A Radical Arrangement

by Ashford, Jane

  For the first time Sir Justin felt something other than impatience or anger with the girl. Clearly she had some excuse for her shortcomings. He pitied her sincerely for her bland, sterile upbringing. He himself would no doubt have gone mad in such an environment or driven his tormentors mad. This vision brought a brief smile to his face, but it faded when he met Margaret’s anxious gaze. If it were not for his own damnable involvement, he could almost have been glad for the incidents that had made this girl flee her home. It could only help her to be away from it. Indeed, it had helped, as he had already observed.

  “I was not unhappy,” said Margaret to prevent a false impression.

  No, thought Keighley, you were never allowed even that much.

  Margaret frowned at him, not understanding his expression in the least. In anyone else she might have labeled it sadness, but that was clearly impossible in this case.

  “Are you tired?” she ventured. “You shouldn’t sit up too long.”

  He looked up again and felt a sudden twinge of warning. Their situation was damnable, and he would do nothing to improve it by starting to pity the girl or worry over her. He knew only too well where that sort of thing could lead, and he wanted no part of it. “I am, rather,” he answered. “Perhaps you should fetch Appleby to help me upstairs.”

  Nine

  The three days following this evening passed quietly. Keighley withdrew into himself and encouraged Margaret to leave him alone and walk. He talked no more of boredom, and she would often find Jemmy Appleby with him when she came in from striding along the beach. Sir Justin seemed fond of the boy, and Jemmy was obviously overcome by his favor. Margaret told herself that she should be glad her patient needed her less, but in fact she felt rather slighted and shut out. The kindlier impulses toward Keighley that had surfaced during their conversations were thwarted. She could not understand why he was so pleasant one day and so indifferent the next.

  She channeled her puzzlement into her walks, going farther than before and moving faster. The increased exercise hastened the process begun earlier, and Margaret’s face gained animation and life as her form strengthened and rounded. Her appetite now required no tempting, and she began to find her formerly loose gowns a better fit. She could not help noticing the change, and had she been so blind, Mrs. Appleby’s encouraging comments would have made it clear to her that her appearance was greatly improved.

  On the fourth morning Keighley called her to his room first thing, and she went eagerly, wondering if his distant mood had changed. But he said only, “I am sending young Appleby to Falmouth for some clothes and other necessities. Tell him what you need, or have his mother do so, and he can get that as well. The workmanship will be inferior, I suppose, but it will be better than nothing.”

  “I…I have all I need.”

  “Indeed? You surprise me.”

  His tone annoyed Margaret, so she added, “Very well, I do not, then. But I haven’t much money. I shall get along with what I brought.”

  “Ah. Fortunately I took the precaution of bringing a substantial sum with me.”

  “You cannot buy me clothes.”

  He shrugged. “Since I will in all probability be paying for this inn and for transportation away from it, I cannot see that it matters.”

  She flushed. “I mean to pay my share. I…I can manage that.”

  “And have nothing left?” He gazed at her, his curiosity roused in spite of himself. “What did you intend, running away with so little money?”

  “It was all I could get together without asking,” replied Margaret defensively. “I planned to find a position at once and support myself.” He looked so skeptical that she added, “I could be a governess, you know. I know Italian and music and drawing and—”

  “Of course.” His dismissive tone made her bite her lower lip. Of course he did not care what she did. “If you will just speak to Jemmy, then?” he finished. “I believe he wished to start as soon as possible.”

  Margaret nodded and turned away from him, wholly unaware that he had cut her off because he had once again begun to pity her. She found Jemmy, made her requests, and retreated to her favorite spot on the beach.

  She did not see Keighley again that day. He sent word that he was tired and would eat his dinner alone, which suited her down to the ground, Margaret told herself fiercely. She ate in the parlor and went to bed early, ignoring the sounds of Jemmy’s return somewhat later. Let Keighley be alone; he could be alone forever, as far as she was concerned.

