“How dare you! You don’t know me. You’ve no reason to make such a filthy accusation.”
“Look at yourself,” she sneered. “Unless he was out of his mind with drink, as Colin was, no man of means would marry the likes of you. Poor lamb, he was led to the slaughter by a set of long eyelashes and a bottle of rum. Soon you’ll be pregnant, I’ve no doubt, and he’ll never be able to free himself from you. But until then, mind where you tread in this house. If Abraham discovers any reason to be dissatisfied with Colin’s marriage, he’s perfectly capable of finding a way to rid his son of unwanted baggage like you. Our father-in-law, in spite of the benevolent, charming façade he can so quickly and convincingly conjure, is as dangerous and ruthless as he is rich and powerful.”
She turned and swept into the room behind her.
Enraged to immobility, I could only stare at the closed door behind which she had vanished, my breath coming in shallow gasps. At length I moved on.
Alone inside Colin’s room, I shut the door, leaned back against the closed panel, shut my eyes, and let the tears trickle from beneath my closed lids. Darcy, Darcy, why did you have to die? Why did everything have to go so wrong? Caroline’s brutal accusations had been like a whiplash across my tightly strung emotions, cracking open all the pain of the past twenty-four hours, pain I’d managed to keep contained until that moment.
With an effort, I regained my self control. Drying my eyes with the backs of my hands, I re-evaluated my position. Life had never been easy for me. I’d always had to struggle to survive. Caroline’s insults and Captain Madison’s blackmail could never hurt me as deeply as that awful day in the overseer’s cottage.
On the positive side, I had a young husband who had all of Darcy’s attributes of good looks, intelligence, and kindliness. My new home was an elegant mansion within which I had never in my wildest dreams imagined myself as being anything other than a scullery maid. I could cope, I told myself, and squared my shoulders.
My future decided, I began to wander about my husband’s room. It was as though I were seeing it for the first time. The previous night I had been exhausted and inebriated. In the morning, before breakfast, excitement and trepidations had dulled my interest in its contents.
Large, clean, and fresh-smelling, the room was centered by the wide, high-posted bed where we had slept, its tall polished headboard against a wall between two long, narrow windows. Since we had arisen it had been made up with fresh linen and the burgundy velvet cover that matched the draperies on the windows. A thick maroon-and-tan rug covered the center of a polished hardwood floor.
The rest of the room’s mahogany furniture consisted of a dressing table, a magnificent armoire, a settee covered with maroon velvet, a rocking chair, a full-length cheval mirror, and, in one corner, a finely carved desk with bookshelves above it reaching to the room’s lofty ceiling. Remembering Darcy’s axiom “a man is what he reads,” I went to the latter.
Finely bound volumes of various sizes filled the shelves. The surface of the escritoire beneath was littered with papers. The only part of the room left unscathed by the maids’ industrious cleaning, it appeared to be a very personal area Colin allowed no one but himself to disturb.
Curious to learn more about my husband, I moved to the writing table. A framed sketch of a beautiful blond woman in one corner immediately drew my attention. Fragile and elegant, she looked the epitome of what a refined lady should be. Was she someone important to Colin?
I looked at the scattered papers. They were covered with musical notes and words in a language I did not understand.
I turned my attention to the books on the shelves above the desk. Many were in a foreign language I suspected might be the same as that on the papers of my husband’s escritoire. Learning about the man I had married would be a challenging experience.
At noon, as I sat curled up on the settee reading one of Colin’s few English books, Marie came to fetch me for lunch.
“You’ll be eating alone with Monsieur Randall, madam,” she said. “The others are otherwise engaged. Except for Madame Ida. She is confined to her room with a sharp bit of indigestion and does not wish to be disturbed.”
****
As I entered the dining room, Randall Douglas stood and smiled.
“Good afternoon, Starr,” he said. “Join me in a glass of sherry, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course, sir.” I took the chair he drew out and accepted the delicate crystal glass.
“To my lovely new sister-in-law,” he toasted me. He took a long drink, then sat down opposite me, the decanter of wine close to his right hand.
