Concluded...finished...completed...done...over...
The words thumped through her mind just as Allie thumped through the room, her disapproval evident. Beth sat quite still, listlessly aware of Allie’s movement.
Those vague, unformed, unacknowledged hopes lay in ruins about her. They could not be.
That night with Ren had been wonderful, momentous. She would hold it dear to her heart. She would cherish it for ever.
But she would now do the right thing. She would leave today and go to this cottage as Ren’s mother had suggested. Then she would return to Allington. The marriage would be dissolved. She would return to what had always been her life. She would help the tenants. She would support Jamie in his scientific pursuits. She would live for Sundays and Miss Plimco on the organ. She would be thankful that the Duke would not control Graham Hill and, in time, Ren would marry this Annabelle and she would be a good neighbour.
Except, she realised dully, that her contentment had been shattered.
She now wanted things she could not have. She had seen what life could offer. She had glimpsed the joys of partnership: shared goals, shared jokes, shared pleasure—
Allie banged something heavy on to the floor.
‘I did not realise we were taking the bricks from our beds and choosing to drop them all into our cases,’ Beth said irritably. ‘I cannot believe it is possible to make quite so much noise while packing clothes.’
‘And I did not realise that we are suddenly seeing her ladyship as an ally. Going off like this, if you ask me, it’s a right rum do.’
‘I didn’t,’ Beth said. ‘Anyhow, I believe her ladyship wants what is best for her son and I want that, too.’
‘Her ladyship wants and has always wanted what’s best for her ladyship as far as I can tell.’
‘Yes, well in this instance, I think she is right and that my immediate withdrawal is indeed best for his lordship.’
Allie thumped something else on the floor. ‘And I’m thinking his lordship was looking quite happy this morning. Maybe you’re what’s best for him, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘Would it matter if I did?’ Beth said. ‘And, please, is it possible to pack with a little less noise?’
‘I reckon it’s possible, but not likely. A person needs to relieve their feelings.’
‘And it appears you are determined to do so by throwing coal or bricks about our accommodation.’
‘I am determined to make you see sense.’
‘I cannot be the wife he needs. I cannot be independent. I cannot be fashionable. I—I cannot give him children,’ Beth said. ‘Those are unarguable facts.’
The bottles clinked as Allie moved them. ‘None of them is in the least unarguable. Indeed, I am very able to argue on all counts and that you may tie to. Particularly this nonsense about children. I know I’m a maid and not to know these things, but the only thing what doesn’t work is your eyes and I don’t know as if they have much to do with making babies.’
‘I couldn’t look after a child.’
‘And those fancy ladies do? You’d have servants. Me, for a start.’
Beth stood, walking to the window. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about this, not even Jamie. Slowly, she rubbed her finger tip on the cool glass pane and spoke so low that she heard Allie step closer. ‘There was an aunt in my family who was blind and also a great-aunt who could see very little.’
‘Yes, I remember your mother mentioning that. But both are long gone.’
‘But I worry—’ The pad of her finger squeaked against the glass. ‘You know how Master Jamie always goes and gets prize bulls and horses to make certain that the foals and calves are strong? I—What if faults or weaknesses can be passed from a parent to a child? If a strong bull creates a strong calf, could not a blind woman create a blind child?’
‘Gracious, my lady, you have been spending too long with Master Jamie, is all I can say. I knew you worried that you could not properly look after a child—but this is not sensible. Indeed, Master Jamie, for all his good points, is not entirely sensible and well you know it.’
‘Not sensible perhaps, but intelligent. And our livestock is some of the best in England.’
‘That’s as may be. I don’t know much about cows. Personally, I’ve always favoured sense over intellect. Life doesn’t come with guarantees whether you’re blind or sighted. Babies are born healthy and take ill. They are born ill and recover. You takes your chances. We all do. I call thinking any different than that borrowing trouble.’
‘And I call it being realistic.’
* * *
Ren blinked blearily. He handed his hat and coat to Robbins. It was only midnight. He had meant to stay out at his club but even the cards had not been able to hold his attention. In fact, he feared he would lose a considerable sum if he continued to play so distractedly.
