Arabella of Mars (4 page)

“So you speak their language?” Beatrice said, interrupting Arabella's reminiscences.

Arabella blinked away memories and returned her attention to her cousin. “You say that as though there were only one Martian language. They have their nations, clans, and tribes just as we do, each with its own language or dialect. I did learn to speak a few words of my
itkhalya
's tribal language, though it is frightfully difficult for us to make the
kh
sound properly. But most Martians who work with Englishmen speak quite passable English.”

“How wonderful it must be,” said Simon in a bitter tone, “to have so many Martian servants at your beck and call.”

“I consider Khema more of a friend and companion than a servant,” Arabella replied. “It is true that she was in my family's employ, but the bond between us was quite sincere and affectionate.”

“Money,” Simon shot back with a resentful tone, “can create the appearance of affection.”

At that statement, Arabella noticed that Beatrice's face fell momentarily into rueful contemplation. But then she brightened—albeit somewhat artificially—and said, “I am sure your nanny's tender feelings were entirely genuine. But what of the male of the species? I have heard that Martian warriors are fierce and savage.”

“Though war is a frequent occurrence between the Martian nations,” Arabella replied, “there has been peace between Martians and English for many years. In any case,” she continued with a small smile, “among the Martians, it is the females who are the warriors.” Simon and Beatrice both expressed shock and disbelief at this. “I swear to you that what I say is true,” Arabella reassured them. “The Martian female is larger and more powerful than the male, and—though the English often refuse to believe this—Martians consider the female to be more suitable by temperament to the warrior's life. Indeed, my own
itkhalya
is well known among her people as a strategist.” To herself, Arabella reflected that this was one of the ways in which Martian culture was superior to that of the English. Sometimes she even thought that, if she had no alternative but to be born female, she would rather have been a Martian.

At that moment Sophie, in the next room, began to wail and fuss, and Beatrice excused herself to tend to her. Arabella, seeing an opportunity to converse with her in private, excused herself as well.

Once Sophie's immediate needs had been tended to and Beatrice had begun to rock and comfort the child, Arabella seated herself on the sofa next to her. “Forgive me if I am being impertinent,” she said, “but I cannot help but notice that Mr. Ashby seems … rather vexed. I hope that my presence here is not a burden to you.”

Beatrice gazed contemplatively out the window for a time before replying. “I am afraid that your father's recent passing has revived old grudges about the estate.”

“How so?”

“I gather he resents that his father did not receive a share of the inheritance when your grandfather died.”

Arabella placed a hand upon her bosom. “Let me assure you that it was not my father's choice, nor my grandfather's, to do so. They both loved my late uncle, Mr. Ashby's father, dearly, but the estate is entailed.… It
must
pass entirely and without division to the eldest son.”

“And thus it passes now to your brother Michael, and again we are left with nothing.” Mrs. Ashby's voice was more resigned than aggrieved.

“If there were any thing I could do…”

“It is the way of the world, I suppose.” Beatrice sighed. “I am sure that he will be much more himself in the morning. We will pick strawberries together, and all will be well.”

By now Sophie had drifted off, burbling contentedly in her sleep, and Beatrice laid her down in her crib. She and Arabella returned to the dining table, where Simon sat staring off into space and drumming his fingers on the table's edge.

The two women seated themselves, with apologies for the interruption, and without a word Simon began to carve the roast. Arabella received her portion with thanks, but after she had eaten the first few bites she was forced to deposit a large lump of gristle on the side of her plate.

Though she had done it as discreetly as possible, the act did not escape Simon's notice. “I must beg your pardon for the quality of the roast,” he said, quite testily. “I know that your side of the family is accustomed to finer fare, but this is the best possible under the circumstances.”

Beatrice gave him a withering look, then with a rather forced smile turned to Arabella. “Tell us about your voyage from Mars,” she said. “How did you survive the absence of gravity and atmosphere?”