“Mr. Douglas, why didn’t you tell what you knew about me at breakfast?” I could not prevent myself from asking. “Why didn’t you say you’d seen me in Captain Madison’s cabin?”
“Why should I?” He shrugged. “You and Colin have obviously found each other. And before Barret took me to his cabin to examine you, he told me that you were only a child who could not bear the hold, that there was nothing between you and him. Barret’s an honest man. I have no reason not to believe him. In fact, I had nothing to gain by telling stories…and much to lose.”
“To lose?”
“Although I assure you, I’m trained as a doctor, my father prefers I don’t practice medicine,” he replied. “He wants me to concentrate on my other field of expertise, which is the law, politics in particular. He wouldn’t be pleased to hear I’ve been acting as a medical examiner. I’m supposed to be the family politician, not to mention procreator of the dynasty. However”—and here he gave a sigh of relief—“now that Colin’s married, some of the latter obligation will be relieved, thank God.”
He looked over at me and smiled. A hot blush flooded up my cheeks, and he hastened to continue, “But enough of me. Tell me, how have you enjoyed your first morning in Peacock House? Have you seen it all?”
“No,” I said, relaxing in his friendly, candid company. “I spent the morning reading in Colin’s room.”
“What! You mean you’ve seen nothing of this monument to free enterprise?” I caught the sarcasm in his tone. “We’ll remedy that directly after luncheon. Since Colin is busy, I’ll show you around the mansion and grounds this very afternoon.”
“Surely you’re also involved with the family business. Are you certain you have time?”
“As I’ve said, I’m the politician in the family.” He poured himself another glass of wine. “Tomorrow I’m off to the provincial capital to try to further my father’s interest through the province’s House of Assembly, in which I hold this region’s seat. Today I’m supposed to be with my wife, enjoying all the intimacy of a passionate farewell, but”—he raised a hand in mock resignation—“as you can see, my loving spouse has chosen to absent herself from my attentions. I’m therefore free and would enjoy giving a guided tour of the house and grounds to my beautiful new sister. And by the way, my name is Randall, not Mr. Douglas, and most definitely not Sir.”
A maid brought our luncheon. As I looked over the sumptuous fare, I realized I was hungry. Recovered from my hangover and put at ease by my husband’s kindly brother, I knew I could do this meal the justice I had not been able to afford breakfast.
“Try the salmon,” Randall urged, indicating an attractively prepared, pink-fleshed fish on a silver salver. “It’s from the river, one of the finest salmon streams in the world. Pour this sauce over it. It’s Cook’s specialty. Take some small potatoes. They’re fresh from our garden, the first of this year’s crop. And save space for dessert. Cook’s strawberry tarts with cream are a delight.”
Urged by Randall and a sudden, raging hunger, I set upon the fish, vegetables, and sweets with full enjoyment. Only when Randall arose to pour my coffee as I was eating a cream-topped tart did I realize I had neglected many of the table manners I had studied during my days at Blackwell Hall.
Embarrassed, I looked up at my brother-in-law. “I’m sorry. You must think me a hopeless barbarian.”
“On the co
ntrary.” He smiled, pouring my coffee. “It’s been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of watching a member of this family genuinely enjoy a meal at this table.”
His smile faded as he put down the coffee urn and took my hand. “Be good to Colin, Starr,” he said. “In spite of all this opulence, he’s not had an easy life. Our father brought us up to be able to shoulder all aspects of his enterprises, from laborer to businessman. He never believed in sparing the rod or spoiling the child. But you’ve probably guessed as much already.” He leaned back in his chair before he continued. “Colin and I are hardly built like pampered gentlemen. In our father’s lumber camps, we developed muscles like great apes, and the accompanying strength. To this day, whenever he thinks he sees an ounce of fat or flabbiness on either of us, he ships us out to the bush to rebuild. But it’s spiritually and emotionally that Colin and I have been most severely battered. You’ll soon come to understand what I mean. I’ve resolved myself to my lot and found compensations, but Colin deserves better. See that he gets it, Starr.”
