Quiet Meg

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  “He will live at Brookslea when he settles,” Lucy said.

  “Ah! You have plans then?” Meg asked, though she feared the answer.

  “No,” he said shortly, and his brown eyes looked almost black. “No plans.”

  “None of us ever does have plans, my boy,” her father said. “But the devilish things pop up and take over.”

  “Father, you are describing the opposite of plans,” Bertie laughed. “Now I remind you, Cabot, after supper I’d like Meggie to see the drawings.”

  “Of course,” he said, and smiled at Bertie before turning his attention to his meal. Meg noticed that Cabot smiled easily at every other member of her family; indeed, he was treated almost like one of them. But he did not smile at Meg. Despite his compliment of the kitchen garden, she sensed a distance in him, as though he disapproved of her. Such disregard was new to her-she seemed to have developed a desire for masculine praise. Perhaps she had spent too much time with her elderly aunt in tiny Tenby. But she did not want the man’s favor, she told herself. Even if Lucy had not set her cap for him, Meg would not have sought his notice.

  She stole glances at him as he ate.

  “Papa,” Lucy said. “Charles says he may be in town late May, so I have invited him to my comeout ball.”

  “Cabot, you must stop humoring the girl,” her father said. “Of course you are most welcome-whatever the date or engagement. But you must feel no obligation. I still hope Lucinda might learn some manners. She is a bit of a romp”

  “Papa!” Lucy cried.

  “Meggie, you must help us keep Lucy in hand,” Bertie said.

  “I suspect Lucy needs only an extensive wardrobe and three months in town” She smiled across at Lucy, who sent her a grateful look.

  “How you females do pull together,” her father said, but he patted her hand. `If Louisa were here tonight we would be reduced to discussing the trimming of bonnets”

  “It would serve you right, father.”

  “Ah, Margaret! It is good to have you home.” He kept hold of her hand. Meg noted with a pang that he looked grayer than when she had left the previous May.

  He spent some time inquiring after his sister Elizabeth and discussing her move to Cheltenham. But they did not tarry over the meal, for Meg was tired after her journey, and Bertram and Cabot wished an early start in the morning. Mr. Cabot, Meg learned, would be leaving the next day to visit other properties. He would be away most of the week.

  “Oh, but that is ages!” Lucy protested.

  “I have my commitments, Miss Lucinda, and promises. My foreman and crew and your father’s gardeners will still be working to plan in my absence.”

  “That is not what I meant!”

  “Well, it should have been,” her father countered. “Mind yourself, young lady. If you carry on so in town, our stay may be briefer than anticipated.”

  Lucy looked sulky, but she settled into silence.

  “Let us show Meggie your plans now then, Cabot,” Bertie said, “so that she has some notion what is going forward while you are away.”

  When Sir Eustace pushed his chair from the table, the rest of them rose. Meg accompanied her brother to the rooms allotted to Cabot’s use, while Sir Eustace kept Lucy behind-for what Meg suspected would be rather a severe scold.

  There was no evidence that anyone was residing in the east rooms, apart from the large table now dominating the center of the parlor. The table was covered with papers, but Meg’s quick glance around revealed little of a personal nature upon the shelves or other furniture. She was beginning to comprehend that Mr. Cabot was a model of transience. But there was nothing flighty or superficial about him. Indeed, his demeanor, with her at least, was most serious.

  He walked over to the table and pushed several scrolls of heavy vellum to the side, revealing underneath a layout of Selbourne in its entirety. Though Meg had never seen such a rendition of her home, she knew it immediately by the shape of the house alone, depicted at center. But much else about it surprised her.

  “Why, ‘tis Selbourne as a … a wheel,” she said.

  Cabot’s glance at her was pleased.

