Cry of the Peacock (27 page)

“The word I think you’re looking for is ‘wife’.”

“Just so. Only she wasn’t to come, you see, and so I saw no harm in it. It was curiosity, and nothing more. I’m ashamed of it now, if it makes a difference.”

“Your opinion of her has changed quite entirely, I think.”

“Yes.”

“Do you intend to play rival to your elder brother, Mr. Crawford? It could be a dangerous game, you know, the stakes being as high as they are.”

“Don’t say that,” David answered. “I beg you not to say that. I will do anything—everything—in my power to help her. But I am a man soon to be married. I beg you to remember it.”

“Forgive me. I have spoken presumptuously. You have my word it won’t happen again.”

“We are here on business. Should we not get on with it?”

Mr. Meredith agreed with a nod and offered David a chair.

David removed the will from his inner pocket, handed it to the lawyer, and did not sit. Instead he paced the room, to examine the books and the paintings—country landscapes all—the furnishings and the curious items of memorabilia.

“Hmmm,” Mr. Meredith said when he had done.

“Is there any way?”

“There is nothing that binds her to your brother.”

“Then there is?”

“Save, as you said, for the fact that your father is executor. It all hinges on what is meant by a
suitable marriage
. If we could determine just what those words were meant by your grandfather to imply, we would have some grounds to challenge the will, should it ever stand as an obstacle between Miss Gray and a prospective suitor. If she were to receive an offer from someone of superior, or even of equal rank to your brother, then the terms might certainly be challenged. Until such a circumstance should arise, however, I don’t think it would be prudent to pursue any legal course of action.”

“Would you recommend, then, keeping this secret?”

“For the moment. It’s clear she must know eventually. She has a legal right to know, and your father a legal obligation to tell her. Considering the circumstances, which are on all counts unique, there was no chance of doing it before her parents had passed. As it stands, they must tell her the moment she engages herself, or by her twenty-first birthday.”

“And if she chooses not to accept the terms, can she refuse it?”

“Well, if she will not adhere to the tenets of the will, then that is, effectively, what she would be doing. But do you really think it’s likely to be foisted on her if she refuses your brother’s offer? I don’t believe she would fight for it under any condition.”

“And what if she does succeed in refusing it? What becomes of Holdaway then?”

“It depends on the terms of the trust, really, which we can suppose match the terms of the will, in which case her entire legacy will revert to the estate eventually.”

“That is something, I suppose.”

“For your family, at any rate. But it may be twenty-five years from now, which would certainly explain your father’s hurry to see her married to your brother. If there were some other member of your family whom your father might approve of…”

“There isn’t.”

“Supposing there were?”

“Ruskin would never stand for it.”

“Your brother also mentioned a loan that has recently been taken out, with Miss Gray’s presumptive fortune as the guarantee.”

David sighed heavily. “Yes, that’s true.”

“I hope it is not a very great loan.”

“It is.”

“Well, repayment, if she refuses, will certainly come out of the estate. And her part, still being in trust, will be preserved, while your family’s portion…”

“Yes, I understand you,” David said and rubbed hard at his temple.

“I suppose the resolution best to be hoped for, after all, would be if Miss Abbie were to make up her mind to marry your brother.”

“Yes,” David said, “I suppose it is.”

“And yet I dare to presume that it is a solution neither of us truly wants.”

David hesitated a moment only. “No,” he said, and sat at last. “It isn’t.”

*   *   *

“My news has upset you,” James observed of Mariana.

“I am shocked, but not dismayed, exactly,” she said. “There is still hope, is there not, that all will turn out well in the end?” She arose to walk restlessly about the room.

“Certainly,” he said, but knew not what else to say. “You said you had suspicions, and no one knows her better than you. Have you not some sense of your sister’s feelings?”

