitation but perhaps would see it as a continuing benign interest in his affairs and set it against the abrasion of their escalating disagreements.

Mrs. Baird required only a fraction of Theo's attention, and he let his mind wander back over the afternoon. He had only agreed to take the men out shooting following Beatrice's entreaties that he find something for them to do, as he disapproved of pointless carnage. With the exception of Farquarson, they were hopeless shots anyway, and Farquarson at least had the decency to take only the plentiful mallards. He mused grimly that he had been well-served when Baird had managed to hit the phalarope, a personal favourite, and the look of contempt Cameron had flung him as the bird was picked off the water had compounded his regret.

Diana Baird finally despaired of engaging his attention and raised her voice to address Cameron. “We were talking of sea bathing, Cameron. Do you swim in the sea here?”

“Rarely, madam. It's not for the faint-hearted.”

Mrs. Campbell's eyes dwelt languidly on him as she leant across the table. “If the weather is fine tomorrow, we could take a picnic to the sea, and you could swim then, perhaps,” she drawled. “Your brother too. I'd like to see you two braving those great waves.” Theo looked dryly across at Cameron. “Could it be arranged, Beatrice, do you think?” Diana asked her. “The gentlemen have neglected us dreadfully.”

Damn the woman. He saw Beatrice look across at him, searching for a reason to refuse, but it was Cameron who calmly squashed the idea. “My thanks, madam, but I have no wish to swim tomorrow, and I believe my father has work for me to do.” John Forbes agreed that that was so, and the two ladies exchanged coquettish pouts.

The conversation moved on. “I understand now why you come up here, Blake,” said Charles Farquarson. “One forgets all about Asquith, the horseplay in Parliament, and the confounded Kaiser. Most enjoyable.”

Robert Campbell lifted his glass in agreement, adding grimly, “Aye, and next week I'll be back confronting the rabble on the docks.” Theo saw John Forbes send a warning look to Cameron. “There're paid agitators behind the unrest, you know, it's all orchestrated, the whole accursed business.” Campbell grumbled on in the same vein for some time, the others nodding and agreeing while Cameron regarded him steadily. “And half the ministers of the cloth are socialists these days, preaching dissent.” He signalled for his glass to be refilled, leaning forward, getting into his stride. “You've the same problem up here, of course, with the land raiders. Pure provocation.” Theo saw Beatrice glance sharply towards Cameron, and his face darkened. Had Cameron been entertaining
her with his radical views, enlisting her support? That he would not countenance. “If they preached the glories of Nova Scotia instead of stirring up trouble,” Campbell was continuing, “I'd give 'em one of my ships and pack 'em off. And I gather the Reverend Nichol will be gracing these parts again, advocating civil disobedience. Tell them to clear the cells in readiness, Blake.” Campbell looked around for approval, heavy-jawed and belligerent, and took another swig of wine. “Or get the gunboats back up here, that'd dampen enthusiasm for revolution.” And Theo watched helplessly as Cameron laid his knife and fork together on his half-empty plate and slowly pushed his glass away, his eyes never leaving Campbell's face.
Damn him.
Damn the pair of them!

Ernest Baird, meanwhile, was endorsing the sentiments. “It's everywhere you turn. Unrest. Dissent. Even the women, God bless them.” He raised a glass towards Beatrice, then to his wife. “No longer content with your fine plumage, eh?”

“Oh, those women. Mad. Quite mad.” Diana waved them aside with a twist of her hand and turned to Beatrice. “Aren't they, my dear?” Theo saw that Beatrice had been caught off guard as all eyes turned towards her, and it was his turn to send a warning look. For God's sake, no! Not down that route too. Beatrice and her mother had both surprised him with their vehemence on the subject of female emancipation. A reaction to the profligate father, no doubt, playing fast and loose with his family's security. Understandable, perhaps, but even so.

And sure enough, he saw Beatrice's colour rise and her chin lift. “Some of their tactics are extreme, of course,” she replied, looking steadily across at him, resenting the warning, “but their desire to be heard is only reasonable.”

“If they'd anything sensible to say, perhaps so,” grunted Campbell, and Baird guffawed. Theo felt a stab of sympathetic anger as Beatrice flushed.

“What a goose you are, darling,” Gertrude chided. “They only want to see their names in the newspapers.”

“Many are from good families, you know,” spluttered Baird, his mouth half-full. “Well-to-do. They could stay at home and be quite comfortable! If you ask me, they've run out of ways to fill their time.”

Theo watched Beatrice survey the table coolly, her annoyance betrayed only by patches of pink on her cheeks. “Surely the fact that they
could
stay at home but choose to put their freedom at risk shows how passionate they feel.” Silence followed, and Theo groaned inwardly as looks were exchanged around the table.

“Plucky too.”

Cameron's even tones broke the silence, and Theo found himself torn between cursing and cheering. “Misguided nonetheless,” he said, stepping in hastily, determined to close the topic. “No matter how much individual acts of misplaced heroism are reported in the press.” He gave Beatrice another quelling look.

“That phalarope of yours, Blake,” said Charles Farquarson, and Theo turned to him gratefully. “The only other bird I know of where it is the male which rears the young is the dotterel. I saw them once in Norway. Quite devoted, I'm told.”

Beatrice

Throughout the meal, Beatrice had been aware of Cameron, darkly handsome in Theo's old suit, and watched him making polite conversation with amused indignation. If only they could have heard him yesterday! But the fact that Theo had asked him to dinner disturbed her, compounded by the matter of the suit, and she had watched the two of them throughout the meal, conscious again of an undercurrent of tension, conscious too of the signals the factor
was sending to his son, and of Theo's watchfulness. But Cameron had kept himself well in hand, and no one had noticed his quiet refusal to continue to break bread with Campbell. Except Theo, perhaps. And then he had come to her defence in that surprising way.
Plucky too
.

She looked up and saw that Theo was signalling to her, and she rose, inviting the ladies to join her. John Forbes and Cameron got to their feet too, making their excuses. Cameron held the door as the ladies swept through, smiling over their shoulders at him. His father turned back to answer a question and Cameron stood waiting for Beatrice, and then he leant forward slightly as she passed him. “Some women, mind you, would be better strangled at birth.” It was no more than a murmur and he was gone, disappearing down the servants' passage while she looked after him in astonishment.