The Birthright

by T. Davis Bunn

  They sat in silence for a while, Nicole content to remain there through the whole day if necessary. Soon enough the house would begin to stir, but she had learned to speak with force if the need arose. A single word to Maisy and they would be left undisturbed. And Charles never emerged from his chambers this early. So there was no need to hurry. The silence around them seemed to carry great weight, as though there was a rightness to the waiting.

  Anne became aware that her musings had drawn her far away. “Where was I?”

  “You said last night was different.”

  “Oh yes. Very different, indeed. In my dream I saw Cyril standing on a shore. At first I thought he was back in Nova Scotia, and the dream meant I had made a terrible mistake in coming here. But as soon as I thought this, I realized it was incorrect. Cyril was not in Nova Scotia, because the shore on which he stood was someplace I had never been.” Her voice took on the uneven cadence of one half sleeping. “He looked so calm. And so strong, untouched by the illness that ended his life. He stood there and he watched me. I felt his love and wanted desperately to go to him. Yet as I looked at him, I was on a ship moving farther and farther from the shore, out into the open sea. There was nothing I could do about it. I just stared as he grew smaller and smaller, then finally disappeared on the horizon. All I was left with was his love.”

  The fire gave a faint hiss, and one of the logs cracked and sent sparks flying upward. Nicole rose and used the tongs to push the embers together. When she had returned to her seat, Anne asked, “So what do you think of my dream?”

  “That it was not Cyril’s love you felt. Not just his love, in any case.”

  The words seemed to heighten the intensity in Anne’s expression. She gazed at Nicole for a long moment and then pressed down on the arms of her chair. After rising to her feet, she said, “First I shall have the tea you offered and perhaps some breakfast. Then I want to hear what you were reluctant to tell me.”

  But after breakfast, Anne went upstairs and quickly returned. “The baby’s still sleeping. Might we take a walk around the garden?”

  She followed Nicole out, while marveling at the day’s gentle warmth. Where Halifax would still be lying brown and fallow, the English fields were a rich silvery green, and the flowers planted closest to the house revealed their first blooms. In the three weeks since her arrival, winter had been banished.

  The house sat on a promontory, which at the back sloped gently down to a vast array of carefully tended fields. Somewhere far below there ran a broad stream, for down to her left Anne could see the sun glinting off the liquid ribbon. The cultivated and well-tended air eased Anne greatly and gave her the ability to speak words that before she could not possibly have said or even thought.

  “Last night after the dream woke me up, I lay there thinking about my life since Cyril’s death. I have gone through seasons of my own now, dark as a winter night. And I’ve tried my best to run from what I have known all along. I fled into deep despair, drawn back only by my little John. On the voyage over, I worked myself to the point of exhaustion. Since getting here, though, I’ve done little but sleep.”

  As she spoke Anne was keenly aware of her sister walking beside her. Nicole still possessed the same striking beauty, with her long dark auburn tresses and glowing green eyes. Yet for all her strength and energy, there was a new quietness about her. In ways Anne could not explain, she knew her sister had experienced a profound change. She had grown, deepened, and become a woman in her own right.

  Anne took a deep breath and continued, “But I’ve awakened now. I’ve slept long enough and have fled as far as I can from the fact. Last night it came to me, and the knowledge is all around me. Cyril is gone and he’s not coming back. I must pick up the shattered pieces of my life and go forward.”

  Anne could have supposed any number of reactions from Nicole. The stronger woman, she would have thought, would most likely want to sweep her up in a sisterly embrace, willing her own strength into Anne’s more frail form. But Nicole neither spoke nor made any movement toward her, except to look deep into Anne’s face and share the silence of confession.

  And this enabled Anne to walk on calmly, though her heart remained heavy. Somehow Nicole’s example of strength helped her to finish speaking her thoughts, sharing her burdens. “My problem now is to determine where I belong. In other words, what’s the meaning of my life now?”

  “You have John,” Nicole reminded her.

  “I have many things. But I cannot see my life or the road ahead. My whole reason for living was wrapped up in Cyril, so that now there seems to be no sense to anything, save in loving my son.”

  “Come, let us take a seat over here on the bench.” Nicole led her to a carved stone seat surrounded by a neatly groomed hedge. “This has become one of my favorite places. The seat faces south and catches the sun all day long, and the bushes are tall enough to shield us from almost any wind. We’re visible only from the library windows at one end of the house and from Charles’s private chambers at the other.” She offered a small smile. “You would be amazed at how much this tiny patch of privacy has come to mean.”

  Once they were comfortable, Nicole went on, “You asked what I was reading in the Bible this morning. I’ve been trying to learn some lessons on my own. You’ll meet the local parson this coming Sabbath if you feel up to joining us for church. He’s a good man, but his homilies don’t challenge me. So I spend my early mornings feeding my soul with God’s Word. I confess I know so little that it’s like the fumbling motions of a blind person.”

  Again there was the sense of hearing someone Anne knew intimately, yet did not know at all. Nicole’s speech had become more precise in her months here, her accent much softer. But there were other signs, too, such as the erect way she held herself and the new depths to her countenance and voice. “Tell me what you’ve been studying,” Anne said.

