Gifford's Lady

by Claire Thornton

  'It was,' he said, remembering the mixture of claustrophobia and frustration he'd felt when he read it. 'I'd never considered such a mode of living before,' he continued slowly. 'The boredom I spoke of—we have our petty grievances in the navy—but the trivial point-lessness of the lives that book describes! How can such an existence be tolerable?' He couldn't quite keep the horror out of his voice.

  Abigail looked at him thoughtfully as she tried to understand his point.

  'I haven't read it yet,' she reminded him. 'But what is it you particularly objected to?'

  Gifford took a deep breath and thrust his hand through his hair, thinking about her question.

  'It was a woman's world,' he said at last. 'The men had no substance. Two of them were entirely dependent on the whims of their elderly female relatives— like Charles Johnson, I suppose.' He frowned. 'Even

  the men we were meant to view favourably were indecisive, ineffective—'

  'You think the author was too harsh towards your sex?' Abigail asked.

  'No, no.' Gifford started walking again. He was too restless to stand still. T said it was a woman's world. What I meant...was that we were shown the world through a woman's eyes. If that's what it's like to be a female, I can only thank God I was born a man.'

  Abigail blinked at his fervent declaration. 'What's wrong with being a woman?'

  'You have no choice. No genuine freedom of action. You must wait modestly to see if a man favours you. And if his conduct confuses you, you must appear unconscious and pretend indifference. Unendurable!'

  Abigail laughed.

  Gifford glared at her. He hadn't read a novel since he was fifteen years old. The characters and their situation had made a powerful impression on him, partly because of his own horror of becoming trapped into domesticity. He realised too late that a more sophisticated reader might find his fierce emotional response risible.

  He straightened his spine, unconsciously summoning a haughty demeanour to hide his discomfort. He knew exactly what he was about on the quarterdeck of the Unicorn—but it seemed the moribund respectability of Bath contained hazards he hadn't foreseen.

  'I'm sorry.' Abigail laid her hand apologetically on his arm. 'But you sounded so outraged! This can hardly be new information to you. You said yourself you'll be thirty-five in December.'

  Gifford looked down at her hand, still resting on his blue coat sleeve. She had reached out to him so naturally. He'd made her laugh, but she wasn't mocking him. His tense muscles relaxed into a lesser state of readiness.

  'I haven't spent more than a couple of months on shore at a stretch since I was sixteen,' he said stiffly. 'I have never given this matter any thought before.'

  He might not have thought about it now if he hadn't watched Abigail barricade herself into her bedchamber. She'd deliberately turned herself into a prisoner in her own room for the night. The implications of her action—that she clearly didn't feel safe in her home, yet she also didn't feel able to challenge the situation— appalled him. It reflected the relative helplessness of the female characters in the book he'd just read. And left him acutely aware of how little control Abigail had over the circumstances of her life.

  Gifford still had nightmares about his time as a prisoner on board the privateer. He wanted to ask Abigail how she could endure such powerlessness with such a good-humoured grace. But that wasn't an option. He wasn't supposed to show any particular interest in her.

  'I'm sure you have similar restraints on your behaviour at sea,' Abigail said. 'Don't you have to pretend indifference if a senior officer abuses you or blames you for something that wasn't your fault?'

  'Yes.' Gifford frowned. 'Don't you ever feel the urge to take your bonnet off and feel the breeze through your hair?'

  'Frequently,' said Abigail, taking him by surprise with her straightforward response.

  'But if you did, it would cause a scandal?'

  'It might excite comment,' Abigail acknowledged. She looked at him curiously. 'Why are you so unusually... animated... on this issue?'

  Gifford exhaled carefully. 'I'm not unusually animated,' he corrected her. 'You haven't known me long enough to be familiar with my usual manner. Would you be satisfied with a man worth two thousand pounds a year—or are you aiming higher?' He reverted to one of the themes in the book he'd just read.

  'I'm not aiming at all!' Abigail exclaimed, removing her hand from his arm and stepping back. 'Good heavens, sir!'

  'Why not?' Gifford asked bluntly. 'Surely running your own household would be better than running pointless errands to see who's new in town?'

  Abigail opened her mouth, then closed it again.