Arabella sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. The scientific ignorance of English women, and most of the men as well, was appalling, but as her mother had repeatedly cautioned her, expressing her true opinion of her cousin's lack of knowledge would be a gross breach of etiquette. “It is merely a common misperception,” she explained, “that there is no gravity between planets. The sun's gravity is quite substantial, even as far out as Mars. But the ship is in orbit, you see, which means that she is circling the sun at exactly the same rate she falls toward it, so that those aboard the ship do not
feel
any gravitational attraction. We call this a state of free descent.” Beatrice's vacant smile told Arabella that her words were falling on stony ground, and she resolved to simplify her account still further. “And as to the atmosphere, although the interplanetary atmosphere is … of different composition from that of Earth or Mars, I assure you it is entirely breathable and quite healthful.”

“That is … fascinating,” Beatrice said, blinking rapidly. “But do go on. Did you see wind-whales, or asteroids? Were you attacked by pirates?”

“We were fortunate enough to avoid pirates, as well as the French navy. As to the rest, I am afraid there is little to tell.” She took another careful bite of her roast. “I spent most of the journey in my cabin.”

She did not confess the reason for this, which was that her mother had kept her forcibly confined there for almost the entire voyage—at first to prevent Arabella from attempting to escape the ship and return to Mars, and later, or so she had said, to protect her from the unwelcome attentions of the airmen.

“Surely you cannot have spent the
entire
time in your cabin? Does the trip not take a year or more?”

“That depends upon the positions of the planets.” Arabella paused, then pointed to her place setting. “Suppose my dinner-plate is the sun, and my bread-plate the Earth. My wine-glass, then, would be Mars; both orbit around the sun, but Mars is further away than Earth, do you see?” She picked up her glass in her right hand and held it above her lap so that the glass and the two plates were all in a line, with the large plate between the small plate and the glass. “Now, when Earth and Mars are on opposite sides of the sun, as you see here, the trip does take well over a year, and because of the expense and difficulty very few ships undertake it. We call this ‘conjunction.'” She shifted her wine-glass to her left hand and set it down just beyond her bread-plate, so that the glass and the two plates were again in a line, but this time with the small plate between the glass and the large plate. “But when the two planets are on the same side of the sun—we call this ‘opposition'—they are much closer together, and the voyage from one to the other takes as little as two months. This is our situation at the moment, as it happens.”

Suddenly Simon brightened, taking a keen interest in the conversation for the first time. “Two months, do you say?”

But Beatrice appeared puzzled. “Why is it that when the planets are far apart it is called ‘conjunction,' but when they are close it is ‘opposition'? This seems contrary.”

“It is because of Mars's position in Earth's sky—a rather parochial point of view, in my opinion. Conjunction is so called because Mars and the sun are very close to each other in the sky when seen from Earth; at opposition, they are on opposite sides of the sky.”

But Simon seemed uninterested in details of astronomy. “You say that few ships will undertake the long voyage because of the expense. Is the cost of passage on the short voyage more … reasonable?”

“Oh, yes! Much more so.” This, as it happened, was a subject very close to Arabella's heart. Ever since her arrival at Marlowe Hall, whenever a newspaper should happen to fall into her hands she eagerly perused the shipping news, taking especial note of ships accepting passengers to Mars. Though the expense was, of course, very far beyond her means, she eagerly drank in every detail, stoking her impossible fantasies of running away to London and returning to the land of her birth. “At the moment one could take passage for as little as two hundred pounds.”

“Two hundred pounds!” gasped Beatrice.

“Two hundred pounds…,” mused Simon.

“The accommodations at that price would be Spartan, to be sure, but with so many ships departing at this time, you would find no difficulty in obtaining a berth.”

The conversation went on in that vein for some time—Arabella being amazed, once again, by the degree to which most Englishmen were ignorant of even basic astronomy—but only Beatrice participated, Simon having again fallen silent and pensive. His gristly roast lay untouched upon his plate, and he stared at it with pursed lips and tense shoulders.