‘Did you wish a fire lit in the library or study, my lord?’ Robbins asked.
‘Neither. I’ll go to bed.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And send up a bottle of brandy.’
‘Yes, my lord. Your mother called around this evening, my lord, following your departure.’
Ren frowned. He had been seeing entirely too much of his mother of late. ‘What did she want?’
‘I could not say, my lord. She said that she would call in early tomorrow.’
‘Good lord, make that two bottles. One will not be sufficient.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘I am joking, Robbins.’
‘Yes, my lord. I knew that.’
Ren walked up the stairs. The house felt very quiet. Ludicrous, he knew. Beth hardly made any noise and he had at least a score of servants.
Still, it felt silent with a hushed emptiness. He pushed open her bedchamber, staring inwards, like a child might pick at a wound. There was no fire in the grate. The nightstand had been cleared of any bottles. The hearth was fresh laid and the bed made.
It seemed as though every hint of her presence had been scoured clean, leaving no trace of her, as though she had never been. He had known she was leaving. She had said that clearly enough and yet, when faced with the stark reality of her absence, he felt hollow, the vacuum almost worse than pain.
From the hall landing, he heard Robbins’s tread and he turned away going to his own room where Robbins had placed the cut-crystal decanter and glass.
‘Thank you.’ He took a sip from his glass. The fiery liquid burned.
After dismissing Robbins, he sat in the comfortable chair, staring into the flickering flames. He frowned, trying to discern his emotions. It was an unusual occupation as he generally tried to escape his emotions, not discern them. Indeed, by rights he should drain the decanter and order another.
But he wouldn’t.
He felt that under the pain and hollow ache, Beth’s visit had changed him. She might have left no lasting impression on his house, but she had on his heart. For the first time since he had been sent from Graham Hill, he felt he had a role to play.
Beth could not give him love, but she had helped him to climb from the morass of drink and gambling.
She had given him his self-respect and purpose.
He did not want to lose it again.
* * *
Lady Graham entered the next morning. Her hair was arranged in a mass of ringlets, somewhat youthful for her age, her gown was of the latest style and her hat bore some sort of fruit.
‘Darling, you’re back,’ she said, seating herself close to the fire and looking about the study with an appraising glance.
‘Your powers of observations astound. We are expecting a famine?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Your hat.’
‘Don’t be foolish,’ she said, making a slight ‘tsk.’ ‘I have determined the perfect solution.’
‘To feed London’s needy?’
‘No.’ She permitted her forehead to crinkle in irritation. ‘To your dilemma.’
‘I didn’t know I had one,’ he said.
‘Yes, regarding the estate.’ She spoke in low and confidential tones, somewhat ludicrous given that they were in his study.
He straightened. ‘As I said yesterday, I have made a decision on that.’
‘I know, darling, but may I be honest with you?’ She leaned forward so that a bunch of grapes bobbed in a rather mesmerising fashion.
‘That would be a novel experience.’
‘I know you believe you have no right to the land because Lord Graham may not be your father. We have never really spoken openly about this and I am not proud of that episode in my life. However, I think I have come up with another suggestion which will solve any concerns you might have in keeping the estate.’
‘Another suggestion?’
‘Yes, I am hoping it will encourage you to...to reconsider this idea about giving the land to the tenants. You see, the Duke has a second cousin. A female.’
‘The Duke?’
‘Of Ayrebourne.’
‘I am delighted for him. Perhaps she will encourage him to stop starving the tenants. Or we could always send your hat as emergency rations.’
‘Really, I do wish you would be serious.’
‘I am. I find starving a very serious matter,’ he said.
‘I am sure that is all greatly exaggerated. Both Beth and her brother have very modern ideas.’
‘That people should not starve amidst plenty is indeed revolutionary. But pray enlighten me about your solution to the situation, if it does not involve your hat.’
‘You can marry his cousin. Her name is Annabelle and she is also related Lord Graham and while the kinship might not be as close as the Duke’s it would ensure that any children you have would be of the right lineage to inherit the estate. This would free you from your peculiar suggestion to give away the land. Indeed, you could keep the estate with a clean conscience.’ She finished in firm tones and with a self-satisfied smile, unpleasantly reminiscent of a cat licking cream.
