by Laura Hile
At length he threw down the paper and heaved out of the chair. What a thing, to be cooped up in the house on such a fine morning! There was no game and he had no gun, but a brisk walk around that lake would do him good.
Some minutes later Charles was striding down the grassy hill. But he saw neither the bright water nor the blue sky overhead—for on the far side of the lake someone was sitting on the bench. She was feeding the birds, and she was alone.
Charles moved swiftly to a group of willows and took cover. Why he did this he could not say. He only knew that his initial surge of delight was now replaced by shyness. This was both puzzling and annoying, for he was never shy.
He could feel the skin on his neck prickle, and he rubbed at it with his bandaged hand. What he needed was time—time to work out what to say to her. It was not often that he was at a loss for words.
Ducks and a swan paraded before the bench, greedy for the crusts she threw. The scene reminded him of a story from Little Charles’s book of nursery tales, the one about the beautiful princess and her swan brothers. She would probably laugh if she knew what he was thinking, for she was not a beautiful woman.
Charles thought about this. He knew Mary considered her plain, but Mary’s opinion did not mean very much. She rarely saw beyond the obvious. For her, a woman’s attire counted for everything. This woman’s gown was certainly not new, but the only thing Charles saw was how well she looked in that particular shade of grey-green.
Then he realized something else: he never noticed what she wore or how it became her, not ever. Her beauty was in the brightness of her eyes and the warmth of her smile.
He looked down at his bandaged hand, her handiwork. It was none too clean now, but he was not afraid of what she would say. Perhaps she would scold him a little and say that she needed to bandage it again? Charles would not mind that.
And yet he knew that he ought to mind. He should not stand here gazing at her like this, either. But what harm was there? He simply wished to sit on the bench and talk. He did the same with his sisters, didn’t he?
Would she like to speak with him? Would he be a bother to her? Charles’s blush intensified. He already knew the answers to these questions. He knew something else as well—she was lonely. She was talking to the birds as she fed them.
Charles gave a long sigh. Very well did he understand this. Lonely people often talked to animals; had he not done the same with the horses and dogs at Uppercross?
He ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his neck cloth. He’d forgotten a hat, but that did not matter. Winnie Owen did not stand upon ceremony the way Mary did. Charles felt a smile forming as he stepped out from behind the willows.
“Good day, Miss Owen,” he called cheerfully. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
~ ~ ~
As the longcase clock in the vestibule struck a quarter past ten, Elizabeth was quietly making her way down the servants’ staircase. She was dressed in the same navy gown she’d worn for her escape to Chalfort House. Hidden in her reticule were Mr. Lonk’s letter and the velvet bag of jewellery.
She spent several anxious moments when crossing the servants’ hall and kitchen to reach the service door, but no one was there to see her. She let herself out of the house and made for the front walk.
Her plan was to pay a call on Miss Owen. She had developed this practice during her stays in London—that is, to precede a difficult call with an easy one. The prescribed fifteen-minute visit would steady her nerves.
A maid answered the door and took Elizabeth’s card, but before she could announce Elizabeth’s presence, Miss Owen herself came out. With a cry of delight, she brought Elizabeth up to the front parlor to meet the company assembled there. A dark-haired smiling woman sat by Mr. Minthorne’s side. She was in a wheeled chair.
Mr. Minthorne rose to greet her and introduced Mrs. Berryman as his affianced bride. He turned to her, smiling. “My dear, Miss Elliot is our neighbour.”
Mrs. Berryman’s eyes were alive with pleasure. “Isn’t that fine! Please, Miss Elliot,” she said, gesturing to a chair, “won’t you sit down? As you are a neighbour, perhaps you are acquainted with that delightful man, Charles.”
She glanced smilingly at Miss Owen. “That is his Christian name, is it not? I did not catch the surname.”
“Do you mean Charles Musgrove?” said Elizabeth. “He is my brother.”
Mrs. Berryman’s smile grew wider still. “Such a delightful fellow! So helpful and kind! He assisted with my chair, as there is no manservant in the house.”
