by Gail McEwen
“Oh, well,” she looked down, “it is nearly finished. The library, that is.” She raised her eyes and found his fixed upon her intently.
“I am rather surprised,” there was a slight gruffness in his voice, “that you did not come then. I expect that you will be glad to be done with . . . the job.”
“You had something to discuss with me, my lord?” she asked as the hand unconsciously crept up again.
Baugham pulled his eyes away and offered his arm instead.
“Allow me to escort you home, if I may. Tea sounds delightful.”
HE TOLD HIMSELF THAT HE was neither surprised nor offended when she did not take his arm, but rather clutched her bundle of mail close to her chest and walked ahead after a brief nod. Tossing a coin to Tommy to see to his horse, he followed her in silence. Finally the little house was before them, its walls and features exposed since all the protective vegetation had been stripped of its leaves. Miss Tournier accompanied him to the parlour, placed the letters on the spinet, then excused herself to help Mrs Higgins with the tea. The fire quite obviously had just been fed and Mrs Tournier was sitting in a deep chair, strategically placed as near the hearth as was safe, with a book in hand.
“Madam!” Baugham greeted her. “This cottage is always a haven, but I find on this day it is a positive sanctuary!”
His hostess smiled at him and quite willingly lowered her book. She eyed his wet appearance and gestured to another deep chair by the wall.
“I think you had better follow my example, my lord, and let this most extravagant fire of ours do the trick.”
He thanked her and did as he was bid. As he sank down with a sigh he sent her a mischievous look.
“It just so happens, madam, I cut down a tree yesterday that would fit this particular hearth most splendidly. If you can forego another dinner of game, I thought I might show my friendship through firewood instead.”
“Wood would be much appreciated; frankly, more so than grouse. I have seldom looked forward to the pheasant season more than this year . . . ”
Baugham chuckled and settled his long legs to rest on the fender.
“Very nice and quiet here these days,” he commented after a while since his hostess seemed to feel familiar enough in his company not to force any conversation. “I find myself strangely reluctant to leave Scotland, whatever the joyful reasons surrounding the departure.”
“Hmph . . . ” Mrs Tournier said enigmatically.
“Oh, and you must promise to not cause trouble for me with Mr Darcy and ultimately with Miss Bennet. He swore me to ensure your safe and expedient departure to Longbourn on Miss Bennet’s behalf. You know, I would not want to be on the receiving end of displeasure with this particular bride-to-be. She has a very formidable champion in her future husband.”
“Have no fear,” Mrs Tournier smiled, “arrangements have been made. We are leaving on Wednesday next.”
“Excellent! The roads are torture at this time of year, of course, but I will forever be in your debt if you would lie to Mr Darcy and claim I took care of that, too.”
Mrs Tournier gave him a searching look. There was something desperately cheerful about him. Restlessness coupled with affectation. “And you?” she said quietly.
Baugham smiled and for a moment a calmer, truer man flickered through. “Well . . . I must leave. Soon. But,” the desperate cheer returned, “knowing that you are in good hands, now I may do so in good conscience.”
“In good hands?” she turned and looked at him intently. “And whose hands might those be, my lord?”
“Ah . . . well, Dr McKenna. He is a gentlemanly sort, and I know your daughter is grateful for the employment.”
“As well as the friendship,” she said with a curious smile.
“Yes, of course. The friendship. Quite right,” he said. “It is only right they should become friends. Quite.”
“Hmph . . . ” Mrs Tournier repeated. Thankfully he was saved from further contemplation by the entrance of Miss Tournier and Mrs Higgins and a fully-laden tray. The little ceremony with the arrival of the tea was then conducted in silence and reverence. Miss Tournier poured out, first for her mother, then his lordship, who got up to receive it from her hands, and then she sat back down in the deep chair focusing on her own cup.
His lordship eyed her with complaisance. This sort of quiet domesticity, although surely rarely as deceptively calm and ordinary as it appeared in this house right now, made him feel strangely quiet.
“So, Lie-lie,” Mrs Tournier’s voice broke the silence, “it rather amazes me that you came across anyone as foolhardy as yourself on your foolish outing today. What brings you out on such a day, my lord?”
Immediately his eyes sought out Miss Tournier’s and they both burst into laughter.
“The same thing that brings your daughter out, apparently,” he grinned. “A truant, restless disposition.”
“A callous disregard and lack of respect for the season, more likely,” Mrs Tournier mumbled.
The laughter, the fire, the tea and — yes, she must admit to herself — the company, all joined to dissolve the remnants of her discomfort and she relaxed back into her chair with a smile.
“I believe it was more like a steadfast resolution, Maman.” She turned to Lord Baugham, “I rather like those words my lord, yes . . . I shall have to remember that phrase the next time I am accused of being foolhardy or unreasonable.” Her smile broadened, “Or, I should say, ‘in the unlikely event that I would ever be accused of being stubborn or unreasonable’? For I think I am always reasonable . . . though not everyone will see it.”
“Well, in that highly unlikely event,” he said, his eyes twinkling dangerously as he glanced at her over his tea cup, “I think you’d do best to remind any accuser that such doubts could make you ‘stark mad or wonderfully froward’. Either way, I think you will be allowed to keep your steadfast resolution well enough.”