‘You have obviously given this a great deal of thought. There is a problem. I have a wife.’
‘But that’s it. You can have the marriage annulled.’
‘Indeed?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And what exactly do you know about annulment?’
‘That it is entirely possible in your case. You see, neither Beth nor Jamie were of age so there was no proper consent.’
‘How fascinating. Oddly, those were the exact words that Beth said to me. Is it possible that you spoke to her yesterday during my absence?’
Her hands moved as though a little nervous and he saw a slight pursing of her lips.
‘It appears that you and my wife have some form of telepathy. Or you decided to share this information with my wife, which rather puts an entirely different light on her departure.’
‘Yes, I spoke to Beth. She told me that she wants an annulment. Darling, it makes sense. I am certain she is ever so grateful that you married her and paid off her father’s debts, but Allington is doing well now. Apparently, Jamie’s schemes are actually prosperous. Anyhow, we had a lovely talk. We are quite of an accord. She was so understanding.’
‘And what did she understand exactly?’ he asked.
‘That marriage to the Duke’s cousin would solve everything. That she is really not able to be a suitable wife to someone in your position.’
He stood. He felt his hands ball into fists and it took all his self-control to keep his tone calm and his voice civil.
‘So your perfect solution is that I marry the Duke’s cousin?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Except I do not want to marry the Duke’s cousin. I do not want to marry anyone. I wish to remain married to my wife. I wish to give the land to people who love and respect it. I want to live with my wife in Allington or London or wherever she wants and I don’t care if I am a social outcast from now until doomsday.’
‘You don’t care now, but—’
‘No “buts”, Mother. And no meddling. This my decision. You have hurt me many times. But not now. Not again.’
He rang the bell.
‘You are throwing me out?’ she asked, her jaw slackening.
‘I hope that won’t be necessary and that you will go of your own accord. But if needs must...’
She stood rather quickly as Robbins appeared. ‘If you could see her ladyship out,’ Ren directed.
He heard his mother’s footsteps as she exited the building and felt his grin widen.
‘Robbins!’ He strode into the hall, as soon as he heard the front door close. ‘I’m going to Allington.’
* * *
The best thing about the journey, Beth decided, was its conclusion. They had taken less than two hours, but she still felt a heavy exhaustion so that she could scarcely climb out of the vehicle. Her body ached and she felt bruised from the carriage’s constant motion. She had little notion of their current location and felt too tired to properly assimilate sounds and other clues.
Instead, she followed Beth, taking her word that they were at a small house beside a pretty lake.
At least, she’d kept that feeling of panic at bay throughout the journey. Indeed, it almost seemed as though her exhaustion was so absolute that she lacked the energy to sustain an emotion of any intensity.
Instead, she felt numb, like when her fingers trailed too long within the brook’s cold water during springtime.
Thankfully, Rosefield Cottage proved pleasant enough. True to her word, the Dowager Lady Graham had sent notice of their arrival and they were met by the caretaker, a local woman. She pulled them inside and soon had Beth sitting next to a roaring fire which crackled comfortingly within the hearth.
‘I made some fresh stew, if you have a fancy,’ the caretaker suggested. ‘It is just simple country fare, but hearty.’
Beth agreed and soon held a fragrant bowl of stew which she ate close to the fire. Outside, the wind whistled and she could hear the lapping of water from the lake,. Somewhere upstairs she heard Allie’s movements as she prepared her room. These noises were punctuated by the fire’s crackle and the scrape of her own soup spoon against the bowl.
Quite a change from last night.
Beth pushed that thought away.
This was her future. It would do no good to look back to yesterday or she would become maudlin and feel sorry for herself. They would stay here at the cottage tomorrow and leave the following day. She did not think she could face the remaining journey so soon. Besides, she felt that this comforting numbness might persist as long as she remained in the peculiar limbo of travel.