“No manservant yet,” put in Mr. Minthorne. “We shall soon rectify that.”
The pair began to speak of improvements they planned to make, obviously a topic of great delight. Elizabeth listened politely. Under cover of the conversation, Miss Owen drew her chair nearer to Elizabeth’s.
“We did not expect Mrs. Berryman’s visit until tomorrow. My cousin could not manage her chair by himself, not with all those stairs. Mr. Yee was busy—and I don’t like to ask him for help. Mr. Musgrove insisted on helping. I am ever so grateful.”
Before Elizabeth could reply, Mrs. Berryman addressed her directly. “Won’t you tell me about yourself, Miss Elliot? I understand from Michael that Mrs. Wentworth—your sister? —is musical. Do you have similar talents? Miss Owen tells me you are very clever, and I can see that it is so.”
Elizabeth glanced at the clock. There was little hope of escaping this vivacious women in less than fifteen minutes. She would be fortunate to escape at all!
~ ~ ~
Just around the corner from St. Peter Square, McGillvary waited in a hackney carriage. He checked his timepiece again—three minutes past eleven. Elizabeth was prompt in keeping appointments. She had promised to come.
Recalling the proverbial watched pot, he leaned against the hard seatback and ran a finger along the bubbled varnish on the sill. From time to time he flexed his shoulders, but there was no getting comfortable in this seat.
Today he wore Mr. Gill’s ratty tweed coat, more for old time’s sake than anything. Pym had altered it to fit his frame exactly, but either he had gained weight or Pym had been overzealous in laundering it, because it felt too small. McGillvary extended his arms. The sleeves were all right, but the shoulders and waist were too tight.
Some minutes later he saw Elizabeth hurrying along the pavement. He jumped to his feet, knocking his head against hack’s low ceiling, and opened the door.
She looked up at him with some anxiety. Her eyes told their own story.
“My dear,” he murmured, and drew her inside. “You came.”
“I am so sorry! My neighbours would talk; I had to practically force my way from their house!” She glanced over her shoulder. “If I am seen here with you, I’ll catch it for sure. That Mrs. Berryman does not miss much.”
She settled herself on the seat, keeping well away from the window. “I ought to have worn a veil,” she added.
McGillvary shut the door and the hack jolted into motion. “Oh I don’t know about that,” he said. “A lovely young woman all in black, heavily veiled, at this time of day? A bit early for a funeral.”
“I am not wearing black. For your information, this is navy blue. I—thought it appropriate, considering.”
McGillvary could not hide his grin. “One of your tricks to soften an old sea dog’s heart? Very good.”
She gave an impatient sigh. “It is not a trick. The only trick I employed this morning did not work. I am done with tricks.”
Naturally he could not let this pass. He made her explain her strategy of calling on less-intimidating neighbours and chuckled at her ingenuity.
“I fear you are right about my dreary gown—although you are not much better. What possessed you to wear that old coat?”
He did not bother to conceal his pleasure. “Yours was the inspiration, my dear. You asked if I had patches on the elbows on one of my coats, and I remembered that I had.”
“I am heartily sorry th
at I chose this dress,” she said, “for it is prickly and uncomfortable. I wore it when I ran off to that house party, which ended in disaster. And now I must meet Admiral McGillvary in it.” She paused. “It smacks of trickery, as you say.”
“Are you worried about McGillvary? Don’t be. His bark is far worse than his bite, I assure you.”
“I am well aware of the man’s opinion of me, thank you. You needn’t rub it in. He put me in a dreadful situation at that masked ball.”
“Did he?”
“He encouraged me to make a fool of myself, and then he laughed at me. I was never more humiliated.”
McGillvary’s brows rose. “If you must kiss Rushworth in the garden, that is your affair. Don’t go blaming McGillvary.”
“Oh!” she cried. “So he told you about that? Insufferable man!”
“Only after your engagement was announced,” he countered.
