A Woman's Estate (12 page)

“And swim—” Victor put in.

“No,” Arthur said, and then, smiling into their faces, which
displayed a mixture of shock and indignation, “I’m sorry. I hate to put a
damper on such delightful plans, but that pond isn’t fit for swimming. The
bottom is all silted up with muddy slime, and it’s full of eel grass. As for
fishing, there’s nothing worthwhile there. But swimming and fishing are no
problem. There’s a spot on the Stour that’s perfect, and only a quarter mile
away.”

“But that would be on your land, sir,” Victor said.

Arthur nodded approvingly. “So it is, and I’m glad to see
that you understand trespass, but you—and your mother and sister, of course—are
very welcome on St. Eyre land at any time. In fact, if your mother approves, I
will walk over with you and show you the spot right now.”

“Mother?” the children’s voices blended, and Abigail saw
Victor’s head turning to say that Daphne had not been invited.

It was true, but probably only because Sir Arthur did not
realize that she would want and expect to go. Since they as yet had no other
friends, Daphne was Victor’s shadow, even when he intended to do things that
she knew would not interest her, like fishing. She would go anyway, and pick
flowers and read. Usually Victor liked her company—she was so obviously
admiring—but Abigail could see he was afraid Sir Arthur would not want a little
girl tagging along. Abigail had no strong feelings about the subject and
ordinarily allowed Victor and Daphne to settle the matter on their own, but she
was not in the mood for a squabble or for soothing Daphne’s tears and hurt
feelings. Sir Arthur’s warm and easy manner with her children had made her
inexplicably happy.

“May I walk with you?” she asked.

“We would be honored, Lady Lydden,” Arthur replied gravely.

Until they reached the pool, Abigail had no chance for a
private word with Sir Arthur, since Victor walked with him, talking of fishing
and paying strict attention to the path. There were several trails, which led
either upstream or downstream to shallower, faster moving portions of the
river, but the place to which Arthur led them had been artificially enlarged
from a side arm of the river. It was wide and deep, with only enough movement
in the water to keep it from becoming stagnant, and it was an exquisite spot.
The path opened into a tiny meadow, shaded by large trees, and the bank of the
river was starred with kingcups and yellow iris.

Daphne and Abigail stopped to admire the scene, while Arthur
led Victor down to the river itself and pointed right and left along the bank
to where one could see the side arm dividing from and rejoining the main
stream. The best fishing was at those points, Arthur said, and it was not
difficult to find a spot to sit, even though it looked as if the brush came
right down to the water. Many of the trees had roots that protruded out into
the river, and there were niches one could not see from this angle, where trees
had fallen or been cut and removed. Victor promptly proposed finding a good
spot then and there, and Arthur said Victor might do so but declined to
accompany him on the grounds that he was not dressed for plunging about through
heavy brush. Having glanced at Sir Arthur’s elegant coat and neckcloth and his
pale pantaloons and thin shoes, Victor kindly agreed to make his examination
alone.

When Arthur rejoined Abigail, Daphne asked shyly if she
might pick some of the flowers, and Sir Arthur said it would make him happy if
she did. “It is a shame to waste them,” he remarked, “but there are no ladies
in my household, and so the poor flowers simply languish without any
attention.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said, as Daphne ran off to gather her
posy. “You have managed to make them both very happy.”

“And made you very worried?” he suggested. “Don’t be
concerned. This really is a safe spot because it is known all over the area and
in both households that I spend a good deal of time here myself—and not at any
particular time of day, or even night. The river is incredibly beautiful by
moonlight. Will you allow me to show it to you?”

“I should like that very much,” Abigail replied softly.