****
That afternoon, on Randall’s arm, I received a guided tour of the magnificent estate that had become my home. I also formed a deep and lasting affection for the unhappy, compassionate man who was my husband’s older brother.
At four p.m. Randall left me outside Colin’s bedroom door. He had a meeting with his father, he said as we parted company.
Until I returned to Colin’s room that afternoon I had not been aware it was located directly over his father’s office. Through a grate in the floor that allowed the passage of heat from the fireplace in the room below in colder seasons, I heard voices, Randall’s and my father-in-law’s. Although I told myself eavesdropping was wrong, I found myself drawn to listen.
“Now that you’ve had an opportunity to peruse my plans, you must begin to chart a course for bringing about their implementation in Fredericton,” Abraham was saying. “It’s imperative you waste no time in haggling or diplomacy. Those grants and loans must be approved at once. As for the mail contract, Barret’s January voyage from Halifax to London with the Maris Stella will be all the proof we’ll need of our ability to provide fast, dependable service.”
“Father, the mail contract is impossible for Douglas and Sons to secure, no matter how well Barret and his ship perform.” Randall’s voice replied. “The Trans-Atlantic agreement will go to a steamship company, not a firm that deals in windjammers. The days of wooden sailing ships are numbered. Iron vessels powered by coal are more dependable. Steam ships and steam railways are bringing an end to the era when wood, wind, and water ruled the commerce of the world. You’d be wise to consider investing in these modern means of transport. And you must realize Barret will never agree to attempt what amounts to a suicide January run on the heels of your forcing him to carry that cargo of immigrants.”
“Damn Barret Madison!” the older man exploded. “He’s an employee. He’ll do as I say or suffer the consequences. As for these steam conveyances, show me any iron tub that can outdistance the Maris Stella in a good wind.”
“In a good wind, yes,” Randall replied. “But how often are she and her sisters becalmed for days? Cargoes spoil and food and water run out during those lost hours. Steam is independent of the caprices of nature. Set Barret to the task of becoming a steamship captain, and you’ll have a winning combination. He’s clever and resourceful. He would do you proud.”
“I own this valley, and I always will,” Abraham said, regaining his self-control. “I’m king here. I won’t be dethroned by a puff of smoke. I have friends in the British Parliament who’ll guarantee my loans until this current fascination with iron boats and tin trains has passed.”
“I wouldn’t depend on money from Britain,” Randall said. “Their Parliament has adopted the ‘little England’ policy, which means they’ve decided to reduce their financial responsibilities to the colonies. It’s becoming too costly for them to continue pouring vast sums into their overseas possessions.”
“”Don’t be a sniveling pessimist,” Abraham snapped. “Go and pack your portmanteau. I want you on your way to Fredericton by first light. You’re to convince the honorable members of the Assembly that Abraham Douglas and Sons can handle that mail contract with ease and guaranteed regularity. And tell the Governor I’m still awaiting those letters of credit he promised from London.”
“I’d do a much better job being the doctor I’ve been trained to be.” Randall’s voice took on a bitterness. “This valley needs a physician a good deal more than it needs a mail contract and more debts.”
“Only the strong deserve to survive.” Abraham’s voice had a bite in it. “The sick and weak must be weeded out if we’re to create a viable society here. By nurturing lame ducks we only produce a community of the infirm.”
“When you came to Edinburgh and dragged me away from my studies beneath some of the world’s finest doctors, I should have defied you.” Randall’s tone moderated to that of a broken man. “Instead I allowed myself to be forced into one of the Inns of Court in London and converted into an attorney. Then I let you marry me off to that inhuman bit of British aristocracy. A titled lady would make a fitting mother for your grandchildren, you said. Fitting mother! The woman can care for no one except herself. There’s not a trace of warmth in her soul. No child deserves to have her as a parent.”
“Shut your mouth, boy. Caroline is a lady, born and bred. Her educational background alone is impeccable. She has an astounding knowledge of arts and speaks French and German like a native. Perhaps if you expended a little more energy in her direction and less on fish-shed sluts, you’d be able to make liars of those doctors who declared you sterile.”
