by Gail McEwen
“Forgive me. But allow me to . . . that is, there is no need to follow Mr Pembroke’s schedule and convenience. I will gladly offer my carriage at your disposal for the same. I have no need of it. And my man can follow you and, uh . . . perform some errands for me at the same time. All things considered, I find this is a much better scheme.”
“There really is no need to trouble yourself. My trip is already arranged, no such schemes are necessary.”
Placing several drawings in her case, she stacked the remainder together and replaced them in her folder and gathered everything from the table to carry away.
“Now, if you will excuse me. I really must prepare.”
He swallowed hard, once again feeling an irrational rush of anger toward her. He averted his eyes from her face. He clenched his jaw. He counted to ten. Slowly. Only then was he certain he would not utter a useless protest that could only serve to re-ignite the anger on both sides that always seemed to be hiding just under the surface. This woman, with her infernal pride, was impossible! Even in her ridiculous stubbornness, she made him regret his principles and go back on his resolutions! She coaxed him into being grateful for receiving simple, polite conversation and she made him bend over backwards in search of the certainly sweet nature that was hidden under all that anger and temper and haughtiness!
“Very well. Of course you must do as you see fit.” His voice was tight and angry and it was apparent in her obstinate expression that she could sense his disapproval, but she turned without another word. That was it. He would be forced to leave her in this mood of dissension because the visit most certainly was over. One more try, he thought. He would approach her where her heart surely must be at its softest.
“I would not want to keep you from what must be necessary preparations. But I would be very happy if you would tell me if you think it would be appropriate for me to visit your mother and . . . well, perhaps see that she is comfortable while you are gone?”
Miss Tournier turned one last time before she walked out of the kitchen. Her face was softer and he could see the lines between her brows ease a little.
“That would be very kind of you,” she said. “Thank you.”
He shook his head as she softly closed the door behind her, staring down at his boots. Then he paused. His eye was caught by a piece of paper lying half obscured by the wood basket on the hearth. It was a small scrap of Miss Tournier’s sketching paper that had strayed in the gust of wind earlier and had been overlooked in its hiding place He picked it up, uncertain as to exactly why — more bumble-bees — and he watched the flawed creatures making their way across the page, between illegible scribbles and delicately drawn daisies, roses and sweet peas. Involuntarily he smiled, folded up the paper and pocketed it.
MRS TOURNIER WAS INDEED SEATED just where her daughter had insisted; on the sofa in the parlour. She looked up as if disturbed out of deep thoughts when his lordship entered and he noticed she had a tight grasp on something on a chain around her neck that she did not let go.
“Mrs Tournier,” he began, “how fortunate it is to find you here. I came to — ”
Mrs Tournier stood up before he had even finished his greeting. “And it is very good to see you, my friend,” she said. “Come, sit by me, will you?” To Baugham’s infinite surprise, his hostess took hold of both his hands and pulled him to sit by her on the sofa.
“Are you quite well?” he asked, more suspiciously than he had intended.
She gave a wry smile. “Probably not. But never mind about that.”
Confused, Baugham decided to push on with his original mission.
“Well, I wanted to come by and apologise for my rude behaviour in your presence and as your guest the other day — ” Again he was interrupted.
“Yes, yes,” the lady said and waved away his words, “that’s all good and well but of little consequence. In fact, I should be thanking you for it if I weren’t so . . . ” She looked at him earnestly. “Lord Baugham, you may as well know. My daughter is going to Edinburgh with Mr Pembroke.”
Baugham could not help raising an eyebrow at her bitter tone of voice.
“Yes, quite,” Mrs Tournier said dryly. “So you see I’m far too upset to handle any silly self-abasing apologies right now and instead am busy trying to calculate a way to use your arrival to prevent her from going.”
Baugham gave a slight smile. “I’m afraid you are wasting your time, Mrs Tournier. I spoke to your daughter in the kitchen just now and clumsily enough tried to influence her decision to go myself. I think you grossly over-estimate my powers in that regard.”
“Silly fool!” Mrs Tournier said, and it was unclear whether she meant his lordship, her daughter, or even herself.
It remained unclear, for at that moment Miss Tournier came into the parlour in search of her notebook. Looking at the figures of her mother and Lord Baugham, she could recognise an alliance of disapproval, but she simply steeled herself and refused to take it as a sign of concern or affection. Instead, she told herself they were both of them interfering where they should stay out and trust her, and her face showed it clearly.
“Maman,” she said. “My lord.”
Lord Baugham sensed a silent conversation being played out between the two women and felt acutely ill at ease again. Why he should be compelled to insert himself into the situation, he could not fathom. True, he knew Pembroke to be an arrogant ass, and Mrs Tournier obviously held an even harsher opinion of him, but Miss Tournier was a grown woman, capable of making her own choices. As it was, however, he could not escape a feeling of kinship with the woman beside him in believing that such a journey must be prevented.
“Miss Tournier,” he therefore said, “I was just about to explain to your mother that I have placed my own carriage at your disposal . . . and how disappointed I am that you will not take me up on it.”
