He knew instinctively what she would call him, with her voice dripping with scorn. A “toff,” a “guv’nor,” a “stuffed shirt.” Someone who did nothing and consumed everything; who deserved nothing and helped himself to everything. Who had never actually earned anything he had gotten in life—
He wanted to protest that he had, in fact, earned this place at the table, this glittering company, and the promise of power to come.
Oh, yes, said those eyes in his memory, glittering with their own malicious pleasure. You’ve earned them, right enough. Enjoying them?
Well, no—
He could hear her laughter, and the raven’s contemptuous and dismissive quork.
In fact, in a kind of ghostly echo, he heard them all night, whispering under the important conversation, a counter-melody of disdain.
***
“I feel sorry for him, whoever he was,” Sarah said, as the two of them slipped into their nightdresses and turned down the bedclothes.
They had been discussing the pompous and self-important man who had nearly ridden them both down this afternoon. Nan was still of the opinion that he had no right and no invitation to ride the meadow of Highleigh Court; that he had merely pretended to it. She had not liked him, not at all, and neither had Neville. It wasn’t just that he was an arrogant toff, it was that there was something very cold, something not right about him. As if someone had taken away his heart and put a clod of frozen earth where it should have been. He’d nearly trampled both of them, and not one word of apology! No, he was too busy showing two poor little girls how important a fellow he was.
Never even asked if we was all right, she grumbled to herself.
“Well, I don’t,” she replied, climbing into bed. “Not even a little bit. Hope that fancy nag of his throws him inter a mud puddle.”
“Nan!” Sarah replied, but giggled.
“Better yet,” Nan continued, starting to grin, “Inter a great big cow-flop. A fresh one. Still hot.”
“Nan!” Now Sarah could not stop giggling, and that set Nan off, too. The thought of the fellow with his dignity in rags was just too much for her sense of humor. And once she started laughing at him, some of her anger at him cooled. Not that she was going to forgive him for almost trampling them and being rude, but she wasn’t quite as angry at him anymore.
“So why d’ye feel sorry for ‘im?” she asked, as Sarah blew out the candle and the soft, warm darkness enveloped both of them.
“Because—because he’s unhappy, and he knows why, but if he actually admits that he’s unhappy and why, he’ll have to admit that he’s wrong and he’s been wrong about everything,” Sarah said softly, as Nan heard the first soft whirring of bat wings from up near the ceiling.
“Ev’thing?” Nan said, surprised. “That’s a lot.”
“It’s his whole life,” Sarah said solemnly. “He made a wrong turn, and he’s never going to get it right unless he gives up most of what he’s done.”
Whatever Sarah knew or had sensed that led her to that conclusion, it hadn’t been granted to Nan. Still, she didn’t doubt her friend. “Money?” Nan asked, not able to imagine anything in a grown-up’s life that was more important than that.
“Not money, but—” Nan could almost hear Sarah groping for the words. “—I can’t explain it, but it’s all things he thinks are important and really aren’t. It’s like he’s throwing away real diamonds for great big pieces of glass.”
“Huh.” Nan considered this. “Must’ve been some’un convinced ‘im those chunks uv glass was wuth something.”
“It’s very sad, because he’s never going to be happy,” Sarah whispered, then sighed.
“Well, he ain’t our problem,” Nan replied resolutely. “He ain’t our problem, and he ain’t gonna be. He ain’t no ghost and he ain’t no bad thought.”
“No, he’s not,” Sarah agreed, sounding sad. “I wish I knew of a way I could help him, though. It kind of feels as if I ought to.”
Crickets outside sang through their silence, and a moth flew in the window, wings white in the moonlight.
“Why d’ye reckon yon Robin he’ped us out, ye think?” Nan asked.
She figured by changing the subject, she would be able to get Sarah to talk about something other than that so-dislikable man, and she was right.
“I think Robin likes us,” Sarah said at last, after a long moment of silence. “I’m not sure why. I think he likes Mem’sab too.”
“I think ye’re right,” Nan replied, and sighed happily. “It’s a nice thing, ‘avin’ some’un like that like ye.”
“I think he admires you, Nan,” Sarah replied, admiration in her own voice. “I know he thinks you’re brave.”
“Eh, ‘e thinks you’re pretty brave, too!” Nan countered, but couldn’t help feeling a bit of pride at the thought. “I mean, you stood right up’t’ that shadow lady! Not many would ‘ave.”
“They would if they knew it was the right thing to do,” came the soft reply out of the darkness.
Nan thought about that as she drifted off to sleep. Sometimes it was hard being Sarah’s friend—because she would say things like that, things that part of Nan knew weren’t really true—or at least, that everything Nan had ever learned in her short life told her weren’t true. But then, just as she had made up her mind, another part would at least hope for the opposite, for Sarah’s words, and not Nan’s feelings, to be the right one. So part of her wanted to contradict Sarah, while the other part wanted to encourage her.
Eh, what’s it hurt to let her think it? she finally decided, as sleep took her. She’s a queer little duck, and mebbe if she believes it long enough, it’ll ac’chully happen someday.
A comforting thought, and a good one to carry into the night.
14
CRICKETS sang outside the window, and a bat flew into the room, patrolled for insects, and flew out again. Isabelle Harton relaxed in the embrace of her husband’s arms. While she was deeply enjoying this sojourn in what was the next thing to a castle, with far more servants than she could ever dream of employing herself, the pleasure was flawed by not having Frederick with her for most of the time. “Good gad, I have missed you,” she said, contentedly, and yet with some sadness, knowing that on Sunday night he would once again take the train back to London.
She felt him smile in the darkness. “What a scandal!” he replied, contradicting his own words by pulling her closer. “Wives aren’t supposed to miss the carnal attentions of their husbands. They are supposed to endure them for the sake of children.”
She chuckled. “And what idiot told you that?” she responded. “Not the Master, that’s for certain.”
He laughed. “Something a well-meaning clergyman told a young officer a very long time ago, in an attempt to persuade the young officer that his pretty wife would be happier living in England. He swore that women would rather, on the whole, be left alone by men, and that she was merely being dutiful when she told him she didn’t want to leave.”
“And what young officer was that?” she asked, curiosity piqued.
He chuckled deep in his chest. She felt the sound vibrate through him and smiled. Of all of the things she loved about him, hearing him laugh was one of the best.
“Myself, of course,” he said. “Who else?”
She arched an eyebrow, though of course he would not be able to see it in the dark. “I was never pretty.” It was an old “disagreement.”
“I thought you were. And I think you are beautiful now. Since I am the one who looks at your face more often than you do, I think I should be the one allowed to make the judgment.” The usual argument.