Twixt Two Equal Armies

by Gail McEwen

  “Don’t you want to find out what it is?” her mother said, slightly irritably.

  “Of course”, Holly said, taking a little and curious pleasure in annoying her. “Why don’t you tell me while I finish my supper?”

  She attacked her food again and avoided her mother’s look.

  “It is from Dr McKenna.”

  That earned her a glance and a surprised expression. Secure in her triumph again, Mrs Tournier continued more gently.

  “You have been offered a commission, Lie-lie, to illustrate his book. Scenery, as far as I can make out. Involving rocks, no doubt.”

  “Oh! But . . . ”

  “And that is a good thing”, Mrs Tournier went on more sternly again. “Don’t you agree?”

  The fleeting doubt in Holly’s mind that she would be able to set aside and abandon Lord Baugham’s library for something else so soon fluttered away again.

  “I do”, she said more determined than she felt. “It is.”

  “Well, then”, said the mother and pocketed the letter again. “I will write him and say you accept.” By express, she added to herself.

  Chapter 23

  When Frustrations are Up and Defences are Down and Tea is Served . . .

  Another day of dry weather enabled Baugham to make his customary annual tour around the northern boundaries of his estate. The terrain was good, the air was crisp and cool, and his horse was in a splendid mood — no doubt pleased he was not required to display his obvious talents to any undeserving country nag. Once the circuit was complete, he made his way homeward through the village, picking up his mail and scheduling an appointment with the gunsmith. With nothing left to delay or distract him, he slowly, almost reluctantly, headed toward Rosefarm Cottage. It was a visit he was obliged to make and had not been able to find a way out of, even after a long and arduous ride. The manner of Miss Tournier’s departure yesterday was puzzling and even unsettling. It was not impossible, of course, but he had searched his mind for whatever he might have said or done that had not been taken in the spirit of his pledge of exclusive insult, but he could not remember anything. She had been upset, but why?

  As he rode up to the gate he was surprised to see her on the steps, bracing the wind to trim the climbing roses entwined around the entrance. She turned around the moment he rode up and immediately straightened up despite her flushed countenance and steady grip around the thorny wilderness. There was a quick smile of recognition that gave him heart and he decided to try his luck on a lighter note.

  “Miss Tournier! How fierce you look with that knife in your hand!” Baugham tried to sound cheerful. “Remind me never to invoke any privileges of mine when you are thus armed.”

  Holly, however, simply hoped her smile would disguise the dismay and confusion she felt at his arrival. That immediate feeling of being caught unawares soon yielded to a wry voice reminding her of her mother’s words from yesterday. He’ll soon be gone again, it echoed, and these bothersome visits will stop. I shan’t let him trouble me.

  Knowing she looked messy and ridiculous with locks of hair falling in her face and the breeze blowing strands across her eyes, she ignored the embarrassment, dropped the knife and with one hand welcomed him.

  “Maman will be pleased to see you have come,” she said in as cheerful and unaffected voice as she could manage under the circumstances. “If you can wait a moment while I tie this back up, I will bring you in.”

  “Oh no, no! I beg you would not trouble yourself. My visit today can only irritate her for I cannot stay.” He looked at her closely, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “But in the light of what I just said, you will think me extremely foolhardy, but the temptation is irresistible. I must know: do you mean to tie up the roses or your hair?”

  She winced. Of course he would call attention to her unkempt appearance. Miss Tristam, she was certain, would never be found in such a state of disarray. Never mind, Holly, he will soon be gone . . .

  “Well, I see you had enough sense to wait until I had dropped the knife before provoking me.” She tried to smile playfully. “But considering that I am, with some difficulty, attempting to keep this branch from dropping onto my head, it is safe to assume that I am referring to the roses.”

  Lord Baugham leaned forward in his saddle.

  “I must confess I hoped as much. It seems quite as lovely as it ever could be just as it is. At least compared to the roses,” he hastily added.

