Quiet Meg (3 page)

He asked Bertie about the uses of the property-the
paddocks and stables, the farms, and the family’s own
entertainments-all of which he supplied with humorous
asides and a degree of frustration.

“‘Tis a bit of a ruin, Cabot. I told you so in town. You
must consider it yours ! No one has done much to the place
since the lanes and gates went up with the house. The head
gardener is elderly and tyrannical. I await his abdication. Anything you find acceptable is probably mere happenstance”

“Does your father take a daily constitutional? He says he
cannot run the chair out on the lawn”

“He goes to the stables, to see his pets. On occasion he
has ventured down to the river gate, but he is otherwise restricted to the house. His confinement is a great distress to
him, Cabot. He was always a vigorous man, and a devoted
horseman.”

On the way back to the stables they passed the entrance
to the kitchen garden at the northwest corner of the house.
Though the light was fading, Bertie suggested they take a
quick look. Chas handed his reins to a groom, then followed Bertie to an iron gate set in a high stone wall.

He was astonished by what lay beyond-easily five thousand square feet of carefully plotted parterre, lime and dwarf
fruit trees, clipped box hedges, trellises for vines, a small
central pond and, along the north wall, a tiny teahouseshielded from stronger winds, but open to the sun. The
kitchen garden, cradled within the old walls of a former stable yard, was a surprising, welcome relief from the rest of
Selbourne’s spare setting. Even now, in early March, low
bulbs and sweet peas bloomed amidst subtly hued cabbages
and herbs, adding vitality and color to the gray surroundings.

“You say your sister Margaret designed this?”

“Every inch of it, except the walls of course. But she laid
out the planting beds and the pond, and had the teahouse
and trellises built, and has instructed cook and anyone who
will lend an ear in how to keep it up. ‘Twas her project, you
see-though it has not seemed to give her as much pleasure since-well, for some years” His lips set grimly. “You shall
have some difficulty wresting it from her.”

“I shouldn’t wish to. ‘Tis charming.”

Chas thought he must revise his opinion of Margaret
Lawrence. Her garden had been artfully arranged. Perhaps
her seemingly self-indulgent ways had a positive side; he
valued that kind of determination in himself. But he still
wondered what the young woman had done to so unsettle
her worthy family.

With a promise to Bertie that he would have men out by
the end of the week, Chas returned to town in the Selbourne
coach. As was usual at the start of any endeavor, he was intensely focused. That night he made notes and scribbled letters to growers whose stock he knew he would wish to
guarantee. But such activity did not entirely absorb him. Visiting his grandmother’s house in town the next afternoon, he
broached a subject that was beginning to annoy him.

“Sir Eustace Lawrence has several daughters, Grandmere, in addition to his son, my friend Bertram” He gazed
out at the rainy London streets. “The eldest is married-to
Thomas Ferrell, the MP for Kitchley. The youngest, Lucinda, will be out this season. Do you know anything of the
other, the one named Margaret?” He did not look at his dear
Grandmere as he asked, and he made an effort to inquire in
as casual a tone as possible. Yet still she clucked at him.

“Ah, mon pauvre Charles. Meg Lawrence!”

He turned from the window to frown at his tiny, silverhaired relative.

“Do not take on so, Grandmere. I have not yet met the
woman”

She smiled in some amusement, and arched her brows.

“Mon pauvre Charles,” she repeated, in an entirely different tone. “I do not know, my dear one, which fate I
would choose for you. To meet her, or not to meet her.”

“You needn’t be so coy, Grandmere. I probably shall
never meet her, as she has been away from Selbourne much
of the past year, and promises to return only once I’ve finished. I am due at Abbey Clare in Kent this May, if you recall.” He had moved away from the windows and back
toward her chair. At better than six feet tall, he loomed over
her in any event; when his grandmother was seated he had
to look that much further down.

“Come sit, mon petit,” she said now. “I do not wish to
break my neck. And you must hear of your Meg Lawrence.”