  “It is indeed, Miss Lawrence. I’ve laid out the grounds largely on a radial plan. That is unusual, but Selbourne, as you can see, lent itself to it rather well. I had only to work with what was in place. See here,” he leant one hand upon the table as he took up a rule to point to the plan. “The house itself is the center, or hub. The beech avenue in front is one spoke of your wheel, and the other spokes are sight lines from the house or, as in this case”-he drew his forearm out from the house to the east-“a new walk. The wheel’s rim consists roughly of the river, the paddocks and farms beyond the stables, the north woods, and here-the rising ground I term the knoll. We are trenching a ha-ha along the line of this dry rill, with a culvert either end.. As he moved his arm across the page Meg leaned forward.

  “With the pathways, father might move about more.”

  “Yes, I was thinking of your father,” Cabot said, “when I set the route to the knoll. And there is a possibility for something similar here to the lake and out beyond these pastures” He opened one of the scrolls and showed her a drawing, a detailed drawing in pen and ink and the faintest of colored washes, depicting the anticipated view from the house looking toward the river and the knoll. An inviting path advanced through open ground toward a belt of trees, disappearing at last in the distance. The drawing was simple, beautiful, yet so convincing that it took her breath.

  “It is … extraordinary, Mr. Cabot,” she said. “Father will be able to move with ease where he once rode. And yet ‘tis still the park as he has always loved it. It looks … so natural.” She reached to touch the page, as though to satisfy herself of a dream’s veracity. In doing so, her arm brushed Cabot’s sleeve.

  The contact startled her. Yet she knew it should not have. It should not have affected her in the slightest.

  As though aware that the enthusiasm had suddenly stilled, Bertie pointed out a few items on the larger plan.

  “Look, Meggie. There will be a terrace to the east of the house, to balance your kitchen garden. And you haven’t noticed that Cabot removed some of the tallest pines beside the stables”

  “I did notice … I noticed the light,” she said softly. “The sunlight at the front of the house. When I arrived..

  She vividly recalled the unexpected light and warmth when she’d arrived. And Cabot was looking at her in such a way-such a way that she could not meet his gaze. She took a step away from him.

  “Your plans are very promising, Mr. Cabot” She did not recognize her own voice. “I look forward to seeing themseeing them in place”

  “That will take some time, Miss Lawrence. Your men and one of my crews will be working into the autumn, and some aspects of execution will move into next year. I hope, though, that you will find a moment to review these plans, and the start of some of the work, while I am away this week. All of these papers and drawings are at your disposal. You must question, or suggest, anything you wish.”

  “I … thank you. I must apologize now, but I am quite fatigued.”

  “Of course” He bowed to her as she took Bertie’s arm. She thought he must realize the effect he had on her. He had to.

  “How early, Cabot?” Bertie turned to ask.

  “At first light, if you don’t mind, Lawrence. I should like to reach Surrey by late afternoon.”

  “Fair enough. I shall sleep all the rest of the day, while you head off on your jaunt.”

  “Have a safe journey, Mr. Cabot,” Meg managed.

  Again he bowed to her, but held her gaze. She was treating him as coldly as she could; she sensed that he knew she made an effort.

  She forced herself to turn away, and left the room.

  Her father’s greeting the next morning did not surprise her.

  “I thought some stranger posed as my daughter-that you should miss a ride your first morning back. I hope you’ve not acquired such lazy habits
from my sister.”

  “No father,” she told him, leaning to kiss his cheek. “I thought it best to unpack first. Has Bertie returned?” She knew very well when Bertie had returned.

  “Back by nine. And we saw Cabot off early as well. They spent two hours up in the north park, nosing about, with nary a sight of a mysterious rider. But I would still prefer you take a groom with you, my dear, if you do not ride with Bertram. Just for a while. I would feel easier.”

  “Yes, father,” she said, though she chafed at the restriction.

  “What do you think of his plans then? Did Cabot show you all?”

  “He showed me much, though I should like to review the drawings. His work is most impressive.”

  “I find it so, Margaret. I am very happy with it. And pleased that Bertram finally brought us a friend who does not spend his days sleeping and lounging. Not another useless fribble. Now come across here and take a look at my terrace “

  They moved to the east window and gazed out at the stakes and cleared earth marking the limits of the planned addition. It would be of smaller dimension than the kitchen garden on the opposite side of the house. Apparently Cabot intended that this large window in her father’s sitting room should become a door.

