Twixt Two Equal Armies (6 page)

As always at this time of year, I am once again asking for your congratulations on the return of my prodigal daughter. This time, however, you may even be so bold as to envy me since it has transpired she will be home for a longer duration than originally planned. Nevertheless, not to abandon our old customs altogether, this letter is that traditional invitation for you to come and see us at your convenience to take pleasure in the fact that I have my Holly home with me. As usual you can expect Mr Jones from the Chronicle and Mr Kershaw, too, since Parliament is adjourned. Do not be surprised if Mr Grant sees fit to join us, too. I can hardly refuse him since his Aunt Grace is coming and she is bringing the Pembrokes and you know I could not refuse them even if I should want to.

This time if you should take a fancy to conducting some of your more picturesque thermological experiments in the kitchen, I am afraid we shall have to dismiss Mrs Higgins beforehand, since she cannot abide any pyrotechnics or explosions causing havoc on the hearth. She has no natural curiosity about the world around her, poor thing.

So now that you have a fixed engagement and a promise of lively, but civil, conversation, mandatory intelligent discourse, a few pretty girls and stimulating company to brighten up your rainy Edinburgh academic toil, I shall put another matter of great importance to you quite bluntly.

I know you are hard at work on your newest treatise on Heat and Voluminous Expansion and although I am rather inclined to think illustrating test tubes and pipettes must be the height of tedium, I am certain Holly would find both pleasure and challenge in perfecting your visions and conclusions. As you are already fully aware of her artistic talents, I have no qualms over pressing her services upon you and I will not do it cheaply, so there is your means of excuse, if you will have one, for not considering her. You are, after all, an important man these days and can afford to pay her handsomely. She, on the other hand, can aspire to the title of an established artist, so I will not sell her short.

Please let me know post haste of your decision and then we can spend several agreeable hours haggling over fees when I welcome you here in our modest home on the 20th.

Yours cordially.
Mrs Arabella Tournier

H
OLLY POKED HER HEAD IN
the door once more to check the time. That the post chaise was running late was not unusual, but that she was so anxious for it to arrive made the minutes drag by intolerably slowly. Mr Robertson gave her a smile and a wave and told her not to fret, the coach might be delayed, but it
would
arrive sometime this day. Didn’t she know the punctuality and reliability of the English post was the envy of the civilised world?

She returned his smile and resumed her pacing on the lawn in front of the Caledonian Thistle. So many times, a wait on this lawn had only meant that she was leaving home again on the Edinburgh stage, but this time her spirits were high. Elizabeth was coming and she could hardly wait. Elizabeth’s visits were always a special time, set aside for laughter and enjoyment, for deep talks and confessions, and for freedom, at least for a short time, to be her long forgotten, girlish self. She was determined that no worries about past or present would mar the visit — there would be time enough for that later.

At the sound of the carriage wheels, she shouted for Tommy and ran up the road to meet it. Of course, it did not stop until it came to the inn yard, so Holly had to turn and run back down the road again alongside it. All the while she smiled and waved into the window, hoping that the shadowy figure waving back was her cousin.

Finally a head popped into view, a frantic unclasping of the window ensued and all the while Holly could hear her cousin’s muffled laughter behind the glass.

“Oh Holly! What are you doing? You dear silly girl!” were Elizabeth’s first words as she finally was able to open the window. She leaned out, laughing happily the rest of the way until the carriage came to a stop, jerking her back into her seat and momentarily hiding her from view again.

Holly, breathless and grinning from ear to ear herself, stopped and composed herself while Tommy unlocked the door and unfolded the steps. The first one to emerge was her cousin Elizabeth with her bonnet strings untied and her arms stretched out to be caught.

“Oh, Holly!” she said. “What a welcome!”

Through happy tears and laughter Holly cried, “Oh, you
are
welcome. So very welcome! I am so happy to see you.”

She did not even wait for the luggage to be unloaded before she was tugging her cousin down the road toward Rosefarm Cottage.

“I have arranged it all with Mr Robertson already. They will bring your trunk down directly, but I am in no humour to wait for it. You must come and say hello to Maman. Then we can have something to eat and you can rest in your room if you need to.” She tugged again. “Come, Elizabeth. Hurry.”

“Hurry? I have been hurrying the whole day! The horses were lazy, indolent creatures only interested in vying for opportunities to cast off their shackles and admire the scenery, and if I weren’t so mortally afraid of getting a good scolding from all those slovenly inn keepers and coachmen, I should have refused to pay them anything for their slothful services! How
can
Clanough be so far away?”

She held her cousin at arms length and took her in. “No, Holly, I just want to look at you.” She winked her eye at her and pinched her cheek playfully. “I do believe you’ve grown.”

“Grown?” Holly laughed. “I do believe the rough coach ride has addled your brain. I have grown . . . Elizabeth, I
am
grown and have been grown for several years at least! Now you on the other hand . . . are exactly the same size as the last time I saw you — and I will say that you look very well. But aren’t you the least bit hungry? I have been waiting here all afternoon; shan’t we have some tea at home?”

Elizabeth looked at her cousin. Holly’s eyes sparkled and there was an energy about her she had missed. An energy that matched her own restless mind as well as her elation perfectly. Carefully she linked her arm through her cousin’s and kissed her cheek.

“Of course we shall. I will want for nothing once I have tea with you and Aunt Arabella. But,” she turned them around and slowly guided Holly down into the road, “I insist on a majestic approach to our final destination. I shall hurry no more. I shall heed the words of the philosopher who claims the journey is more important than the destination. You shall lead me down the road to the very place I’ve thought of and missed and longed for so desperately, but I insist on dignity. Even if I burst first!”