  “It all began last summer, when I had an occasion to speak with a woman I met on the voyage over here. Since then I have spent a good deal of time thinking about the meaning of duty.”

  Nicole waited, uncertain whether she should proceed. But Anne remained quiet, so she said, “At some level, I think I’ve always assumed that when I found my place in the world, then I should be happy. Yet in all my searching of the Scriptures, I haven’t found a single instance where God promises this. In fact, nowhere is such a thing even requested by His servants.”

  Anne slid farther from Nicole, partly because she wanted to see Nicole more clearly. But also Anne suspected that these words were meant for her. Perhaps this was why she’d been awakened by the dream or even why she came to England at all. So that she could sit here in the sunlight, on this kind spring morning, and listen to these words.

  “It has made me realize that all my life,” Nicole said, “I’ve measured how well I was suited to a place by how happy it made me. Only now, as I learn my way through English society, have I come to see that, although happiness is a fine thing, it comes and it goes. So long as I base my happiness upon what I have or how life suits me, it will always remain fleeting. For as soon as something changes, as soon as a cold wind blows through my life, as soon as life takes an unpleasant turn, my happiness would be gone. But is this what I want to base my life upon? No. But to just say this, that I don’t want my life centered on what comes and then quickly passes, is far easier than making this actually the way I live or the way I manage my days.”

  The strain of shaping these thoughts left Nicole’s features pinched. She gave Anne’s shoulder a light pat and said, “I am sorry. I haven’t spoken of such things before. It all probably made no sense to you.”

  “No,” Anne said, so softly she barely heard herself. “No, you’re making perfect sense. Please continue. I want to hear this, truly.”

  Nicole turned back toward the sunlight and the day dawning before them. “My studies have shown me that I need to find my happiness in God, and in Him alone. By placing my life in His hands and seeking to live as He wants
me to, I now have a peace that’s greater than whatever struggle I might face. My frustrations and my difficulties, all these will pass. But He remains always. And it’s in His eternal promises that I must abide.”

  “I…I don’t understand.” Anne had to disregard her own internal musings to take into account what lay behind Nicole’s words. “You’re not happy here? But you have—”

  “Everything,” Nicole said quietly. “Yes, I’ve been granted many gifts.” She kept her eyes level, pointed toward what only she could see. “And with each gift there comes a responsibility.”

  “But why—” Anne halted, then sat listening intently. She heard it again, the sound of a baby’s cry. Instantly she was on her feet. “I must go see to John.”

  “Of course.” Nicole settled back, her face impassive.

  But as Anne turned away a thought came to her. She looked at Nicole and asked, “Would you mind terribly if I joined you in these morning studies?”

  Nicole displayed the day’s first smile. “There is nothing that would give me greater joy.”

  Chapter 23

  Even the smallest of things in Charles’s life were somehow transformed since his return from America. When growing up, his family had never eaten breakfast together. His father had considered children to be fit for society only after they’d been brushed, dressed, and fed by the nanny. He realized now that his own nature had mirrored traits he never much cared for in his father, such as keeping a cold distance from others. This was one of many things Charles struggled to overcome now. But the habit of having his breakfast alone remained with him still. Yet this had now become his time to reflect, to study the Word, and often to confess.

  These days he found himself spending a great deal of time on his knees, searching for ways to make restitution for his earlier life. Though Charles was very grateful for his remaining days, his remorse had become a wearisome burden nonetheless. It was only with Nicole’s coming to England that he had begun to feel a loosening of the grip that regret had on him. In Nicole he sensed someone who might become his future and carry on his purposes. This was not in the sense of living for him, but rather in helping to accomplish some of the things he was destined to leave undone.

  Often Charles had to show restraint, for he was not a very patient man. And the strides Nicole had taken during her time with him were nothing short of remarkable. He realized how little progress she felt she was making, yet he knew better. Nicole was a woman now transformed. Charles was fairly certain she’d be coming into her own this summer, ready to move beyond the realm of polite society and share with him the greater scope—toward doing good and instituting positive change.

  There were many duties he wished to discuss with her, challenges that, for the moment, he struggled with on his own. Currently in the House of Lords, Charles was fighting the issue of land enclosure, which threatened to force hundreds of thousands of families from their homes.

  Then there was the war with the American colonies. Charles was one of the few Tories who advocated peace. It had cost him many friends and left him isolated. But he felt he was right—quite certain, in fact. These thoughts conjured up an idea of what to expect when they traveled up to London. As the day of their departure approached, the thought of what he might face caused Charles to wince from the pain in his chest.

  He heard voices from the back garden now. Moving to the open window, he looked for anything to chase away any further thoughts regarding the course he had set for himself.

  He caught sight of the two girls seated together. Once more he wondered at the difference in Nicole that Anne’s arrival had caused. Nicole had never been a particularly jubilant person, no surprise given her background. She had brought with her a discontented heart. Charles knew this, but never discussed it with her because he felt there was little he could do. Either Nicole would stay on and become his heiress, or she would sail back to Nova Scotia.