“He is rude and unfeeling. And he despises me.”
“I rather doubt that,” McGillvary said drily. “My dear girl, can you not understand? His actions that night were motivated by chivalry.”
“Chivalry?” Elizabeth was incredulous. “He laughed at me! He mocked me—openly.”
This was too much for McGillvary. “But he got rid of Rushworth sure enough,” he pointed out. “And that without causing a scene. Rushworth was the fool that night, not you.”
“Oh, I was the fool, Mr. Gill, and no mistake,” she said. “I shall play the fool’s part today as well.”
“Kindly do not call me that,” he said quietly. “It was not my intention to start an argument.”
Elizabeth’s face fell. “Please,” she said, “the fault is mine. These days I find myself arguing with everyone. I do not mean to. It just … happens.”
He laid his hand on hers. “My point was to make you realize that sometimes a man sees a situation differently than a woman does.”
She drew her hand away. “Yes. Men and women are very different.” She turned her head to gaze out the window. Silence fell between them. “Look,” she remarked. “Is that the gate?”
McGillvary leaned forward to see. The massive arched entrance loomed ahead. The carriage came to a stop and the gatekeeper came trotting from the gatehouse. McGillvary let down the window.
“Hello, Roberts,” he said, passing the man his card.
Roberts’ face was incredulous. “Sir!” he cried. “I’m sorry, sir, for stopping you, but this here mangy excuse for a—”
McGillvary cut him off. “Very good, Roberts. Carry on.” He raised the window and glanced at Elizabeth. There was no evidence that she had heard this exchange. The grind of iron against iron meant that the heavy gates were being opened.
As the hack rolled forward, Elizabeth started up. Her eyes were strangely bright. “Mr. Gill,” she said, “I mean, Patrick. You know Admiral McGillvary fairly well, do you not?”
She was leading up to something, he could feel it. But what? “I do,” McGillvary said carefully.
“And he is a gentleman, is he not? In every sense of the word? Because what you said about men and women being different—that is very true.”
His instinct for danger seldom failed him. What was she about? “Go on,” he said.
“I—acted against your advice,” she confessed. “I brought with me the last of my jewellery.”
“That,” he said, “was unnecessary.”
“But it is,” she insisted. “I must have something to offer him. Business is business; I know that much. Admiral McGillvary is not running a charity.”
His brother Ronan thought he was, but no matter. “No,” said McGillvary slowly, “no, he is not.”
“But you see, I must offer something of value. Something … honourable.”
Her expression filled McGillvary with foreboding.
“Have you ever noticed,” she continued, “that a man behaves very differently when he is with a woman? Alone with a woman, I mean.” She hesitated before adding, “I daresay you haven’t thought much about it, being situated as you are, but I have.” Again she paused, as if weighing her words.
“Patrick,” she said slowly, “you won’t leave me alone with him, will you? You’ll stay with me during the meeting?”
McGillvary frowned over this request. How the devil could he promise not to leave her alone with himself?
“Promise me,” she said, this time more earnestly. “I can bear anything if you are with me, but you must not leave me alone with him.”
“My dear,” he reasoned, “you will be quite safe. He shall not harm you.”
She found his arm and clutched it tightly. “Promise me,” she whispered. “Please, Patrick.”
“Elizabeth, you are being nonsensical. There is nothing to fear.”
“Am I?” Desperation was in her voice. “I thought I could trust Sir Henry Farley,” she said haltingly. “But then he—” She turned her face away.
What had Farley done? McGillvary took hold of her shoulders. “Elizabeth,” he said. “What did Farley do?”
She did not answer; he tightened his grip. “What did he do, Elizabeth?” he demanded. “Tell me at once!”
She raised a frightened face. “He offered me his … protection. He said he would take care of me … beautifully … in his villa abroad.”
“The devil he will!”
“Don’t you see?” she cried. “What if Admiral McGillvary does the same? You mustn’t leave me alone with him!”