“My sister is rarely reserved with me,” Mariana answered. “Never, in fact. Not, that is, until lately. It troubles me perhaps as much as anything which you have shared with me today. Perhaps it troubles me
because
of what you have shared with me today. If she had feelings for him, I’d like to think she would tell me. Even if she does not care for him, it’s not impossible she might succumb to the pressure to accept him. With all the hope she has placed in her ability to do good…it is a very real possibility. If she would only confide in me, I might guide her. As it is, I feel a little helpless.”

“Perhaps you should visit your sister, Miss Gray. She could use an ally. And I know she misses you very much. Perhaps if you were to come you might offer her the counsel only a sister can provide.”

“I would like that very much,” she said. “But it is difficult to get away. I’m kept very busy by my work here.” She stopped suddenly, as if she had said too much.

“Your work?”

Her color was a little higher than it had been a moment before, but she answered him so matter-of-factly that he was convinced he had imagined it. “My sister has perhaps told you that my aunt is unwell.”

“Yes. I am sorry to hear it, Miss Gray.”

“My time is consequently very much occupied in her care.”

“Can she not be left in the care of another for a few days? A few days only?”

“I don’t know,” she said and waxed thoughtful once more. At last she arose and went to the door. “Anne?” she said, addressing someone without.

“Yes, ma’am?” was the reply, and a young woman, very fair—though not as fair by half as Miss Mariana Gray—appeared in the doorway. It was the same companion he had seen her with before.

“This is my good friend, Miss Anne Russell,” Mariana said, introducing her.

James bowed respectfully. The young woman received the gesture and returned her attention to Miss Gray.

“What would you say,” she said to her, “to my taking a short holiday? Do you think you could manage my aunt…and our other responsibilities…for a few days? Perhaps a week?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m quite certain of it.”

“I hate to leave just now…”

“Don’t think of it,” Miss Russell said. “You deserve a holiday. I’ll take care of everything. You needn’t worry about a thing.”

“Very well, Mr. Crawford,” Mariana said to James, looking both pleased and uncertain. “I accept your invitation.”

He was exceedingly glad to hear it. What he wouldn’t give for an opportunity to get to know this woman better. But dash it! He was meant to return to Oxford tomorrow. Well, matriculation could wait. It always did, after all. “You will come this week?” he asked of her and tried to resist a pleading tone. “You might come today. I could quite easily bring you with me. It would be a surprise, and I imagine a very pleasant one, for Abbie to have you.”

“It is rather short notice, but I really think I had better. I have reason to believe, after all, that these last few days have been particularly trying.”

“Do you refer to her recent outing with Miss Barnwell?”

“I do, indeed.”

“Do you know why it was, then, that she returned so upset yesterday?”

Mariana seemed hesitant to answer. “I have an idea, Mr. Crawford, but before I can speculate more on the subject, I would like an opportunity to speak to her.”

“Yes, of course,” he conceded.

“Now I must pack,” she said and moved again to the door.

James advanced to follow.

“You will wait here,” she said, turning around sharply to face him and looking a little alarmed.

He stopped. “If you wish it, particularly,” he said. “Or I might offer to—”

“Here, Mr. Crawford. I want to see you in that chair when I come back.”

“I am your servant.” He bowed, and sat.

Half an hour later she returned, a bag in hand and yet another young woman at her elbow. By then David and Mr. Meredith had returned from their conference.

“It seems I am to return with you, Mr. Crawford,” she said to a puzzled David.

“I’m glad to know it, Miss Gray.”

“And I have thought to bring Becky. She may come in useful.”

James took their bags, and then went out to arrange for a cab.

“Shall we then?” he said when he’d returned.

Upon stepping once more outside, he put Mariana into the cab, but turned back to David with a nod toward the other side of the street, and the park entrance.

David looked as well. “Is that…?”

“It’s the man you ran into. Or who ran into you. I thought I recognized him.”

“Who?”

“James Benderby.”

“You can’t be serious. What is he doing here?”

