by Gail McEwen
She walked along a few more steps, and then, feeling silly, turned to him, “Well, you need not fear me in any case. I promise that I will not sting unless it is absolutely necessary. Instead, I will be a model employee, docile and unthreatening in every way.”
“You know, Miss Tournier,” he said, “you do me great wrong. I have absolutely nothing against industrious bees. I am excessively fond of them for their own sake — not just the honey. And after all, if the bee did not sting, it would not be a bee, but some simple fly. And I find simple, docile, unthreatening flies to be quite boring. Especially when compared to those amazing bees whose thorax and wings are so deliciously challenging its whole capacity to fly.”
Holly gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “Well, I cannot continue that metaphor in any way, my lord, that will not make me seem impertinent and possibly ungrateful. You are safe this time.”
“I’m sorry your trip was unsuccessful,” Baugham said quietly after a while. “I would have wished the initial inconveniences would have ensured its success.”
Holly nodded and took a few steps to the side of the path to ostensibly inspect some sort of wilted plant, but in reality she did not want to discuss that particular topic or even think about it in his company. Mr Pembroke was gone and she would think of him no more. It was enough to know that the threat he had hung before her and the imminent notice on the rental conditions could be met with something more than ineffectual despair and outrage.
Baugham noticed his kindly meant comment was not to Miss Tournier’s liking and he pursed his lips and stayed silent again. Their pace picked up, there was no talk now and the light was fading. But his remark still hung in the air. He realised he had broken an unspoken rule by alluding to Miss Tournier’s difficulties. It was, in such a relationship of employer and employee as theirs had become, presumptuous and possibly threatening to a woman as proud and as desperate for work as she was.
He took a deep breath. Well, here was just one more time he would bend his carefully laid out rules for this family.
“Miss Tournier, my father, the late Earl of Cumbermere, left me with precious little of worth. He squandered most of his fortune and sold off countless valuables to pay his debts and obligations. So, among other things, I inherited quite a ramshackle library that once had been lovingly assembled by my grandfather and my uncle. My father sold off most of the valuable pieces, apart from the ones that his secretary and my mother could save.”
She looked at him, surprised, but said nothing and continued to walk on the grass beside the actual path.
“This rather embarrassing remnant of the Cumbermere pride and joy I have brought with me to Clyne,” he continued. “It certainly is no library for a discerning gentleman, a fact Mr Darcy loses no opportunity to remind me of, and so far I have found solace in the knowledge that Joseph, my father’s secretary, is taking very good care of my own collection in London. But I cannot bring him here to do the same and, the more I stay at Clyne, the more I feel the old Cumbermere library and whatever I have purchased since, does me no credit and brings me no joy. That is why I need your help in bringing it to order. I have no idea what is in it, what treasures, if any, are still in my possession, or what needs to be compensated.”
To his relief she had once again joined him on the path, but kept her head bowed down and her hands behind her back, eyes averted.
“On my own, I would hardly know where to begin,” he then said softly.
They passed out of the woods and made their way along the little stretch of Kye River that ran up to Clanough. The bridge creaked as they both walked over it and they exchanged a brief smile. Holly took a step to the rail and threw in the rest of her crumbled leaf and stem. They stood for a while in silence, looking out over the water and tracing the twirling water bubbling just a few feet underneath them. Holly considered Lord Baugham’s revelation about his family affairs and pondered all the information he had shared with her. Though she was sure he felt himself to be matter-of-fact in his statements, she could tell that there was much emotion beneath the surface as he spoke of his father. She was not curious about the father — it was the same story told many times over across the kingdom — but she wondered about his mother, and about him . . . Here he was, a young man, trying to hold together and rebuild the remnants of his legacy. Did he have a guide? or was he trying to find his way on his own? It was no wonder to Holly that he had become so attached to her mother — if ever there was an unchanging anchor in the world, it was Arabella Tournier.
“I see,” she finally said. “Thank you. I will, as I said, do my best.”
“I have no doubt you will,” he smiled, leaning against the railing. “I will, of course, allow for a helper and you must continue to see to your other obligations. I dare say the chaos will keep for a while yet without complete ruin. I must say, though, that I am afraid you may think twice about agreeing to this commitment when you see what a mess I find myself in. It won’t do to pretend it is anything else than on the brink of hopelessness.”
“Lord Baugham, I hope I am not the kind of person who will go back on my word simply because there is labour involved in keeping it!”
He smiled at the faint, familiar note of irritation and could not hide his amusement.
“Oh, I am positive you are not! But I am equally certain that neither are you a person wholly convinced it is impossible to force twenty-five hours of work into a twenty-four hour day if you feel it is required to meet your standards, and then where would I be with your mother?” He laughed. “Oh yes, I believe a bee is a most appropriate description of you, there are no two ways about that!”
He stopped and looked at her with a curious expression, but not without considerable warmth and spark in his brilliant blue eyes. I wonder, he found himself unexpectedly and silently musing, I wonder what is it about her . . . Only when her expression became confused and curious did he realize he had been staring and he pulled his eyes and thoughts away.