“I don’t have to take this abuse.” Randall’s voice shook with suppressed emotion. “I’ll go to Fredericton and fight for your demands. I will not go back to the bed of that succubus you arranged for me to marry! You may continue to rule my professional life, but I’ll be damned if I’ll allow you to tell me whom I may sleep with or love.”
A slamming door marked Randall’s exit.
“Damn you, boy! You’ll do as I say or your fish-gutting floozy will pay dearly!” his father roared after him.
A second door, this time the one at the front of the house, slammed on his words.
I turned away from the grate, wondering who Randall’s fish-shed floozy was, if he was her lover, and what Abraham would do to her if his son refused to do as he’d demanded.
Chapter Five
A couple of hours before the dinner hour, a seamstress and a milliner, both heavily laden, arrived. Chatting together and all but ignoring me, the two women were escorted by Marie into Colin’s room, where I waited. They laid out the plans and fabrics of an extensive and elegant wardrobe I could scarcely believe was to be mine. Silks, satins, cottons, linens, woolens, velvets, laces, with ribbons in almost every color of the rainbow, were to be made up into a wide variety of the latest fashions. Coordinating hats and bonnets joined the designs and cloth samples on the bed to form a glorious collage. When I commented on the cost, the seamstress sniffed disdainfully.
“We’re following the orders of the elder Mr. Douglas,” she retorted. “He instructed us to outfit you in a style suitable to your new station in life. Your husband’s family is prominent and wealthy, and your wardrobe must reflect their position. The cost will be a pittance to a man of Mr. Douglas’s fortunes.”
Silenced, I allowed myself to be measured and scrutinized from the size of my wrists to the color of my eyes. My outfits must be perfect, the seamstress told the milliner. Mr. Douglas Senior must be pleased. No mention was made of Colin’s approval or mine.
The seamstress was holding a length of crimson silk against me when, over her head, I caught Marie frowning and shaking her head in disapproval.
“Not red,” I said taking her hint. “Perhaps…”
“This soft peach is lovely, Madame.” Marie picked up another length of cloth.
“Yes,” I agreed, seeing
the wisdom in her suggestion. Crimson did not suit me. It was important that I not allow myself to appear gaudy or tasteless. “The peach, if you please, Miss Byron.”
The woman glared at Marie, but she complied with my request.
For the remainder of the fitting, Marie continued to advise me. She had excellent fashion sense, probably learned under the tutelage of Colin’s mother.
As the two women were leaving, another village merchant arrived, and I was measured for boots, shoes, and slippers of the finest quality. It had become the kind of afternoon a young woman’s dreams are made of.
After Marie had escorted the final tradesman from the room, I sank down on the velvet bedcover. I had to be dreaming. Suddenly I was the wife of a handsome young gentleman whose wealthy father appeared intent upon treating me like a prized possession. Was it because Abraham Douglas had been presented with what he believed to have been proof of my purity? Surely not. Rather, it appeared he was grateful Colin had taken a wife, any wife, at last. But why? Surely a man as rich and attractive as my husband would have had no difficulty getting any woman to marry him.
Puzzled, I got to my feet and went to open a clothespress near the door. I needed to know more about the man I had married. Inside hung a long row of elegant masculine attire. The floor beneath was littered with fine leather boots and shoes. My husband was apparently a man of taste who enjoyed dressing well. I looked down at my tattered dress and work-coarsened hands. Colin Douglas hadn’t embellished his collection of finery when he’d married me.
I vowed then and there that I would do everything in my power to be the best wife he could imagine. It was the least I could do for a man who’d readily and uncomplainingly married his friend’s ragged fiancée simply to provide her with a home.
****
Marie brought my supper to the bedroom that night. She explained Mr. Douglas Senior had thought that since Colin would not be home for the meal, I might prefer to eat in my room instead of joining the family in the dining room.
Shadows of Love Page 8