Chapter Eight

Abigail had hoped that no one except herself had been aware
of Sir Arthur’s visit, but Hilda pounced on her as soon as she entered the
salon. “One would have expected,” she complained, “that he would have had the
courtesy to call on
me
. It was
I
to whom he behaved in so rude
and unfeeling a manner. In fact, one would have thought he would be ashamed to
show his face in this house at all after the expectations he raised—”

“Mama—”

It was a whimper of protest, and Abigail kept her eyes
firmly fixed on Hilda so that they would not glance involuntarily at Griselda.
Arthur and Griselda? It was unthinkable! Still, there was that incident at
breakfast the previous day, when Abigail had mentioned the possibility of
Griselda’s marrying and leaving Rutupiae Hall. Griselda had certainly had some
bitter disappointment. But it was inconceivable that Arthur— Suddenly Abigail
realized that he was no longer Sir Arthur in her mind. She dismissed that
diverting thought to concentrate on a far more serious matter. Abigail simply
could not believe that a man like Arthur would seriously contemplate Griselda
for a wife. But could he have courted her for a joke, just to tease her? That
would have been horrible, despicable.

Abigail could not believe Arthur would be so cruel. She
remembered the kind eyes, the many thoughtful gestures he had made, the woods
to be patrolled, the offer of horses, the warmth to her children. Of course,
she told herself, all of that might just be the lures he was displaying for
her,
but even if it were so, there was no harm in it. Arthur was obviously
experienced in affairs of light dalliance and must be aware that Abigail was
not only a beautiful woman but one well able to protect herself and thus a
worthy partner. Griselda was another matter.

Why should Arthur even think of Griselda, except to pity
her? And with the word the horrible possibilities became clear to Abigail at
once. If Arthur had been kind out of pity, Hilda was exactly the type to
misread the courtesies he had extended. Had Griselda fixed her affection on
Arthur because of the kindness, or had her idiot mother convinced her that he
loved her? The girl was so starved for affection of any kind that it would not
have taken much. Abigail could have wept, but that would only make everything
worse.

She became aware that Hilda was now engaged in providing a
catalogue of Sir Arthur’s notorious amours all over the neighborhood.
Surprisingly, for she admitted to herself that she was interested in the man,
she did not feel at all jealous. Although she did not doubt Arthur did, indeed,
play with women, Hilda’s list amused rather than infuriated her. So determined
a lothario would have little time for politics—or for anything else.

“And you need not look so amused and superior,” Hilda
exclaimed waspishly. “If you think you are an exception, you are quite wrong.
He gives that impression to everyone.” She uttered a spiteful cackle of
laughter when she saw Abigail frown. “Oh, so you
have
fallen victim to
Sir Arthur’s practiced lechery.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” Abigail said coldly. “If I
was displeased at the scandals you chose to relate, it was because Sir Arthur
has been very kind to me. He came to explain to me the precautions he had taken
with regard to avoiding another accidental shooting, since my children are
likely to wander in the woods a good deal.”

“Precautions?” Eustace remarked, his voice slightly
sneering. “What precautions are necessary against that kind of accident? It
won’t happen again, anyway. Most probably it was one of his own gamekeepers who
panicked for some reason and fired the shot. Arthur’s a fool if he really believes
the man would confess.”

“None of his people are honest.” Hilda cackled. “He coddles
them too much. They know they can get away with anything, and they do.”

Abigail did not agree with either Eustace or Hilda, but she
was more intent on changing the conversation for Griselda’s sake than on
defending Arthur’s servants. The attempt she made was a failure, however.
Hilda’s mind was like the proverbial immovable object.

Ignoring Abigail’s tempting gambit on the subject of finding
a local dressmaker, Hilda said, “I suppose you walked out into the woods with
him to make sure the ‘precautions’ he told you about were really taken.”

“I walked out with Daphne,” Abigail remarked with pretended
indifference, realizing that any show of the anger and disgust she felt would
only confirm Hilda’s ugly innuendo. “Sir Arthur kindly offered to show Victor a
good place to fish and swim, and my daughter felt a bit left out. Since you
were watching so carefully, you must have noticed that Daphne and I came back
with wildflowers.”

“Oh,” Eustace put in, before his mother could reply, “the
pool where there’s a small island in the river? That
is
a good spot to
swim. Is Victor good at it?”

