Arabella of Mars (40 page)

“I should never have imagined him capable of such a thing.” Michael turned his pale, stricken face to Arabella. “Nor, of course, of imprisoning you.”

“He did,” she replied, “and much else besides.”

The captain cleared his throat and continued. “We are free to depart the house, and once the word has reached the rest of the Martians, the insurrection will be at an end.” He raised a finger. “However, Miss Khema acknowledges that considerable ill will has been raised, on both sides, by the recent violence. She invites you, Miss Ashby, to consult with her on matters of improving relations between the Martians and English, and to represent the English to the council of clans.”

Before Arabella could reply to this extraordinary invitation, Dr. Fellowes interrupted. “If we may depart this house, I believe we should do so, and the sooner the better.” A groan from the timbers above confirmed the urgency of his suggestion. “Though I fear Mr. Ashby may be in no condition to be moved, my fear of the house collapsing about our ears is greater still.”

At that Michael managed to lever himself up onto his elbows. “How did the house become so damaged?” he asked.

Arabella touched the back of his hand reassuringly. “We will explain later. For now we must put all our attentions on moving you to some safer place.” She paused, considering. “But where? Surely all of Fort Augusta is in ruins.”

“Woodthrush Woods,” Michael said, grasping Arabella's hand. The very thought seemed to lend some strength to his tremulous grip. “Take me home.”

Dr. Fellowes frowned deeply at the prospect. “It is over two miles distant!”

“The Ashby house is in much better condition than this one,” the captain observed, “thanks to Miss Khema's efforts. And she might be prevailed upon to aid us in transporting him.”

“We must move him there at once,” Arabella said to the doctor, then turned to the captain. “Give Khema my thanks for her invitation, but tell her that my brother's health must take precedence for now, and ask for her help in moving him. After we are settled at Woodthrush Woods, I will consult with her as she requests.”

“I will do so,” he said, and with a brisk bow he departed.

*   *   *

After leaving the house, they waited on the road outside while Khema arranged for a
huresh
to carry Michael back to Woodthrush Woods. While the doctor inspected her brother's dressings, Arabella looked back at Corey House.

The house, never beautiful, was now a collapsing ruin, so battered that in places it could scarcely be distinguished from the rocks on which it had been built. Even as she watched, a section of the roof fell in, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The landscape around it, too, had been demolished, pleasant paths and gazebos completely vanished beneath piles of rubble and thousands of Martian footprints. The Martians themselves were mostly departed, leaving only a few burnt patches on the sand, and the catapults with their pyramids of stones.

This place, Arabella knew, would be honored as a battlefield some day. For now it was nothing but a waste—a desolate waste of destruction and death.

A thin stream of refugees was emerging from the gate, looking about themselves and back at the ruined house in appalled silence. Arabella glanced from them to her brother, equally battered by the events of the past few weeks, then back at the refugees.

“Go and tell those people,” she said to one of the servants, “that if they cannot return to their homes they are welcome at Woodthrush Woods.”

The servant looked from her to her brother, who nodded. “As you wish, Miss Ashby,” the servant said with a bow, and moved off.

 

26

A STRANGE PROPOSAL

Some days later, Arabella was in the kitchen, supervising an inventory and considering how to feed her guests. Most of Woodthrush Woods's servants, both human and Martian, had already returned—thanks to Khema, the fighting there had been much less than at Fort Augusta, and most of them had remained nearby—and they had been joined by many others from Corey House and elsewhere. This was fortunate, as most of the other Corey House refugees were of the gentry and unable to provide for their own needs.

She turned from a count of the bags of
noreth
-flour to find one of the servants waiting expectantly. “Your brother requests your presence, Miss Ashby. He says that the matter is rather urgent.”

After instructing Collins, the former Corey House majordomo, to continue the inventory, she hurried to her brother's bedchamber, where she found him lying across a heap of pillows, with Mr. Trombley in attendance. A sheaf of papers lay atop the bed-clothes. “What is the matter?” she said.

Mr. Trombley swallowed and looked down. “I … I am afraid it concerns your brother's last will and testament.”

“I see.” She, too, felt a sudden need to inspect the dusty floor.

Michael gestured to the papers. “Explain the situation to my sister,” he said to Mr. Trombley with weary impatience.

“Sir, I really must protest this—”

Michael stopped him with a raised hand. “Explain it.”

Mr. Trombley frowned, but nodded to him, then turned to Arabella. “As you know,” he said, “the Ashby family estate is entailed to heirs of the body male.”

“Yes, yes,” Arabella said, waving an impatient hand.

“This is important. An entail, at least an entail of this type, is, in effect, a contract between generations, ensuring that the family property is neither lost nor subdivided into insignificance. It binds the estate—the
entire
estate—to the current holder and to his next two heirs.” He took a breath, let it out again. “As is typical with estates of this type, your brother's will was drawn up for him shortly after he was born.” He swallowed. “As such, it was prepared by my predecessor, Mr. Beale. Mr. Beale was … well, let us say that he gave little consideration to the fair sex at the best of times, and in his dotage he appears to have omitted any consideration whatsoever.” He picked up the papers and handed them to Arabella with an expression both disgusted and contrite. “As your family solicitor, I must apologize for not having reviewed this document before now. Your father was in, in such …
robust
good health, until his sudden passing of course, and, well, the months since then, they have been so hectic…”

As Mr. Trombley continued to stammer his apologies, Arabella took the papers and ran her eyes over the dense pages of text. They might as well have been Venusian for all the sense she could extract from them. “What does this all
mean
?”