Eventually there would be pain—just as there was pain when her fingers warmed after freezing in the brook. Once she got back to Allington and she was no longer so overwhelmed with the sounds and fears of travel, she would feel. It would hurt, but there would be life also. She had to hold on to that. She would let Jamie know that Ren would not give away Graham Hill. She would visit the tenants, ride Lil and continue the myriad small activities which had made her life pleasant.
And which would make her life pleasant again.
* * *
Six hours later, Ren stood in front of his brother-in-law’s desk. Jamie, of course, was useless. He peered up at him through tiny gold-rimmed glasses. ‘But I haven’t seen her.’
‘What do you mean? You must have.’
‘I have not. If I had done, I would have explained about the experiment. She asked me to find all the information and I have done so.’ Jamie tapped on a sheath of papers, sending up a tiny, visible cloud of dust. ‘In fact, I think she said you were also interested.’
‘What?’
‘Here.’ Jamie pushed forward the papers as though expecting Ren to review them immediately. ‘It appears that manure combined with gypsum caused greater growth than manure alone. Beth said you had a particular interest.’
‘I—What?—No.’ Ren silenced a muttered curse. ‘I will look at them later. But please, could you focus on your sister’s whereabouts for now. I mean, if you haven’t seen her, where is she? Where else would she go except here? Do you know of other places she might be?’
‘No,’ Jamie said, then with a seeming lack of concern, he returned to his work, bending over a ledger, the nib of his pen scratching with irritating regularity.
‘You are not worried?’
‘No, she wrote, or rather Allie wrote, that she would be a few days before returning.’ Jamie said, dipping his pen into the inkwell again and tapping off the excess liquid with care.
‘She wrote? But you said you hadn’t heard from her?’
‘Said I hadn’t seen her,’ Jamie clarified.
Ren bit back a second oath. Frustration would not help. ‘Where did she write from?’
‘London.’
‘Where in London? And where was she going?’
‘The letter came from your house, but it did not include her destination.’
‘Damn,’ Ren swore. ‘You will let me know if you see her or receive any more notes or any other form of communication for that matter?’
Jamie nodded, but seemed already abstracted.
Ren left Jamie’s office. That, he supposed, answered that. It appeared Beth was actively avoiding him. He had again tricked himself, indulging in concocting a comforting fabrication. He had convinced himself that his mother had manipulated Beth, but he was giving his mother too much credit.
Beth was independent in her thoughts.
Her decision was not because of his mother. Beth had little enough reason to remain with him. She had never wanted marriage. She valued independence above all and marriage to any man limited a woman’s autonomy. Moreover, he was a rake with a predilection for gambling, drink and duels. Given her father’s debts, she had every reason to fear a gambler.
Grim-faced, he swung on to Tallon as another, more awful thought struck him. Was it possible that Beth had seduced him to dissuade him from giving the estate to the Duke? Good Lord, that would be the ultimate irony. He, the rake, the user of women, to have been used by his own wife! But Beth would not be the first woman to exploit her body. And she’d always said that individuals with disabilities were too frequently thought as innocent, as though a lack of sight served as proof of morality.
Damn.
That familiar need to ride and ride grew. He wanted to gallop so fast that he would outrun his thoughts. He longed to move with such speed that every ounce of his energy and concentration was focused on remaining astride the animal, rendering anything else superfluous. He wanted to flee that sense of dislocation and isolation that he’d had for ever, or at least since the return of the bloody portrait painter.
For a brief, fleeting moment, he had hoped... He still hoped...
He needed to find his wife. Or obliterate his thoughts with a wild, thundering, clattering of hooves. Or drink. There’d be plenty of brandy at Graham Hill, thank God. His fath—Lord Graham had always kept a good stock. Yes, he’d go to Graham Hill and drink until he didn’t see that blonde hair and beautiful face. He’d drink until he’d forgotten that brief, momentary illusion. He’d drink until he obliterated those pretty pictures of hearth and home and Beth.
Tomorrow, maybe, he’d find that purpose again that he’d so recently discovered, the new and improved Lord Graham.
Tonight, he’d drink.
