A Woman's Estate

by Roberta Gellis

  “If we are only going to Ghent to be humiliated,” Albert said quietly, although his eyes were angry, “perhaps it would be better not to meet at all.”

  “No,” Abigail replied, trying to sound reassuring as she expounded Roger’s views about why Gambier, Adams, and Goulburn had been appointed. “But I must warn you,” she ended, “that I think there was a reason Roger did not wish to mention to me for choosing Adams and Gambier. It will be useless even to broach the subject of impressment. The admiral will, I think, refuse to discuss it at all, and Adams is a specialist in marine law.”

  “British marine law,” Gallatin said, frowning. “I do not know, Abigail, but I greatly fear this conference is a waste. The single issue the President stressed was an end to impressment. If the British will not even discuss it—”

  “But does it matter anymore?” Abigail asked in a troubled voice. “Now that the war with France is over, the navy will be discharging men, not looking for more. Is it not possible just to…to avoid the issue?”

  “Abigail,” Gallatin protested, “it is a matter of principle.”

  “But is a principle that has no practical value worth fighting over when America cannot win?” she asked stubbornly. Then she lowered her voice to add, “Remember what I told you when we first met. I believe veteran troops have already been dispatched.”

  Gallatin made a despairing gesture. “We have some powers of discretion, but not, I think, on that subject. Never mind, my dear. I did not really ask you to come here to talk about this, and I should not have done so, for I see I have made you unhappy. What I wished to tell you is that I have word that the British commissioners will depart for Ghent about July first, so James and I are leaving London in a few days. We will go first to Paris, where I will see General de Lafayette, who has been most kind and helpful. Perhaps he can arrange meetings for me with others who can be of help.”

  Abigail expressed her regret that she had not been able to see more of her friend while he was in London, and then the hope that when the treaty was signed he would come back and visit her. Gallatin shook his head and sighed. “I will go home as fast as I can. I miss Hannah—I cannot tell you how much—and the children. It has been good to have James with me, but I long for home.”

  In a certain way, Abigail understood what Gallatin felt—not that she wished to return to America, but she was tired out by the intense social and political activities in which she had been engaged for months. She was looking forward with great anticipation to seeing her children and being principally a mother again. School ended for Daphne on 5 July, and Victor would be finished on the tenth. Abigail made sure there would be no guests and no other social obligations for two weeks so that she could concentrate her full attention on her children. She wanted to be sure that they were both happy in their schools and that they were not being subtly changed in any way of which she did not approve.

  After that there would be visitors—some family, but mostly political colleagues with whom Arthur wanted to discuss issues in a relaxed atmosphere, but the schedule would be easier, and being in the country would give her more freedom. Abigail had felt foolish with a burly footman dogging her every step and had compromised by going out very seldom on private expeditions after her accident.

  She had also looked forward to periods of total idleness once she was back in Stonar Magna, for she had accumulated a number of books during her repeated visits to the bookshops and had had little time to read while in London. Although her expectations of pleasure in being reunited with Victor and Daphne were fulfilled and she found, despite a spate of complaints from both, that neither had any real problems, her hopes of much time to herself were not realized. The very day after she and Arthur arrived, she received a note from Griselda with a request from Empson and Howing for her ladyship to call at Rutupiae Hall when she could spare them the time.

  Abigail gritted her teeth with exasperation. She had received letters from Griselda regularly all through April and May, and there had been no hint of dissatisfaction among the staff. After Hilda had returned to Rutupiae at the end of May, Griselda had written less frequently, and the tone of the letters was strained. Abigail had assumed that Hilda was making her daughter’s life miserable. She had been sorry, but there was nothing she could do, and she had put the matter out of her mind. Now, however, she realized that Hilda may have been making more lives than Griselda’s miserable.

  Hoping that her guess was wrong, Abigail walked across the woods to Rutupiae at a time when she was almost certain that Hilda would be out visiting. She was right about that and also about the fact that the breach between mother and daughter had not been healed. Griselda was at home, Hilda “punishing” her by refusing to take her along on the visits.

  Unfortunately, Abigail had also been right about the fact that Hilda had been making trouble. Griselda was plainly embarrassed, but she explained that her mother seemed to believe that now that Abigail had married and left Rutupiae, she would no longer be concerned with the servants she had left behind. Hilda had decided to be avenged on those she felt “sided with” Abigail and been “unfaithful” to her. She had given orders to dismiss several servants, and when Empson and Howing had said they had no power to do so without Abigail’s permission, she had called them liars and had tried to make Mr. Jameson dismiss them. Jameson, of course, had said the household staff was outside of his responsibility, but by then the butler and housekeeper were so offended that they wished to give notice. Griselda had begged them to reconsider, at least until Abigail could speak to them.

  This Abigail did at once, summoning them to the library, assuring them of her support and confidence and pointing out that though Hilda might be made uncomfortable by a less efficient staff if they left, it would be Victor and Rutupiae Hall that would suffer in the long run. Since both had worked at Rutupiae all their lives and did not wish to leave, they were easily mollified. They admitted they were accustomed to Hilda’s behavior but this time had been alarmed, thinking that Abigail, indeed, might have lost interest in Rutupiae and they might be dismissed and refused references.