Holly looked at her mother before she met his lordship’s eyes. So, she silently asked, not only an alliance, but a conspiracy, too, Mother?
Call it what you want, her mother eyed back, as if I would not try anything at my disposal . . .
“Well, my lord,” Holly said calmly to Lord Baugham, “all is explained then. I came to get my sketchbook.”
Baugham coughed discreetly and, from the ice cold looks exchanged between mother and daughter, hastily decided he would keep his peace henceforth.
“Mr Pembroke has informed me that he is ready to leave. This is goodbye then, Maman.”
Holly ignored Lord Baugham and went up to her mother. She took the hands that would not release their tight grip on one another and so were covered by her daughter’s hands. Holly kissed her cheek.
“Wish me luck?” she said quietly.
“You don’t need luck,” her mother told her sternly, but her eyes held a different message of sadness, joined with care and affection.
Holly smiled and gave his lordship a glance.
“Good luck,” Baugham muttered, looking glum.
Holly opened her mouth to reply, but in that instant the door opened and Mr Pembroke swept in.
“Ah, my dear,” he said lavishly, “come, come. The hour is upon us. I must away. Must away,” he said and gave Baugham a meaningful look.
Baugham ground his teeth and stood, glowering darkly at the man as he bowed farewell to the lady. Mrs Tournier never turned her eyes away from her daughter. Mr Pembroke likewise ignored his hostess and gave a perfunctory bow in her direction while offering his arm to Holly in an exaggerated gesture. Holly gave her mother a last look before she was swept out the door, leaving Baugham standing by her mother, both with conflicting emotions and barely contained frustration seething through them both.
THE DOOR CLOSED AND THE coach lurched into motion, but Holly could still feel the two pairs of disapproving eyes that watched her from the window. Though she did feel wretched that her mother was upset, this really was not as bad a decision as everyone made it out to be. How else could she travel to Edinburgh so quickly and comfortably, and mo
st importantly, at no cost? Upon coming down that morning, she had steeled herself to withstand her mother’s mutterings and huffs and sidelong glances, but Lord Baugham’s arrival, along with his unwarranted and unwelcome interference, had taken her by surprise.
Of course, he probably assumed that her mother would welcome an ally, as well as someone to vent her anger to once she was gone. But that he should insinuate himself into such a private family matter as this . . . No, that isn’t fair, she corrected herself, he has no knowledge of the circumstances. Nor was she afraid that her mother would speak of it to him. Mrs Tournier spoke of it to no one.
She was a grown woman now and she was certainly in no danger from Mr Pembroke at present. Without an audience, he was merely background noise, his conversation quite easily ignored behind the covers of her book. So well rehearsed and familiar were his stories of ill-usage and thwarted dreams, that she was able to give the proper reply to all of his complaints without taking the trouble of listening. But, as Edinburgh grew closer several new words caught her ear and demanded her attention. Business, increase, and effective immediately caused her to lower her book and focus on his words at last.
“I thought that would finally get your attention,” Pembroke’s lip curled. “Have you got it all, or shall I repeat everything I have just told you one more time?”
Holly narrowed her eyes but her tone was meek enough. “Repeat it please.”
He leaned back in the comfortable seat and looked across to her. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you will avail yourself of the hospitality of my private coach yet still barely make an effort to be civil to me. Such seems to be the pattern between your family and mine — or it has been until now.”
He crossed his legs, taking up much of the shared room.
“But, as I was saying, not for long. My father is at last taking his physician’s advice and retiring from all business affairs, leaving the disposition of them to me. As you know, it is beyond question that you and your mother have been taking unfair advantage of him and the generous terms he gave to you in the wake of your father’s death. Surely by now, if you had been industrious in the practice of economy, he should have seen some increase in the amount of income he derives from Rosefarm rent. He has always been soft, too soft to demand it from you, but you of all people should know, Miss Tournier, that I am not.”
A sinking feeling of horror slowly filled Holly’s stomach as her eyes grew wide and she tried to reason with him.
“But surely, your father must have made some stipulation — ”
“None, Miss Tournier!” he snapped in triumph. “None, but that I am to do what I think is best and not to trouble him about anything. Doctor’s orders! Nothing as sordid as emotional appeals and sentimental scenes must disturb him. And what I think best is half again as much rent as you are currently paying, and coming due this current quarter.”
He stretched out a little more as Holly fought a rising feeling of panic and nausea. Her pride told her not to plead with him, but the harsh realities of life won out.
“Please, sir, so much? Can we not speak to your father? Or may we at least have more time — ”
A sharp laugh cut her questions short, “Certainly not! No more time, no speaking to my father. All his business affairs have been passed on to me, legally and binding. If you are not willing or able to meet the new terms of your tenancy, there are others who will be. Miss Tournier, I hope for your sake that your arrangement with Sir John was lucrative, and that there is more coming.” His mouth curled and his eyes looked at her with pitying scorn. “It is simply a matter of business, Holly, and I am sure you would not want to trespass or take advantage of my father’s good will and continue in rendering him ridiculous?”