  She gave him an arch look, but he only laughed. Then, after a slight pause, he impulsively descended from his horse and tied the reins loosely around the garden gate.

  “I think you have forgotten my resolution to also flatter you. If so, you are instantly forgiven since I find myself wondering if I have not caused it myself by some unfortunate remark yesterday.”

  She looked up with surprise in her eyes.

  “Oh, well,” he said while glancing back at his horse. “You left rather suddenly.”

  She averted her eyes, too. “Yes, I suppose I did.” There was a flicker of uncertainty on his face and she went on. “Please don’t think it had anything to do with you. I enjoyed myself very much yesterday. It was simply . . . I simply had to leave, that is all.”

  It was obvious that her words in no way went far enough to satisfy his curiosity, but he did look slightly more at ease for having been exonerated.

  “I understand,” he said. “I left very soon after as well. The Tristam’s very gracefully invited me to take supper with them, though I expect you heard . . . It was a good day and yet . . . ”

  “Yes,” she said dryly and turned to her roses again. “And yet.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said without really knowing why.

  She was struggling with the vines again and he watched her for a moment before he reached out and grabbed a particularly stubborn branch, swinging in the wind above her head and avoiding capture, As he held up the thorny stems and tried to keep them out of her face and hands, she quickly and tightly wound up the heavy vines. There were no words; she was putting great concentration into her efforts and he found he had to do the same. But as she turned and stepped back to assess their work and remove her gloves, her apron strings got caught in the thorns. Baugham looked at the strips of fabric tangled in the barren twigs and gently loosened them from their hold.

  “Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me,” he muttered and let them fall again behind her.

  She turned around quickly and looked at him. To her surprise he met her gaze and did not look away for a very long time. He seemed on the brink of saying something, but then hesitated.

  “Mrs Tournier,” he said instead and directed his gaze beyond her to the door of the house.

  Holly swallowed and looked behind her. Indeed, her mother had appeared at the door and stood watching them quietly. Holly could not quite read her mother’s mood from the look on her face, but she very quickly directed a smile at her and gave her hand for Lord Baugham to kiss.

  “Miss Tournier is correct,” Baugham said and gave a bow. “I must decline. Not only because of my impertinence, but also I am obligated to take tea with the Tri — with friends.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Mrs Tournier said dryly.

  “However,” Lord Baugham added almost immediately, “perhaps I might take the time for a quick cup to ward off any desperate need for refreshment I might otherwise experience far too soon, though it is more than I deserve under the circumstances.”

  “It is exactly what you deserve,” Mrs Tournier smiled narrowly. “Tea, Lie-lie?” she said.

  “In a moment, Maman. I’ll just finish up here first. You go ahead.”

  Mrs Tournier lingered a moment as did their guest, but since Holly began to look around for her sweep, neither of them had any choice but to walk inside.

  SITTING IN THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY that same afternoon, Dr McKenna was having a difficult time keeping his mind on the lecture notes he was preparing. The letter from Mrs Tournier had arrived at last ye
sterday and it contained the welcome news that Miss Tournier would be delighted to accept his offer. He stared ahead, feeling a curious sense of relief and not a little confusion over why it should be the case. He knew the prospect of finally publishing The Geological Formations and Features of the Scottish Countryside was only a small part of it, because up till now he had been content to bury himself in the halls of academia or lose himself in his treks of exploration and not concern himself overly with seeking recognition or, in fact, even completing what had become a years-long work in progress and somewhat of a joke among his colleagues.

  But suddenly, once he had seen Sir John Leslie’s finished work — the bound leather cover, the fine paper, the quality typesetting and the lovely, yet still clear and concise illustrations that added just the right level of professionalism, taste and beauty to the text — he was now very anxious to see his words and findings in print as well.

  Then his mind wandered back to that night in Sir John’s dining room, when he, Sir John and Miss Tournier talked and plotted and planned a way for her to find work, and further back to that evening at Rosefarm Cottage, in the kitchen, and how her face lit up when Sir John offered her his commission.

