by Mira Stables
“But don’t cuddle the babies, attractive as they are, or we shall have Hilda declaring that your dress must be burned,” advised Dominic more soberly. For once he felt that Oliver’s teasing was ill-timed. Of course he could not know of the revelation that had been vouchsafed to his brother and so must be forgiven. The subject of fortune telling was allowed to drop. Dominic turned to ask Lady Celia if she had found the silk she wanted for the new curtains, so Chantal must run up to the Tower room and bring down the snippets that the mercer had sent and they all proceeded to air their views without reaching any definite conclusion. Since Lady Celia would undoubtedly make her own choice in the end, this was of small consequence.
There was no opportunity for outdoor portrait painting during the next few days for they brought wind and rain that battered the roses and lashed the shallow waters of the bay into dramatic fury. Lady Celia, mildly triumphant, completed her portrait of her young guest, a charming if slightly sentimental representation of a maiden leaning from her casement to catch the first glimpse of a lover returning from the wars. The younger members of the party beguiled the time according to temperament and inclination. Dominic’s inclination seemed to lead him surprisingly often into Chantal’s vicinity.
After three days of confinement their usual pastimes began to pall. It was Oliver who suggested hide and seek, with the hound, Jester, as the seeker. He engaged himself to keep her in leash beside his chair while the others concealed themselves – or laid a trail for her, as her master preferred to phrase it – and to loose her at an agreed time, first permitting her to snuff some article that the ‘fugitives’ had handled. On the first attempt Chantal was a little shy and stiff, feeling that she was really too old for such childish games. But Dominic had fortunately chosen a refuge in one of the attics and they were able to peer over the stair head and watch their pursuer as she sniffed out their tracks with what seemed to the girl uncanny accuracy until she was near enough to identify them by sight.
They experimented. Chantal’s kerchief and gloves, Dominic’s whip and one of his shoes were used in turn. The hound justified her master’s pride in her abilities. At the end of half an hour a breathless laughing Chantal was scampering up stairs and along corridors, flushed with exercise and a little untidy as to hair, catching willingly at Dominic’s hand as it was extended to help her up a steep spiral stair or to steer her along a dark passage way, with never a thought for the dignity demanded of a damsel of twenty years.
The game came to an end eventually because Dominic said that it would be unfair to cross their own earlier tracks. A good hound would follow a trail up to forty eight hours old and there was a limit to the number of different routes that they could use.
“But we could do this out of doors when the weather mends,” suggested Chantal eagerly. And Dominic assented willingly and was thankful that he had not succumbed to the temptation to snatch a kiss in those dark corridors. He did not think she was ready, yet, for kisses, but he was well pleased with his morning’s work.
The weather improved next day, but since Lady Celia had asked Chantal to go with her to the mercer’s in Newton Stewart there was no opportunity of trying Jester’s powers over a wider terrain.
“Though we should certainly do so at the first opportunity,” offered Oliver solemnly. “What a relief to all our minds to know that, should we chance to mislay you in some remote corner of this vast estate, we have an infallible means of tracking you down!” And Chantal giggled at his absurdity and went to put on her hat.
The ladies did not hurry themselves. Having settled the important business of ordering the silk for the new curtains they embarked on a leisurely shopping saunter. It was early evening when they came back to Glenluce, pleasantly tired with their wanderings and, Chantal realised, with a warm sense of home-coming. She was looking forward to relating the small events of the day over dinner and to hearing what Oliver and Dominic had been doing during their absence. As the carriage turned into their own lane Lady Celia exclaimed with interest, “See, my dear! That must be one of the tinklers that Murdoch spoke of. But what a strange looking fellow! Not at all the usual type. They are gypsies really, you know. Or Egyptians, as some of the older ones claim – members of a wandering tribe from some Eastern land. Many of them are extremely handsome in youth. I have never seen one look surly and hang-dog like that fellow. Did you see how he slunk into the hedge as though to escape our notice?”
Chantal had not seen the man very clearly from her side of the carriage, but once her attention had been drawn to him she was struck by a sense of familiarity. Somewhere she had seen him before. Perhaps he, too, had been in Newton Stewart. They might well have passed him in the street. At which point the carriage drew up at the landing stage and she forgot all about him.
The halcyon weather returned and they were able to take up their outdoor pursuits again. Jester displayed her tracking abilities to Chantal’s delight and admiration and Dominic made a start on her portrait. His stern self restraint was now paying handsome dividends. Chantal was well aware that he was paying her the most distinguishing attention. He did not fuss over it – but whatever she needed for her comfort or her entertainment was always to hand. He did not treat her as some poor feeble creature incapable of athletic effort but he was careful that she was not overtired or allowed to stray into danger. Chantal was no fool. She had gone through a London season and she knew very well how a man behaved when he wished to indulge in a pleasant flirtation. This was something different again. Incredible as it seemed, she could only believe that he was serious.
