“They have no son for you though, Miss Lawrence?”
She looked at him sharply.
“Are you hoping to combine the properties for yet a larger park, Mr. Cabot?”
He laughed, so easily that she could not maintain her pique.
“That is a thought, Miss Lawrence. Though I admit I am not accustomed to planning on such a dynastic scale.” He patted Arcturus’s neck. “Come, let’s to the lake before the horses cool.” He urged the bay to an easy canter down a newly sloped trail through the trees. Meg followed reluctantly. She had thought she might have a civil conversation with him, but the man had an extraordinary ability to discompose her.
They startled a host of waterfowl as they broke from the trees at the side of the lake. Extensive labor had excavated and reshaped the north bank, lending the water a beguiling curve. The result was very visible from this side, and magical in its effect, which was to entice one’s gaze in two directions. A new clump of willows on the restored bank appeared to have been in place for years.
They trotted the horses at the water’s edge, while Cabot silently considered the house in the distance. Then he chose to canter again on the gradual rise to the north lawn. As they neared the back courtyard, he at last slowed Arcturus to a walk.
“Do you now see the meaning of these stakes, Miss Lawrence?”
She had been studying him as he rode, not contemplating the scenery. As she looked to the house, the stakes, and the lawn she had to shake her head.
Cabot dismounted abruptly and moved to her side.
“Come,” he said, raising his arms to help her down. “Let me show you”
The request was so unexpected that she did not think to protest, merely let him grasp her waist and swing her from the saddle. But his touch, his nearness, acted upon her immediately. She could not breathe. As he looked down at her, Meg met his gaze. In that second his fingers released her waist and he stepped back.
“If you would, stand here and look directly toward the blue stake, and tell me what you see.”
Meg did as he asked, her thoughts in a wild turmoil that had nothing to do with the north lawn, but as she looked she saw what he intended-a direct view to one of the oldest beeches on the property, a tree that amongst the family had earned iconic status.
Cabot grasped her shoulders lightly from behind, and neatly shifted her to stand looking along another blue stake-she would have turned somersaults if those warm hands had commanded them. This time the object was not quite so clear, but along the same line of sight stood a huge, gnarled oak, partially obscured by the company of lesser trees and in need of considerable pruning, but a magnificent giant indeed. New eyes had discovered in the oak as striking a tree as the beech.
Again the warm hands moved her, this time backwards. For one moment Meg thought Cabot meant to pull her against him. She closed her eyes in anticipation. But he released her shoulders.
“Now,” he said, “look toward the red stake.” His voice was rough, as though he had tired of instructing her.
She did as he directed, and saw at once the two grand trees, the lake, the knoll, and a corner of the house, in one sweeping panorama. For the first time, she noticed that the lake appeared set in a natural amphitheater.
“‘Tis how I keep things in scale and balance, as though framing a picture. Do you see it?”
Meg nodded in silence. She had thought her home beautiful, but she had never viewed it in its entirety, not in just this fashion.
She wheeled to him.
“‘Tis fascinating to think that-”
“Shhh” He grasped her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. “Do not look toward the woods, Miss Lawrence,” he said softly. She did not need the warning; she could not have looked away from his lips on her hand. “Our visitor has come forward, and I believe your brother is about to pounce”
At a shout from the woods they turned. A rider was fleeing the trees, racing toward the lane skirting the stables, but Bertram was almost upon him, and two grooms were in a direct line to head him off. Cabot released Meg’s hand and moved to Arcturus, but even as he raised the reins, the others had trapped their prey and pulled him from his horse.
“Enough of that! Bring him here.” At her father’s call, Meg spun around to face the north terrace. She glanced at her father, being wheeled outside, then looked to Cabot. She could feel the color mount to her cheeks. Apparently she alone had forgotten the morning’s mission. They must think that she had played her part superbly.
Bertram and the two stable hands brought the stranger stumbling forward.