  McKenna smiled to himself. Miss Tournier needed the work, and he was anxious for his treatise to be at last completed. Once he was able to bring a few more aspects into line, he would make the journey to Clanough to settle the matter. She had appeared so sad and defeated upon leaving Edinburgh when he had last seen her . . . he decided that he would very much enjoy the opportunity to bring that light to her face once again.

  “I WAS TAUGHT BY PEOPLE who still believed in the ideals of the enlightened era, my lord. I was taught that natural sciences were the foundation on which the advancement of mankind — economic and social — as well as the welfare of the people was based. Only through knowledge of the world and resources around us can we build our wealth as a nation and as a people.”

  “And now it is all belligerent nationalist politics?”

  “Quite. Fine principles have deteriorated into a contest of arms and violent strength. I find that hard to bear sometimes. We no longer benefit from the finest minds of different nations competing and sharing their discoveries in an attempt at reaching the same goal. The furthering of knowledge for the betterment of mankind has given way to patriotism and the quest for power and riches, built on the ashes of foreign nations and the bodies of strange soldiers.”

  “Well, as a Cambridge man, steeped in the conviction that only study of the classics will carry mankind anywhere close to higher learning, I must accede that you are absolutely right. The limits set by conservative notions of education and faculties have most certainly damaged my respect for proper learning and application of knowledge. I have not honoured my Alma Mater with what I was given. I spent three dissipated years at University, took great delight in displaying my talents and none in applying them to anything that was not to my own advantage or amusement. I sometimes wonder if I should have done better at another discipline than mathematics, which was so disastrously designed to allow me to show off. But you see, nothing but Cambridge was to be considered. And philosophy makes me quite ill.”

  “If you ever have a son, my lord, I hope you will remember that.”

  Baugham laughed.

  “You should not be uneasy on that score, madam! My family has a grand tradition of filial disobedience. I have every confidence that any son of mine will stay well away from Oxbridge and take his learning as an attached apprentice of some sort. I should be very happy were he to consider anything as orthodox as natural sciences at Edinburgh.”

  “As much as I do not believe you mean one word of that, I would very much love to witness it. A noble Anglican son surrounded by all those nonconformists . . . ”

  Mrs Tournier looked at her friend when there was no response to her challenge. He was staring out the window and had quite obviously abandoned their discussion for the view of the garden.

  “Well?” she said impatiently.

  “She is there,” he said and then turned his head towards her and gave a sheepish smile. “I can see Miss Tournier in the garden these past fifteen minutes, ma’am.”

  “Really?” Mrs Tournier said and could not hide the acidity in her voice.

  “She seems not prepared to leave it, though,” his lordship continued. “The thought of tea must be very unattractive to her for some reason, for I cannot see that she is employed in anything useful. In fact, I suspect she is piddling.”

  Mrs Tournier stood up and joined him watching out the window.

  “My daughter likes her garden,” she said. “She apparently feels it is a more comfortable place at the moment than my parlour. However, she rarely piddles.”

  “Just today or as a rule?” his lordship asked softly.

  “Do your plans keep you in Scotland for much longer, my lord?” she abruptly asked the preoccupied young man staring out the window, but it made no impact.

  “No fixed plans,” he said distractedly before standing. “The wind is picking up. If you will excuse me, I think I should let Miss Tournier know that the tea is getting cold and you wish her to come in.”

  “You are ascribing protective maternal feelings to me that I make no claim to at present, my lord, and which would most certainly confuse my daughter,” she stated, but he was already on his way to the door, leaving Mrs Tournier to huff in irritation, and then to sit and wait in impatient agitation for their return.

  HE FOUND HER SITTING ON a rickety garden bench beneath what, under more favourable seasons, was a large apple tree but now was more like a tangle of ancient and lichen covered branches at impossible angles. She was twining wilted weeds between her fingers, deep in thought and if she heard him approach, she made no sign of it, looking steadfastly ahead out into the farther end of the garden where there was nothing but the same barrenness to be seen.

