The Birthright

by T. Davis Bunn

  As if in response to his questions, the answer formed. Ask and it shall be granted. So Charles bowed his head. Father, I am afraid. I don’t even know what to pray for. Thy will be done. I can ask for nothing more. Thy will be done.

  He stood there, head still bowed, willing for more or better words to come. And in the quiet there pealed forth a sound, one that silenced even Maisy. Charles raised his head and listened. There it was again.

  The warm summer breeze carried the unmistakable sound of a woman laughing.

  Charles found himself hurrying in disbelief down the lane that led toward the front gates. He watched as the carriage slowed and then turned through the gates. As the horses started down the treelined avenue, he heard it again. A laughter so clear and carefree it caused him to shiver.

  Then he saw her, seated beside the driver, sharing the reins with him.

  “That’s it, my lady,” he heard the driver call. “Draw back even, the two lines in together. Call to them, now.”

  “Whoa! Slow down, there!” The laugh was clearer now, close enough for Charles to see the beaming face and the young woman’s excitement. “Oh, oh, they’re doing what I say!”

  “Pull harder, now. That’s it.” The horses came finally to a halt next to where Charles was standing. The two front steeds, the most spirited of his team, pawed at the earth and whinnied. Clearly they had felt a new hand at the stead and enjoyed it.

  The driver then sobered as he turned all his attention toward Charles. “Your pardon, my lord, but she asked and asked—”

  “It’s fine, truly,” Charles said. And it was.

  Nicole seemed reluctant to release the reins. “I am sorry, Lord Charles, but never in my life have I known such a thing as this.”

  “She’s a natural, your honor,” the young driver offered. “The horses mind her better than they do me.”

  “That’s not true,” Nicole cried. “I could do this only because he sat beside me and helped hold the reins.”

  “I did naught but show her the way,” the driver countered.

  Gaylord Days pulled open the door to the carriage proper as the two footmen dropped from their rear stations. He glanced up at the young woman, then gave Charles a deep bow. “I hope I was not wrong in giving the lass her head, your lordship.”

  “Not at all.” Charles could not help staring at Nicole, nor could he prevent his smile.

  Gaylord moved in closer still and murmured for Charles’s ear alone, “A most remarkable young lady, my lord. Charming and spirited besides.”

  Charles reached up both arms and smiled his pleasure. “Welcome, my dear. Welcome to Harrow Hall.”

  Nicole looked down from the carriage’s high perch, so overwhelmed by all that had just passed she could not recall the fear she had known that morning. Upon waking, her mind had quaked over the thought of seeing her uncle and everything she did not know. Now, however, her heart overflowed with the joy she had found in watching the world pass with such smooth power. “I hope I haven’t done anything improper, Lord Charles.”

  “Call me Uncle or Charles, I beg you. And not in the slightest. Come, let me help you down.”

  Nicole accepted his hand. “It was such a beautiful day, I couldn’t bear the thought of not sitting up top and watching the sunlight through the clouds.”

  “I quite understand. Put your foot on the metal step there, that’s it.”

  “It seemed the most natural thing in the world to ask to hold the reins.” She stepped lightly onto the ground, gave him a carefree smile, then reached over and patted the nearest horse’s shoulder. “These are the grandest and most beautiful animals on all the earth.”

  Nicole then glanced up to where Jim sat grinning down at her. “And you are a wonderful teacher. Thank you.”

  He tipped his hat. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  She stepped back from the carriage and tried to pat her hair back into place. “I must look a mess.”

  “On the contrary,” Charles said with quiet conviction. “You look divine.” He offered her his arm. “Would you like a cup of tea now?”

  “Oh, I am very thirsty.” Nicole took his arm and walked with him around the carriage, where she stopped in her tracks.

  “Now, now, none of that.”

  All the day’s joy drained away. Before her stood the most magnificent building she had ever seen. It loomed higher than the trees. In fact, it seemed high as the sky from where she was standing. All the fears she had known returned with a jolt. “Do you live here?”

  “We live here,” he corrected softly. “This is Harrow Hall.”

  “All of this?” Her voice squeaked in her ears.

  To her surprise, Charles did not lead her toward the waiting staff. Instead, he turned her around and started back down the treelined lane.

  “Let me share with you a confidence,” he said. “Before you arrived, I was absolutely terrified.”

  “You? Why?”

  “Because I had so much riding on this moment. The future of my family’s name. All the hopes I have invested in a future beyond my own life. Trivial matters when faced with the things of eternity, I admit. But important to me just the same. And now you were coming, traveling across the wide blue sea, and what would you find? How would you feel?” He halted and faced her square on. “I even wrote a speech of welcome. It’s here in my pocket, and there it shall remain.”

  Nicole bit her lip, as much from his tone as the words he expressed. “I confess to being terrified as well.”

  “Of course you are. It is only natural. But the nicest moment of this entire time of waiting, my dear, was hearing your laughter ring ahead of your arrival. More than anything else, I want you to be happy here.” He reached forward and touched her arm. “This old place has been empty of laughter for far too long.”

  She raised one hand to cover his own. “Dear Uncle Charles. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For reminding me of why I came.”