Again they turned and watched the swirling water until the silence became uncomfortable.
“My mother will be very grateful,” she replied quietly, showing the turn that her own thoughts had taken, “as I think you must know.”
“It is no secret that she is happier when you are home,” he said, “and if I can be of some service to her in that way . . . ” he tapered off before blurting out: “You must forgive me, Miss Tournier, I know you call Clanough your home and say you would be content to never again leave it, but after what I have come to know of local society, and of your landlord, I wonder that the two of you choose to stay. That is, your time in Edinburgh must have shown you that there is something beyond provincial attitudes and prejudices. There surely must be other places you can go. Places without the memories and circumstances that must burden you here.”
“My lord,” she said quickly, stiffening, “if you are regretting your offer, please retract it at once, before — ”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “You have my word.”
“Thank you,” she smiled with obvious relief, then still leaning on the rail, she turned to him, her brow wrinkled in thought. “But I must tell you that the memories here are no burden to either of us, my lord, they are a blessing.” Her hand came up absently to tug on her earlobe as her face changed and her expression grew distant. “I think they are exactly what keeps us happy here, and the people and their mind-set; most of them are very nice, the rest . . . they just don’t matter. It is the place. When we first arrived, Papa would make me walk with him all over the village — to learn all about our new home, he said. He was well-liked here, you know, despite his . . . well, Frenchness. Perhaps there is still something left of that Auld Alliance that made the people here very generous when a Frenchman sought refuge in his obvious distress, even in this day and age. Maybe that’s why I love it so much; every inch of it reminds me of him. The paths, the lanes, even this bridge. Especially this bridge.”
Curious, for reasons of his own, to hear how memor
ies of one’s childhood and one’s father could be seen in such a different light from his own, Baugham could not help but ask, “Why this bridge?”
“It was our spot,” she said with a look of tenderness. “Wherever we would walk, we always tried to end up here; we’d stand here like this for what seemed like hours and watch the water, or have some sort of silly contest . . . ”
He looked at her in astonishment. “Perhaps I am reverting back to my own shameful boyhood memories of what sorts of contests are held while looking out over bridges, but, don’t tell me Monsieur Tournier and his very refined daughter engaged in a . . . spitting contest?”
She looked up at him, and despite the slight blush that coloured her cheeks, raised her chin and smiled.
“Perhaps.”
The laugh that came from that admission and the mental picture it conjured up was instant and spontaneous. Miss Tournier joined in.
“But I was sworn to secrecy and so must you be, my lord. Do not breathe a word of this to my mother.”
“Upon my honour,” he gasped. “Your secret is safe with this co-offender.” Then, catching his breath, he realized that though it was probably time to continue on their way, he did not quite want to yet. He looked down at his feet, then leaned over to pluck two pebbles lodged between the planks of the bridge that were no doubt left by some village boys from a throwing contest. He laughed when he weighed them in his hands.
“Tell me,” he said, handing one over to her, “did your father teach you to throw as well?”
“Of course he did.” She smiled mischievously, challenging him to make the first throw. “But, you should know,” she cautioned, “he taught me well. I am a very good shot, my lord. You had best beware.”
He fixed his gaze on her once more, his blue eyes twinkling and a wry smile hovering on his lips.
“Oh, Miss Tournier, I think it is a little too late for that!”
She stepped back from the railing and quickly averted her eyes, nervously smoothing her skirts and tugging at her ear while her eyes darted everywhere but to meet his. Lord Baugham suddenly realised they had skated from apologies and awkward confessions, through teasing bantering and thoughtful conversation and on into full-fledged flirting without him even having noticed it. That thought gave him a jolt and he stood straight.
“I’m afraid, Miss Tournier,” he said a little more stiffly than he intended, “that however pleasant this moment is, we really should be getting on. Please . . . ?”
Very slowly they turned and, as if careful not to tread and shatter a delicate thing that lingered around them, they made their way in silence towards Rosefarm Cottage and the comfortable ritual of its tea tray.
Chapter 19
His Lordship’s Library Finally gets the Attention it Deserves and a New Avid Reader is Introduced
Baugham was suffering from acute embarrassment. He sat in his chair in the small parlour where two women on the opposite sofa were beaming at him and sending him grateful and happy looks, all because of a strange impulse he was now having doubts about, if not outright regrets. He really did not like to be reminded he had that kind of power over persons he hardly knew, and the fact that a mere whim and indiscernible fancy of his could make such a difference to someone was disquieting to say the least. These women were now obviously depending on him and, more to the point, they were to be a feature of his daily life here that he could not control and that he had never intended or particularly wanted. It smelled of exactly the kind of thing Darcy was always going on about — duty and obligation — and he thought he had guarded himself well from that sort of involvement while at Clyne.
“Well, I really cannot stay,” he said as he got out of his seat. “I’m happy my suggestion meets with your approval, Mrs Tournier. If it is at all convenient I would suggest Miss Tournier could perhaps pay Clyne a visit tomorrow and make an initial assessment of the work and then we could proceed.”