“Dobbs, run along next door and fetch the magistratefetch Jefferies.” At the order from Sir Eustace the young groom at once set off at a gallop.
“Now let’s look at you. Bertram, stop strangling the man”
Bertram released his hold on the man’s neck scarf.
He was a rough-looking fellow, what little Meg could see of him beneath his cap and copious worn clothing. His thin cheeks were grizzled, his hands and nails grimy. But despite his lowered head and shaded face, Meg was conscious of those glittering, watchful eyes. She recognized that bold gaze.
“You’d best come inside, Miss Lawrence,” Cabot said, reaching for her arm.
“No, I’d … I’d rather stay. He’s the same man, father, who passed the coach the day I returned”
“What do you mean, sirrah, spying on my daughter?” Sir Eustace demanded.
The stranger stood silent.
“You’ve been trespassing.”
Again he stood silent.
“I promise you none of what happens to you will seem worth what Sutcliffe pays you.”
“Th’earl has naught to do with this.”
“Hasn’t he? Yet you know Sutcliffe is an earl?”
The man swallowed and set his jaw belligerently.
“Father,” Bertie growled, “let me take him aside and knock some sense into him..
“I’ve no doubt you have many creative inducements in mind, Bertram, but I, at least, must answer to the Bar. If the man chooses to remain mum, that is his right. He will still be charged, he will still be convicted, and he will still be imprisoned for a very, very long time. He is clever enough to know that if he gives us the information we seek, matters will go easier for him. Our magistrate is not persuaded by obstinacy.”
Again the man swallowed.
“You’ve been here for a week, man. Are you staying in the village?” At that the intruder at last nodded. “Alone?”
“Aye,” he said. “In the stables at the inn.”
“Bertram, you’d best get on at once to Meakin at the inn. Make certain no one else is lurking about and most of all that no one departs without our knowledge. We don’t want Sutcliffe to learn anything’s amiss. He’s apt to send reinforcements. And have that big fellow Finch come from the stables to lend Nichols a hand”
Bertie helped Nichols secure their captive, then quickly mounted and raced away.
“Now Cabot,” Sir Eustace said, turning back at last to face them. “I thank you for a good morning’s work. I’ve no doubt Jefferies will deal with this fellow creditably. But I must ask one more favor of you-that you join my family for breakfast.”
Cabot smiled as he bowed. Then he offered his arm to escort Meg into the house.
“Your father is enjoying this,” he said to her.
“Yes” Meg was surprised to find she was trembling. “He likes to arrange things.”
“The magistrate will no doubt help reveal the man’s purpose,” Cabot said, as though to reassure her.
“I know his purpose, Mr. Cabot” As she laid her gloves and hat on the table in the hall her fingers were still unsteady. “What I do not understand is Lord Sutcliffe’s persistence. He has had years now … to forget. Yet he cannot let me live as I wish. Even here at my home. Quietly..
“Quietly?” Cabot repeated the word, with such disbelief she was compelled to turn to him. “You cannot live quietly. Even if Sutcliffe had never exis
ted you could not have lived quietly. The idea is preposterous” He eyed her impatiently, as though frustrated by her incomprehension. “Perhaps it’s time, before your departure for town, that you realize just what you are. You were not put on this earth to live quietly, Miss Lawrence. You were created to cause havoc. You should heed those who recognize it, for there will always be a Sutcliffe” His words were uncompromising, strangely bitter, and struck Meg as entirely unwarranted. She would have welcomed his comfort. But his attack seemed a betrayal.
“You overstep, sir,” she said coldly, holding his grim gaze. “What do you know of my situation, of my behavior? And what can you possibly know of Lord Sutcliffe? I’m obliged to heed my father, out of affection and duty, but I am not obliged to mind the presumptuous rants … of a gardener.”
“Margaret!” Her father’s unexpected roar chased her up the stairs.
