by Peg Herring
Chapter Seven
Despite herself, Tessa could hate neither life at Brixton nor the Lady Eleanor. She was allowed to explore the house and grounds as she liked, and within a few days she had fallen in love with the place. The countryside was not as ruggedly beautiful as Scotland. The hills rose more softly and the grass was a lighter green. Sheep and cattle abounded, of course, the cattle calling intermittently from their pasture, while sheep dotted the hillsides like clouds in the grass, choosing their spots and moving only when the dogs insisted.
The manor house was warmer and more colorful than any she had seen before. Even the stone it was made from was a golden, inviting mineral, less forbidding than the stone at Inverness. She and the other ladies of the house sat in the afternoons with Eleanor, reading and gossiping as they sewed or performed household necessities.
Due to the tutelage of her aunt, Tessa could contribute modestly to these activities. However, the sessions were much livelier than those at Inverness had been, with frequent laughter and substantial learning exchanged. Eleanor encouraged all those around her to take interest in the world, and with genuine curiosity drew information from each person she spoke to. Her family was accustomed to Eleanor’s questions, and each person strove to find interesting bits to amuse or amaze her. It was lovely to hear her laugh, satisfying to see her frown in concentration as a new idea became clear to her.
Tessa was of course a fountain of fresh information for discussion. At first shy, she soon became willing to share stories and facts about her homeland. “The Scotti, the tribe for whom you name Scotland, actually came from Ireland,” she informed Eleanor and the other women as they sewed.
Brixton Manor’s household was largely female: three cousins and a maiden aunt. William and his younger brother Aidan spent their time at a townhouse in London. Now the five ladies listened as Tessa explained that Scotland was not so alien as they might think.
“We share many legends with the Irish and the Welsh, since the Romans drove many Celts north and west into those areas.”
“Are there not monsters in the lakes of Scotland?” asked Mary, one of the cousins.
“I’ve never seen any,” Tessa said, smiling, “but I know better than to deny something simply because I haven’t seen it. Some of our lakes are very deep, and who knows what might lurk below the frigid waters?”
“I don’t believe in such things as monsters,” said Cecilia, another cousin. “I only believe in what I can see, not fairies or witches neither.”
Tessa’s brow furrowed, and Eleanor noticed. “Have you seen a fairy or a witch, Tessa?” she asked teasingly.
“I cannot say. I—I would have agreed with Cecilia until recently, but now I am not sure. You see, I met three weird women several months ago, when I was traveling to my uncle’s home, and they told me strange things. I did not believe them because what they said seemed unlikely.”
“Oh, tell us, please!” Mary, the most excitable of the three cousins, fairly bounced with anticipation.
“Well, the first one said I was bound for England, but I had no intention of coming to England—ever.” Tessa stopped lest she say too much and betray her lack of choice in being where she was presently.
“Circumstances often change,” Eleanor put in smoothly. “It’s not necessarily magic, but it was a lucky guess.”
“What were the other two predictions?” Mary’s delight was unfazed by Eleanor’s logic.
“Oh, something about marrying two men,” Tessa was now faintly embarrassed by the conversation. She was not about to tell these nice but rather prim ladies that the actual words of the prediction had been that two men she married were never to be her lovers. “And that a man I love would forget my name, whatever that might mean.”
Tessa saw a look pass over Eleanor’s face, and she remembered with a jolt that Jeffrey had been unable to introduce her to his sister-in-law. No, she told herself, he had not forgotten her name. He had probably never known it. They had never been formally introduced, and if he had heard her name it was in passing only. Besides, there was little likelihood she was in love with a man who had ruined her life—or ever would be. Jeffrey Brixton was to her the worst sort of man, and she hoped never to see him again. She shrugged off further discussion of the three odd women and took up her sewing again.