To herself she admitted that she liked him more than a little; even that it might be very enjoyable to feel that imagined kiss actually pressed upon her mouth. But love – and marriage – were serious matters. They were for life. Did she want to surrender herself and her life into his keeping? His seeming idleness still troubled her. And so did his arrogance. There was no doubt that he would be the master of his household. He would cherish his wife, but he would expect her to be submissive and obedient. Chantal was not at all sure that she wanted to be either. There were moments, as she considered her own situation, when she felt that she would thankfully barter her freedom for a claim on Dominic’s protection. And that was a fine reason for marrying a man she thought scornfully, despising her own cowardice. If she could not truly love him without reckoning the advantages he could give her, then he was better without her.
Chapter Eight
She had not meant to eavesdrop. She had been sunning herself on the terrace outside the open windows of the music room when Dominic had brought her a letter from her London attorney which had been sent under cover to him. So he must have been aware of her presence. Indeed she had not heard the first part of the conversation between the brothers since she had been engaged in scanning the brief content of Mr. Parker’s letter. It said little of moment. The authorities had not, so far, met with any success in their efforts to apprehend Mr. Dickensen’s assailants. He trusted that she was enjoying her stay in the north and he enclosed a draft on a Scottish bank which his lordship would cash for her.
She folded the draft and the letter together – and heard Dominic say, “No. I’m afraid I’ll have to go myself. A damned nuisance, particularly just now. But there have been impostors, and I prefer to make my own investigations. It’s a remarkably smooth letter – too smooth by half – something a trifle smoky about it.”
Oliver must have been sitting with his back to her, for though she could hear the murmur of his voice she did not catch the words. There was an answering chuckle from Dominic. He said, “Well, naturally. I would have preferred to have something settled first. But it’s no good sending Murdoch. When it comes to estate business or to buying stock he’s as shrewd as he can hold together, but being honest himself he’s inclined to take other men at face value. There’s nothing for it but to go myself. I need not be away above one night if all goes well. The place is on the outskirts of Ayr, and if I take Rusty over the first stage I shoul
d manage it in the day.”
Another murmur from Oliver. Then, “No. Not Pegeen. I’ll leave her for Chantal – but you’ll see she takes a groom with her, won’t you? I don’t really care to have her going over to the mainland while I’m not at hand to see she comes to no harm. She’s safe enough here, but I don’t trust that objectionable cousin of hers. He’s kept too quiet for my liking. If she was promised to me I’d not allow her to leave the island during my absence, but she’s never been accustomed to the curb and I daren’t risk a direct order.”
Chantal heard Oliver’s laugh. She would dearly have loved to vent her indignation on the conniving wretches but it had just been born in upon her that she had been listening, however innocently, to a conversation not intended for her ears. She must swallow her wrath and maintain a demurely smiling front however difficult the task. Unpractised in dissimulation and still seething over the remark about the curb, she made no attempt to slip away unperceived. Indeed she was still preoccupied with sorting out the snatches of conversation that she had heard. She was not particularly interested in Dominic’s business trip, but she would dearly have liked to know what it was that he had wanted to see settled before he left. Herself, perhaps? How right she had been to think him too domineering to make a satisfactory husband! So he would forbid her to leave the island, would he? They would see about that!
Simmering down slightly after an energetic hour with Jester on the beach, she was prepared to admit that at least his thoughts had been for her safety and her pleasure. He was even prepared to give up his beloved Pegeen for her use, and that when he was setting out on a long journey where the mare would have been invaluable. But she still could not forgive that remark about the curb!
Consequently she deliberately delayed her return to the house until she knew that he must have left and was decidedly cool to Oliver over lunch. Oliver, who had observed her offended departure from the terrace and guessed that she had heard remarks not intended for her ears, did not blame her. Any woman of spirit would have resented them, he thought, but added a mental rider that only a woman of spirit would do for Dominic. If he married that gentle docile creature of his brother’s earlier imaginings he would soon reduce her to nonentity, and then she would bore him. If this pair eventually made a match of it, Oliver could foresee some royal battles, but he thought that in general they would deal extremely together and would be very happy.
He said pleasantly, “I’m afraid you will have to make do with my society for a day or two. Nick is gone to Ayr on business. He has left Pegeen for your use, and begs that you will not ride out without a groom while he is away.”
The lady put her little nose in the air at this expurgated version of Dominic’s remarks. How delightful it was to hear that his lordship ‘begged’! With crushing civility she said that she would not dream of doing anything that would displease Lady Celia.
Oliver hid his amusement. He enquired politely what she would like to do in the afternoon, but on hearing that she meant to spend it lazily, reading one of the sadly neglected novels that she had brought with her, felt that it was safe to leave her to her own devices. He understood her feelings pretty well and guessed that she would love to make some gesture of defiance that would put Dominic in his place, but he also knew that she would not lie about her intentions.
In fact the day passed very peacefully indeed, save that Chantal was a little dismayed to discover how often her thoughts strayed towards the absentee. Nor could she convince herself that it was because she was displeased with him. Now that her quick temper had had time to cool, she allowed that his sentiments had been praiseworthy even if his expression of them was regrettably crude. It was not long before she sought solace for this new kind of loneliness by asking Oliver about the journey to Ayr. How long would it take? How many times must one change horses? Would milord stay at an inn or had he friends in the town?