She twinkled back at him.
“Oh, yes . . . I can see clearly how such a reminder would advance my cause. There is nothing that can attest to my rationality more than the threat of becoming irrational if I am crossed. Now that I think of it though, I may have tried just that same tactic once or twice before as a little girl. You can imagine how well it worked with my mother.”
Mrs Tournier huffed, but she was still quiet, for some reason being content with remaining a spectator in this sport
Holly could not help herself. She was home, warm and mostly dry, comfortable and enjoying his company. It would likely be different tomorrow, or tonight, or five minutes from now. But right now . . . she would be content with right now.
“However, since you are now undoubtedly convinced that I am always sensible, I would be happy to give you my opinion on whatever ‘steadfast resolution’ has brought you out on such a day as this.”
He gave a mischievous smile. “Yes, I know you well enough to be convinced of that.”
He put down his tea cup and leaned slightly forward. “It concerns Hamish. He is a good lad and I could not help but notice that Mrs Tournier’s estimation of his talents and character was very apt. However, as you say, the work at Clyne will soon be finished, and I will be leaving myself, and as much as I would like, I cannot keep him on for the purpose he has so far been engaged. However, I do feel he should somehow be helped to pursue his obvious talents. I was wondering whether you had any ideas?”
Holly’s expression grew more serious as she mirrored Lord Baugham’s posture and leaned forward toward him in thought.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that for all the thinking and wondering I have done on that same subject, I am at a loss. As long as he is with his family — his father in particular — there is not much that can be done for him. What if . . . ” Her brow wrinkled in concentration, “what if we found him some sort of position or apprenticeship here in Clanough? But I’m just so afraid . . . he could be so much more! No,” she looked at him boldly, “he needs to go away to school, my lord. An
d he needs friends that will help him to do so.”
Baugham wrinkled his brow mirroring her very serious expression and nodded slowly while he tapped his finger on his pursed lips.
“Quite . . . ” he seriously said. “And yet . . . I’m afraid . . . the costs . . . ”
She looked at him anxiously, but also narrowing her eyes. Suddenly he could control his expression no more and broke out into a wicked grin.
“Well, I would say the boy is singularly well-provided for then! If you can provide the school, I can provide the help and I dare say we can persuade Mrs Tournier to help us with the friends-bit.”
Mrs Tournier looked at him under her eyebrows.
“With such benefactors as the two of you, how could I fail him?”
Holly leaned back with a satisfied expression on her face. “That’s very good, Maman, because I am afraid it is going to fall to you to convince Mr Nethery to let him go.
“I know of several very good schools — I will begin writing inquiries tomorrow.” She turned grateful eyes upon Lord Baugham. “Thank you, my lord. Such an opportunity will mean the world to a boy like him. Thank you indeed.”
He smiled back at her and reflected how good it felt to have her look upon him with such a look. Not angry, not disappointed and not weary. At this moment he held out a hope that they could perhaps truly be friends again. He wondered if she wanted that too. Could she perhaps see it in his eyes as they lingered holding hers? How much he wanted to put past mistakes and stupid impulsive behaviours behind them?
“Well, I would like to view this as an opportunity for the world as well. He is a very talented and clever boy and he will go far and be a benefit to his country, I am certain. Unless the high seas and the footsteps of Captain Bob irrevocably claim him first, that is.”
He was speaking, she could hear him . . . something about Hamish and the high seas. But she could not pull her eyes away from his — his expression drew her in and she returned his look, wondering what he was thinking and not realising how much time had passed until her mother not so discreetly cleared her throat.
“Lie-lie! My cup is empty.”
Holly jumped up and gathered all the cups, carrying them back to the tea tray. Mrs Tournier slowly rubbed her hands together as if for warmth.
“Lord Baugham, would you be so kind as to throw some wood on the fire?
Baugham thoughtfully stoked the fire. When he was finished, he turned around and saw Mrs Tournier still watching him. He stood up and threw a glance at her daughter, still busy with piling the delicate china on top of one another and he could hear the gentle clinking of the spoons against saucers.
“Well, I must say it is a great comfort to have Hamish’s future taken care of and to be able to lay his fate in your capable and caring hands. That does make my other steadfast resolution easier to execute.”
He was aware of Miss Tournier interrupting her chores and turning around.
“Had enough of what Scotland can offer you in the way of blizzards, sleet and fog at this season, have you?” Mrs Tournier said with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
Baugham returned the smile graciously enough, but Miss Tournier’s face did not change. She wore a small frown now and was obviously waiting for more explanation.
“Yes, I’m leaving,” he said and then realised he had not quite meant to be so abrupt. “That is to say, I cannot put off my promise to join Mr Darcy in London any longer. I understand Mr Bingley is quite anxious for Mr Darcy, and thus me as well, to join him at Netherfield. Apparently he finds spending time with his bride-to-be is being burdened by the bride’s family.”
Mrs Tournier gave a short laugh. “From what I hear, Mr Bingley is a most affable man.”
