The American Earl (4 page)

We looked at the Titian “Portrait of a Young Man,” a self-portrait of Rembrandt, a collection of Holbein portraits and many beautiful landscapes by Poussin, Watteau and Claude.  We also had a Holy Family painted by Raphael, which was priceless.  Small bronze statues were displayed on tables.  My favorite was the equestrian statue by Bernini. 

As we left the last room and approached the long gallery, the earl said, “We don’t have as many valuable paintings in all of America as you have in just this one house.”

I stared at him. He had sounded disapproving!

The long gallery was next, my favorite place in the old part of the house. It was a long open room, and its walls of delicate chestnut-brown paneling were lined with portraits of the Marshall family and their friends. My mother used to use it as a ballroom.

There were portraits of blond-haired earls, family portraits of mothers with children, equestrian portraits, portraits with dogs, even a portrait of a haughty looking woman holding a parrot.   

My favorite portrait of all was a picture of the first earl’s dear friend, Sir Philip Sidney.  The two Philips had been very close – the first earl had even been at the Battle of Zutphen with Sidney when he was killed.  Our Philip had stayed beside Sidney until he died of infection from his wounds, and he had accompanied the body home to England. 

Philip Marshall had written poetry too – all of those Elizabethan soldier-courtiers seem to have been poets – but Sidney, of course, was the one whose poetry had become a part of our literary heritage.

The earl was attentive as I told him who was the subject of each of the portraits. When we had finally finished and were walking back along the passageway that connected the two main wings of the house, he said to me, “Mr. Shields wishes to go over the financials of the estate with me. I understand that your father left a large number of personal debts.”

“I’m afraid that he did.”

He stopped walking and turned to me. He was so big that my head reached only to his shoulder. He said, “I understand that you have been running the estate since before your father died. I hope you will consent to sit in on this discussion.”

I was surprised by the request and said quickly, “I would like that very much.”

“Good.”

Maria was shivering and I told her to go on back to the library to get warm. “We don’t heat this part of the house,” I said.

“No use heating a house you don’t use,” he said practically.

“I suppose so. But it’s not good for the paintings to be exposed to the cold like this.”

He looked amused and I said stiffly, “I will have our maid show you to your bedroom. Don’t worry, it has a fire.”

His amusement deepened. “Julia, I live in Massachusetts. Nothing you have here in your small island can be colder than what I’m accustomed to at home.”

Maria said eagerly, “I’ll show Evan to his room, Julia.”

She likes him, I thought. That smile has won her over.

Well, it hadn’t won me. 
Small island, indeed. 
I thought. And watched Maria walk beside the earl, chatting comfortably, as they went toward the stairs that led to the upstairs bedrooms.

Chapter Five

Mrs. Pierce was an excellent cook and for dinner she produced roast mutton with roasted vegetables and potatoes that melted in your mouth. The soup was a repeat of the fish soup from lunch and was exquisite.

Evan – I supposed I had to learn to call him that – ate with gusto.  We talked for a while about the weather, always a safe topic, and when that petered out, Evan asked Maria where she went to school.

“School?” Maria was understandably surprised. No Marshall girl had ever gone away to school. “I study at home,” she explained. “I had a governess when I left the nursery, then, when Papa couldn’t pay her any more, Julia taught me. But the family decided I needed someone older, and Cousin Flora came.”

‘The family’ was my Aunt Barbara, who was always trying to stick her nose into our business. She had looked around for the poorest relation she could find and persuaded Cousin Flora to come. It’s not that I didn’t like Flora. She was always so pleasant it wasn’t possible not to like her. But I knew I did a better job of teaching than she did.

“It’s a good thing I did come,” Flora said to Evan. “Julia’s ideas of subjects suitable for a young girl were hardly appropriate.” She shot me a reproachful glance. We had had this discussion before. “Nor were they subjects Julia herself should know anything about,” Flora concluded.

Evan turned to me, his blue eyes curious. “What were you teaching that was so unsuitable?”

