Into the Wilderness (122 page)

Elizabeth
was
immediately caught up in a discussion of Kitty's change in circumstance. She
threw Nathaniel a weak smile; he shrugged one shoulder and turned to the
window. The judge was headed up the stairs with Mr. Witherspoon close behind.
Galileo and Benjamin were unloading the wagon.

A
couple was walking up the hill toward the house. The woman was small and finely
built, pretty but pale in her mourning clothes. Her hands fluttered as she
spoke. There was something whispery about
Elizabeth
's
cousin Amanda, even at this distance.

There
was not much more to see about William Spencer, whose attention and mind were
not with whatever tale his wife had to tell. He was of medium height, with the
shoulders of a man who sat over books all day. He stood looking down over the
lake and the village, his expression easy and even and empty, somehow. His wife
stood at his side, talking on, her hands moving in the air in front of her as
if she could call his attention to her with magic. Nathaniel wondered if cousin
Amanda had brought the Green Man with her all the way from England, and if he
would feel at home with the stone men of the endless forests.

* * *

Elizabeth
found that aunt Merriweather was best approached like an unavoidable march
through a boggy field. Once in the middle and up to the ankles in muck, there
was nothing to do but persevere for the other side.

When
there was opportunity, she answered questions in the order they seemed to her
most important. To answer them all would not be possible; Aunt would come back
to those which most interested her, anyway. One such question had already
surfaced in three slightly different forms. Nathaniel would have been a help in
this conversation, but he had excused himself to lend Galileo a hand.

"If
we do rebuild the schoolhouse, it will not be until the spring. There is too
much work at this time of year to think of it, in any case."

Her
aunt said: "But I am more than willing to finance the rebuilding—”

“I
understand, and I am most thankful for your generosity. It is not the funds for
rebuilding which are at issue, but simply the men. This winter we will make do
with Father's first homestead. It served us well before, and will serve again,
will it not, Hannah?"

Hannah's
instincts were very good; she simply nodded, and resisted the pull into the
conversation.

"Cannot
you hire one of the men in the village, or several of them, to take on this
job?" asked her aunt.

Kitty
surprised Elizabeth by speaking up. "The hunting season is upon us,
ma'am," she said. "And many of the men here go into the bush to
trap."

"I
see," aunt Merriweather said. Which meant, of course, that she did not;
she was not resigned.
Elizabeth
anticipated other conversations on this topic, but for the moment she was
rescued by the arrival of her cousin Amanda, who dropped down beside her in a
great rush of silk and taffeta, and took both her hands in her own pale, cold
ones.

"We
have been a very long time in finding you," Amanda said in her breathy,
sweet way. "I did wonder if perhaps we should never get here at all."

"But
here you are," her mother noted. "And here is your tea. I do not like
your color, Amanda. Do drink it while it is warm."

Hidden
from her mother's view by Kitty, Amanda rolled her eyes at
Elizabeth
, even as she took the cup that
Daisy offered her.

"You
are looking very well," Elizabeth said, squeezing Amanda's hand. "And
I am so pleased to see you here. I only wish circumstances were happier—"

The
judge had been sitting quietly nearby, listening with a smile on his face. But
he stood and left the room quite suddenly, mumbling some small excuse. Mr.
Witherspoon trailed out after him, casting apologies liberally as he went. Aunt
watched them go with a closed expression and her mouth drawn down in worry.

"I
fear we do not have much to offer in the way of diversion, given recent
losses,"
Elizabeth
concluded.

"Oh,
but there is the child," Amanda said. "We must be thankful for the
child."

Curiosity
appeared at the door as if she had been summoned. The bundle in her arms was
squirming and humming in anticipation. "Kitty, this boy of yours is empty
again."

Kitty
rose. "I must go and see after him," she said. "If you will
excuse me."

Amanda
jumped up,
Elizabeth
forgotten, to follow Kitty on her errand.

"My
poor dear," aunt Merriweather said under her breath. "My poor lamb,
so long without a child of her own. She holds up so bravely, does she not?
Although we were most surprised, pleasantly surprised, by the good tidings we
had of you, my dear. I must say at least your sense of decorum and timing is
better than was that of your poor brother—not that such a thing as reputation
seems to matter here. Ah, William."

Will
Spencer was at the door. He bowed from the waist, and came forward.

It
was almost two years since Elizabeth had last seen him: the hair on his temples
had grown sparser, and there were the first fine lines around his eyes. But the
same kindness and intelligence were there, too, and when she looked at him she
did not see a man of great wealth and education, but the boy she had grown up
with. She smiled at him, and at herself: all her worries, and here was just
Will, who had hid with her in the apple orchard, taught her how to make a
slingshot out of old garters, and told her stories of the Amazon. Whatever else
she had once felt for him seemed all very dim and unimportant, compared to what
she felt for the boy he had been and the place that boy held in her heart.
Perhaps he could see all this on her face, as well, for his strained expression
was replaced by a genuine smile, and he leaned over to take her hand and kiss
her cheek. He smelled, as always, of his pipe.

"Will."

"It's
good to see you, Lizzie," he said. "I've been very worried about
you."

Aunt
Merriweather put down her teacup. "So were we all. But look at the color
in her cheeks. The wilderness agrees with her, after all. Is that not so, Mr.
Bonner?"

Elizabeth
was
startled to find that Nathaniel had come in. His face was set in an expression
she could not quite interpret.

"I'm
called Nathaniel. And yes, it's true enough."