  “I shall find it easier to steal a whiff of air now and then,” her father said.

  The notion was simple and sensible. They should have thought of it years ago. Yet a stranger had had to suggest it.

  “Look across there” Her father pointed to the eminence to the east. “As you know, ‘tis more than a mile away. Cabot’s calling it the `knoll.’ He intends I should be able to wheel out to it-and up to it. I shall have to get stronger.”

  Meg smiled, pleased to hear him sounding so determined. She had much for which to thank Charles Cabot.

  From Sir Eustace’s rooms, it was possible to see down the shaded avenue, across to the river, where the tall pines had lost their lower limbs. Meg had not seen the river’s far bank from the house since she was a child.

  “I’d like to walk out a bit and survey the work, father. Shall I have you brought out front with me?”

  “No, no. You must go at your own pace. There is too much of the business going on out there at this time of the day for me to tolerate. But I shall be watching you when you come into view, so mind you try nothing reckless-like removing Cabot’s carefully placed markers.” He winked at her. “He does fuss.”

  When she exited the house five minutes later, she waved to her father behind his sitting room window, then set off along the marked path to the knoll.

  She had thought to walk all the way, but the path did not advance directly-it dropped and turned, at one point apparently leading instead toward the river, such that the knoll seemed ever more distant. Meg wondered just how that illusion had been achieved. But given the number of workmen busy on the earthworks just then, and the noisy level of activity, she decided to leave further exploration to morning rides.

  That her father should have consented to any alteration in his beloved home surprised her, but she had no doubt the impulse to consult Mr. Cabot had been Bertie’s. With their father’s injury, Bertie had assumed the practical supervision of Selbourne. Though other matters had never interested him greatly, the running of the estate and prospects for improvement had focused his most earnest attention. And Meg allowed that Bertie must do as he thought best for Selbourne, since it would eventually be entirely his responsibility.

  Their neighbors had begun to seek Bertie’s advice regarding the latest agricultural innovations. Meg supposed Cabot’s transformations were but one more step in her brother’s enthusiasm for the latest trends, but there was nothing merely fashionable about them. Indeed, Cabot’s revisions enhanced what made Selbourne so special, adding perspective and, for her father, access. The result was ingenious. She had thought her kitchen garden an enterprise, yet Charles Cabot worked routinely, masterfully, on a grand scale.

  She continued on her circuit of the house. Large areas had been leveled smooth and sodded. At the east side, masons worked on a foundation for the terrace. Around to the north, the courtyard between the wings looked unchanged, but Meg noticed variously painted stakes placed out on the lawn.

  At last she turned into the lane between the garden wall and the stables. She crossed to the stalls to greet her favorites, particularly Arcturus and her own dear Paloma, and to tell the head groom that she would ride at dawn the next morning. Then she stopped in at the kitchen garden.

  It looked untouched, which relieved her. But as she crossed to the south gate, she noticed a single stake planted near the teahouse. She was frowning as she reached the front court, where Cabot’s men were again employed with the planting beds outside the windows of the drawing room.

  She did not pause even to remove her bonnet before hurrying to compare her observations with Cabot’s plans.

  Her father came to join her.

  “Trying to understand it, are you my dear?”

  “‘Tis a great deal, father.”

  “Indeed, though he assures me he will not change fundamentals. We were spared much worry and expense on tedious items like drainage. I fear we’ve not been enough of a challenge for Mr. Cabot. No doubt he hoped to inspire us to building canals and cascades.”

  She smiled.

  “You are certain-that he is reliable?”

  “My dear Margaret, I can vouch for the man’s honesty. What would be his motive in damaging our home? He is rumored to be capable of purchasing several Selbournes, should he wish it. I am not inclined to contest the details.” He watched her as she concentrated on Cabot’s sketches. “You do not mind, my dear, that Bertram furthers such changes-without your consultation?”

  “I trust Bertie, father. He loves Selbourne more than any of us. And he appears to trust Mr. Cabot” She looked again to the plans. “Most of this seems plain enough, but the rest … Has he explained his painted stakes? I regret I am not an instant architect.”