  “So,” Baugham said softly as he reached her, “here we are. You hiding out in the garden, braving the elements and me wondering how to execute your mother’s wishes and bring you in.”

  Holly turned at the sound of his voice, her expression curiously and uncharacteristically empty.

  “Please do not trouble yourself, my lord. I am not hiding; I am simply enjoying the solitude. I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself when I ought to come in from the cold, as my mother is well aware.”

  She pulled her eyes away and went back to staring at the emptiness in front of her.

  “Well, then,” he said, “let me confess a selfish motive. You really cannot deprive me of your presence while taking tea in your parlour, thinking I shall be content with the charming and excellent company of just one woman when I could have the pleasure of two. More especially since I was so helpful with some very thorny vines just now. I thought I was forgiven for whatever crime you will not concede I might have perpetrated yesterday?”

  She gave him a cold look. “And I thought you would have discharged your obligation to my mother and been happily on your way to the Tristam’s by now. Indeed, if charming company is what you look for above all else, my lord, I am very surprised that you stay. That is the one thing they can more than adequately provide you with and I cannot imagine why you would delay joining such ‘accommodating’ company only to come here to pine for it.”

  She was about to turn back to watch her bleak garden and wish him long gone, but the way he returned her cold gaze arrested her. He was looking at her so strangely she found herself unable to stop meeting his eyes. She should look away, make him realise she had no interest in continuing this game, but the way his blue eyes bore down on her made her stay still. Both stubbornness and fascination kept her just as she was.

  “The Tristams?” Baugham said incredulously and could not keep his voice from rising to a near shout. “The ‘charming’ Tristams! You imagine I pine for their company?”

  “Well you certainly seem to enjoy it well enough,” she said, believing herself to be calm, but in fact soundin
g quite sharp. “Supper yesterday and tea today. And since the flattering attentions you receive are obviously returned with equal measure, I can only wonder that you would forsake such fascinating company just to mingle with the hired help. Truly, my lord, such condescension is not necessary. I will complete your library without any need for flattery or further incentive.”

  “Miss Tournier! This habit of yours . . . ” he sputtered. “Why you insist on portraying yourself as a poor country lass of no consequence rather than the daughter of proud and noble heritage that you are — you know you are not merely ‘hired help’, and referring to yourself as such reeks of false modesty and misplaced humility.”

  “Modesty and humility,” Holly scoffed. “Two qualities that I am not surprised are unfamiliar enough to you that you cannot tell the genuine from the sham! In case you have forgotten, I am the hired help; I am a poor country lass of no consequence, whatever my father may once have been. You have no place in such company; truly, it only wastes your time as well as mine. Go conduct your business elsewhere, somewhere more profitable and pleasing to you. There is nothing here that is worth your time!”

  He met her blazing eyes with narrowed, cool ones.

  “Business? What business do you think I am in then, Miss Tournier? Do you suppose me to take pleasure in the company of one who simpers and blushes and flatters, scarcely having the ability to hide a predatory nature, or do you suppose I enjoy indulging in insincere flirtations with females to pass a boring afternoon?”

  She swiftly stood up and took a few steps away from him, instinctively wanting to distance herself from those ice-cold eyes. He spun around and closed in, just as instinctively denying her the safety. That menacing gesture strengthened her resolve and she dug her heels in. She concentrated hard on returning his direct and foreboding expression while he went on in a very tight and harsh voice.

  “It is by no means compulsory to have a sense of humour when aspiring to pretensions established by polite society. I can even comprehend why a woman of your character and situation would not place much value on fripperies and inane chatter. But I fail to see why you are intent on misconstruction every time I open my mouth. Pray, what is it about me that makes you feel so defensive and so anxious to show me my trespasses at every single turn?”