  By the time Abigail had pacified Empson and Howing, news of her arrival had spread and Mr. Jameson came to her before she could leave the room. He wanted to know whether estate problems were now to be referred to her or to Sir Arthur. Abigail promptly said “to me”, and Jameson as promptly told her that he had a number of subjects that needed discussion and approval as soon as she could give him some time. He had not been at all pleased when Abigail originally indicated that she intended to take an active part in managing the Lydden estate, but he had changed his mind over the months he had worked for her.

  Abigail frowned. “Is there anything very urgent? I promised the children we could ride to the mill and meet the…Broadbridges. Is that the right name?”

  “Yes, my lady, Broadbridge is the name,” Jameson replied. “Most excellent people, who will be glad to have Lord Lydden and Lady Daphne and their friends visit whenever they like. As to ‘urgent’, my lady, only one matter I feel I must mention at once. I changed the repair clause in the leases as you directed, and explained to the tenants. They have agreed, and the leases have been sent on to Mr. Deedes. But it was my understanding that Sneath’s lease was not to be renewed—that was in the letter you wrote in March. I had told him to go, but Mr. Lydden said—”

  “Let me get my letter book, Mr. Jameson. So much has happened that I don’t remember what I wrote.”

  In fact, Abigail did not really remember Sneath or why she had objected to his tenancy and hoped the letter would revive her memory. She went to her desk and opened the drawer in which her letter books were kept, but the last—the book Griselda had taken back with her—was not there. Repressing an unladylike exclamation, Abigail turned back to Jameson. If she asked Griselda for that letter book and Griselda could not remember at once where she had put it, the girl would feel dreadful. It was not worth the bother.

  “It isn’t here,” she said to
Jameson. “Miss Lydden may have forgotten to put it here, or I might not have told her to do so.” She hesitated and asked, “Do you feel I was unjust about Sneath?”

  “Not at all,” Jameson replied. “I was delighted when you told me you wanted a new tenant on that land. I would have complained about him myself, except that I never liked him, not from the time Mr. Lydden insisted he be put on old Tooker’s farm. The old man was getting beyond the work, I know, and he had had very bad luck, losing his two older sons. Still, the youngest boy was getting into the way of farming and would have done very well in a matter of a few years. Tooker had always been a good tenant, and I felt his lease should have been renewed, even if the farm were not producing what it could for a while. Well, that’s neither here nor there, but I was afraid you would think as Mr. Lydden did when I complained about Sneath—that I was prejudiced against him.”

  Abigail smiled at him warmly. “You are far too good at your work to allow personal prejudice to blind you to a well-run farm, Mr. Jameson, and you know that I do not always agree with Mr. Lydden on the way the estate should be managed. If you think my decision about Sneath was fair, I am confident it was. Tell him again to go, no matter what Mr. Lydden says, and if Tooker and his family have not found another place that they like, you can ask them to come back.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said. “It is truly a pleasure to work for you.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail replied, and laughed. “I hope your opinion remains as good after I tell you that in a week or two I intend to unloose Victor on you. I would greatly appreciate it if you would sometimes take him about with you when you visit the farms. Sir Arthur will do what he can, but Victor must come to know his own lands and tenants, not those of Stonar.”

  “You honor me, my lady.” Jameson smiled and shook his head. “Lord Lydden may not be very interested in what I have to show him, but some of it will sink in, and in a few years he will feel very differently.”

  “I think so too,” Abigail agreed, “because, you know, Francis used to talk about Rutupiae, and Victor sees that Sir Arthur, whom he admires, is interested in and concerned about the land.” She looked at the clock on the mantel and tchk’d irritably. “I must go, but I will be here by ten tomorrow morning, and then I will come regularly until we have gotten through everything.”

  But Abigail’s desire to leave was thwarted once again. As she opened the door, a footman was coming down the corridor toward her. He informed her that Hilda had returned and was waiting for her in the drawing room. For one moment Abigail considered asking the footman to say she had already gone, but she knew Hilda would scold him, and if he weakened and confessed—or Hilda learned some other way that she had been there—more hard feelings would be generated.

  Sighing, Abigail went to the drawing room, only to be greeted with a screech of “What are you doing here? This is no longer your house. By marrying Sir Arthur—”

  Abigail’s fury with Hilda, which had been overlaid by her satisfaction in soothing Empson and Howing and her talk with Jameson, woke to renewed life. “You are entirely mistaken,” she snarled, cutting Hilda off mid-screech. “Victor is still my son. I am still his guardian, and Sir Arthur is still his trustee. All those facts add up to make me mistress of Rutupiae Hall until my son comes to his majority.”

  “That cannot be true,” Hilda shrieked. “You cannot have Rutupiae’s interests as much at heart as those of Stonar. There is a thing—a legal thing—”

  “If you mean conflict of interest,” Abigail broke in again, her sense of triumph and satisfaction cooling her anger, “you are both mistaken about my feeling for my son’s property and ignorant of the facts. Sir Arthur made very careful arrangements to permit us to remain guardian and trustee without any conflict of interest.”