In the course of their conversations, Tessa had discovered that all the females in the household, not just Eleanor, doted on Jeffrey. Auntie Madeline, older sister of William, was tall and spare, with iron gray hair and a rather horsy face, but her eyes lit up when Jeffrey’s name was mentioned. “I wish the boy were not away so much,” she mourned. “He brings life to the house, and we are a sorry lot without him, a bunch of hens with no rooster to preen ourselves for.” Tessa could see no likeness between Jeffrey and a rooster, but Auntie Madeline did resemble a hen, albeit a very thin one.
In addition to the old lady’s fondness, in at least two of the cousins there was longing for a glance from Jeffrey, which he seemed never to have noticed. The girl of about Tessa’s age, Mary, was quite open about her feelings for him and sighed over his absence until the rest of them became impatient with her.
Cecilia declared, “Mary, you drive him away with your mooning looks and your simpering ways. Jeffrey is not a man to be snared by such things. In fact, he once told me he doubts he will ever marry at all.” Mary had looked sad for a moment, but the third cousin, Alice, assured them all that men often changed their minds about such things as they grew older.
“Why, Father didn’t marry until he was thirty-five,” Alice said earnestly, “and then he chose a cousin who lived on a farm nearby. Perhaps it will be well for us that Jeffrey has known us all his life when he looks to wed.”
Tessa watched Eleanor, wondering what she thought of Jeffrey’s marrying. Eleanor gave Tessa a little smile with upraised brow, as if to say, “Who can tell the future?” She certainly didn’t seem to be worried about it.
Days, then weeks, passed, and Tessa began to feel more at home than imprisoned. The men of the family never appeared, which the women seemed to take for granted. Sir William preferred London, and Aidan, the third brother, served as his agent, acting in reality the part Jeffrey had played as his disguise in Scotland. The last brother, a monk, was seldom seen by his family.
Eleanor went out of her way to help Tessa learn English ways, never criticizing hers, but simply explaining how things were done differently in her country. Tessa’ speech improved as they talked. Her accent was still Scots, but she became more careful of her grammar and spoke slower, with fewer gutturals and fewer swallowed vowels.
One day the two women had a conversation that changed Tessa’s way of thinking about her future completely. She had been drifting, not thinking about where her life at Brixton might lead or when it would end. It became evident Eleanor had thought about it seriously, however. She waited until they were alone in the garden to announce, “I had a letter from Jeffrey today that is rather disturbing. He says I may share it with you, since you are interested in events in Scotland.” She took a rolled paper from her skirt pocket and glanced at it to refresh her memory.
“Jeffrey’s side has been defeated. Duncan’s generals, including one Macbeth he told me to mention to you, met the rebels and the Norwegian troops on two fronts and defeated both. He says the thane of Cawdor was executed as a traitor and his lands given to this Macbeth.”
So odd little Uncle Biote had lost his gamble for power. Tessa did not know how she felt about his execution. Jeffrey claimed he had died bravely, but Macbeth emerged the hero of the matter. Because they had become friends, Tessa explained to Eleanor what Jeffrey’s information meant to her. After listening to the full explanation, the older woman put her arms around Tessa’s shoulders. “How sorry I am this happened to you. You did nothing at all, and your life was completely changed. I wonder that you don’t hate us all.”
“I could never hate you,” Tessa assured her.
The faint emphasis on the word you
was not lost on Eleanor, and she turned down a side path among rows of pinks just coming into bloom. Stooping to pull a weed from between them, she slapped the dirt from her hands.
“I don’t approve of Jeffrey’s actions,” she told Tessa, “but then, men often do things we women would not do, because they think only in the direction of a goal. I believe that women, who are not given credit for much intelligence, are actually better at examining all the results of an action, while men simply choose the action that suits them and accept its consequences. Our deliberations may make us seem indecisive, but men often seem cruel when they ignore what may happen to others as they act decisively.”
Tessa didn’t respond. Knowing that Eleanor, though she might criticize Jeffrey’s actions, also loved him, it was safer to keep quiet. Turning, Eleanor faced Tessa with serious purpose. “Because of Jeffrey, I suppose you are now a woman of no reputation in Scotland?”