  'Miss Wyndham's claims upon me have certain boundaries,' she said at last, obviously picking her words with care. 'She is very kind, very generous to me. But if I was unhappy with my situation I could leave. I could seek an alternative position. That option is not so readily available in marriage. Besides, I have no fortune. I am not young. And I'm no great beauty. I haven't read much of your disturbing book.' She smiled at him, a definitely teasing gleam in her eyes. 'But I do remember that one of the characters claimed someone in my situation could only be desirable for my nursing or my housekeeping skills. If I'm going to be a housekeeper, I'd rather get paid for my labours.'

  Gifford stared at her. It occurred to him that, beneath her demure exterior, Miss Summers had some decidedly independent opinions of her own.

  'Do you like being a woman?' he asked. 'Wouldn't you rather be a man?'

  'That's a very arrogant question!' Abigail exclaimed. 'If women's lot is so undesirable, then surely it's men who have made it so? Why should I want to become one?'

  Gifford frowned. "The meek shall inherit the earth"? You claim the moral high ground of being the weaker party?'

  'This is a very odd conversation!' Abigail declared. 'I'm sure there are many gentlemen who believe women are devious and manipulative and have no sense of honour at all. That we aren't, in fact, weak, because we slyly influence events in our favour.'

  'You're not sly,' said Gifford. He was quite sure on that point.

  'I lack sufficient address. It's a defect in me,' Abigail said, straight-faced.

  'You don't believe that!' Gifford abruptly realised she was teasing him. He squared his shoulders. With the exception of Anthony, it was a long time since anyone had teased him. The position of captain was inevitably isolated, and Gifford had left the easy familiarity and joking of the wardroom behind him years ago.

  His visit to Bath was turning into quite an adventure—though not in the way Anthony had meant.

  Abigail glanced at the clock. 'I've stayed too long,' she said. Gifford thought he caught a hint of reluctance in her voice, but he couldn't be sure.

  'I'll walk back with you.'

  Abigail didn't protest at his suggestion. 'Is Mr Hill enjoying his visit to Bath?' she enquired, as they turned towards the entrance.

  'I think so. He has been on several sketching expeditions around the local countryside. But he seems to be deriving most enjoyment from encouraging Admiral Pullen to tell him about some of my more misjudged youthful exploits,' Gifford said ruefully.

  'Did you serve with the admiral long?' Abigail enquired.

  'For several years, on two different ships,' Gifford replied. 'As fourth lieutenant and later, on a different ship, as first lieutenant. He specifically asked for me to serve with him. I learnt more from him than any other officer.'

  'He's a very kind man,' said Abigail.

  'In appropriate circumstances,' Gifford replied.

  He thought of the men who had died because of the orders Pullen had given during his long career. He thought of the men who had died as a result of his own orders. Such losses were an inevitable part of warfare—but Gifford never forgot the price that other men had paid for his decisions.

  He abruptly realised Abigail had stopped beside a trio of three older ladies, and forced himself to pay attention to her introductions.

  * * *
r />   Abigail had been hoping to avoid the need to introduce Raven to anyone but, as soon as she saw Mrs Lavenham and her friends, she knew that wouldn't be possible. She made the best of the situation, keeping her tone light and relatively impersonal. '

  'It is such a pleasure to meet you, Sir Gifford,' Mrs Lavenham exclaimed. 'We have read all about your daring exploits in the Gazette.'

  'Will you be going to sea again soon?' Mrs Hendon enquired.

  'Have you known Miss Summers long?' Miss Clarke asked.

  'My son, Edward, is a lieutenant in the navy,' said Mrs Hendon.

  'The two of you seem to be very well acquainted,' Miss Clarke said archly. 'I'm sure you must have known each other some time.'

  'He's in daily expectation of being commissioned in a seventy-four,' said Mrs Hendon. 'He wrote requesting a position several weeks ago.'

  Abigail risked a quick glance at Raven, then had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing aloud at his wooden expression. It appeared the gallant captain was more at home piloting his ship through a hurricane than dealing with so much feminine effusion.

  'Captain Raven is an old friend of Admiral Pullen,' she explained. 'The admiral asked me to introduce him to Bath.'

