The evening meal at Clairvon Abbey was extremely awkward that night. As Miranda entered the hall, Forbes was just announcing that the lady of the house was unwell and would not be down. This made Philip look thunderous, and Miranda quail before him. Only Alan Creighton maintained his composure, glancing from one to the other with bemused concern.
The roast lamb was delicious, and the chantilly cream exquisite, but there was very little conversation to accompany them. Alan made some remarks about the horse they had seen, to which Philip replied in grunts, and about the ruins they had toured, to which Miranda nodded or shook her head nervously. All three were greatly relieved when the last dishes were cleared away and Miranda could withdraw.
She fled immediately to her sister’s chamber, but when she knocked, the door was opened by Jane Jenkins. “Her ladyship is resting,” she was informed in a harsh whisper.
“I must speak to her, only for a moment,” insisted Miranda.
“I’m sorry, miss. I can’t allow it. She’s only just dropped off, and in her condition I can’t allow her to be disturbed.” The woman’s thin dark face was set in uncompromising lines.
“C-condition?”
“Yes, miss, it is a serious thing, whatever anyone may say.” Jenkins looked utterly grim.
Miranda turned pale and pulled her India shawl tighter around her shoulders. “But what is wrong?”
“I don’t say wrong, miss. But it is certainly foolish to gad about the countryside. The Lord helps those who help themselves. And He expects us to do what is right and sensible. If we don’t, well…” She shrugged, as if this sort of attitude was hopeless, and shut the door.
Bewildered and frightened, Miranda debated whether to knock again and demand to see Rosalind. But she was rather afraid of Jane Jenkins, and she certainly had no wish to harm her sister. She turned away and walked slowly down the corridor toward the stairs.
Miranda felt completely alone. Without Rosalind, this place was desolate for her, and she feared she might have lost her sister’s regard just when she was beginning to know her. Tears welled in her eyes and blurred her vision. Her throat grew tight and hot. She turned the corner and walked into Alan Creighton’s arms just as her tears began in earnest.
That gentleman, finding himself suddenly embracing a weeping girl, acted with remarkable presence of mind. Keeping an arm firmly about her shoulders, he led her into the small drawing room and over to the sofa in front of the fire. He settled her there, then went to the corner cabinet and poured a thimbleful of brandy into a glass. “Here,” he said when he returned. “Drink this.”
Automatically, Miranda took it and drank. The brandy burned her throat and made her choke, but the coughing stopped her tears.
“That’s better,” said Alan encouragingly.
“No, it…isn’t!” managed Miranda, still choking. “It’s awful.”
“Can’t be. You’ve stopped crying,” he pointed out.
“Only because…oh, never mind!” She turned away from him and contemplated the end of the room. “Where is Philip?” she asked after a while.
“He’s gone to his study. Said he had work to do. My opinion is he just wanted to get away from us.”
“No more than I wished to be rid of him,” retorted Miranda fiercely, and at once regretted it. No matter what her feelings, she should not talk so about her brother-in-law. What if Rosalind should come down after all?
“It wasn’t a convivial evening,” agreed Alan. “I hope your sister is feeling better?”
Tears threatened once again. “She won’t see me, and I don’t know what is wrong with her. We…we had a disagreement on the way home today, and…”
“I’m sure you’ll patch it up tomorrow,” replied Alan quickly, anticipating more tears. “These things pass off with a little time.”
Miranda said nothing. She didn’t believe him, but she couldn’t bear to talk about it anymore. Silence lengthened between them until it occurred to her that again they were without a chaperone. The thought of her mother’s undoubted outrage had she known cheered her enough to bring back a memory. “I have been meaning to tell you what happened to me,” she said.
Alan Creighton was all attention.
“It was the most appalling thing.” And Miranda told the story of the crow on her pillow. “I believe Philip told Forbes to do it because he does not like me and wishes me to leave,” she finished.
Alan glanced uneasily at the door. “That seems unlikely,” he said.
“No, it is not, for I heard…” Miranda stopped. She was not yet ready to tell anyone what she had overheard.
“I believe Philip is under some sort of strain,” added Creighton slowly. “I don’t know what it is, for I can’t get him to talk, but I can see it quite clearly.” Five years of war had made Alan Creighton thoroughly familiar with the signs of strain in a man. “And there was something today.” He paused, frowning.
“What?” asked Miranda, diverted from her own troubles.
He hesitated. What he had seen today had roused real concern in Alan, and he did not care to involve a young lady in it. On the other hand, from what he had observed of Miranda, he knew it would be impossible to keep her wholly out. She was likely to wander anywhere and poke into things without the least understanding of what they might imply. “I saw several men in the village,” he answered slowly, “of a type I, unfortunately, recognize.”
“What type?”
He thought a moment. “Not every man wishes to be a soldier,” he began. “Indeed, not every man is cut out to be one, but, when you are fighting someone like Boney, you must have an army, or your country will be overrun and lost. And so, some of these…unsuitable men are taken into the forces. Pressed, some of them, against their will.” He looked down, shook his head. “Many of them are never more than ruffians.”
Miranda watched him with wide eyes.
“In the army, they can be controlled. War even offers some…compensations to such men. But, when they are out again, especially when they can find no work, or, perhaps, do not like the work they can find, then they become…a problem.”
Miranda was fascinated, and very flattered to be talked to in such a serious way, but she did not understand his point. “Perhaps they should stay in the army?” she wondered.
Alan started, as if jolted from deep thought. “I beg your pardon. I have been prosing on in the most tedious way.”
“I was interested,” protested Miranda.
He shook his head. “At any rate, I only meant to say that I saw a group of these men in the village today. And that is odd, because they cannot have come from a small place like this. They were Londoners. I know their type.” He frowned. “And if they are here…”
Miranda watched his face. He looked grimly resolute. She was impressed with his knowledge, and with an ability to command and get results that she sensed more than saw. Abruptly, she remembered something. “It must be their dog,” she exclaimed. Alan turned to look at her, and she told him what she had seen on her walk. “They are probably keeping him to fight,” she said. “It sounds like they are that sort of men.”
Creighton nodded, thinking his own thoughts.
“We must tell Philip,” added Miranda, then stopped, frowning. “But Philip must know they are here.”
That was exactly the thing, thought Alan. He must know, but he had ignored them completely.
“What are you going to do?” Miranda was certain, from the look on his face, that he meant to do something.
“Eh? Oh.” He contemplated her. She was an engaging little thing, actually. Those eyes were compelling despite her youth. “I’m not sure there’s anything to be done.”
“But of course we must find out what is going on!” Miranda was indignant. “These men are just another sinister element. I thought you were going to help me investigate.”
“I think you should forget that idea,” he replied. This joke had become a bit perilous.
“I shall do nothing of the kind!”
She wouldn’t, he realized. It was no use arguing with the blaze in those eyes. A spark of admiration blossomed in him. “No, I don’t suppose you will.”
“Just when things are coming out,” she scoffed. “What do you think me?”
He had to smile. “Very well. But I insist upon this. You will confine your explorations to the house and park, and not go wandering as you did today. I shall take the village and surroundings.” Seeing her start to protest, he added, “If you do not agree, I shall go to Philip at once.” He should do so in any case, Alan thought a bit guiltily. But his cousin was so closemouthed and dour. He might well just tell Alan to mind his own affairs. And the chance of a mystery had dispelled the boredom that had been plaguing him for months. He would play his own hand for a time, at least. “Well?”
“All right!” said Miranda. “You were a tyrannical officer, weren’t you?”
Alan merely laughed.