“Stay here just a moment, will you?” he said to David, and walked quickly back to the lawyer’s house, where the warning, and a description, were given to Mr. Meredith. James would much rather have pointed the scoundrel out, but by the time he could find Mr. Meredith and a view of the street together, Benderby had disappeared once more.

*   *   *

“You are most welcome, Miss Gray,” an apparently astonished and somewhat less than cordial Lady Crawford said upon Mariana’s arrival. “Your aunt is well, I hope?”

“She has been better these last few days, thank you,” Mariana answered.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Lady Crawford said, and signaled for a maid to make up a new room.

“I’ll be no trouble,” Mariana assured her. “I’ll share my sister’s room. I have brought my own maid, as you see, so I will be quite self-sufficient. If you will show me to my sister…” Mariana said, and moved to meet the maid who had been summoned, and who was now directed to take Mariana to Abbie.

Upon arriving there, Mariana dismissed the girl and tapped lightly at the door. Receiving no answer, she entered to find Abbie sitting at her dressing table, staring blankly into the mirror. She only noticed Mariana was there at all when she laid a hand on Abbie’s shoulder.

Abbie turned to look at her sister, startled, it seemed, by her sudden appearance. Was it her surprise alone that had her looking so pale?

“Oh, Mariana!” Abbie said and threw herself into her sister’s arms, where she began to cry.

“What is it, Abbie?” Mariana said and rubbed her back as she comforted her sister. “Is this about Miss Barnwell, or is something else troubling you?”

Abbie looked at her, apparently puzzled. “What else could there be?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Mariana answered quite honestly. “You do not talk to me as you used to, you know.”

“I’m sorry for it, Mariana. But you are here now. I am so happy! What has brought you?”

“Of course I knew you had been worrying over Miss Barnwell’s discovery,” she said. “And as it is my secret that must be kept, I thought I would come help you to do it. If I can. Is it too late?”

“No. That is I don’t think so. I cannot think so ill of her as to believe she would betray us, and yet she was so angry, and so very disappointed. She is sure, at least, to tell Ruskin. She tells him everything.”

“Does she?” Mariana asked, a little surprised, and wondering at the significance.

“She is sure to tell David. I hope it will not cause trouble for them. I pray it does not.”

“Will
he
keep the secret do you think?” Mariana asked.

Abbie merely shook her head and released a doubtful breath.

“Do you distrust him so, Abbie?”

“I know he distrusts me, and that is quite enough…but I do not care what he thinks!” Abbie said so determinedly that Mariana suspected she was not quite telling the truth. “I do, however, care very much to think I may have lost a friend in Katherine. She won’t speak to me. I’ve written to her, and I’ve received no reply.”

“You can’t have written her before yesterday. Give her time.”

“I would like to. I would. Only I’m rather desperate for an answer. I wrote for another reason as well.”

“And the reason?”

“Before I had come to see you, we had gone to pick up my dress for the Opening Ceremony. I was so upset when I came away from my aunt’s that I left it behind in the cab. I can only pray Katherine has it and that she will send it on. But if she does have it, why does she make me wait? I fear it is lost. It was a hired cab, after all. It might be anywhere now. What am I to do, Mariana?”

“It can’t be as bad as all that, surely. You are going to see a train. Any dress will do, I’m sure.”

“No,” Abbie answered, shaking her head helplessly. “The Prince of Wales will be there. There is to be a grand luncheon, and I must appear at my best. If I do not have that dress before Tuesday, I’ll have to confess to Lady Crawford what I have done. That will certainly raise the question of what happened to it and how I could possibly be so absent-minded as to leave it behind. Surely Katherine will be questioned. To ask her not to volunteer the secret is one thing. I cannot ask her to lie. I wouldn’t. To think of losing the dress…it is trivial, I know, but it saddens me to think of causing Lady Crawford any disappointment. What will she think, Mariana, when she learns of our aunt’s establishment?”