  'Admiral Pullen is a charming gentleman,' said Mrs Lavenham majestically. 'I believe you served with him, Captain?'

  'Yes, I did,' Raven said briefly.

  'But Edward's greatest ambition would be to serve with you, Sir Gifford,' said Mrs Hendon eagerly. 'He has often told me how much he admires you. Are you going to sea again soon, Captain?'

  'Not immediately,' said Raven.

  'Then you'll be spending some time in Bath?' Miss Clarke's bright eyes flashed curiously between Abigail and Raven.

  'Several weeks,' said Raven non-committally.

  'But there are so few public attractions here at this Season,' Miss Clarke protested. 'For a man such as yourself, in the very prime of life. But perhaps...' she smiled, throwing a meaningful glance at Abigail '...there are private attractions to hold you here.'

  'I will ask my husband to call upon you, Sir Gifford,' Mrs Lavenham announced. 'We would be honoured by your presence at an informal dinner party we are holding on Friday.'

  'I'm obliged,' said Raven curtly.

  Abigail's heart beat fast with anxiety. She was mortified by Miss Clarke's vulgar insinuations, but she also sensed Raven's growing impatience with the three women. She'd never seen him lose his temper, but he might easily be provoked into saying something she'd regret—since she would be the one who would later have to listen to the ladies' voluble opinion of him.

  'I believe you are due to meet the admiral and your cousin very shortly,' she said, looking enquiringly at Raven.

  To her relief he picked up her cue without a blink. 'Indeed I am,' he exclaimed, with uncharacteristic heartiness. 'Ladies, my apologies for leaving you so

  precipitately, but I hate to be late for an appointment. Miss Summers, may I escort you part of the way?'

  Abigail was torn. She didn't want to be left in the clutches of three of the worst gossips in Bath. On the other hand, if she left with Raven she would give them even more to talk about.

  'Thank you, Captain.' She smiled a polite dismissal. 'But I know you don't want to keep the admiral waiting, and I'm afraid I simply can't walk very fast in this heat. Please give my compliments to the admiral and Mr Hill.'

  'Of course.' He bowed to all four women and strode out of the Pump Room.

  'What abrupt manners,' said Mrs Lavenham disparagingly. 'The man may be a hero at sea, but he lacks polish when speaking to ladies.'

  'He has a very fine figure,' said Miss Clarke, her gaze lingering on his disappearing back. 'He would look quite spectacular in uniform. And his eye-patch! So deliciously shocking. I could hardly catch my breath when he turned his commanding gaze upon me.'

  'Edward has been on half-pay for months,' said Mrs Hendon despairingly. 'Has the Captain not said anything to you about returning to sea, Miss Summers?'

  All three women turned and fixed their attention on Abigail.

  'No, he hasn't,' she said calmly, wondering if this was how it felt to face a firing squad.

  'Well, he was certainly very forceful when he was speaking to you earlier,' said Miss Clarke, her inquisitive smile setting Abigail's teeth on edge. 'The two of you seemed quite in a world of your own.'

  'Bladud,' said Abigail, fixing on the first unexceptional fact about Bath that came to her mind. 'I was telling him about the legend of Bladud.'

  'Who's Bladud?' asked Mrs Hendon. Her interests were entirely contemporary and revolved around the careers of her three sons.

  'A leper.' Miss Clarke looked at Abigail in horror. 'You told Sir Gifford about a leper?'

  'He was also the son of a king,' said Mrs Lavenham austerely. 'And the founder of our city. Had the waters not cured Bladud, we would not be standing here today. No doubt Sir Gifford's travels have given him an interest in curiosities and antiquities.'

  'He seems to be a very well-informed man,' said Abigail cautiously, wary of making too large a claim on Raven's behalf.

  'He's a very odd sort of man to speak so urgently about an ancient legend,' said Miss Clarke suspiciously. 'I'm sure you are teasing us, Miss Summers. And what a coincidence—that he should take lodgings directly across the street from you.'

  'Isn't it?' said Abigail. 'Please excuse me, ladies. Miss Wyndham will be expecting me.'