Suddenly, with only the briefest of courtesies, he rose and excused himself from the table. Beatrice's eyes followed his retreating back with an expression of deep concern.

“I…” Arabella stammered. “Have I said something improper?”

“I do not believe so. He has been more than usually troubled these last few days, but I know not what might be the matter.”

The two women ate their dinner in silence for a time, while various sounds of motion and activity echoed down the hall. Beatrice became increasingly anxious as Simon's absence lengthened, and finally she excused herself to see what might be keeping him.

Alone at the table, Arabella was left to examine her dinner-plate, bread-plate, and wine-glass, which sat where she had left them at the end of her astronomical disquisition.

The bread-plate and wine-glass were so very close together.…

Suddenly she had a frightful thought. Casting aside all she had learned of the courtesies a guest should extend to her hosts, she rose from the table and followed the sound of voices in hushed and urgent conversation to Simon and Beatrice's bedroom.

There she found Simon frantically cramming clothing into a valise, which lay open on the bed between him and Beatrice. The valise also contained a pair of silver candlesticks, a silver tureen, and a collection of cutlery.

“Wherever could you be going in such a frightful hurry?” Arabella said, though she feared she knew the answer. “And with the family silver?”

Simon looked up, his eyes wide and staring. “How dare you intrude upon us in our bedchamber!” His attitude, however, was more suited to one who had been surprised in the midst of a shameful activity than to one offended by an intrusion.

“I could not bear the thought of letting you depart without giving you my best regards. Might this have any thing to do with the relative positions of Earth and Mars?”

Simon gaped at her for a long moment, seemingly searching for some response and failing to find one. Then, with a sudden motion, he reached into the valise and brought out a dueling-pistol, which he leveled directly at Arabella. “I—I beg your pardon, but I must depart immediately. And I must insist that you remain here.” He drew back the pistol's hammer with a definitive click.

Arabella shied away from the pistol, but found her back against the wall. The opening of the barrel, directed toward herself, seemed as big as the world. Her hands pressed the rough wallpaper to either side. “What is the meaning of this display, Cousin?” Though Simon's expression was diffident, the pistol did not waver, and she could see that the pan was primed with powder.

“I … I beg your pardon,” he repeated. “But the last mail-coach to London departs within the hour, and I must be upon it, and I … I cannot allow you to prevent me from doing so.” Without taking his eye or his weapon off of Arabella, he brought another dueling-pistol from the valise and handed it to his wife. Trembling and uncertain, she nonetheless accepted it. “Dearest, I must ask you to lock Miss Ashby in the pantry. Do not permit her to depart, or to have any communication with the outside world, for at least the next two days.”

Awkwardly Beatrice directed her pistol at Arabella. “Of course, dearest,” she said, her eyes flicking from her husband to Arabella and back. “But … but
why
?”

Simon, breathing rapidly, swallowed and pressed his eyes closed for a moment before speaking. “My dear, I must confess that for the last several weeks I have … I have withheld confidences from you, and for this I apologize. I have made some … imprudent decisions. Financial decisions.” Beatrice stared at him in dismay, and her pistol sagged toward the floor, but Simon's gaze and aim remained steady upon Arabella as he spoke. “You knew when you married me that my, my pecuniary situation, was not of the highest degree. I had thought myself inured to this situation, but with Sophie's birth … I became ashamed.” He blinked away tears, and Arabella steeled herself to spring, but now Beatrice's weapon was again trained upon her. “I determined that my daughter should not be forced to endure the penury which circumstance has forced upon me, and so I … I invested my inheritance … my
entire
inheritance … in a projected copper mine. A scheme which promised great and rapid returns.” He shook his head slightly, with a wry smile. “I should not, I suppose, have been surprised by the outcome.”

“Your
entire
inheritance?” Beatrice asked, but Arabella could see that she, too, was unsurprised by the outcome of Simon's investment, and though her voice quavered her pistol remained firmly pointed at Arabella's heart.