* * *
By habit, he slowed his horse while walking through the village. The road was quiet and unchanged. It was as it had been in his childhood. Most of the tenants were inside, perhaps eating supper. He could see smoke rising from the chimneys and the flicker of lamplight from windows. Likely they’d be out again before dusk turned to night to check on goats and chickens. Beside their homes, he saw the occasional milk cow, their bells clanking, and pigs at the troughs, their tiny, curvy tails twitching.
A faint tapping caught his attention. He angled towards the sound and saw that it came from his old nanny’s house. Indeed, she’d pushed open the window, and was waving, a small white hanky visible against green shutters.
She had not attended the funeral. Indeed, he had not seen her for several years and had little desire to do so now, but he could not ignore her summons.
Dismounting, he tethered Tallon to the fence post. He walked the rutted path towards the cottage and entered a miniscule space scented with wood smoke, onions and a mix of other smells too tangled to discern, although arnica and some other tincture was among them.
Nanny sat at the window, her face a net of wrinkles fanning out from her blue eyes, still bright despite her years.
‘I was hoping you’d pass this way,’ she said as he bent down and kissed her cheek. It had the cool dryness of the elderly. ‘I hear you’re not intending to give the land away to the Duke now.’
He felt his jaw drop. ‘How could you possibly know that?’
She didn’t answer. ‘Sit!’ she instructed. ‘I also know that you have some novel idea about giving it away to the tenants.’
‘Yes, it was Beth’s suggestion.’
‘I know.’
‘Is there anything you do not know?’
‘Very little,’ she said. ‘The idea is unusual to say the least. I dare say even the tenants will find it highly irregular. People are often resistant to change even when they are the beneficiaries. As for the well-to-do and all those grand lords and ladies, well, you won’t be making yourself popular.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever tried.’
‘No? What about that small lad that went to school?’
He allowed himself a smile. ‘I think I aimed for survival, not popularity,’ he said. ‘Although recently, I have recognised that I also wanted their admiration.’
‘To know one’s self, that is the sign of intelligence or madness. I am uncertain which, now that I come to think of it. Anyhow, why are you still standing? You make my underpinnings hurt just looking at you. Sit!’ she directed again.
He did so, choosing a chair opposite, and feeling huge in comparison to this tiny woman shrunken with her years.
For a moment, she said nothing, pressing her gnarled fingers together and studying him as though his expression might provide a clue or information.
‘I haven’t stolen anything from the pantry, honest, Nanny,’ he quipped.
‘You never did. That was always Edmund or Beth. Or maybe even Jamie, although that was likely only in pursuit of science.’
‘He once took a slice of chocolate cake to see if the mould would grow a different colour from that on the vanilla cake he also purloined.’
‘I could have told him the answer to that one without the bother. No, I think you have always searched for belonging. I think even before you knew the truth you recognised you were different. You always tried to be better than the others. Perfect.’
He smiled wryly. ‘I made up for that in later life.’
‘Like you needed to earn love,’ she continued, ignoring his comment.
He glanced towards the window at the shadowy shapes of the trees visible through the panes. He had glamorised those years before the return of the portrait painter as a halcyon time. But was that accurate? Hadn’t his brother and father always shared a greater bond?
‘I could never understand why they liked hunting and fishing, Edmund and Lord Graham,’ he said.
‘He was proud of you, you know? Your father.’
‘The painter?’
‘No, Lord Graham. Before he knew about the painter, he was very proud of you. He didn’t understand you, but he was proud of you and proud of your talent. Maybe that’s why he reacted so badly. Anguish does awful things to a man. Not that I’m defending him. It’s never right to whip a child.’
‘Maybe.’
‘And just so as you know, there’s nought wrong with being different. Never did understand why people want to be sheep. They are not even intelligent animals. Can’t even right themselves. You still paint?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I haven’t in years.’
‘Might be time to start.’
‘I can’t,’ he said, remembering his last uncomfortable attempt.
‘Seems as how you have the use of your hands and eyes so I cannot see why you would not be able to.’
‘It is not as easy as that.’
‘Some people just can’t be a sheep. And you can’t make yourself into a sheep if you are not a sheep and never meant to be a sheep.’
‘Pardon?’ The whole interview was taking on a somewhat surreal flavour. He wondered if age was impairing her faculties.