Growing
up under her aunt's tutelage,
Elizabeth
had often seen the calculating look she was giving Nathaniel now: she had not
yet determined his worthiness, and she would not be rushed in her appraisal or
less than frank about the results of her examination. What
Elizabeth
had not often experienced was the
kind of measured calm with which Nathaniel met this scrutiny. The truth was,
Elizabeth realized, that Nathaniel would not be devastated or even especially
put out if her aunt should take a dislike to him. It was this potential
indifference which was so unusual. Augusta Merriweather had enough money and
influence to gain the attention of almost anyone who crossed her path. Thus
Nathaniel was a new experience for her and,
Elizabeth
saw with some relief, not a
displeasing one.

"Well,
then, Nathaniel. Come here and be introduced to Sir William Spencer, Viscount
Durbeyfield. He is also my son—in—law, and your wife's first love."

Elizabeth
's
spoon went clattering to the floor.

"Mother!"
Amanda's tone was all gentle sorrow and dismay.

"Now,
Mother Merriweather," said William with a great frown.

"Do
stop "Mothering' me," the old lady said irritably, peering at her
son—in—law down the elegant arch of her long nose. "Do you think you could
hide anything from this man? Look at him." She pursed her mouth. "You
might as well come out and tell him all of it."

Elizabeth
met
her husband's cool and somewhat amused gaze.

"I'm
listening, Boots."

"We
were together quite a lot as children," Elizabeth said, struggling very
hard to keep her composure and her temper both. "It was very long
ago."

"How
long?" asked Hannah, who had surfaced from her corner and her book with an
unerring affinity for high adventure.

"A
million years,"
Elizabeth
said firmly.

William
held out a hand toward Nathaniel. "You'll permit me to present myself to
you, in spite of this rather peculiar start we've made. Will Spencer, at your
service. Mother does like to stir things up"—Aunt Merriweather's cluck of
the tongue drew a smile from him—"so you mustn't be alarmed at her
stories.

"I
ain't so easily vexed," Nathaniel said, taking the hand that was offered
to him. "Elizabeth can tell you that much about me."

Aunt
Merriweather rose with a sudden flurry of skirts and lace. "I do hope that
she will have a great deal more to tell than that. Elizabeth, love, come with
me to my room. We have much to discuss, and we can leave the men to their own
devices. They will sort things out as they see fit. Hannah can amuse herself? I
see she has much in common with you at her age,
Elizabeth
—if you were not up a tree, you were
lost in a book."

When
the door had been firmly closed behind them, the old woman settled herself in
the chair by the window. Ever vigilant, Augusta Merriweather did not like
surprises or unexpected visitors, no matter how far she might be from home.

"Well,
Lizzie," the older woman said, when
Elizabeth
had taken a seat at her knee. It was her other voice, the kinder one she
reserved for moments of solitude. All the lines in her face seemed to soften at
once. "This is a sad business, is it not?"

Elizabeth
nodded, because she was not sure of her ability to keep her composure. She
watched her aunt's profile for a moment, remembering small things which had
been lost to her in the time they had been apart: the strong lines of her face,
stronger now it seemed. She had grown older.

"Sometime
I would like to hear the whole story of what went amiss with Julian, for your
father is not capable of telling it. But I think not now. I find I am not in
the right frame of mind for tears."

"You
never are, Aunt."

"Have
you never seen me thus?" She looked a bit surprised. "Well, I shall
not start this evening, then. There are other matters more urgent, at the
moment. Your new sister—in—law, first and foremost. Tell me, do you think
there's any chance of our taking her and the child back to England with us? Or
just the child—Amanda and Will would provide an excellent home. You know this
to be true."

Elizabeth
realized that her mouth had fallen open, and she closed it with a snap. But
before she could gather her thoughts, her aunt was off again.

"It
is very awkward, indeed. I have no sense of the girl—she seems as fragile as
blown glass on the surface, but I suspect there is a strong will in there,
somewhere. I certainly hope there is, at least, or Richard Todd may well find a
way into your father's pockets in the end." Her blue eyes flashed as she
said this.

"Aunt,
I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Do
you not? I think you must. Don't pretend with me, Lizzie, not with me. I know
your father too well; I knew your poor brother, too, and having met Dr. Todd—in
quite remarkable circumstances I'm sure you'll agree—I see how you were caught
up here in men's games. You have managed to extricate yourself—and well done,
too, I will admit."

"Thank
you,"
Elizabeth
said, suppressing a smile.

"But
Kitty sits downstairs, a new widow with the key to your father's heart and
property at her breast, and I do not doubt that Richard Todd will see that as
clearly as I do."

"Whatever
did he say to you to lead you to such a conclusion?"

Aunt
Merriweather began to twist and turn the rings on her hands. "It was not
so very much, at least it would not seem so much to anyone else. He said that a
woman imprudent and impetuous enough to elope with a back—woodsman could not be
a proper overseer and steward of this land—" She glanced out the window. "When
I heard those words from him, I knew that he either did not know you at
all—unlikely, given the small society here, and the fact that he pursued you
for so long—or that he preferred to misrepresent you to the world to further
his own ends. It was outrageously insolent of him, too, to make such
pronouncements about his betters, and in public."

Elizabeth
smoothed her skirt under her hands, and sought the right tone. "But
Aunt," she said. "Richard's interest has always been very
specifically in Hidden Wolf—the mountain. I do not believe that he has designs
on the rest of my father's holdings. All of the trouble has been because that
mountain is in that part of my father's property which he deeded to me—upon my
marriage."