  He relaxed a trifle. “Shall we go now and see your new home?”

  Nicole felt once more a twinge of apprehension, but tried to keep it from her face. “Very well, yes. Let’s.”

  Chapter 12

  Nicole took her time going up the stairs, for the servants lined the broad stone steps, one to each side. Charles seemed pleased that she would want to meet them. He introduced each by name. But there was so much to take in, especially as each stride took her closer toward the palace.

  One person stood out immediately in her mind, an ample, smiling woman, whose cheeks were pushed out as if they held a pair of ripe plums. “This is Maisy Days,” Charles said. “She and her husband Gaylord run the house for me. And run it well.”

  Maisy did her best to curtsy. “An honor to meet you, my lady.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I fear I have given your husband a great fright on the way here. He did not seem to think much of my climbing up on top the carriage.”

  “Nonsense, my lady. A woman of spirit is just what this old house needs.” She reached behind her and pushed forward a sturdy-looking boy. “Might I introduce our youngest boy, my lady. William Days is his name, though round these parts he mostly answers to Will. He’s ten years old now.”

  Nicole watched as the boy bowed, his face flaming. “What a charming young man. May I call you Will, also?”

  “If it pleases you, my lady,” the boy mumbled, clearly embarrassed by the attention. But his mother brightened so that her cheeks glowed apple red.

  Will’s words gave Nicole the courage to turn to Charles and say then and there, in front of them all, “If you will permit me, Uncle Charles, I find my title jarring. Especially here among people who live with us.”

  Charles blinked in evident surprise but said merely, “Would you prefer they use your proper name?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Very well, it’s settled then.” He offered his elbow again. “Shall we continue?”

  Nicole started toward the front door, her eyes arrested b
y the towering edifice before her. The door had been set at the center of eight enormous pillars, not separate from the building but made to be half-emerging from the magnificent façade. Nicole saw that the windows to the first two floors were taller than she was; then she stumbled on the steps.

  “Now, now,” Charles chided quietly. “None of that.”

  “But it’s so big.”

  “Aye, far too big for one lonely old man.” He reached over with his free hand and patted hers, where it rested on his elbow. “Remember, my dear, all this pales compared to the gift you’ve given me of your presence today.”

  They then stepped across the threshold. The front hall was a marble-encased cube, fifteen feet to a side and fifteen feet high. The ceiling was the shape of a cupola from which hung a great brass chandelier. Charles paid it all no mind as he led her into what was the largest chamber Nicole had ever entered. So large, in fact, that the walls flanking the dual curved staircase contained full-sized portraits of men on dancing steeds.

  Nicole pointed at the paintings and asked, “Are they family?”

  “They were. A long time ago.”

  She found comfort in the fact that she would not have to greet them. They both held a stern look, and one waved a saber over his head. Nicole knew she would feel uneasy using that particular staircase and walking beneath the raised English sword for a very long time.

  “Now then,” Charles said, “a bit of history. The house was originally built during the time of Charles the First, but my grandfather rebuilt it in the style you see today. It’s called Georgian. We are now ruled by the third of the Hanoverian kings, George the Third. Although thankfully much of his power has been passed on to our Parliament.”

  Nicole tried to pay attention, but she felt overwhelmed by all the wealth surrounding her. “What is this room called?”

  “This?” Charles waved a dismissive hand. “The first inner hall.”

  Nicole looked at him. “There is a second hall?”

  He inspected her a moment, then said, “I suppose the history lesson can wait for another time, yes?”

  “All right.”

  “And perhaps we should go ahead and get the worst over without delay.”

  “The worst?”

  In reply, Charles turned and said, “Gaylord.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “We shall see to the formal halls first.”

  “Very good, m’lord.”

  As the butler scurried up the stairs in front of them, Charles continued, “Downstairs in front are what you might call our family rooms—the breakfast room, Chippendale room, music room, dining hall, smaller dining chamber, reading room, winter garden. In the back are the servants’ quarters, kitchen, and pantry. To the north side we have what remains of the original structure, now fashioned into three bedchambers, sitting rooms, dressing rooms, and a guest apartment. Upstairs—”

  Charles cut off his explanation and grasped the stair railing. He let go of Nicole with his other hand and then gripped his chest—hard.

  “Uncle, is there something the matter?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “But you’ve gone all pale. And you are perspiring.”

  “It’s nothing, really.” But the words came in quick, short gasps. “The excitement. At times I…”

  She was about to call for Gaylord, when as swiftly as it had come, the spell passed. Charles’s color returned, his breathing eased. He relaxed his holds on the banister and his chest. Managing a smile, he said, “There. All better now.”

  “Should I call for help?”

  “Not at all, my dear. And please don’t mention this to anyone. I get these spells only from time to time. They come and they go.”

  Reluctantly Nicole permitted him to continue leading her up the stairs. “Have you spoken to a doctor?”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do for me. And it’s all a trifling affair. I have simply been far too excited for my own good. But you are here now, and all is well. Truly.” And he did look fine as he rested there on the landing, near where Gaylord stood proudly beside a pair of ornate double-doors. “This is known as a seven-bay house, with three rooms to either side of the front entrance. Upstairs we have the formal rooms, used mostly for visitors. Of course, you may take one as your own and do with it whatever you like.”