Lucy had accused her of woolgathering. For three weeks-through the packing and removal to town, through the first mad days of settling in at Aunt Pru’s town home, and through Lucy’s ecstatic introduction to the modiste, the milliner, the theater, museums, musicales, dinners, parties and picnics-Meg’s mind had indeed been almost entirely elsewhere. Even tonight, awaiting Lucy’s debut at Almack’s, Meg found herself sitting alone in her darkening room.
She had wanted to apologize. But at the last moment her courage had failed her. And she had not seen Cabot since.
Meg had watched him, surreptitiously, for much of the day following her outburst. She had watched him ride out early to the lake, with one of his wagons of greenery. She had watched him order the removal of the stakes in the north lawn. And she had watched him at last out in the sun with a crew of workmen, installing the path to the knoll. He had thrown himself into that labor as though he were one of the menials, as eager as they to finish a rough and tiring job. Indeed, he had removed his coat; Meg had even seen him wielding a shovel, with a strong and practiced economy and seeming resolution to flaunt his ability. Such disrespect for his standing was not proper. It was not done. He had known it was not done and had not cared. It was a deliberate reprimand. When he had walked back toward the stables, across the front courtyard, Meg had rushed to the hall, intending to call to him. But she had stood silent.
He had continued past the open door-and her. He who had always proved the gentleman had discarded his usual attentions; his boots and breeches were spotted with soil, his shirt clung damply to his chest, a simple broad-brimmed hat shaded his face. As she waited and watched him walk by, she might have thought he did not even see her. He had not looked toward the doorway. But at the last moment he had acknowledged her, by touching the brim of his hat. The pride in the gesture had been unmistakable. He had not, at the last, found it within his power to be quite as rude to her as she had been to him. He had passed on without her response.
Charles Cabot, gardener, had continued on as though he were master of Selbourne.
She might easily have summoned him, but guilt had restrained her, and now she had her silence as well to regret. She had, in effect, cut him. He had left the next morning for the southeast and Kent, and had not returned to Selbourne before their own departure for town.
Lucy burst into the room only to halt abruptly in the unexpected dimness.
“Why Meg, what are you doing here in the dark? We’re leaving shortly. Are you ready? I wanted to ask you about my hair.”
Meg rose from her seat and walked toward the hall.
I am ready, Lucy pet, just gathering my courage.”
“Your-oh, Meg, I hadn’t thought! I suppose you think-you think Sutcliffe might be there?”
Meg shook her head. She had been tossing all Sutcliffe’s gifts and flowers away.
“I shouldn’t think he would. It was never his preferred venue. I imagine it even less so now. No, I was just remembering all those people. It is quite a crush. But you, my darling sister, shall stand out like a beacon. You look lovely, Lucy.”
“My hair-do you think it will do?” Lucy spun around before Meg, her fresh white gown, trimmed in blue ribbon, floating about her, her blond curls caught up in an intricate arrangement of tiny white silk flower buds.
“You know it will. Peters has an expert’s eye and hand with such arrangements.”
“We will be late, Meg, if you don’t come down with me now. Are you quite ready? Don’t forget your dance card.”
Meg would happily have forgotten it. She did not look forward to the ogling gazes and hot press of hands she would associate forever with Almack’s. But for her sister’s sake she would make efforts to enjoy it.
“The dress suits you very well,” Lucy remarked as Meg moved into the hall. “I am glad I insisted you have it done up with this gorgeous emerald trim and sash. Just don’tplease do not stand next to me all the evening.” “
“And why is that, you minx?”
“Because you are so very beautiful, Meg, that I should never have a chance”
Meg kissed Lucy on the cheek.
“No one will spend two seconds looking at an old spinster like your sister-and I’ll wager you will be on the dance floor all the evening in any event. If you were any more popular than you are, Lucy, doorways and drawing rooms all over town would have to be widened to accommodate your followers.”
Lucy laughed.