She was trembling. McGillvary knelt on the floor. “Elizabeth, my dear.” His voice was ragged. The next instant she was in his arms, crushed against his chest. “You must trust me,” he said.
The hack slowed in order to navigate the circular drive. She swayed with the turn and clung to him. “You must trust me,” he repeated.
At length the hack slowed to a stop, which meant they were now at the house. McGillvary lifted his eyes to heaven. What else could he do but follow the plan he had set in motion?
“We will see this through together,” he vowed. “And then, my dear,”—his voice changed somewhat—“I’ll crush that devil Farley.”
The handle of the door began to turn. Silently cursing his over-zealous footman, McGillvary reached behind and held it closed. With his other arm he kept Elizabeth tightly against his shoulder.
And then she began to pull herself together; he could feel it. The tension remained, but her trembling subsided. Abruptly she drew away, and just as quickly he released her.
“Better?” he whispered. “Shall we go in?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. Fear was there, but not tears. McGillvary let go the door and it swung outward. A footman caught hold of it; another let down the steps. Both men kept their eyes averted, but their curiosity was palpable.
McGillvary descended first and offered a hand to Elizabeth. She emerged with stiff, silent dignity. Since he had paid the driver beforehand, he gave his nod to his butler. The hack was waved on.
Elizabeth’s panicked eyes met his. “Shouldn’t the driver wait?” she protested. “We shan’t be long.”
He kicked himself for making such an obvious blunder. The poor girl! And yet, what could be done? The hack was now well away from the house. He shrugged and threw her a lopsided grin. “One never knows with him,” he said. “The fellow can be devilishly long-winded. We’ll manage.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Well,” she muttered, “he can be devilish, anyway.”
“Shall we go in?”
“Not just yet, please.” Elizabeth turned and gazed at the sweep of the drive. The hack was just visible as it made its descent to the gate. Would she run after it?
Again he became aware of the footmen’s curiosity, but he issued no rebuke—he did not dare take his eyes from Elizabeth. She stood erect and still. Abruptly, she drew her shoulders back and her head came up. Resolve was hardening into action. McGillvary had seen this countless times before battle. This was the moment—it was now or never.
“Here we go then,” h
e said and offered his arm.
~ ~ ~
Willing herself to stop shaking, Elizabeth laid a hand on Patrick Gill’s sleeve. Through her gloves she could feel the roughness of the wool. She took a swift look at him. He was cheerful; that was heartening. Of course, being a man, he would not understand the position she was in. Still, his bracing good spirits were no bad thing. After all, what was Admiral McGillvary? An upstart! A man of no particular distinction!
But as Elizabeth came into the entrance hall of Belsom Park, flanked by footmen and attended by the butler, it took effort not to gasp. The room was enormous. Heroic was the word that came to mind, for Greek columns and marble statuary adorned the walls. Elizabeth itched to look up at the ornate ceiling overhead, but pride kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. This house was far grander than Kellynch.
She cudgeled her brain, trying to recall something, anything, about the McGillvary family. Why had she not looked into this before now?
Mr. Gill’s whisper interrupted. “Feeling better?”
“No,” she whispered back. “I’d have to snub him to do that. And under the circumstances that would not be wise.”
He gave a crack of laughter, hastily subdued. “Good girl,” he said. “That’s the stuff.”
What understanding eyes he had! But she could hardly stand here gazing at Patrick Gill. “Admiral McGillvary has a large number of servants,” she observed.
“Hasn’t he just?” Patrick Gill’s voice held a note of irony. His gaze swept the room and he coughed. The servants standing about began to move.
This was too much for Elizabeth. “Stop staring,” she whispered.
“How’s that?”
“You mustn’t stare, Patrick,” she said, very low. “It makes you look like a poor relation.” She tipped back her head. “We won’t give him—or his servants—the satisfaction.”
“Yes, madam,” he said meekly. He presented a card to the butler. “Would you kindly give this to Mr. Starkweather? He is expecting us.” The butler departed.