  “Should you wish to be, Margaret?” She avoided her father’s too discerning eye. “You must quiz him, daughter. Something about sight lines, if I recall. And some of them are for trees. Perhaps Lucy will remember-she is most attentive to Mr. Cabot,” he smiled. “I hear her across the way with her confidante, Miss Burke. No doubt they will demand your company for tea. But I”-he was already signaling a footman-“have most pressing correspondence.”

  His hasty departure was no surprise, since Lucy was prone to chatter even more incessantly with her doting friend Amanda Burke. Indeed, Meg clearly heard Lucy’s excited tones before they entered the room.

  “Oh, Meg,” Lucy said. “Mandy wanted to see Charles’s drawings as well, so we’re having a tea tray brought in here.”

  “How pleasant,” Meg said, though she would have preferred the quiet. “Are you well, Miss Burke?”

  Lucy’s faithful shadow mumbled something before bobbing a curtsy.

  “Don’t be so shy, Mandy,” Lucy admonished. “‘Tis just Meg. Look here, these are Charles’s drawings, first his maps to show where everything will go, and here his pictures of how everything will look when he’s finishedalthough I do not intend he shall ever be finished here!”

  “Really, Lucy,” Meg protested, with a glance at Amanda’s pink cheeks.

  Lucy tossed her head.

  “Mandy knows how I feel about Charles.”

  “Let us hope he, at least, does not,” Meg said. “Now come tell me what he means by these painted stakes.”

  For all her infatuation, Lucy had paid less attention to her chosen one’s methods than Meg found instructive. And having the two younger girls in the room with her proved to be trying. As Lucy, holding her tea, moved to lean over Cabot’s master plan, Meg could no longer restrain herself.

  “Do be careful, Lucy! You will spill tea all over his work!”

  “I shan’t! And even if I did it would not matter. He has another tiny one he calls a `thumbnail’ that he carries about in his waistcoat pocket. He says it’s hi
s insurance.”

  “I can see that he needs it! Can you not imagine the hours of effort to reproduce this? You would not want Mr. Cabot to be compelled to repeat it”

  “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Lucy declared archly. But she and Amanda, mutely munching a biscuit, dutifully stepped back from the table. “I intend to keep Charles here forever,” she said boldly.

  “Do you?” Meg asked. “The gentleman might object. And so might father and Bertie. You’re much too forward, Lucy.” The girls made Meg feel prim. And since just last night she had suffered a similar impulse with regard to Mr. Cabot, she also felt a hypocrite. She pointed to the sheet before her.

  “Do tell me what this symbol means. ‘Tis for a stake in the kitchen garden.”

  Her little nose held aloft, Lucy returned to the table.

  “I don’t recall that. In fact, I have not seen it before,” she said airily. She glanced only briefly at the plan. “Everyone has been most insistent about preserving your kitchen garden. I am surprised he would dare”

  With a sigh, Meg rolled the plans back up and stored them to the side of the table.

  “It is frustrating,” she said, “not to understand this code. Would Bertie know?”

  Lucy shrugged.

  “Charles has explained everything, and father and Bertie think it is all wonderful and tell him to get on with it. When he is here he goes out all day and comes in only to supper. I hardly see him. And when he’s away, he’s gone days at a time.”

  “It is his task, Lucy. ‘Tis why he is here. And Selbourne does not command all his attention.”

  “That should have changed”

  Meg had to smile.

  “Because you did? I see”

  “Oh, I thought you understood! About love.”

  Meg glanced at Amanda with embarrassment. But apparently young Miss Burke was privy to all irrepressible Lucy’s secrets.

  “I cannot claim your wisdom, Lucy,” Meg said lightly. But she excused herself and went to share her own tea with Bertie and her father, who restored her to some equanimity.

  The next morning she headed to the stables at dawn. A cool breeze blew off the river, setting the fresh new leaves of the beeches dancing. No crews were working at this hour. Riding astride in Selbourne’s privacy, Meg raced Arcturus across the deer park.