Cry of the Peacock (29 page)

“Yes. That’s true.”

“But think, won’t you, how much they wanted you, and what they were willing to sacrifice to have you. You owe them nothing. Please remember it.”

“It’s rather hard to do,” Abbie answered. Indeed, it was quite impossible.

“I’ve learned in my time with our aunt,” Mariana said, “that small concessions often lead to larger ones. Yes, I’m talking about your dress, but if you are asked to compromise your sense of right in something so small, how much harder will it be when it is not a dress they want of you, but something much more significant?”

Abbie watched her sister a moment. How changed she was. Mariana, the carefree girl of their childhood was gone. In her place was a woman surprisingly like her mother. Abbie could never have supposed it possible. She did not disapprove of the change. She was rather proud of her sister, but it was a change, nevertheless, and one that would require some getting used to.

“Have you ever thought it odd, Mariana, that I have assumed a place you had always wished to hold, while you daily work to better the lives of others, as I had always hoped to do?”

“Every day, Abbie. But the good Lord knows what he’s doing, I trust. You, too, are doing good, are you not? Much is taking place to improve the lives of those who live on the estate, and elsewhere, and that is owing to you.”

“If only I could improve your life.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I am quite content. I have all I need, more than I need. Perhaps, I too, feel a sense of debt and obligation. But I wonder, Abbie…”

“Yes?”

“You may not have told me outright, but Mr. Ruskin’s intentions are clear. Do you mean to accept him?”

“I don’t know,” Abbie answered, surprised at the sudden turn of subject.

“If you were to find yourself with the means to claim your independence, would you consider him still?”

“You make me sound quite the mercenary. Of course I would. At least I think I would. It would mean staying at Holdaway, after all.”

“Could you be happy nowhere else?”

She did not know how to answer this. It wasn’t Holdaway exactly that held her, it was the people, and the thought of finally doing something of meaning and of purpose.

“Holdaway is my home, Mariana,” she answered at last. “It is where I am needed and wanted. Regardless of the money, of the station and position—yes they play a part, but not so great a part as perhaps you suppose—had I some great fortune of my own, which you know I do not, I don’t see how it could change that. I might feel less obligated to the family, I suppose, but perhaps, after all, I would feel more obligated to the people of Holdaway.”

“Your feelings for Ruskin are dependent on them, are they?”

“It is an honor to be considered by him, you must see that, and I want to repay that honor. I want to love him. Is that not enough?”

“Only you can answer that, Abbie.”

But she couldn’t. Not at present.

Mercifully, Mariana relented in her questioning. “And if you want to know,” Abbie said, finding it necessary to make one last point, “I would sponsor our aunt’s charity and bring you to live with me.”

“Assuming I would agree.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“It may surprise you to know that I’m quite happy with our aunt. I don’t know that I want to remain there forever, but as long as she lives, that is my home. To live at Holdaway, though. Truly, I can’t imagine it. I think I would like to go back to Oak Lodge, but I’m quite certain now, where perhaps I never was before, that Holdaway life is not for me.”

“You say that even with the scandal of your present circumstances on the horizon?”

“To tell you the truth,” Mariana said, “I almost wish it would come to light. I cannot stand the hypocrisy of those who toss coins our way and turn their backs upon us as if we are not worth their notice. Why should they not know the good their money does, or might do were they more liberal with it? I only care in so far as it may make you uncomfortable, and that will only last a short while.”

“I’d like to know how it is you are so certain the Crawfords will overlook it.”

“I understand them now, that is all. They have found something they want—you—and nothing will persuade them they do not want it. Not even Society tattle.”

“If you are wrong?”

Mariana considered for a moment or two. Her needle hesitated, hovering in the air above the bit of black fabric in her hand. “I’m not,” she said, and continued her work. She was so apparently certain in her assertion that it seemed pointless to argue further.

It was a change that would require some getting used to.

T
HE DAY OF reckoning was at hand. Abbie dressed, with Becky’s help, and the two sisters entered the drawing room to find the rest of the family waiting for them.

“There you are at last,” Lady Crawford said of Abbie, and beckoned her forward so that she might examine her.

The bell rang then, and the footmen announced that the Barnwell’s carriage had arrived.

A moment later all three Barnwell’s were standing in the hall. Lady Barnwell entered the drawing room, and Lady Crawford greeted her dearest friend warmly. This concluded, the two women immediately began upon their speculations of all the joy and excitement the day was sure to bring. Abbie, in the interim, was quite forgotten.

Standing in the hall, beyond the two eagerly chatting women, Katherine was seen to hand a paper-wrapped parcel to a footman, who in turn transferred it to Becky, who immediately took it upstairs. Abbie, with a look, questioned Katherine, but what she received in reply was only a dismissive glance. Was it her dress? She believed it must be, but what was the purpose behind Katherine’s bringing it now? Had she changed her mind? Or had she only just found it? And, perhaps more importantly, was as it too late to run upstairs and change? She looked to Mariana. Even if Abbie did change, Mariana must wear what she had brought. To have one sister in mourning and the other in ordinary dress would certainly raise more questions than it would quell, and those of the kind they had wished on all accounts to avoid. No. Abbie would attend the days’ outing in mourning, as was right and befitting.