  'I understand her nephew is visiting,' said Mrs Lavenham. 'A great comfort to her, I'm sure.'

  'Yes, indeed,' said Abigail, smiling brightly. 'Goodbye, ladies.'

  She hurried out of the Pump Room and didn't even begin to relax until she was halfway up Union Street.

  She hoped that Raven had been too overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions and comments to notice Miss Clarke's hateful insinuations. Of all the people

  'No. Thank you,' Gifford replied, aware that Anthony was getting restive at the interruption to his evening's entertainment.

  Anthony truly appreciated music. When he went to a concert or the opera he went to listen to the performance—not to socialise with his friends. Gifford enjoyed music, but he lacked Anthony's ability to concentrate on a lengthy piece. After ten or fifteen minutes he'd grow restless, eager to be up and doing again.

  'A true test of your patience,' Anthony murmured a little while later, during a brief silence between the first and second movements of a piece. 'To sit in the dark with nothing to do but eat and listen to Mozart.'

  'I could eat elsewhere,' Gifford replied. 'Is she good?' he asked abruptly. His ears told him that she was, but he didn't trust his expertise in this field.

  'Yes,' said Anthony simply. 'There's an occasional technical hesitancy which would be out of place in the concert hall—but her interpretation of the music is exceptional.'

  Anthony's praise pleased Gifford, which he considered ridiculous. He had no proprietary interest in Miss Summers. It was a matter of indifference to him whether she played like an angel or with all the sensitivity of a crow.

  From his experience that morning, Bath seemed to be full of vultures, beady-eyed crones who picked and harried anyone unfortunate enough to enter their territory. He'd been only too glad to escape their clutches, though he'd felt guilty at leaving Abigail alone with them. But she'd seemed capable of looking after herself, and he had given her the opportunity to leave with

  him. It wasn't his fault she'd chosen to stay with the vultures.

  He closed his eyes and listened to her play. He'd never thought of her as a musician—but her performance was full of fire and tender subtlety. He tried to imagine her emotions as she brought the music to life, and for once his attention didn't wander after the first few minutes.

  Chapter Four

  Gifford jerked awake to the sound of a woman's scream.

  It took him three seconds to place himself. Not in the captain's cabin on the Unicorn. Not a prisoner on board the privateer. He was in Bath.

  A
bigail.

  He leapt from his bed, instinctively diving for the window. There was nothing to see. Abigail's curtains were drawn and no sound came from her room.

  Gifford wrenched open his bedroom door and raced downstairs. A few moments later he was across the street and pounding on the front door of Miss Wyndham's house opposite.

  After beating ferociously against the wooden panelling, he stepped back, impatiently scanning the dark house front to see if there was any way he could climb up to the second-floor window.

  His feet were bare, he wore nothing but a pair of breeches. Since he couldn't tolerate the airless heat of his room with the curtains drawn, he'd taken to sleeping in the minimum of clothing—to make absolutely sure he never offended Abigail's modesty in future.

  'Miss Summers! Miss Summers!' He heard a woman's muffled voice crying and shouting from inside the house.

  Then he heard a crash and a thump and another scream.

  He hammered on the front door again, then backed off with the intention of breaking it in. He was aware that Anthony had appeared beside him, but he didn't take the time to acknowledge him. He could always count on Anthony for support.

  The door opened and he pushed inside. He noted the sketchily dressed footman in passing, but knew Anthony could deal with him if necessary.

  'Abigail?' he roared, taking the stairs three at a time. 'Abigail?'

  Apart from the footman's candle, it was dark in the hall and the stairwell. Gifford had to guess the layout of the house. He was on his way up to the second floor when he heard Abigail's voice coming from a room on the first floor.

  He spun on the ball of his foot and sprang like a panther down the five feet or more back to the first floor landing.

  'Abigail?'

  'I'm here.'

  He followed the sound of her voice. When he turned the corner of the landing he saw an open door with light flooding out.

  He strode inside—and stopped dead.

  There were several lanterns placed around the room. He paused for several heartbeats as his eyes adjusted to the light and his mind adjusted to the unexpected

  sight confronting him. He'd pictured scenes of rape, but he was the only man present until Anthony and the footman came to peer over his shoulder.