“Yes. It will be assumed he…dishonored me, and no man will want me as wife. Not that anyone did before,” she said in a burst of honesty.
“Why would no man ask for a beautiful, clever girl like you?”
“I’ve a brassy manner and tomboyish ways,” Tessa confessed, using the terms her mother had often employed to describe her. Humiliated to admit her faults before this woman she admired, she waited for the shocked reaction.
Instead, Eleanor laughed, a warm, lovely sound, and once more put an arm around Tessa. “I believe I know exactly what you have suffered!” She put her face close to Tessa’s, her eyes dancing. “They said the same of me once. It’s the reason I am married to William Brixton!”
“I don’t understand.” Tessa frowned, shaking her head. How could this paragon be considered unladylike?
The paragon’s face was full of mischief. “As a girl, I preferred riding to sewing, being outside to learning wifely chores. I had prospects, but I said too much of what I thought, and men were offended by it.”
“Why that is what my mother said of me!” Tessa exclaimed in wonder. “My face should have been my fortune, she told me, but my tongue ruined all.”
Eleanor’s face grew solemn. “Could it be our parents who were wrong, and you and I merely more independent than some might wish their children to be?”
Tessa laughed. “Father used to say I had too much spirit for the local boys. But after he died, my mother hoped to marry me well to ease her path in life. I was a disappointment to her with my wild ways.”
Eleanor nodded. “Because she couldn’t control you as she wanted to. My father, a very stern man, found me too outspoken. My mother died when I was four, and without her influence, I did grow up rather wild. Once he bothered to notice me, Father became determined I would be taught how to behave properly. At ten I was sent to a convent where I was trained—” here her eyes turned hard and she folded her arms as if a chill passed over her. “—sometimes with force, to become a ‘suitable’ female.”
Tessa gasped, but Eleanor went on calmly. “In addition, my father searched long and hard for a strong husband who would quell what he saw as my rebellious nature. He found William Brixton, heir to Brixton Hall—” Here her voice became bitter. “—who sought only a wife of great beauty. We never spoke until the day of our wedding. Jeffrey was sent to interview me and appraise my suitability, since William was newly Lord Brixton and too busy with his affairs to take the time. Jeffrey and I liked each other at once, and I was silly enough to believe his brother might be somewhat like him.”
“So you had no idea what sort of man your husband was?” Tessa was intrigued. She’d had few choices of a mate in her home in the mountains, but she knew each of them, both their strengths and their weaknesses.
“None. It pleased my father to exercise his right to control me in that way. William is much like him, a man who believes women should have no thoughts of their own. He took a wife because it’s expected of the lord of Brixton Manor. He chose me to give him fine sons and make other men jealous.” Eleanor looked sad at this. “I failed to produce sons for him, but I doubt if it would have made him any happier in the end.”
“It isn’t fair you were given like a prize,” Tessa blurted out, outraged for Eleanor.
“It’s the way of things,” Eleanor soothed, patting Tessa’s arm comfortingly. “Still, I love Brixton. Here I can ride, walk or boat when I like, toil in the orchards and gardens with the workers, and—” She grinned impishly. “—avoid the boredom of endless parties, my husband’s glowering looks, and his frequent affairs. So you see, I have won, despite the plots of men. I have the life I want, at least most of it, and can do as I please.”
Tessa stared at Eleanor. Was she boasting she had outwitted her father to become relatively free of male influence, or was it her husband she enjoyed fooling? Did pompous old Sir William not realize his own brother was in love with his wife? Suddenly uneasy with the conversation, Tessa began to speak of flowers.