Lord Barnwell, who was twenty minutes early for everything, was anxious that they be on their way, and so the party was ushered out of the house and into awaiting carriages. Abbie and Mariana travelled with Ruskin and James, while David rode with the Barnwells. Sir Nicholas and Lady Crawford followed behind.

Ruskin had brought the paper, for yesterday’s news had included an article on the new railway line. He intended to read it aloud, as it interested Abbie so. She listened almost attentively as he related how the tunnels had been dug and how the train had been constructed, how it was powered, and the like. She
was
interested, but it was a long article, and Ruskin’s monotone proved too hypnotic. She consequently found herself struggling to keep her mind on the words rather than the thoughts that ran rampant through her mind.

As she struggled to listen, she chanced to look at James, as he was, at that moment, stealing a glance at Mariana. She, in turn, was watching the streetscape from her window. James repeated the exercise twice or thrice before he realized that he, too, was being watched. Abbie offered him a knowing smile and turned back to listen to Ruskin. A paragraph or two more and he had finished the article. He folded the paper and set it down.

“What do you think of that?” he asked her.

She regretted she had not been listening attentively enough to answer his question. “May I?” she said instead, and held out a hand for the paper. Perhaps if she were to read it for herself she might be better prepared for the day ahead, and all they were to see and hear and, or so she hoped, enjoy.

Silence loomed for a time, but Abbie was too preoccupied to observe whether it was an awkward one or not. Her attention drifted from her paper to the faces of James and Ruskin who sat before her. The brothers were both looking out their respective windows, while Mariana was watching James. Perhaps sensing this, he met her gaze and smiled.

For five, perhaps ten more seconds, the silence continued. And then: “I believe I owe you an apology, Mr. Crawford,” Mariana said.

Ruskin turned with these words.

“James, that is.”

“I can’t imagine what for,” he said.

Mariana cast an awkward glance in Ruskin’s direction. He nodded and returned his attention to the scenery without.

“I was very rude to you the first time we met.”

“Ah that,” he said and nodded as if he still regarded the significance of her manner then. “You were, you know, but I’m not one to typically hold a person’s mistakes against him. Or her, as the case may be.”

“It was, as it turned out, a case of mistaken identity.”

“You cannot say you thought me someone else,” he said with a coy smile. “You addressed me by name, after all.”

“No,” Mariana said and laughed. “I knew who you were. I was under the mistaken impression that you were at fault for the hardship of someone of our mutual acquaintance.”

“But, in a way, I was, was I not?”

“You did the right thing, Mr. Crawford.”

Ruskin looked at her again.

“Mr. James,” Mariana once more clarified.

James smiled broadly. He was plainly grateful for the circumstance that required she use his Christian name. Ruskin observed his pleasure and rolled his eyes before turning away.

“Her family may be put out that the ending they hoped achieve for her is not to be, but to my mind—and to hers—your dealings with him were rather heroic.”

“Heroic?” he said, quite obviously flattered.

Mariana colored slightly. “Perhaps heroic is too strong a word.”

“Don’t take it back now,” he said.

Mariana smiled again, but attempted, with marginal success, to stifle it. “You do make yourself out to be quite a likely villain, you know.”

“Do I?” he said, and appeared to actually regret it might be so. Abbie doubted he had ever cared before.

“Well, I thought so at the time. Perhaps I have been mistaken in that as well.”

James did not answer this. He seemed to be considering her words very carefully.

“Will you accept my apology, Mr.…” She looked to Ruskin. “James?”

“It was forgotten the moment you called me a hero, Miss Gray.”

“And recalled again when I claimed you a villain?”

“Well, I’m still considering, if you want to know.”

“I’ll give you time, if you need it.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, with a knowing smile. “As much as you can spare.”

Abbie met Ruskin’s gaze, who was giving her a look that asked, “can you believe this?” But she could believe it, and she was pleased by it, though it added to the weight of her already mounting pressures. If she were to be a success amidst Society, would that not pave the way for Mariana, too?

Her sister and James… She never would have believed it. Not in a million years. She was pleased by it nevertheless. Very, very pleased.

*   *   *

In Lambeth the crowds were positively thronging. Was it the railway that drew so many out? Or was it the chance of seeing—and perhaps being seen by—the Prince of Wales? Abbie wondered, but did not much care. She didn’t like crowds, and she was nervous. But, with the crush of people from all walks of society—Dukes and Lords in high hats and long coats, their ladies in fur and silk, mingling alongside the city’s poor and dirty and hungry—she supposed she need not worry too much about her own appearance. Lady Crawford had not again thought to examine her. At the moment, she was wholly pre-occupied with the imminent arrival of Prince of Wales.

“There he is now,” Abbie heard Lady Barnwell say to Lady Crawford. She looked in the direction where others, too, had begun to point and look. The crowd bellowed deafening cheers. And then she saw it—the Prince’s procession. She watched as it made its way from the station, from which the Prince had arrived on the train’s maiden journey, toward the depot several blocks distant, where the luncheon was to be held.