  But the following morning, when she found him standing with Jemmy on the threshold of the inn dressed to go out, she could not help but protest.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Preparing to take a short stroll,” was the reply.

  “Do you feel well enough? Are you sure you should?”

  “Obviously, since I am here, I do. I must get some exercise if I am ever to recover, and I think we would both agree that the sooner I do, the better.”

  “Of course,” answered Margaret stiffly. “I will come with you.”

  “There is no need. Jem is accompanying me.”

  “I see that he is. I shall come too.”

  “It really is not necessary.”

  “Perhaps it isn’t, but I am not going to sit here and worry about whether you have fallen into the sea.”

  “You prefer to have the pleasure of witnessing the event.”

  She glared at him. “Yes! I hope I may.”

  “Indeed, your sister should go with you, Mr. Camden,” said a voice above them. They all looked up to find Mrs. Appleby leaning out a first-floor window. “Jem’s a good lad, but heedless. I’ll feel easier if she goes.”

  Keighley bowed his head and turned away. “Did you find me that stick, Jem?” was his only comment.

  “Yessir. Here it is.” The boy handed him a thick walking stick.

  “Good. Well, it appears we are ready, then.”

  “I’ll just get my hat,” said Margaret.

  “We will start out. You can catch up when you are ready.”

  She started to object, then shrugged impatiently and ran for her bonnet.

  They were halfway down to the seawall before she joined them, and no one spoke until they stood looking out over the waves. Then Keighley said, “A fair day.”

  “It is that, sir,” replied Jemmy eagerly. “Just the sort of day to take out the Gull.”

  Margaret started to protest. Sir Justin was by no means well enough to sail. But he forestalled her. “I wish I might. But this cursed arm won’t stand it yet.”

  Jemmy’s face fell. “No, sir.”

  “We could have a look at her, however. Where is she berthed?”

  “In Rook’s Inlet,” answered the boy quickly. “I usually keep her down at the docks, but I left her there because it was closer and I was in a hurry. It ain’t far.”

  Keighley laughed. “Let us go, then, by all means.”

  Jem gave a whoop and leaped to the top of the seawall. “This way,” he cried, racing along it.

  “Be careful,” Margaret called.

  Jemmy didn’t hear, but Keighley said, “He has no doubt been doing that since he could climb it.” She subsided.

  They walked along the curve of the wall, Jem running ahead and coming back like an eager spaniel. Keighley did not speak, but he took deep breaths of the sparkling sea air. It was a perfect day. The sun shone glittering on the waves, and the flowering plants in the village shed their fragrance everywhere. A mild ocean breeze kept it from being hot and stirred the leaves, one’s hair and clothing, and the line of foam on the sand below. Margaret found herself emulating her companion and drawing in deep lungfuls of air. Something made her want to skip or fling out her arms and whirl round and round.

  When they reached the steps in the seawall and started down, Margaret suddenly realized the probabl
e identity of Rook’s Inlet and made an involuntary sound.

  “What is it?” said Keighley, turning to look at her.

  “Nothing. That is, I believe I know where we are going. I…I discovered it on one of my first walks here.”

  “Really?” He turned away again and started slowly along the sand. He appeared to find the footing difficult.

  “Are you all right?” asked Margaret, hurrying to catch up.

  “Yes, yes. Come along. Jem has left us far behind.”

  She followed him anxiously, watching as he dug the walking stick deep into the sand at each step. She thought he looked paler and wondered how she would get him back to the inn if he fainted.

  But they made it to the inlet well enough. As she had suspected, it was the spot she had earlier discovered. Today there was a small boat moored in the opening, dispelling the flavor of secrecy, as did Jemmy’s eager babble of information.

  Margaret eyed the craft with approval. From some of the boy’s remarks she had expected a ramshackle boat, but the Gull was painted cheerful yellow and innocent of any speck of dirt. It was small—only about fifteen feet, she guessed—but the front third had been decked over to form a tiny cabin or storage nook, and there were things like cupboards along the sides behind it. The sail was neatly furled about the mast, and the craft generally looked as if care had been lavished upon it. “How pretty,” she said.