Later that same week Eleanor again brought up the subject of Tessa’s supposed failures. Although the day was fine, Eleanor had claimed fatigue and chosen to stay in when the others went to pick the delicate wild strawberries that made such delicious jam. She and Tessa sat together in a small room warmed by the afternoon sun, which Eleanor used as a sort of retreat. Under the stone stairway and therefore not much use for any other purpose, here she kept books and games like Tafl, which she was teaching Tessa to play. The board that sat between them contained carved from wood. One player had a king and only a few men to protect him while the other had no king but more pieces with which to capture the opposing one. It was a game of strategy, but neither woman cared much who won or lost.
In the intervening days, Tessa had observed Eleanor with a new perspective, and she had to admit that life on the manor allowed activities that did not require genteel manners or prim ways. Life here was actually the best of possibilities for Eleanor. She was removed from the husband she did not love, and in a place where her lover could visit without scandal. She indulged in her enjoyment of the outdoors and was respected as lady of the manor.
Eleanor lent a hand in whatever work was being done on the manor. She oversaw the planting of crops, herded cattle, and made rush-lights right along with the servants, dipping rush tips into pitch to make cheap, if smoky, torches. She spoke honestly with her workers and her neighbors, bargaining, mediating, and giving orders as needed. Eleanor was as true to her nature as could be, yet neither Tessa nor anyone else ever thought of her as anything but a lady. New awareness of Eleanor, her mother, and herself meant changes that left Tessa unsure of what the best course for a female was in life, and she found herself thinking on it often.
Now Eleanor sat still for once, her eyes a bit cloudy and her posture less erect than usual. She really was tired, Tessa thought, but she seemed anxious to explain what it had taken her years to learn on her own.
“I tell you this: the secret of the tomboy must be timing. You can be feminine and sweet, even simpering if need be, when the situation requires it, mostly during courtship. When you are married and secure in your future, become what you want to be. Married women are more independent than you might think, if they marry carefully.
“When my father gave me to William, he thought he had done what was best for me, and perhaps he had, but not in the way he intended. William is so full of himself that he all but ignores me, which has allowed me to lead a life I enjoy. A happy woman needs either a dull husband who ignores her after a year or a clever one who understands her and respects what she is. The first is much easier to find, so I propose to help you accomplish it.”
Tessa was aghast. Here Eleanor sat, calmly defying custom and belief, claiming women had a right to find happiness through subterfuge and deceit. Tessa had never considered choosing a husband with cold calculation, never thought of appearing to be something she was not in order to capture a man. Still, she knew her Aunt Gruoch and even her mother had manipulated their husbands. In a society where women had no choices, clever ones employed the means at th
eir disposal.
“Are you saying I could have a husband who would let me live life as I choose?”
“He will have to be a little stupid, as mine is,” Eleanor replied coolly, shifting a bit with a grimace. Menstrual cramps, Tessa guessed, and wondered if there was mistletoe available to soothe them. “William, you see, thinks he is clever, living in London and having affairs. He doesn’t realize that as long as I have my home and my freedom, I don’t much care what he does. Now Jeffrey is not stupid. He would expect more from a woman than appearances, but he will never marry anyway. The lands in England have been divided and divided until there is no more to be gained. You don’t want a landless younger son like Jeffrey, so we must find you a husband who is rich.”
As if Jeffrey Brixton would be on her list of potential husbands!
“I can teach you how to dress, walk, and speak properly, how to converse with a man without intimidating him, and—” Here her eyes sparkled. “—how to charm his mother, a very important thing many young women forget. Without a dowry, you must offer something attractive to the man, which is fairly easy with your looks, but also to his mother, which is a little more difficult. It doesn’t do to please only one or the other.”
“Was your mother-in-law pleased with you?”
Eleanor smiled at the memory and the pinched look on her face relaxed somewhat. “I liked Lady Brixton very much, but I’m afraid William was born selfish. She tried to provide for all her children, but when she died, William ignored her wishes.” Eleanor looked out the window, her face bleak. “When I first met my husband I thought him dignified, but I learned later that dignity is what he holds around himself so no one sees his empty heart.”