“I am having such fun! I pray that it will never end. I think Aunt Pru shall have to have me for years and years and years”
Which would rather defeat the purpose, Meg thought as they descended the stairs. Just because she herself had been so notoriously unsuccessful was no reason for Lucy to believe such solitude preferable to a happy match.
“Father would want you home,” she said instead.
“And why should father want that?” Sir Eustace asked from the drawing room door. “Ah! Well you do both scrub up nicely, though if I am not mistaken, Lucy, you have a smudge of cocoa on your chin” As Lucy raised her fingers to remove the nonexistent smudge, Sir Eustace winked at Meg. “It’s gone now, poppet. Must’ve been a trick of my eyes. You look a treat. The young men won’t know what they are about”
“But Papa, I think I do want them to know what they are about!”
“‘Twas just a figure of speech, child.”
Louisa and Ferrell came to the door of the drawing room to admire Lucy’s dress. Bertie was just starting down the stairs with Aunt Pru, a process that required some patience, as she had grown rather plump and insisted on leaning on Bertie’s arm much more heavily than on the banister.
Meg was watching the two of them fondly when her father drew her attention.
“Margaret, I would wish you to remember something tonight.” He nodded toward the large portrait in the hall. Painted eight years earlier, it showed Louisa, Meg, and Lucy with their mother. Meg had always loved the portrait of her mother, but after her death, Sir Eustace had wanted the reminder away from Selboume. Aunt Pru had claimed her sister’s image for her town home. “You are still a young woman, only twenty. And to me you will always be younger.” Again he looked to the portrait. “Do not be too eager to dismiss a youth you have hardly experienced. If you are not happy, my child, what has everything been for?”
She moved to place her hand on his shoulder, where he clasped it. He had noticed her mood; she had not explained to him her remorse over her treatment of Cabot. But tonight was a night for festivity. If nothing else, her father’s comment reminded her to make more of an effort.
“I am happy, father. I am simply-nervous. I want everything to go well for Lucy.”
“You know Joe Coachman will have three riders with the carriage. Nothing will occur.”
“I know that. I am easy in my mind about that, father. You needn’t fret “
“I do not fret, my girl.”
“Yes, I know,” she actually laughed. “You are usually too busy with your preparations to fret “
“Off with you, then,” he grumbled. “I wish to have some peace. Bertram, Ferrell-I expect a report regarding the
ladies’ conduct.”
“Do not carry on so, Eustace,” Aunt Pru chided him as they donned their wraps. She favored her late sister in spirit if not in looks. “Anyone would think you were in truth itching to accompany us”
“Of all the hare-brained notions,” he muttered as they left the hall. “Such trouble for a glass of ratafia!”
It was a tight fit for the six of them in the carriage and an even tighter fit outside Almack’s, where all the early arrivals appeared to have converged at once. Meg smothered her flutters as they passed through the initial greetings and perusals with the patronesses, thanking the two most directly responsible for their attendance, thanking all of them for their kindness and indulgence. Lucy’s manner, Meg noted, was confident and engaging-she would pass with warm approvals. Meg’s relief for her sister did not extend to her own ordeal.
“We have not seen you in London for some time, Miss Lawrence” Sally Jersey’s gaze was boldly assessing. “Have you been abroad?”
“I have been in the country, milady.”
“‘Tis a long time to rusticate, Miss Lawrence. Much has changed here in town” She eyed Meg’s gown as though it could not possibly be the latest fashion, which in fact it was. “I do hope you enjoy yourself. I believe Lord Sutcliffe attends tonight.”
Meg stiffened. But she thanked her and moved on, thinking that some fixtures of town-waspish Lady Jersey, for example-had not changed one whit.
“She is odious,” Louisa whispered. “And as much of a gossip as ever. Do not mind her. She envies you rather too obviously, Meg. Ferrell believes she will spill state secrets and be banished to the Continent.” As Meg smiled they made their way through the crush of people to the dancing hall.
Quiet Meg Page 6