I had a mouthful of potato and couldn’t speak, so Flora answered. “For one thing, she was teaching Maria what I can only consider to be warm stories from some old Greek books she found in the library.” She gave me the reproachful look again. “Julia’s governess failed to monitor her reading material, but she cannot be allowed to pass these indelicate tales along to her impressionable sister.”

Evan’s eyes glinted with curiosity and he asked Maria, “What ‘old Greek books’ did Julia teach you?”

“Homer, Sophocles, Euripides. We started to read Plato, but Cousin Flora took it away and hid it,” Maria said sadly.

“Did you like those books?”

“Yes, I did!” Maria’s voice took on a note of enthusiasm. “There was one particular story where this man has a prophecy that he’ll marry his mother…”

“Stop!” Flora cried in horror.

Evan grinned. “
Oedipus Rex
. 
I had to read it in translation since I never learned classical Greek.”

“ We have some good ones in the library.”

Maria put down her water glass. “Julia’s always reading - that is when she isn’t at the stables or riding.”

Flora lifted her double chin. “I regret having to say this, Evan, but these girls have been neglected for years. Neither of their parents took the slightest interest in their educations. It’s a disgrace the way they have been allowed to go on, with scarcely any supervision.”

I said, “Maria and I did fine on our own, Cousin Flora.”

“Not that we haven’t liked having you with us,” Maria added quickly.  She had always been sensitive to the feelings of others.  It was a great pity that my mother and father had never been sensitive to others.

Since our parents had scarcely ever come to Stoverton, I was the only person Maria could turn to for affection.  I loved my sister deeply, but I understood she needed more than just me.

My plan was to get this American to do something for my sister. I glanced at him from under my lashes. I would never like him, but I needed his good will. I forced a smile and said, “Would you like to ride around the estate with me tomorrow, Evan? I can introduce you to some of our tenants.”

He looked pleased. “I would like that very much.”

I thought of the limited number of horses in our stable. The only one I could offer him was my father’s old hunter, whose best days were long behind him. I explained this to Evan.

“A nice, solid old fellow will suit me just fine,” he replied. 

Lucy came in to remove the dinner dishes and I was relieved that Evan had made no comment upon our lack of male servants. A decent household would have had three footmen at least serving at the table.

Of course, they probably didn’t have servants like that in the American wilderness.

Cousin Flora inquired, “Did you enjoy your tour of the house today, Evan?”

“I must confess I found it rather overwhelming.  My whole house in Salem could fit into just a couple of rooms here in Stoverton.”

“Do you have a house in the country as well as a town house?” Maria asked.

“No, just in Salem. That’s where our shipping business is. My father settled in Boston when he first came to America, but then he moved to Salem and built his company there. It’s a grand place to live. The whole town revolves around shipping.”

“I remember your father from when we were children,” Flora said fondly. “At Christmastime your grandfather always had a house party for all the family – aunts and uncles and dozens of cousins. It was so much fun! Tommy was always up to mischief – he had so much energy, that boy. I’m not surprised he made a great success in America.”

I said, “It’s strange how your father never mentioned his family in England, and my father never talked about your father either. I wonder why?”

His thick silver-blond brows drew together. “I don’t know. The only person in England my father kept in communication with was an old school friend of his. They wrote fairly regularly.”

The pudding came in, apple pie with a tiny bit of cream on top, and after we finished, Flora rose. Maria and I followed her lead. “We’ll leave you to your glass of port,” Flora said to Evan, who had stood along with us.

“But where are you going?”

“To the drawing room, to wait for you.”

He looked bewildered. “I’m not supposed to come with you?”

I informed him, “In England the ladies retire after dinner and leave the gentlemen to their port.”

Evan looked at me. His eyes were really amazingly blue. His resemblance to the portrait of the first earl was rather unsettling. “But why?” he asked. “In America the entire company retires to the parlor after dinner.”

“I don’t know why,” I returned. “That’s just the way it’s always done.”

Flora said, “If you’d like to have your port in the drawing room with us, Evan, come along.”