His eyes were cold, his face was set; his decision had been made and Holly would not further demean herself by asking anything more of him when he so obviously enjoyed her distress and equally obviously had no intention of relenting. Mercifully the coach drew to a halt a short time later and Holly, numb with disbelief, mechanically collected her bag and began the walk from the coaching inn to the University Buildings. Once there she would deliver the colour plates to Sir John Leslie, and pray that there was some work out there for her, somewhere.
Chapter 17
How Miss Tournier’s Remaining Friends and Family Passed their Time in her Absence and what her Return Entailed
Edinburgh,
Ledwich House
Dearest Maman,
You may rest easy upon receiving this letter, hearing that I am arrived in Edinburgh and am now safely in Sir John and Lady Ledwich’s care. I will also give you the satisfaction of admitting that you were perfectly right and my journey was every bit as unpleasant as you predicted. However, it is done with and I have emerged relatively unscathed.
I trust that you will not be cross with me when you read that I will remain here in Edinburgh for a few days longer than I had intended, to inquire into some employment opportunities that Sir John and his friend have so kindly suggested. It appears that no commissions will be forthcoming any time soon, and — it also appears that my need to find work is more pressing than we had anticipated.
I will explain when I arrive home, hopefully with gainful employment. Look for me either on Friday or Saturday, I’ll be coming by the stage as usual.
Your loving,
Holly
THROUGHOUT THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWED, Lord Baugham made good on his expressed intentions to Miss Tournier and was a regular visitor to Rosefarm Cottage in her absence. He found Mrs Tournier’s company as stimulating as ever, even if she was understandably even more prone to debate than usual.
The day after her departure, his lordship came upon her as she was reading the letter from her daughter. She did not look displeased to see him, even if her eyes lingered on the note while he entered.
“Well, my lord,” she said and waved the letter in front of him before crisply folding it away. “I am pleased to report that she has survived her journey and is now with Sir John.”
“Does Miss Tournier write of her plans to return then? Do you expect her soon?”
Tossing the letter sharply onto her now reclaimed desk, Mrs Tournier’s face grew grim.
“She stays a few more days at the least.”
Baugham was surprised to see a sudden change in her demeanour at those words. Even more surprising was what followed.
“She is always leaving!” The statement sounded matter-of-fact, yet almost wistful. “She comes home, I grow accustomed to her presence . . . then she leaves and I miss her.” Mrs Tournier then took a breath, straightened her shoulders and shook off her regret.
The familiar gesture tugged at Baugham’s heart. He had seen it from Miss Tournier several times and he wondered how often this small, proud family had to shake off disappointments and sadness and, from somewhere within, find the strength to carry on.
“So,” she interrupted his reverie, “what have you brought today? Partridges, or opinions?”
“Both, madam,” he smiled.
“WELL, MY DEAR, OF COURSE I will ask on your behalf, but I think you must be prepared to consider other options, too.”
Holly held on to Sir John’s arm as he steered her out of the dark winding closes by his rooms and the laboratories. The University being scattered in all manner of buildings all around the center of Edinburgh, Sir John had his workplace and lecture rooms in a cramped building near Grass Market, but its location was nonetheless convenient, for it offered him access to the Faculty’s laboratories to the west of the Castle. Holly looked up at the magnificent building on the hill, ancient and imposing even though dusk was already falling and obscuring its features. Looming, she thought. Why was every feature of the city suddenly an omen of impending doom?
“Thank you, Sir John. I cannot tell you how much it means to me. I . . . well, there is no disgrace in admitting we do need the extra income.”
“Of course you do. I wish Dr McKenna could have been more spec
ific with his prospects, but as usual, science must await the currents of economy before it can aspire to its universal goals.”
Holly recognised Sir John was not in a particularly optimistic mood. He always muttered obscure philosophical sentiments when he was dissatisfied with his work or troubled by real life concerns. But then his features lightened and he squeezed her arm.
“Now, I will renounce these gloomy thoughts and so must you! I have you for myself for just a little while before you go back and I will take you to see the latest developments around New Town. I am much impressed! Such a difference from these dirty, confusing and ancient streets around here. My wife says we could perhaps take rooms in Princes’ Street and I must say I favour the idea. The ordered plan and the well-laid out structures are so much easier on the working mind of a natural scientist like me. You must come with me and give your opinion on what she has in mind!”
Holly smiled and agreed to accompany him. A little beauty and faith in the future of city planning would do her good. And New Town was what she always imagined London to be like — at least her mother had said it rivalled anything she had seen in the way of harmonious and handsome architecture when she had been living there.
They had a very pleasant afternoon of it, with Sir John conducting her on a short walking tour of the parts of town she was less familiar with. They returned to the University to take tea, where they were joined by Dr McKenna and Holly was introduced to more of their colleagues, but the answers to their discreet inquiries on her behalf were all very much the same. Coupled with the genuine praise and admiration of the quality of her work, were equally genuine regrets that wartime economics, internal wranglings for power and influence within the University, and sporadic labour unrest in the printing shops, not to mention the alarming rise in the cost of paper, were all combining to make publication especially difficult for the time being.