  The possibility of her leaving sent another lancing pain through his chest. The pain hit more often now, so much so that he had learned to shrug it off as best he could. It would come, shoot through his ribs and twist his body in torment, and then be gone. But he knew time was running out for him, and that the issue of his successor had to be settled soon.

  Watching the two of them as they talked helped to calm him. At first, Charles had been concerned about Anne’s visit to England, for she had brought with her a shadow of gloom. However, the change in Nicole could not have been greater. She had truly come into her own. She had cast aside her hesitant nature and rushed to care for Anne and her child, directing the staff to prepare the guest apartment so that Anne might feel comfortable. Charles realized that her caring for the bereaved woman had provided Nicole something she’d been lacking. For the first time since entering his manor, Nicole felt needed.

  Then a sudden thought yielded a smile to Charles’s face, and he turned away from the window. He pulled on his housecoat and hurried for the stairs. After tapping on the door to the guest apartment, he called to the nanny, “Is his lordship awake yet?”

  “Just listen to the little lad, I ask you.” The gray-haired nanny was Maisy’s sister, a woman of gentle disposition and mother to six of her own. “Kicking and cooing like he was the happiest boy on earth.”

  “Leave us a moment, will you, please.” Charles stepped across the room to where the crib stood by the recently stoked fire. As soon as Charles’s face came into view, John gave him a beaming two-toothed grin and then increased his kicking motion. “Who’s my big boy, then? Who’s my jolly lad?”

  The child waved his arms and gurgled with delight, for Charles was his favorite toy in all the world. Charles wore great shining buttons and took him on swooping rides around the nursery. John screamed with delight as Charles hefted him out of the crib. “Where would you like to go today, my lad? Ah, you want at my buttons, do you?” He held the child up close, so the tiny fists could close over his housecoat buttons in an effort to pull the spangles loose. When this did not work, John promptly fitted one of the buttons into his mouth and gummed it vigorously.

  Charles laughed as he watched the boy slobber all over his front. He was astonished by the effect this infant had on his days and life. His greatest joys were found in the simplest acts now. He could spend hours upon hours with little John and never tire of his presence.

  “Good morning, Uncle Charles.”

  He spun around, embarrassed at being caught in such a silly position. “Your pardon, Miss Anne. I…did not wish to intrude.”

  “How could you say such a thing? This is your home.”

  “But these are your private chambers.” He pried the child loose from his housecoat. “Let go there now, John. That’s a good lad.” Reluctantly he offered the baby to his mother. “Never have I met a more adorable child.”

  “He finds great delight in you, as well.” Anne smiled as the child bounced hard in Charles’s arms, excited now by the prospect of being held by his mother. For an instant, the shadows lifted, and a trace of the woman’s former beauty returned. She brought her face in close to the boy’s and cooed, “You are such a happy boy this morning, aren’t you? Yes, such a big happy boy.”

  Charles started for the door, then paused and said, “We’re having a few friends over for a dinner tonight. Two families from outlying areas and the squire to the land north of mine. I know them all quite well. It would be a great honor if you joined us.”

  Anne kept her face fastened on the baby’s. “Thank you for the invitation, Uncle. But I think not.”

  “Of course. I certainly understand.” Charles hesitated a moment before deciding there was no harm in adding, “But perhaps it might help you if you were to come out occasionally and meet new people. Not to mention the aid and comfort you would offer Nicole.”

  Chapter 24

  There was not any sharp transition, nothing Anne could point to that indicated where exactly she had made the turn. Instead, there was a gradual shifting of her world, so delicate it would have been
easy to overlook completely. But Anne had no intention of permitting the change to go unnoticed. She asked Charles for one of his smaller leather-bound ledgers and used the fresh cream pages to begin recording her thoughts. She said it was to chronicle John’s growth, for indeed the baby seemed to be growing and changing daily. But in truth it was to mark her own revelations, soft and almost unbidden, yet coming to her just the same.

  These revelations were especially evident in the mornings while she studied and prayed with Nicole. Sometimes John was there with them, adding his own little morning noises to their words. But usually Anne would feed him and either put him back down for a time or leave him with the nanny. The longer she studied with Nicole, the more she treasured their moments together.

  April had turned into May, and so they decided to make the trip up to London. The social season actually began in late March, but Charles did not operate strictly according to others’ calendars. Furthermore, the war had been creating serious rifts within English nobility and the London scene. Charles had offended many of his former cronies by defending the colonists’ right to determine their own course. The result was that the social invitations dwindled both at Harrow Hall and in London. Neither Charles nor Nicole seemed to mind, however, and to Anne’s eyes, their days remained filled with an endless stream of visitors and activity.

  Anne took to joining them for the formal dinners at home, and twice she accompanied them for evenings out when she knew the hosts and was assured there would be no dancing. She even grew accustomed to wearing her widow’s weave of black dress, gloves, hat, and half veil. The dark clothes afforded her some distance from everyone and the means to keeping herself slightly apart from the activities so as to fit gradually back into things. Eventually her sadness eased, and the terrible moments when it seemed she’d drown in her sorrow were now becoming memories. Her smile came more readily, too, especially when around young John.