Forgetting the game board before them, Eleanor rose, her arms wrapped around her middle as she paced the room. “The law of primogeniture brought William all the property, and he keeps his brothers paupers, begrudging every penny he spends on them. Ethelbert, the second son, entered the priesthood, but William refuses him the funds to get a decent posting, saying clergymen should observe poverty, as Christ did.” Her tone held a sneer at her husband’s choplogic. “Aidan you will meet soon. He’s treated more as a servant than as William’s brother. When Jeffrey saw how the other two fared, he offered a deal. If William would outfit him for soldiery, he’d take himself off and never ask for another cent. It was all William could do to keep from chuckling as he gave Jeffrey an aging horse and the worst arms from the storehouse. Still, Jeffrey has done well, becoming a respected soldier and a trusted aide to those who pay his hire.”
Tessa felt a pang of unexpected sorrow for Jeffrey, cheated of his inheritance, and for Eleanor, married to a man she obviously despised. No wonder they found solace in each other’s arms.
Eleanor looked at Tessa directly, as if trying to make a decision, then reached down to put a hand on the girl’s arm. “Do you wonder why I tell you all this?”
Tessa had indeed been wondering. When others were present, Eleanor never criticized her husband, in fact, seldom mentioned him. Why had she told Tessa her true feelings? Sitting again, she leaned against the stone wall and answered her own question. “I never had a child. I am thirty-five years old and never even conceived one. I was ashamed at first, but William has had many other women, and none of them has had a child. He wants sons badly, but I wanted a daughter to could talk to, nurture, and perhaps help to a life better than my own. Now you arrive, not my daughter, true, but in need of help. And you are just in time.”
Tessa looked questioningly Eleanor, who hesitated again. “If I could help you to find a wealthy husband in London, would it be a life you could accept? Would you make a home for yourself in England and perhaps never see Scotland again?”
Tessa considered it. All her life she had been termed a misfit by her mother, but she had known love: her father, her sister Meg, even old Banaugh, had held her dear. That life was gone now, for they probably thought her dead. If she made a successful marriage in London, what more could she ask? It was her fate to be stranded in England. The weird old women had spoken the truth, though she’d dismissed their words then. The English were no better and no worse than the Scots; some she liked and others she avoided. In the situation Eleanor proposed there would be security, protection, and possibly a measure of happiness.
Once again the image of the crones arose before her, and the words of the second repeated in her mind: “You’ll find happiness only among the dead.” That settled it, then. If in truth she would never be happy while alive, then she’d best take the prospect of security.
“Yes,” she told Eleanor. “There is no reason to return to Scotland now. I may as well settle as best I can and hope for children to love. I will try to be a good wife to whoever will have me.”
Eleanor nodded. “That is wise. I have too long neglected the other girls’ prospects, hoping William would take pity on them, but they must have their chance in London as well. Your arrival has decided me—that and something else.”
Now the blue eyes met Tessa’s directly and Eleanor leaned toward her. “Now I’ll tell you the rest of the bargain. No one knows it, but I am not well. A few months ago, I noticed a bulge here.” She indicated her abdomen. “At first I thought after all these years I was with child, but soon I knew it was not so. There is no life there, and there is pain.”
Tessa was shocked at the revelation. “We must get a physician! You must be given some medicine—”
Eleanor shushed her and said calmly, “My own mother died at thirty of a similar disease. There is nothing to be done.” She touched Tessa’s shoulder lightly. “What I want most is to help those I love before I die. If I make some difference in your lives, I will go contentedly enough. All I ask in return is that when I say it’s time, you must fetch for me a bottle I shall have ready.”
“A bottle?” Tessa asked, uncomprehending.
“Something that will help me end the pain.”
Realization dawned on the girl’s face. “Poison?”
“To some.” Eleanor smiled. “But if one is in great pain, it’s a blessing to stop it.”
Tessa gulped to quell the lump that rose in her throat. If this was what Eleanor wanted, when the time came she would be strong for her.