  Nicole could scarcely believe her ears. “But not as my bedroom?”

  “No, your sleeping quarters will be in the old house.”

  “You mean I can have another room all to myself?”

  Her question caused Charles to exchange a quick glance with Gaylord. “I think the best thing for us to do is simply proceed through the entire affair.”

  “Whatever you say, Uncle.”

  “All right then. Remember now, these are merely trappings. What’s important is the gift you have made to me this day.”

  But his words and the assurance they carried vanished like smoke in the breeze while they strolled from one large room to another. Charles took her in a right-hand circle, naming each chamber as they leisurely made their way around the manor.

  The first drawing room opened up to the garden drawing room, and this gave way to the first formal salon. From there they proceeded into the mirrored salon—the only room where the walls were not covered with oil paintings. Instead, each wall held a single beveled mirror within a heavy gilded frame. Nicole found herself staring back at her reflection a hundred times over, and every face appeared frightened. She was glad to leave the salon behind and enter the portico drawing room.

  Soon they walked into the long gallery, where Nicole finally had to stop. “It’s all too much,” she whispered.

  “It is rather grand,” Charles admitted, giving her time for a longer look.

  Walls of amber damask rose forty feet to a gilded domed ceiling, where skylights of stained glass diffused a rainbow of afternoon shades. Dozens of pillars were crowned with gold-leaf cherubs holding aloft silver ribbons that crisscrossed the dome. The floor consisted of a mosaic of marble and fine woods. And the gallery’s furniture was carved and covered with gold leaf to match its surroundings.

  “The long gallery here is used for our larger parties,” Charles said. “I had hoped to give a reception in your honor, my dear. Once you have had a chance to settle in and become comfortable. But everyone is away just now. It’s the season, you know.”

  Nicole nodded, not understanding, but unable at the time to speak. The room went on and on, and was ringed by a balcony deep enough to contain tables and chairs. Nicole felt her head beginning to spin. She couldn’t take it all in, so she sought something to fix her attention on. Her eyes landed on a painting, one so beautiful she cried aloud, “Oh, look.”

  Charles followed her gaze and then guided her forward till they stood directly before it. Yet it was to the butler that he spoke. “Have you ever seen the like, Gaylord?”

  “Quite remarkable, m’lord.”

  In a tone more tender than she had ever heard him use, Charles said, “This was my mother’s favorite painting. It hung in her bedroom all her life. The one which will now become your bedchamber, if you like.”

  “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Nicole breathed.

  “It was painted by a Flemish man named Rubens nearly two centuries ago. It is called ‘Christ Praying in Gethsemane.’” As Nicole continued to stare intently at the painting, he went on, “I think we should move it back to your bedchamber. Will you please see to that, Gaylord?”

  “Immediately, m’lord.”

  Nicole spun around. “You are giving this to me?”

  Charles gave her a soft smile. “My dear, all of this is yours. Whatever you like, you may claim as your own.”

  The implications of this simple statement left her utterly without words as they walked on into the yellow drawing room, the striped drawing room, and the Etruscan drawing room with its embroidered silk benches that encircled the chamber. Only after they had entered the formal dining hall, which in
cluded a thirty-foot long table and centerpiece of Portuguese silver, did she react at all—and then with a shudder.

  “What’s the matter, my dear?” Charles asked with a concerned look on his face.

  “Nothing, it’s just…” She pointed at the walls. “All the paintings in here are of war.”

  “Ah. Yes. Of course. This was my grandfather’s choice, and my father left them here out of respect for his memory. I should have thought of this, given your heritage.” He then turned around and said, “Gaylord.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Every painting to do with soldiery, officers, battles, and war.”

  “Soldiery. Yes, m’lord.”

  “Remove them to the back garden and burn the lot.”

  “Immediately, m’lord.”

  “No!” Nicole cried out. “You cannot!”

  “If they offend you, my dear, then I must.”

  “No, it’s just…” But when she looked again at the scenes of battle and mayhem, she couldn’t completely hide another shudder. “Please, don’t destroy them.”

  “Very well. We shall instead collect the paintings and store them in a room you shall not need to enter. Which of the rooms did you care for the least?”

  Nicole hesitated, then admitted, “The one with the striped benches.”

  “Gaylord?”

  “Every military painting to the Etruscan drawing room. We shall begin on this at once, m’lord.”

  “No need to hurry. We shall not be using this room for a few days yet.”

  Struggling to make sense of the jumble in her head, Nicole blurted, “You have so many paintings.”

  “Indeed we do. Several of my ancestors were great collectors.” Charles took her arm, and together they entered a pair of small antechambers, both fitted out with writing desks. “There are pictures and portraits by Ribera, Raphael, Van Dyck, Rubens, Steen, Titian, Correggio, Brueghel.” Charles stopped when he realized she was no longer listening. “What is it, my dear?”

  “No one,” Nicole said slowly, “can possibly own this many books.”