Mr. Trombley frowned and blew out a breath through his nose. “The entail binds the estate to heirs of the body male for three generations. When this will was drawn up, that was your brother, your uncle, and your cousin. Your uncle and cousin are specified by name, but in the event of their … their death or incapacity, the estate is to be inherited by the next heir of the body male. Whoever that may be.”

Arabella thought for a moment. Apart from Simon, she had no other male relatives on her father's side, not even distant cousins. “And who would that be?”

“That … is the problem.” He sighed. “To the best of my knowledge there
is
no surviving male heir … and the will contains no provision whatsoever for this circumstance. As I said, my … predecessor, Mr. Beale, gave little consideration to the fair sex.” He shook his head. “If your brother should … pass, with the will in this state … the estate will be thrown into probate.”

“In which case…?”

He shrugged and spread his hands. “In a case such as this, any one with any possible claim, however spurious, may petition the court. It could take years to settle, the estate could be … could be divided
any
which way. And the expense would be tremendous. In the worst case, the entire estate could fall to the Crown.”

Through all this Michael had been looking at Arabella with stoic resignation. “We cannot allow this to occur.”

“But Michael, surely this is no concern of ours? I am sure you will be up and about in no time.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “You need not prevaricate with me, sister. I am fully aware of how precarious my health is. And if this …
contretemps
has taught me any thing, it is that life is fragile and easily snuffed out.” His expression was now as serious as any she could ever recall having seen on him. “The estate
must
be preserved at all costs. And so the entail must be broken.”

“But how? To break an entail, I have heard, requires an act of Parliament! And we could not possibly—”

Michael held up one finger. “An entail is a contract, as Mr. Trombley has explained to me in wearisome detail, and contracts
can
be terminated.” He struggled to sit up, but soon gave up the effort, collapsing back upon the pillows and addressing the ceiling. “Any change in an entail requires the consent of all those involved—in this case, the current holder and the next two heirs in line. Now, under most circumstances this means that change is virtually impossible. Why would any one in his right mind consent to any change which might cost them so large an estate? But at the moment, there are no such heirs. This is our problem, and our opportunity. For the first time in heaven knows how many generations, I may change my will however I wish.”

“Sir,” Mr. Trombley fumed, “I cannot allow you to—”

“My mind is made up,” he said, “and as I have achieved my majority, albeit by only three weeks, and am of sound mind if not body, you cannot prevent it.” He raised himself on one elbow to face Arabella. “My dear sister, I intend to will the entire estate to you.”

“To
me
?” Arabella laid a hand on her chest and felt her own pulse throbbing hard. “But … even if there are no other male heirs, surely Mother is the next of kin?”

“You and I both know that she has no head for business. The maintenance of the Ashby estate, I have learned to my sorrow, is an immense and troublesome undertaking, and you are the only one I would trust with it. Besides, Mother is in England, and much happier there. We require an heir who can take the reins at once upon my … demise, not one who would have to be dragged here against her will, a process that would take months even if she consented to it.”

“Which she would not,” Arabella concurred. “For Fanny and Chloë's sake, of course, not her own.”

“Of course.” Michael gave a slight, wry grin that, for a moment, made his face seem as animated and youthful as she remembered it.

But the grin fell away as Mr. Trombley cleared his throat. “Sir, your sister is not legally competent to manage the estate, being both underage and female. She must have an older male relative to handle all business affairs.” He cleared his throat again, and straightened. “As there is no such relative, I would, as your family solicitor, be prepared to stand as her legal guardian.”

A meaningful glance passed between the siblings. “Thank you for your offer,” said Michael to Mr. Trombley. “Now if you would please step outside, so that my sister and I may discuss this matter?”

As soon as the door closed Arabella allowed the disgust she had been holding back to express itself in a rolling of the eyes heavenward. “Dear Lord,” she whispered, “not
him
.”

Michael shook his head sadly and replied in the same low register. “Though he is a dear man, and has served the family for many years, the events of the last few weeks have shown that in a crisis he simply cannot keep his head. And this nonsense of the unexamined will is the last straw. I would not dream of saddling you with him.” His expression shifted, his steady gaze now reflecting determination, sorrow, and apology. “I am sorry, dear sister, but for the sake of the whole family, and future generations, you must be married at once, in case of my early demise.”

“Oh, Michael, do not say such a thing! I am sure you have many years ahead of you.”

“As Providence wills.” He paused, shook his head again. “Now, as to your betrothal. I have in mind my trusted colleague Mr. Williams. He is an older man, and will surely not … trouble you, if you do not wish it. And, in not too many years, he will in turn pass away, leaving you the freedom to find a husband of your own choosing.”

The breath caught in Arabella's throat. Though she knew her brother was correct in his assessment of the situation, and she trusted his judgement completely, the thought of being …
paired off
, like a matched brace of
huresh
, for the sake of the estate, was repellent to her. “I … I see. Have you … approached this Mr. Williams?”

“No, not yet. I wished to obtain your consent first.”

“I see,” she repeated. “Thank you for that consideration, at least.”

She sat and contemplated her options, looking down into her cupped hands.

They were in terrible shape. The events of the last two months had left them rough, callused, even scarred in places, and no amount of scrubbing could completely remove the dirt ground into the lines of her palms. A tiny splinter had lodged itself beneath the skin of her left thumb, and as her mind churned in anxious rumination she brought it unthinkingly to her teeth in order to prize it out.

The errant scrap of wood came free, and she spat it into her palm. For a moment she inspected it—any thing to take her mind off of the future that Fate seemed to have in store for her. It was a sliver of
khoresh
-wood, she saw, honey-gold with a bit of black paint on one side. Most likely a piece of
Diana
's hull. Perhaps she had gotten it while she was working her way along the keel during the mutiny. Or perhaps it had been earlier, during the battle with the French—there had been splinters flying everywhere.