Holly stood up, still smiling but a looking a little surprised at the abruptness of his speech.
“Oh! But can’t we offer you — ”
“No, no!” his lordship said and took a step closer to the door. “It is late; I would not wish to inconvenience you any longer. We will meet tomorrow and then we will see where we are.”
He took his leave and left the women looking after him. Just as he closed the door behind him he heard a female shriek from the parlour window and he hesitated. Rolling laughter followed it, however, so he briskly went on his way again, not looking back.
ONCE HIS LORDSHIP LEFT, HOLLY at last could give in to her long suppressed urge to jump up and down in excitement. She then ran to her mother and nearly smothered her in an excited embrace.
“Maman, is this not the finest thing in the world? I have found work, right here in Clanough! And I’ll have time enough to look for more before — ” she broke off suddenly.
“Before what, Lie-lie?” Mrs Tournier asked.
“Oh, I really wish I didn’t have to talk about it right now,” Holly began, “but as unpleasant as it was, I think it was a good thing I took that ride with Mr Pembroke after all.”
Her mother looked at her tartly, but held onto her hand. “Well, that is the one thing you will never manage to convince me of.”
For a moment Holly’s exuberance and joy gave way to a more serious expression. “Maman, during that trip I was able to learn something, something that it is better to know as early as possible. Mr Pembroke is taking over his father’s business affairs, together with the management of his properties, Rosefarm included.”
Her mother’s face progressively grew more severe as she waited for her daughter to finish her sentence. “Is he letting us go?” she asked tightly.
Holly sighed, sorry that this discussion was taking the joy out of the moment, but it was best to get the truth out quickly.
“He is raising the rent — significantly — and it will come due this Christmas. But Maman, we are well provided for now, because I have the money from Sir John we can use for that, and now with my work for Lord Baugham, we will have something to live on as well. That gives us the next three months to solicit work enough to prepare for when it comes around again.”
Her mother looked at her with narrowed eyes. “And this is why his lordship offered you employment?”
“Heavens no!” Holly was shocked. “I wouldn’t share our private matters with anyone, Maman. Certainly not with him. What a thing to suggest!”
“Hm,” Mrs Tournier said.
“It really needs work,” Holly said seriously. “That library is a disgrace.”
“Oh, I’m certain it is,” her mother said, “and time consuming as well. Have you agreed upon a suitable salary for such an extensive renovation?”
“Well, no,” Holly admitted. “Not as of yet. It was a spur of the moment decision, you see. But I’m sure everything will work out easily.”
Mrs Tournier looked at her and simply said, “Yes. As easily as everything works out between the two of you. But in any case I would suggest you agree to terms soon, and also that you should arrange for some additional help.”
She got up and her daughter stayed where she was looking thoughtful.
“Yes, his lordship did mention something about more help.”
“As he should,” Mrs Tournier nodded. “You’ll need a suitable young man to help you with the heavy or dirty tasks who could also benefit from escaping from his daily grind and perhaps get more out of assisting you than wages for his work. I think his lordship’s sense of charity can well stand it.”
“You already have someone in mind, don’t you?” Holly said suspiciously.
“Certainly I do,” Mrs Tournier answered calmly. “Hamish Nethery.”
IN SPITE OF TAKING THE shortest way home, Baugham found himself surprised at just how soon he could see the lights of his windows showing through the trees. He had spun round in the same thoughts all the way without being able to reconcile them or make sense of their relation to one another. When he
left the laughing women he had been overwhelmed by a sense of wryness. Well, he had done a good thing, even if it was from complete ignorance and lack of moral deliberation. It had just popped out of him! It had, however, been for the best and he felt pleased he could help a friend like Mrs Tournier keep her daughter beside her for a few more months.
Apart from that, however, he tried hard not to think of what he had done to his well-established routine and purpose at Clyne. He had invited a woman into his house — a quarrelsome, bothersome, opinionated woman — one with whom it took all his efforts to remain on civil terms and who really had the most unfortunate habit of making him feel ill at ease and doubtful of his own resolutions. A woman who gave him inviting glimpses of a laughing temperament and a spirited and mischievous nature, but who could show a general resentment toward him and who he was, just as easily as she could fall into friendly banter. A woman who had looked so troubled when she came to see him at Clyne with her still unknown appeal, that he had impulsively given in to charity to save her from the shame of making a request of him or to see her suffer.
He did not like that last thought at all. And so he returned to the first thoughts on his surrender to keep his privacy absolute and every local dignitary, personality, denizen or neighbour out of his house and life. Mrs Tournier was happy, and he had been glad to do his friend a service. But she would be there, perhaps every day . . . He sighed as his thoughts continued around the same track once more.
MRS MCLAUGHLIN WAS JUST THROWING the last soiled cloth in her laundry basket for tomorrow and giving one last proud glance at the shining copper pans and silver laid out all over the table, when there came a discreet knock at the kitchen door. Proud with her work that morning, she opened the door and let Miss Tournier in.