Oliver answered her questions as though such curiosity was perfectly understandable and went on, in the most obliging fashion, to talk of his brother, expressing the pleasure it gave him to see Dominic so well entertained and so content with quiet Dorne. “For he is a restless, energetic creature, you know, and frequently drives himself too hard.”
Chantal stared at him in some surprise. He returned the look with bland serenity. The urge to discover more – perhaps to set at rest her doubts about his lordship’s way of life – was irresistible.
“That is the second time that you have referred to your brother’s energetic disposition,” she told him frankly, “and for the life of me I cannot see why. Save for the fact that he both writes and receives a great many letters, he appears to me to spend his life wholly in the pursuit of pleasure. Are you not, perhaps, unduly prejudiced in his favour?”
It was Oliver’s turn to stare. And for once there was a very stern expression on his pleasant face. “At the moment,” he said, speaking temperately with an obvious effort, “my brother is on holiday after months of arduous work. Can you not see the difficulties of his position? If I had been a whole man, he would have been free to follow his own inclination, and I think there is small doubt that he would have carved out a distinguished career for himself in the world of politics. As it is, he lends me his strength and stands always in my shadow, yet still finds time and energy to work for those causes in which he profoundly believes. For years he has been an ardent supporter of the campaign for emancipation. With that battle won, and poor Wilberforce’s death, he has turned his attention to the sufferings of the factory and mine workers in our own land. You saw something of the places in which the poor creatures live on our journey north. Were you aware that not only men but women and little children work as much as twelve or fifteen hours a day in the most appalling conditions? That women work underground, dragging trucks like beasts of burden? Young Ashley Cooper has dedicated himself to the task of ending these shameful practices, and my brother has pledged his support. If that is not sufficient to satisfy your zeal for action, he also devotes most of his personal fortune to the maintenance of a home for men who have been crippled or blinded in their country’s service. It should not tax your powers of understanding too far to guess the reason for this particular form of benevolence. He himself supervises the admission of deserving candidates and appoints the officers whose task is to make life as comfortable as possible for the poor wretches – such a task as he himself performs for me. He can never give himself wholly to a political career because he will not desert me. Do you think it is easy for a man of Dominic’s stamp that he must always stand aside – always come second?”
So stern a reprimand from the usually tolerant Oliver was shattering. Chantal whitened a little and her lips quivered. But there was a glow in her eyes that had nothing to do with contrition. When he added suddenly, “Do you still think me absurdly prejudiced?” she held up her head and met his gaze squarely.
“No. But had you given me even a hint of some of these activities when first we spoke on this head, I might have been spared a crushing set-down. You may say that your brother’s affairs are none of my business, and so far as his philanthropies are concerned I would hold you justified. But you could have given me some hint of his political activities instead of allowing me to go on thinking him an indolent do-nothing.”
Oliver grinned. How very right he had been in his estimate of the lady’s character! Interesting, too – and very satisfactory – to discover that only a man of action could claim her whole-hearted allegiance, since he had reason to believe that her love had been won long since.
“A hit,” he acknowledged, “a palpable hit. But I did tell you that he was not so idle as he showed and got through a deal of work without undue fuss.”
“I set that down to your natural loyalty,” she confessed. “He never speaks of serious matters. On the one or two occasions when we have spoken of the responsibilities that go with high rank, he has turned the whole thing into a joke. How could I be expected to guess that he is deeply concerned for the welfare of his fel
low men?”
“Well – he showed a certain amount of concern for yours,” suggested Oliver, smiling, “And that despite his absurd prejudice against your sex – a prejudice, by the way, which he seems at last to have conquered.” She coloured a little at that but made no reply. “As for his flippancy, I fear a good deal of that, too, must be laid at your door. He said that you had been robbed of a year of your youth and that he wanted your stay at Dorne to be as carefree and light-hearted as we could make it. But to speak truth, that same carefree holiday has done him a great deal of good, too, so we won’t splinter lances on that head. Shall we cry pax, and agree that he is an infuriating wretch, who may mean well but whose clumsy efforts in no way match his intentions?”
Chantal laughed and put out an impulsive hand. Oliver shook it firmly and their brief discord was over.
The evening was still very warm. Lady Celia, who had spent all day shut up in her room engrossed in an attempt to trace an obscure collateral branch of the family, came down to bid them good night and to announce that she meant to retire early, as poring over the crabbed and faded handwriting of the various documents had given her a headache. The two on the terrace sat on, content in each other’s company, each busy with thoughts that were not yet for sharing. Presently Oliver roused himself to suggest a day-long sailing picnic for the morrow if the weather held good and they wrangled amicably about the best venue for such an expedition, though Oliver seemed to be more concerned with studying the view of the mainland and the lane that ran down to the landing stage. From time to time he would shade his eyes with his hand and peer into the distance. Chantal looked too, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. When, for the fourth or fifth time he turned his head and failed to answer some casual question, she asked him frankly if he was expecting a visitor.
He shook his head and apologised for his abstraction.