“Quite good,” Abigail replied eagerly. She was delighted
both by Eustace’s willingness to divert the conversation and by the fact that
he seemed interested in Victor’s liking for the sport. Eustace did seem to be
getting over his envy. “But Victor won’t be doing any swimming for a while. He
was used to a much warmer climate in America and must grow accustomed to an
English summer. Besides, he will have to find a companion for swimming. I would
not permit him to do so alone.”

“Yes, of course, that’s only sensible,” Eustace said,
seeming almost disappointed, which warmed Abigail’s heart because she felt he
was sympathizing with Victor. Then he asked with interest, “Does Victor like to
fish?”

“Yes, he does,” Abigail answered, smiling encouragement.
“Francis taught him. Are you a fisherman, too?”

“Not a very passionate one,” Eustace replied, also smiling,
“but I do take out a rod now and again. I have some old equipment that I could
lend Victor.”

“How kind of you!” Abigail exclaimed. “He will be
so
delighted. Could I impose on you a little further and ask you to explain how to
use it? He was barely eleven the last time Francis took him, you see, and I
don’t believe he was allowed to do much with the equipment. He has been fishing
since then, of course, but with a string tied to a stick sort of thing. And,
naturally, if he damages the rod or anything else, I will have it repaired.”

“Not to worry,” Eustace said pleasantly. “I don’t think I
have used the rod I have in mind for him in ten years. In fact, I will give it
to him outright. Then he won’t need to worry if something goes wrong.”

Abigail’s eyes glowed with gratitude. “Thank you. Victor
will adore you for this.”

“I doubt that it is Victor’s adoration Eustace wants,” Hilda
said archly.

Eustace closed his eyes for a moment, but he only smiled at
his mother when he turned toward her. Whatever he had intended to say was lost
as Empson opened the door at that moment to announce that dinner was served.
Worse yet, despite Eustace’s and Abigail’s combined efforts, Hilda managed to
drag the conversation back to Sir Arthur time and again during dinner, and
several gibes were directed toward Griselda. From these, Abigail was forced to
the astounding conclusion that Hilda had tried to induce her daughter to
threaten Arthur with a suit for breach of promise, and had been unsuccessful.
She could not decide which of the two ideas shocked her more—that any mother
could wish to expose her daughter to such public humiliation or that Griselda
had found the strength to resist.

As she did far too often, Abigail offered up a prayer of
thanksgiving when dinner ended. However, this time she could not bring herself
simply to flee to the quiet of her own apartment or to the noisy amusement of
her children’s company. Griselda, she was sure, would not be allowed to escape,
and Abigail could not bear to leave her to be tormented by her mother. The
solution was to send for Victor and Daphne to come down and join her.

For a little while the success of the maneuver hung in the
balance. Victor scored the first points by being so volubly grateful over
Eustace’s offer of a real fishing rod that Hilda could not get a word in. But
when, with grim patience, Eustace took the boy to fetch the rod at once, Hilda
made a strong recovery by snidely suggesting that Sir Arthur had spent a very
long time in the library with Abigail for a purpose that could have been
accomplished by a short note.

Since Arthur had made that point himself, Abigail could not
blame Hilda for thinking of it, and she answered calmly. “He also wanted to
discuss the subject of school for Victor. Obviously, since I am Victor’s
guardian, he cannot make arrangements without my concurrence, and there is much
to be talked over.”

“Don’t you let him send your poor little boy off to school!”
Hilda exclaimed.

To Abigail’s surprise, an expression of anxiety appeared on
Hilda’s face. Abigail had no way of knowing why such an expression should be
assumed, but her instinctive reaction was that Hilda was too stupid and too
self-centered to be capable of pretense, thus, she was truly concerned.
Fortunately, the mingling of surprise and doubt kept Abigail from bursting into
laughter at hearing Victor called a “poor little boy”. A less apt description
of her sturdy, fearless devil of a son would be hard to find.