He sat, resting his arms on his knees as he leaned forward.
He was always conscious of the incongruity whenever he
was in the presence of his adored grandmere-his own
large, male self and her frail, pale and perfect femininity. But
she was his closest relative, his mother’s French mother, the
dowager Duchess of Braughton. She was also his wisest
counsel. He never failed to visit her often when in town.

I shall not describe this girl to you, Charles. You must
see for yourself. But I will tell you of the past, the on dit,
yes? Because the family will expect that you know, and
perhaps also Miss Meg will expect that you know. And yet
you, mon cher Charles, never know such things of the
world. You see only the buttercups, yes?”

“I am not such an innocent, Grandmere, as you well
know, though you do introduce this topic in such an alarming fashion. And if you no longer wish me to bring you the occasional flower from the glasshouses at Kew, that can be
arranged”

“Ah! The dear boy is impatient, so he threatens the old
woman. We have a word for you. It is termed le brimeur …
the bully.”

“Grandmere… “

“Yes, yes. So you were in Vienna three-yes, three years
ago, when this girl had her debut. Miss Margaret Lawrence,
just seventeen. Very young, you see, but extraordinaire.
Most-appealing. With the poise, la contenance, uniqueah! elegant, perhaps. And here is her sister, engaged to the
new member of Parliament, Mr. Ferrell. And her father, Sir
Eustace, the respected barrister, a baronet who has wealth,
and property, and horses, and is most strong-he is walking
then, to comprends? Yes, your Grandmere found him always most handsome! So, Miss Margaret is introduced and
within one week, her father has ten offers for her hand in
marriage.”

“Ten offers! On so little acquaintance? ‘Tis like the bidding on a rarity.” He smiled indulgently. “Now I know you
are inventing.”

“As you wish.” She looked offended.

“Grandmere, I must reconsider my arrangements with
Sir Eustace. The family’s standing is not quite that elevated. He must have immense riches”

“Shhh,” she advised with a finger to her lips. “You think
this is for the portion, for the pieces of silver? Did I not say
the girl was appealing? Well, but of course this was absurd.
Meg wishes to enjoy the season, to see the town and the entertainments. But now the other young ladies think this is not so convenable-to have their escorts wish to dance
with Meg, to ride with Meg, to wed Meg. So some fewthe young ladies can be most spiteful, no?-they bring Miss
Meg to Vauxhall, to a fete. And they leave her to Sutcliffe”

“Sutcliffe? The Earl of Sutcliffe?” Chas knew the man.
He had seen him on occasiona dark, striking man of
stern features and uncertain temper. “Sutcliffe would have
been considerably older than Meg Lawrence”

“Mais oui. Though this is not always so much an obstacle, if there is love. But with Sutcliffe there is only the passion. He covets the girl. She would be his. This he would
say from the first moment he sees her. He is a connoisseur;
he will have the best. Only he can appreciate Meg. He will
not be one of many. He must possess! Charles-I knew a
man once, who sold all his family’s ancient vineyards for
one superior vintage. Such is Sutcliffe’s desire! Yet the Earl
of Sutcliffe was married.”

Chas leaned back in his seat.

“Surely Miss Meg did not..

“Never! Not at all. This is not proper, Charles. Meg is
good. The family is good. The father most honorable, commended by the king! And the earl rages all the more. He
cannot wed her. But he must have her. He plans that she
should be abandoned at Vauxhall. So that he might steal her
away.”

“Steal her? Grandmere, do you mean he kidnapped her?”

“Oui, mon cher. But there is no disgrace to the girl. Because Sir Eustace, and the brother-they stop this crime,
this outrage! They find the coach, tout de suite! There is a
battle, a small battle, but still. And Sutcliffe, or one of his
men, fires a pistol. This frightens the horse of Sir Eustace. He falls, he is crushed, he will no longer ride his superb
horses. He loses the use of his legs forever. And Meg, who
is so protected, so loved by her family, she is recluse-she
is in retreat. She cares for her father, that is all.” She cautioned silence, a finger to her lips, as Chas moved to comment, “But there is more, Charles …

“Miss Meg, she thinks to stop this madness in Lord Sutcliffe, who still sends the gifts and pays the spies. He must
know where she is, what she does, all the day, always. She
accepts an offer from the son of my friend Lady Kenney.
You recall Lady Kenney?” Chas nodded stiffly. “Lady Kenney’s boy, Douglas, has an estate far away, in Scotland.
Miss Meg, I think, does not love him. But she wishes to escape. And he is l’adorateur, adoring. They plan to wed.
Then this devil, this Earl of Sutcliffe, who has no soul, no
honor, no stop to his desires-he kills the boy.”