‘I am not mad,’ she stated.
He smiled. ‘Apparently not, or if you are it has not impaired your ability to read my thoughts.’
‘You know there is only one person whose opinion and respect matters in life,’ she said.
‘Indeed, and I will talk to her. Once I find her.’ He shifted, preparing to stand.
‘I wasn’t meaning Beth.’
‘What? Then whom?’ he asked.
‘But you do need to talk to her.’ She continued as though he had not spoken.
‘Which I will do if I can locate the woman.’
‘I know where she is.’
‘You do?’ he gaped.
‘You underestimate me.’ Her wrinkled face split into a grin that was almost devilish.
‘You know where she is? Tell me.’
‘Not tonight.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It is late. You have chased down from London. You are exhausted. You need to rest,’ she said, as firmly as she had done when he was three and had wanted to stay up late or eat too many bonbons.
‘That is ludicrous!’ Ren stared at the small, frustrating woman. How was he able to negotiate and trade for thousands, win duels and boxing matches and yet be foiled by his elderly nanny?
‘Not at all. I am certain any conversation with her ladyship would be more useful and rational after a good night’s sleep.’
‘I couldn’t persuade you to let me find my wife first and then rest?’ he asked.
‘No. But she is quite safe.’
‘She is? You are certain.’
‘She has Allie with her. My great-niece or something like. She’ll be fine. That girl would fight a tiger for her.’
‘That much is true. You will tell me her address tomorrow?’
‘Yes, and do eat and sleep. A much better use of your time than imbibing brandy which was what you were planning.’
‘Mind reading again,’ he muttered.
‘Not at all, but men are creatures of habit and it seems you have become somewhat habituated to the consumption of alcohol,’ she retorted.
He felt his lips twitch. For a brief moment, he imagined telling Beth about this entire interview. He imagined her chuckle and wide, giving smile. In that instant, he suddenly felt certain that she would never have slept with him if she had not cared.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will get this prescribed rest and then you will tell me of my wife’s whereabouts tomorrow. How do you even know anyway?’
‘Ah.’ She tapped gnarled finger to her nose. ‘Now that would be telling. We have a deal?’
She thrust out her hand, the fingers swollen and twisted with arthritis.
‘Yes,’ he said, shaking the proffered hand gently, suddenly conscious of her age and fragility.
* * *
Ren neither rested nor did he spend the night drinking copious alcohol. Instead, he ordered a light repast and then cleared the desk of everything except the two lamps. With care, he took out the plans for the estate which he had found rolled and tied with ribbons. He untied the strings, carefully spreading the paper flat and placing two books and a paperweight on each corner to better smooth the sheets. After moving the lights closer, he bent over them, carefully studying the routes, the waterways, the location of buildings and fences.
Taking out the ledger, he cross-referenced them to determine which farms appeared most profitable, the type of crops grown, the proximity to water and other amenities. Then, taking out the pen, he dipped it into the ink well and started to write. He worked in a peaceful silence interrupted only by the scratch of his pen, the clock and the occasional crackle from the fire. Every so often he paused, drumming his fingers, as he reviewed his notes.
There was, he realised, a reason that enclosure had become so popular during the last half-century. Larger holdings, run by landlords, could yield more crops with greater efficiency. Such estates permitted the rotation of different crops, the provision of more fodder for animals and the utilisation of new tools.
But individual ownership did not mean that these things could not occur. Rather, it meant that there needed to be a process to ensure this co-operation and that the smaller holdings worked together as an entity. Someone was needed who had business acumen, literacy, agricultural and scientific knowledge. He could take that role. He could ensure that the farms remained up to date with new inventions and agricultural methods. Indeed, could not he and Jamie form a team? With Jamie ensuring the latest scientific method was employed, while he took over the business side of the estate and ensured that the crops and livestock were marketed with skill, so that each farm was its most profitable?
At last Ren rose. He was tired. He could not remember when he had last thought and planned with such intensity. He rubbed his temples, conscious of an ache behind the eyes.
Yet his weariness felt like a good type of tired, the kind he used to feel after a long day painting outside.
He felt happier.
He felt less broken.