“I don’t like port,” he replied, “and I’ll be happy to join you.”

The fire in the drawing room was still going so the room was pleasantly warm when we went in.  I looked sadly at the empty spot in front of the hearth where by dogs had always lain.  Merlin, my last spaniel, had died just before I found my father and I hadn’t replaced him.  Once the business of Stoverton was settled, the first thing I would do would be to acquire some dogs.

We settled into the chairs that were still placed around the fire and Flora said, “Would you care for some music, Evan? Maria is a very good pianist.”

“I would like that very much,” he said, smiling at Maria.

The piano had originally been in the drawing room, but we had moved it into the library when we closed off so much of the house.  Then we had dragged it back in here before Evan arrived.  Maria had been so worried about its being out of tune from the moving that I had paid someone to tune it properly.

She stood up gracefully and went to take her place at the piano. She turned and said to Evan, “Is there anything particular you would like to hear?”

I waited to hear what he would reply. Did Americans know anything about real music?

“Something by Mozart would be wonderful – if that suits you, Maria.”

My sister is an enormously gifted musician. She merely smiled back, turned to the piano, placed her fingers on the keys, and began to play.

I closed my eyes and listened. Maria usually played for Flora and me after dinner and it was the most peaceful part of my day.”

When she had finished Evan said in surprise, “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“I used to have a piano teacher,” Maria replied softly. 

He frowned. “Used to? What happened to him?” Then, as Maria looked upset, he lifted his hand. “Don’t bother answering. I can guess. Your father ran out of money.”

Maria nodded.  She looked so lovely sitting there, with her golden curls and her blue eyes and her black funeral dress.  I felt a surge of fierce protectiveness. 

“Of all of my father’s transgressions, this was the worst.” I said fiercely.  “He
knew
how much music meant to Maria, but he didn’t care.” 

“Well that is something I can easily rectify,” Evan said. “When I get back to London I will look about for a music teacher for you, Maria.”

The look of radiance on her face brought tears to my eyes.  At that moment I almost liked Evan Marshall. 

“Thank you, Evan.”
 
Maria’s voice trembled with emotion. 

He looked embarrassed. “It will be my honor,” he replied.

It was the right answer for a Marshall. 
Too bad he isn’t English
, I found myself thinking. 

He was speaking to me. “I understand that your father had two sons to succeed him. What happened to them?”

All my good feelings toward him died. I said in my most clipped voice, “My brother Charles died of a lung infection when he was young. Two years ago my brother Philip was sailing in the Channel with friends when a fog came down. His yacht was hit by an American privateer and all on board drowned.”

Evan looked grave. “I’m so sorry.”

“We heard that you were a ship’s captain. Did you fight in the war?”

His blue eyes held mine steadily. “Yes, I did. I had my own ship, the Bonny Jean.”

“So you were a privateer then, not in your country’s navy?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever sail in the Channel?”

He replied in a level voice, “No. Most of my prizes came from the Caribbean.”

My back was ramrod straight as I glared at him. “Those ‘prizes’ you speak of were non-combatant merchant ships, not ships of war. It was an act of cowardice to attack them.”

“Julia!” I heard Flora say warningly.

Evan glared back at me. 

“There wouldn’t have been a war if your government had not continuously stopped American merchant ships
and impressed our seaman – most of whom were American citizens – into your navy.”

I opened my mouth to reply but he wasn’t finished. “You may be upset that American ships were in the Channel, but your troops marched into Washington City - our country’s capital - and burned it to the ground!”

I kept on glaring, furious that I couldn’t think of anything to say.  Then the fire in his eyes went out and he looked contrite.  “I’m sorry, Julia.  I’m sorry about your brother.  Believe me, I would much rather it was he who was responsible for Stoverton than I.”

I nodded and mumbled something indistinguishable in reply. 

Cousin Flora said hurriedly, “What does your wife think about all this, Evan?”

“Not much, I’m afraid; I don’t have a wife. I haven’t been home long enough in the past few years to impress any girl.”