“Sutcliffe murdered him?” Chas asked sternly. He sat
forward and frowned at his Grandmere, who was relaying
all this much too calmly. If she were not inventing, he
thought her guilty at least of considerable embellishment.

“There was a duel, mon cher. The boy, the fiance
Douglas-he challenges for the honor of his Margaret. Yes,
it is said Sutcliffe murdered him. With swords. For there
could be no contest. He knew how it would be.”

“Miss Margaret must have been … in shock”

“Precisement, mon petit. Of this horror one cannot say
so much in words. The offers cease! In another age perhaps, a king might have stopped such as this-put an end to
this-banished Sutcliffe, perhaps. Or taken Margaret for
himself. But not now, this is not done, and with your patron,
this Prince Regent! Ah-he is too silly!”

“He is not entirely silly, Grandmere. He has some admirable sensibilities. But he lacks direction”

“And you, mon cher, you have too much direction-you
work all the days, when you need not work at all.”

“I must, Grandmere. I cannot be merely the idle gentleman. I would not have you term me ‘silly.’”

“Never. My Charles is not a silly man. But now, I must
finish-Miss Meg comes to town once more, for her sister’s wedding to Mr. Ferrell. She stands up for her sister.
And the brother-your friend, Mr. Bertram-has prepared
carefully, and has many men to guard the ceremony. An
army, yes? And still Sutcliffe dares to invite himself, and
look on Margaret” His grandmother reached to touch his
arm with her delicate fingers. “I have seen this look,
Charles. It is not the look of a man, but of the beast, who
knows only the need-not love. Miss Meg flees London;
no one has seen her for almost a year. Has Sutcliffe forgotten? Peut-etre. But now he is a widower. He is not a man to
woo, but to demand! And you tell me the Lawrences come
for the season and I fear-I fear this is not good news. Mon
petit Charles asks about Meg Lawrence! This I fear as well”

Charles patted her thin hand.

“She designed the kitchen garden at Selbourne, Grandmere. Rather beautifully, as it happens. My interest is professional.”

“Oh, Charles .. ” She shook her head at him. “And you
have not met this girl! Perhaps that is for the best. You must
finish your work before she returns.”

“I cannot and will not order the sun and moon for Margaret Lawrence”

“Non. Mais Charles-le destin! Je voudrais.”

“Grandmere-please. You have lived here more than
fifty years. You must not abandon your English.”

“It does not express my heart.”

“You express yourself very well, particularly when you
are angry. And I will always understand you in any language. Perhaps best when you are silent.” She clucked. “If
you now believe me at the risks of fate, why did you not
steer me away from Sir Eustace and Selbourne?”

“Last week you spoke only of your plans for the Duke of
Clare at the Abbey. That is the great estate that takes all of
your attention, yes? You make favorites of dukes, is that not
so, mon petit?”

“I would be a fool if I did not, Grandmere. You, after
all, were the favorite of a duke”

She smiled, but was not to be distracted.

“So, last week you make only the hasty mention of a
property in Berkshire. You do not say Lawrence! You do
not say Selbourne. If you do not inform me, I can do nothing. And then, if I had spoken of these matters before, you
would only have laughed. As I believe you laugh now. Tu es
obstine! You are always like the mule, Charles.”

“And you should not wonder from whom I claim that
trait, Grandmere.” He kissed her goodbye. “Do not worry.
Ce qu’il plaira a Dieu. ‘Twill be as it pleases God.” Yet he
muttered “ten offers” to himself as he departed.