Elizabeth smiled at her cousin, who smiled back and for a moment they were silent as they began to walk back towards Rosefarm Cottage in almost exaggerated poise and composure.

“There!” she then said conspiratorially. “Now your neighbours know we are capable. Shall we run the rest of the way?”

And run the rest of the way they did. Laughing, shrieking, nearly losing their balance a time or two, bumping into each other and finally, bursting through the gate at full speed and hitting the kitchen door with a thud. Once inside, they skipped past a stunned Mrs Higgins and charged arm in arm into the parlour to find Mrs Arabella Tournier at her desk.

Gasping for breath and stifling their giggles, they watched Mrs Tournier turn around and remove her spectacles.

“So the whole neighbourhood now knows what I see. I must tell you, I could hear you coming all the way from the tinker’s yard. So, welcome Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth dropped a curtsey and her aunt gave her a little crooked smile.

“Very nice, niece,” she said, “but not quite how we do it around here.” She rose and embraced her niece warmly and received many equally affectionate kisses on both of her cheeks amidst laughter and smiling.

“I’m sure you had a perfectly beastly journey,” Mrs Tournier said when Elizabeth finally let go of her, “and knowing you, you think the only way to remedy that is to take a long walk this instant. However, since you are now in my care I will insist on tea first.”

“To which I could have no objection, my dear aunt! I would sincerely love a walk to admire Scotland’s beauty as soon as possible, but since I know very well you don’t share my fancy and would not accompany me, I will gladly have tea instead.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Mrs Tournier smiled. “Besides, there are a great many happenings at Longbourn that I must hear about instantly, so the walking will have to wait.”

Elizabeth flushed a little, but quickly found her seat and thus hoped her aunt had not paid too much notice to her hesitation.
Let Lydia take the blame for my wavering
, she thought.
That certainly is a subject I do not care to have a frank discussion about so soon after my arrival.

“Of course!” she said aloud. “I should tell you first of all that Jane sends her love and fondest regards; that which she can spare from Mr Bingley, naturally. She is very happy.”

“Well then we shall be thankful for Jane’s endless affection and regard for all and sundry despite circumstances and distance. However, if my daughter can leave you alone for a quarter of an hour, you are to run upstairs, fling off your dirty garments, have a wash and catch your breath only to skip downstairs to us again and then be at our disposal for the rest of the evening.”

Elizabeth smiled and embraced her aunt once again.

“I will. Thank you, dear aunt, so much for having me! I will be right back!”

Holly followed her out to tend to tea and Mrs Tournier looked after the two girls with a thoughtful smile.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING,
L
ORD
B
AUGHAM
awoke at dawn after a heavy dreamless sleep. At first, the faint sound of rain slowly penetrated his perception with its heavy patter on the thin windowpanes, gradually lifting him to the surface of consciousness, until he finally drifted awake murmuring “Well, I’ll be! I wonder if the dam will hold.” That thought stayed with him as he slowly opened his eyes and stretched his limbs, aching after an exceptionally still slumber. He slowly accustomed himself to the morning and found himself thinking about his planned expedition, which not even the rain could spoil. He felt his eyelids shut again and as he listened to the rain slowly fading away, he realised it was far too early to leave this blessed drowsy state and so he let himself be dragged down into sleep once more.

But a few hours later, when he woke again, he was itching to rise and wasted no time in throwing off the covers and ripping the drapes open to ascertain whether his ears served him right and the rain had stopped. Indeed, he was right and he hastily washed himself and dressed in his trousers, boots, shirt and simple waistcoat. The necktie could wait; he had business this morning out on the brook by the end of the wood. The bridge was near collapsing, Mr McLaughlin and he had noticed on their way back yesterday, and he needed to walk over to ascertain the damage before he set out on any pleasurable communing with trout or other wildlife.

He found Mrs McLaughlin in the kitchen by the fire, plucking a grouse.

“We need more groose,” she said as a way of greeting. “Ye’ve not bagged enooch this sennicht.”

Baugham scanned the kitchen. Somewhere there must be an apple tart. His nose very distinctly said so.

“Yes, well, I have been busy, Mrs McLaughlin.”

There was a growling noise from the housekeeper.

“What with? It’s autumn. We need meat on the table and in the aumrie.”

“Aumrie?” Baugham said still looking around. “Oh, pantry!”

He went over to the door at the centre of Mrs McLaughlin’s culinary kingdom and opened the clasp. There it was! Untouched as well. He took it out and reached for a knife on the kitchen table. A quick look from Mrs McLaughlin and he arrested his movements.

“I am going to repair the bridge with Mr McLaughlin later today. I need my strength,” he said sternly.

“Aye, well, I’ll mind that when I pack yer nacket later on before ye leave,” she calmly said.

Baugham reluctantly put down the tart.

“And more than tairt ye need meat,” she finished and calmly went back to her plucking.

His lordship threw one more longing look at the apple tart and then went on his way to find Mr McLaughlin to tell him to pack up.

While that was being attended to, he took a turn around the stables to look over his horses before he returned to the house. One more surreptitious check on the kitchen revealed that the housekeeper was still standing guard over the pantry, so with a sigh he strode out again to meet the waiting Mr McLaughlin. Together they set out to their destination.

They worked for a fair while, replacing the half-rotted planks with newer, safer ones and sharing some of Mr McLaughlin’s cheese and bread for lunch. Pleased with their day’s work, Mr McLaughlin coaxed his lordship into taking a detour to the west of the estate on their way home to inspect another collapsed bit of road. It was agreed that something had to be done about it before the heavy autumn rains set in and this problem was further pondered over in his lordship’s study, accompanied by a welcome pot of strong, hot coffee and the rest of the now surrendered apple tart.