“Yes he is. Which makes me think Mr Darcy’s sole companionship is not going to be of as much assistance as he might wish.”
Baugham threw Miss Tournier a glance again. Still she said nothing.
“My man informs me that I will be ready to travel the day after tomorrow,” he went on. “But, of course, once you arrive I shall be very happy to see you both again.”
Mrs Tournier and his lordship exchanged a smile and when he tried to include the daughter in it, he found that she had once more turned her back and the spoons were again being gathered and the saucers piled on top of one another.
Suddenly the air was filled with the goodbyes he had said and the distance he was already busy putting between them. It was time to go. He kissed Mrs Tournier’s hand, who assured him she would be very happy to rescue him from any duties that were placed upon him by his insensitive friends. Then he stood and walked over to Miss Tournier, who was now holding the tea tray and effectively blocking him from performing the same goodbye to her.
“Of course, if you have plans to visit Clyne tomorrow, this is not our final farewell.”
She nodded and shifted the tray closer to herself. Since she said no more, Baugham found he had no choice but to find his hat and, with a bow, simply leave her by wishing her a good evening.
Chapter 28
Where Some Move Away and Some Move Forward and Yet Some Wonder about Directions in General
A restless night and a fanciful notion of nostalgia made Lord Baugham spend the next day in the saddle. He rode across his small estate and beyond as if saying goodbye to the hills and fells and the river, all the while puzzling over his purpose at staying on for so long after so much had gone so wrong. In ordinary circumstances he would have left ages ago. Probably soon after Darcy had gone, and certainly right away upon receipt of his letter. He really did not know what made him stay. Heaven knew he had obligations elsewhere that he should not have so long delayed, but for some strange reason he felt a force that held him to Clyne, even now, stronger than the one that pulled him away.
As if testing that force he stayed out until the early dusk of a grey winter day crept over the fields and in through the woods. He then turned back and realised as he saw the lighted windows of Clyne from a distance that the pull was still there as strong as ever, even though his plans were fixed and he was most assuredly leaving in the morning. He left his horse in the stable and as he walked around the house, it was already growing darker.
Strolling by a window, he paused as he realised he was just outside the library. The room was lighted and shadows moved across the window. He approached and could clearly see Miss Tournier walking back and forth with a few books in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, apparently immersed in her work. An odd stabbing feeling caught him in his stomach — there she was, in his house, busily working, and he was outside in the dark watching her while she had no idea she was being observed. That was a poignant thought he did not wish to dwell on further, but it did drive him into the house and straight to the library after he had changed his clothes and given himself a few stern comments on his folly and the courtesy and reassurance he owed the lady downstairs.
HOLLY LOOKED AROUND HER WITH a bittersweet feeling. She and Hamish had methodically worked their way around the room for so long and now they were just ready to shelve the last book. She held it out to the boy, “I would be pleased if you would do the honour, sir.”
Hamish grinned and took the book from her. He struggled within himself for a moment, knowing that the honour should really be Miss Tournier’s, yet very pleased and proud that she would turn it over to him. He glanced up at her with a questioning look that competed with barely concealed pride and excitement. She smiled.
“Hamish, you have been a fine assistant. All of this is as much your accomplishment as it is mine; I could not have done it without you. Please . . . it will make me very happy indeed if you were to have the privilege of shelving this last book.”
Hamish thought he would do anything to make Miss Tournier happy. He looked around with the same mixed emotions as she was feeling. It had been very hard work, no doubt about that, but he had loved every minute of it — well . . . almost every minute. His lessons, his time with Miss Tournier and Lord Baugham, w
ho both taught him by word and example how to be a better person. All these books . . .
Dashing away the tears that threatened to fall with the back of his hand, Hamish felt he was not ready to have it all end quite yet.
“Miss, do ye nae think his lairdship should be here for the last?”
“Oh, he is probably much too busy to come . . . ” Holly began, but when she saw the boy’s face fall, she relented. “But it doesn’t hurt to try, does it? Why don’t you go and knock on his study door and invite him?”
Hamish clutched the volume against his chest, nodded and walked carefully out of the library to gain admittance to his lordship’s study. He knocked on the door once with no answer and then boldly tried a little harder. There was still no answer. He looked down at the book against his chest and contemplated his options. This seemed to be a very important moment somehow and he wanted to be absolutely certain.
He made one last attempt at producing a knock that would have roused any peers sleeping behind the door, but still there was no sound. He sighed and admitted defeat. As he did so he heard soft footsteps in the hall behind him and, turning around, saw Riemann crossing the hall to mount the stairs. Now, Mr Riemann was an enigma to young Hamish. Besides being a quiet man — he did not think he had ever exchanged one word with him for all the time they had spent in the same house — he was obviously a foreigner and that was a fact that should put anyone on their guard these days. Especially one aspiring to be ready for any adventure and challenge to his bravery and the defence of the honour and security of the realm as Hamish was. But suspicious and mysterious men were always to be confronted bravely, he had learned, and so he raised his voice and asked the valet where his Master was.
“I believe his lordship has just come in,” was the quiet answer and there was no opportunity for further inquiry before he slipped away again.