  Jemmy looked torn between pride at the compliment and contempt for the unprofessional judgment.

  “A fine little vessel,” agreed Keighley, who had been leaning over it while the boy showed him all the amenities. “Did you fit her out yourself?”

  “Yes, sir. That is, my brother helped me with the carpentry. I did all the rest.”

  “Good for you. How does she head?”

  “Pretty well, considering,” responded Jem quickly. “She’s a bit broad.”

  As they again became immersed in technicalities Margaret wandered back into the depths of the inlet. The pool was as serenely quiet as ever; the flowering vine hung over it, and the trickle of water wet the cliff. She sank down with a sigh and let the silence wash over her.

  Some minutes passed; she did not notice exactly how long. She was content merely to sit. Then, though she had heard no approach, a deep voice said, “A peaceful spot.”

  Margaret started and looked up to find Keighley standing only a few feet away. “Yes. I come here often. I found it on my first walk.”

  He took a step closer and looked about. “I can see why you like it. Do I disturb you?”

  “No.” She was a little surprised that he would ask.

  “It’s amazingly cool.”

  “It always is. I think it must be the water.”

  He watched the trickle down the cliff face and nodded. The silence descended again.

  At first Margaret felt as if she should speak, though she could think of nothing to say. It seemed awkward to sit quietly with Keighley so close. But after a moment this feeling left her. The peace of the place seemed to flood back, and she relaxed once more in the seat she had made of two flat stones. She dared to look up and discovered a new expression on Sir Justin’s face. His dark brows and rugged features were smoothed in a calm she had never before glimpsed about him; he looked approachable and—she struggled to define what she saw—happy in a quiet, inner way. His face seemed to mirror what Margaret had often felt in this place, and for a brief instant she felt close to him. She knew what was passing through his heart.

  “Sir,” called an urgent voice. “Mr. Camden, sir. I’ve found it.”

  Keighley started slightly, looked down at her, and smiled. “Jem has further wonders to show. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For sharing your discovery.” With this, he turned away and disappeared through the fringe of leaves.

  Margaret sat still a moment longer, then jumped to her feet and followed.

  Jem Appleby was going through the various compartments of his boat, showing Sir Justin all his equipment. When Margaret joined them, he included her peripherally, as if wishing to be polite while acknowledging that she was not deeply interested. When at last they had seen everything and the display was again neatly stowed, Jem stepped reluctantly back to shore. “I do wish we could take her out,” he said again. “We don’t get a breeze like this every day.”

  Keighley nodded sympathetically.

  “You could go out,” suggested Margaret. “I can see, er, Harry back to the inn.”

  The boy looked tempted, then shook his head. “Ma has chores for me. She said so when I left. Perhaps later.”

  He looked so disappointed that Margaret could not help adding, “I’m sorry.”

  Sir Justin was smiling. “By the by, Margaret, I don’t believe you have ever been on a boat.”

  Startled, she began to shake her head, when Jemmy exclaimed, “Ain’t you taken her on yours, sir?”

  “Er, yes. I meant to say, on such a small boat. Don’t you want to go aboard and see how it feels?”

  “You’re welcome, miss,” said Jemmy. “She’s quiet now. Not much roll.”

  He gazed at her with eager blue eyes as Margaret frowned at the gently rocking Gull. It looked frighteningly unsteady. Raising her eyes, she met Sir Justin’s. He was mocking her. “I’d like to,” replied Margaret stoutly. “But I am not sure how…”

  “I’ll help you.” The boy came forward. “I wish she were at the dock, but I’ll pull her in so you won’t get your shoes wet.” He proceeded to draw the prow of the boat up onto the sand. “Just sit there,” he indicated. Margaret obediently sat on the roof of the tiny cabin, which was flush with the sides of the craft. “Now, pull your legs up, and I’ll push you off so’s you can get a feel for her.”