  “Mr. Deedes will hear of this!” Hilda yelled. “He will know how to prevent a greedy, treacherous foreigner from grabbing everything.”

  “Mr. Deedes was involved in making the arrangements to assure my continued control of the estate, and it will be useless for you to torment him to change them, for he cannot do so.” Abigail spoke quite calmly now, mentally blessing Arthur again and again for his foresight and care. “I am still mistress of Rutupiae Hall—and as such, I am warning you not to meddle with the staff. I will tell you plainly and clearly that Mr. Empson and Mrs. Howing and most of the other servants are necessary to me, to Victor and to Rutupiae. You are not. You may live here if you like. You may not distress my servants. If you do, I will have you removed from this house, no matter how dreadful the scandal. I will call in the bailiffs if I must.”

  Hilda fell back in her chair, so outraged that she could not speak, and Abigail turned away without waiting for her to catch her breath, only to see Eustace standing by the open door, which he had seemingly been too stunned to close. The sight annoyed Abigail, for she had vented her anger and did not want Hilda further embarrassed by knowing that the servants had heard her being put in her place. Thus, she decided to give Eustace a taste of the same medicine and turned on him. “And I manage the farms too,” she added. “Sneath’s lease will not be renewed.”

  Then she walked past him and went toward the front door, but before she reached it, Empson emerged from a side passage and hurried to open it for her. Abigail almost gave him a dressing down, too. She knew he had been in that passage only in order to listen. She controlled herself, however, realizing that it would be useless and unwise to lash out at Empson, particularly that day. Then, although his face was as wooden as ever, Empson glanced up as he bowed and said, “Thank you, my lady.”

  Somehow, the fact that he seemed to have guessed what she was thinking and to have confessed, apologized and answered her without saying a single word about the subject restored her mood. With the return of her good temper, Abigail remembered to inform Empson that she would be back the next day in case of any difficulty and to ask him to tell Griselda to find the letter book she had brought back from London and put it in the top drawer of her desk.

  This request caused one more furor, but one of which Abigail remained unaware. When Empson transmitted the message, Griselda frowned and muttered that she had put the copies of Abigail’s letters in that drawer. She went to look herself, assuming Abigail had not seen the letter book in her haste. But when she found it really was missing, Griselda became hysterical and accused her mother and brother of stealing Abigail’s correspondence.

  Eustace sprang to his feet and slapped her hard. “You feebleminded, mewling bitch,” he snarled. “You’re always interfering in what does not concern you. Anyway, what would Mama or I want with Abigail’s letters?”

  Griselda cowered away, shielding her face with her arm and sobbing.

  “Do not strike her, Eustace,” Hilda shrieked. “She deserves it, but the next thing you know, she will be off to Stonar Magna to complain to Abigail—you know she has toadied to her—and we will be put out of our home.”

  Eustace grasped his sister’s arm. “You would not do that, would you?” he asked. His voice was soft now, but there was a threat in it. He stared into Griselda’s face, watching her eyes grow more and more frightened, then he shook her arm and let her go. “Bah! You are an idiot. The letter book must be there.”

  He returned a few minutes later, carrying the book. “God, what fools!” he exclaimed as he entered the room. “Did you not think to look on the ledge below the drawer? It must have been on top, and when Abigail opened the drawer, it was pushed back and fell down. Or perhaps Mr. Jameson added something and pushed it down.”

  Griselda looked stricken and even more frightened. She stared at Eustace with dilated eyes and a hand to her lips, but he paid her no attention, going to the fireplace to set the letter book on the mantelpiece. As he raised his arms, Griselda gave a gasp, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob. Eustace gave an exaggerated sigh and turned toward her.

  “Oh, very well,” he said in a bored voice, “you are forgiven. Do not continue to make tho
se revolting noises—or, if you cannot stop, go away.”

  Still hiding her face and crying as if her heart were breaking, Griselda fled.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Four mornings of concentrated application had settled the estate matters about which Mr. Jameson had doubts and had proved an ideal way to exercise GoGo as well. Abigail found that walking through the wood made her nervous. She knew it was ridiculous, but they had never caught the man who fired at Victor, and she found herself thinking about that incident and looking over her shoulder both the first and second times she had gone to Rutupiae. It was more pleasant to ride the long way down the drive from Stonar to the main road, and then up the drive to Rutupiae.

  Sometimes Abigail started early and rode quite a distance before settling down to work, and the exercise made the work a pleasure. In fact, when it was done, she felt somewhat regretful and asked almost wistfully whether Mr. Jameson would need her again. Misunderstanding, he assured her that he would not need to trouble her anymore now that he was certain what she wanted done. However, he pointed out that Abigail had been away from Rutupiae a long while, and some tenants had personal problems they wished to bring to her. Abigail nodded, feeling both pleased and remorseful; she had forgotten.

  “Tell them that I will be here and welcome anyone who wishes to speak to me every Tuesday and Thursday from ten in the morning until half after noon. I think, if you do not mind, I will use your office for that. I am afraid the library might be rather awesome to them.”