That one man, and such a man, could inspire so much excitement fairly astounded her. She was conscious that she ought to be awestruck. She was unimpressed, save by the degree of excitement this railway project, and the presence of royalty, had produced. The crowd was moving now, filling in the path parted by the carriages that had passed, and flowing like a river in the wake of the procession as it made its way down Clapham Road. But it was here, at the station crossroads, where exhibits and festivities had been set up, that Abbie wished to remain. She wanted to see the train, to go into the tunnel and see for herself how it was meant to operate. Why so much to-doing if they were never going to see it?

“Are you coming?” Katherine asked of her.

They were the first words Katherine had spoken to her since that day at her aunt’s. Had she betrayed her? Had she forgiven her? She wished to know but there was no opportunity to find out.

Mariana, took hold of her arm and urged her onward, following as David and Katherine led the way. James followed closely behind.

“We will be too late to get a seat if we do not hurry,” Katherine added over her shoulder.

David said nothing. He did not even acknowledge Abbie as he fell in line with his family. Had Katherine told him, then? Or was he simply preoccupied? She wished she knew him well enough to tell.

In the little park of land before the City and South London depot, a great marquee had been set up, beautifully decorated in blues and ochres—and gold—with intricately woven palampores to line the walls and to serve as doorways and curtains. It seemed to Abbie’s inexperienced eyes very like a maharaja’s pavilion, fit for a prince—which was, she supposed, its purpose, after all.

Abbie’s party was the last to be admitted, and their table was situated very near the back, the farthest from the Prince’s view. Or would be, when he arrived.

Sir Nicholas and Lord Barnwell excused themselves to speak with some acquaintances, while the rest of their party took their seats and waited for the Prince to make an appearance and for the meal to begin. Though Abbie was hungry, she was more conscious of the opportunity being missed. Would they not see the train, nor the station, at all? And as Lady Barnwell and Lady Crawford examined the room—the other guests, what they wore, who they were with—Abbie dared to ask the question.

It went unheard as the elder ladies chattered and gossiped, and as Katherine sat silent and cross. David still seemed distracted by his own thoughts, and James’ attention was wholly absorbed with Mariana, with whom he had resumed his conversation.

“He has come,” Lady Crawford whispered to them all.

The crowd suddenly grew louder, then quieted again. The Prince entered and took his seat, looking around admiringly at the oriental décor and remarking upon it.

At last the meal began, yet Abbie was too anxious to eat. She wished now that Lady Crawford had examined her at the house. It was hardly nice manners to eat with one’s wrappings on.

“Why do you not eat, Arabella?” Lady Crawford consequently inquired.

“Perhaps she is nervous,” Lady Barnwell concluded. “She has never been in the presence of royalty. She is not so used to it as we are.”

“As if
we
dine with the Queen once a fortnight.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Katherine.” Lady Barnwell looked from her daughter to Abbie with a disapproving look.

“I wish I could say I thought your ward ready for this,” Lady Barnwell said now. “I regret to say I do not.”

Lady Crawford, too, examined Abbie. She had no doubts. Or did she? Her eyes narrowed as she looked her up and down.

“Unbutton your cloak, Arabella. I want to see your dress.”

“It is a little cold in here. I would really rather—”

“Unbutton it, I say,” Lady Crawford demanded as Lady Barnwell tsked and frowned.

Reluctantly, Abbie obeyed.

“That is not the dress I had made for you, and it is certainly not the one you were meant to pick up from the dressmaker.”

“No, ma’am,” Abbie answered. “I’m afraid it’s not.”

“May I ask
why
not?”

“The truth is, ma’am,” Abbie began but hesitated. She glanced at her sister, who gave her an encouraging nod. “The truth is, I did not feel it quite right to adopt a manner of dress so very different from what my sister would wear on this or any occasion. She remains in mourning. So must I show the proper respect for the father I dearly miss.”

“Well,” Lady Barnwell said and sat straighter in her chair. “I do not envy you the work you have undertaken, Margaret.”

“Do you know, Arabella,” Lady Crawford said at last and laid her wadded napkin upon the table, “sometimes I wonder if you have any sense of gratitude.”

“I
am
sorry, ma’am.”

“Perhaps if you insist on presuming to decide what is best for you in these matters, the bill might come out of your allowance. Do you have any idea what I paid to have that dress ready on time?”

“Forgive me, my lady, but I’d hardly dare presume to any figures. And I’d certainly never consider doing it at table.” It was daring, but it was out before she’d given the words the consideration they deserved.

“Oh, dear!” Lady Barnwell said and fanned herself as her friend turned a violent shade of red.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Katherine hide a smile in her napkin and look away.

“This is not the place for this,” Lady Crawford said, as if the idea to postpone the conversation were hers after all. “Needless to say we are all very disappointed in you, Arabella. Very disappointed, indeed.”

Lady Barnwell tsked again in Abbie’s direction. Lady Crawford lifted her chin and looked away from the table, assessing, or so Abbie supposed, the likelihood that their little scene had been witnessed by any of their neighbors, or, Heaven forbid, the Prince himself. No one, it seemed, from the moment they had entered until now, had taken any notice of them at all.