  She lifted her legs into the well behind her seat. Jem shoved, and the Gull slowly slid down the sand and into the blue water. In a moment it was floating free. Involuntarily Margaret gasped.

  “Don’t worry,” called Jemmy. “She’s tied. Don’t she ride nice, though?”

  Margaret took several deep breaths. She started to shift her position, but when the boat rocked in response, she desisted. It was disconcerting to be on a platform that continually tilted. She looked to shore. Jemmy was watching her with expectant pride, and Keighley was clearly stifling laughter. Margaret straightened. “It’s…very nice,” she told the boy, who nodded with pleasure. And even as she spoke she realized that it was true. The boat rose and fell soothingly beneath her; the sun shone warm and the breeze cooled her face. The constant motion made her feel very free. “It’s lovely,” she added with obvious enthusiasm, and Jemmy grinned while Keighley let his laugh out. It was a pleasant laugh, Margaret saw now, not mocking at all, and she joined him gaily.

  She was sorry when Jem hauled her in again and helped her out of the Gull. “Thank you,” she said to him. “It is a beautiful boat. I should like to go out in it sometime, if you will let me.”

  “Oh, yes, miss. I’ll take you both.”

  Margaret smiled up at Keighley, but a shadow had passed over his face, and he turned away. “We’d best get back,” he said.

  They trudged across the sand in silence. Jem bounded up the stairs in the seawall and ran along the top while Margaret followed more slowly. At the head of the steps she paused and looked back. Sir Justin was leaning heavily against the wall about halfway up. His face was ashen, and his breath came in gasps. She hurried to his side. “Are you all right? What is it?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just…overdone it a trifle…it seems.”

  “I’ll help you.” She put a hand under his elbow.

  “A moment.” He breathed sonorously several times. “All right.”

  Very slowly they made their way up, stopping twice for Keighley to rest. At the top Margaret looked about anxiously. “Oh, where has Jemmy gone? I must send him for his father.”


  “No need,” replied Keighley raspingly.

  “Nonsense. I will go. You sit here and wait for us.”

  “No!”

  His tone was so sharp that she stopped in midstride.

  “I can get back on my own. I won’t be fetched like some invalid. It was just the stairs.”

  Margaret eyed him. His breathing was easier now, but he was still alarmingly white. “You have a serious wound,” she began.

  “I can walk back to the inn,” he interrupted. “I must recover my strength, and I shall never do so lying on my back.”

  “Nor by overtaxing yourself before you are ready,” she retorted tartly.

  “I am ready.” He straightened and moved away from the wall. “Go on ahead if you like. I shall be along directly.”

  With an angry sigh, she came to take his elbow again. “Of course I am likely to leave you here, aren’t I? How stubborn you are. Come along.”

  With a wry smile, he allowed her to guide him down the cobbled road to the lane that led up to the inn.

  “Won’t you wait here?” pleaded Margaret then. “This climb is longer than the stairs. I’ll get Mr. Appleby.”

  Grimly he shook his head.

  Margaret sighed again. If he would not promise to stay still, she could not leave him. She tightened her grip on his elbow. “Very well.”

  They had not covered half the distance when Keighley suddenly swayed against her, dropping his walking stick with a clatter.

  Margaret threw an arm about his waist to support the added weight and cried, “What is it?”

  “Shoulder,” he murmured, putting a hand to his wound.

  Desperately she looked about for help. But they were in a section of road without doorways, and there were no pedestrians in sight. Mustering all her strength, she inserted her shoulder in Sir Justin’s unhurt armpit and said, “Put your arm about my shoulders. It is not much farther.”

  He did so, and they went on slowly in this way. He was breathing heavily again, and Margaret was terribly afraid she would fail him and let him fall. He was so heavy. She took another step, and another, more and more conscious of his ribs against her heaving breast, his muscular arm across her shoulders. She tried to look up at his face, to gauge his condition, but a fold of his coat obscured her eyes and she got only a breath of his scent, compounded of leather, tobacco, and something unfamiliar.