“But what will I do if Victor goes to school?” Daphne asked.

“You may go too, my love,” Abigail replied. “Sir Arthur was
naturally concerned with Victor, since he must make the recommendations that
will gain a place, but you will not be forgotten. Perhaps there is a day school
that you could ride to each day if you do not wish to stay at the school all
term. Or I could find you a governess who could teach you properly.”

“You are very foolish to be allowing a little girl to make
such choices,” Hilda screeched. “Daughters must learn to be obedient.”

“I had rather she learned to be sensible and to manage her
own life,” Abigail snapped.

Hilda glanced sidelong at Griselda, who had not uttered a
single sound all evening, since that one pathetic protest. “You will have
plenty of time to regret your foolishness when your sensible daughter leaves
you to die of loneliness.”

“I would never let Mother be lonely,” Daphne cried.

Abigail laughed aloud, although she was furious. “Don’t be a
goose, Daphne. You know I am never lonely, because I am too busy. Heaven knows
I am always glad to see you, but I am just as glad when you have things to do
on your own and let me get on with my work.”

“What work?” Hilda asked.

“At the moment learning to run this house and the estate,”
Abigail replied calmly. The children had been warned not to speak of the
business in New York, and though Abigail might have been concerned if Victor
had been there, she did not even glance at Daphne, who was a careful, less
volatile child.

“Run the estate!” Hilda echoed. “What right have you—?”

But before she could finish the question, Victor burst into
the room waving his new possession and exclaiming on its wonders and beauties.
Abigail let him run on for a time, ignoring Hilda’s outraged exclamations, but
when he began to demonstrate casts, endangering the candles and ornaments in
the room, not to mention the people—his skill not being equal to his
enthusiasm—she realized she would have to divert him.

“Stop now, before you hurt someone or break something,
Victor,” Abigail ordered. “You may take it to the pond tomorrow. Also, I have
something important to tell you. Sir Arthur offered to try to secure you a
place at Westminster—that is a—”

“A school,” Victor interrupted. “I know! It’s the school
William Baring goes to. Oh, Mother, that’s good! When can I go?”

Abigail was appalled. She had only wished to divert Victor
from the fishing rod and had thought that he would be interested in talking
about school but not eager to go because everything on the estate was still so
new and interesting. There were a number of reasons not to send Victor away too
soon, one of which was finding out whether his American schooling had, indeed,
been adequate.

“Well,” she said, “I see that I do not need to ask whether
you wish to go or be tutored privately.”

“Oh, no, Mother! I like school, and William will be there. I
know he’s two years ahead, but that’s all to the good. He won’t let anyone
bully me.”

“Well, then, we will hope a place can be found for you,”
Abigail temporized. “Now don’t set your heart on going, Vic. A fine school like
Westminster always has more applicants than places, and—”

“But Father went there, and with Sir Arthur and Mr. Baring
both asking for a place for me, they’ll make one, I bet,” Victor said
ebulliently.

“Make a place where?” Eustace asked as he came in.

“At Westminster. My father went to school there, and Sir
Arthur has offered to get me a place.”

“Ask for one, I said,” Abigail reminded him.

Eustace looked startled but did not speak. Noting his
expression and the fact that Daphne’s face was still clouded, Abigail suggested
that Victor take his rod up to his room temporarily, if he could not bear to
put it away with the other fishing gear, and that Daphne consult Mrs. Franklin
about schools. She was likely, Abigail remarked, to know what schools the girls
in the area attended and how well they liked them. Both children went off with
alacrity. Abigail suspected that Victor intended to do more with his fishing
rod than put it away and hoped he would not seriously damage the furniture or
bric-a-brac in his apartment. However, she wanted to ask Eustace why he had
looked so startled at the notion that Victor might go to Westminster and
forbore to issue any warning that might make Victor reluctant to leave.

When the door had closed behind her children, she turned to
Eustace. “Why did you look so surprised when Victor implied he wished to go to
Westminster?”