Twixt Two Equal Armies

by Gail McEwen

  FATALLY. HUMILIATINGLY. TOTALLY. INESCAPABLY. IT was not the words that kept echoing in his mind, it was his friend’s voice. Darcy confessed himself to be in love and it had not seemed to have brought him much of the joy Romantics promised. Baugham had never declared himself the owner of any romantic sentiments and thus he was not surprised.

  As long as he had known Darcy, his friend had been the sternest advocate of reason, temperance and detachment when dealing with affairs of the heart. Beware of fortune hunters, beware of the matrons, and beware of tricks and debts and ulterior motives. And Baugham had been an avid pupil of aloofness in personal encounters with the opposite sex. Some degree of experience and adventure was desirable, but not attachment or commitment and certainly there had never been any cause to abandon reason. That philosophy had served him well so far and he had, together with Darcy, always been committed to maintaining that love had nothing to do with it.

  And now Darcy was in love. Baugham had mixed feelings about this. Shock, to be sure, that his friend would succumb to the weakness. Irritation that he should do it so readily and openly. Fear that it would serve him ill and he would suffer the ills he had always warned his friend about.

  This Miss Bennet, who was she? What was her motive? How would she use his friend and to what end? Love was, after all, the one area of life where women ruled, exercising their endless power in humiliating and selfish ways. What would be his friend’s fate?

  Baugham hesitated for a while, but decided to wander down to the kitchen. Perhaps Mrs McLaughlin could be of some help to unravel the mystery of the woman down at Rosefarm Cottage who had his friend in such an uncharacteristic clutch.

  MRS MCLAUGHLIN SAT AT THE large kitchen table, drying and polishing the crystal. Every glass Darcy and he had used for before dinner drinks in the library, through the wine and the water and the sherry with the soup, to the port and the whiskey afterwards, stood like a company of soldiers in front of her, lined up according to size.

  Baugham lifted up a sherry glass, but hastily put it back after Mrs McLaughlin gave him a look.

  “What do you know about the Rosefarm ladies?” Baugham launched into his questions without ceremony. It was fruitless anyway. If he came round to the kitchen at this hour, Mrs McLaughlin knew he either wanted to ask questions or plunder her larder. Asking questions usually produced more results more quickly and with less effort.

  “Dinnae know that much. Good employers, although not too plump in the pootch.”

  “Oh, come now, Mrs McLaughlin,” his lordship drawled and picked up a wine glass. “Really.”

  “Well, I cannae launch into all I know straight away, now can I? Not without any clues to what yer looking to know. I’m sure ye’d expect Mrs Higgins to do the same at Rosefarm.”

  “She’d tell them I’m a good employer although not too wealthy either?”

  Mrs McLaughlin snorted, but hid a smile as she turned around to put away the seltzer glasses.

  “She’d tell them they’ll have to wirk a wee bit harder than that if they want to learn anything.”

  “Right. Well, more specifically Miss Bennet then. What is she like?”

  “A bonny lass. Gleg and trig and smairt.” Lord Baugham looked pained and Mrs McLaughlin tried very hard. “Sharp. Quick-witted. Clever,” she said slowly. “Does a world of good for Miss Holly. They be like sisters really. And Mrs Tournier is right fond of her niece. Thy’re two women cut from the same tree, alright.”

  Baugham felt slightly disappointed. “Anything else? Anything . . . important?”

  “Well . . . ” Mrs McLaughlin carried more of the glasses away and stacked them carefully on the upper shelves. “It do seem as if Miss Elizabeth is come to git away from her kin down south. Some gunk or other. Disappointment,” she explained slowly. “A mutual disappointment. What it be, I dinnae know. Nor is it my place to really.”

  “Oh? Well, should you find out more about that . . . gunk of Miss Bennet’s . . . ”

  Mrs McLaughlin looked at him haughtily.

  “Well, maybe not then,” Baugham muttered and rose from his seat.

  Chapter 6

  Social Life in and around Clanough picks up and Intelligence is Gathered about the Other Side

  “Elizabeth, I am sorry that I cannot come with you this morning, but Sir John’s friend will be here any time now and I don’t want to keep him waiting. He returns to Edinburgh on the two o’clock post.” Holly apologised as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt and brushed her handkerchief over the table to remove invisible dust from its surface, “I don’t know why I am so nervous, I already have the job. I just hope that I will be able to do it properly.”

  Elizabeth reached out and stopped the nervous movements with a soft touch on her shoulder. “Holly, stop worrying, you will be fine, you know you will — and so will I. I am perfectly capable of walking out by myself, and to be honest, I rather welcome the chance to think and sort out my feelings in solitude.”

  “Of course you must. I shouldn’t be so selfish to require you to always be in my company, so I give you leave to go without me,” Holly smiled. “I trust when you return you will be all sorted and thought out.”

  “You may count on it,” Elizabeth laughed as she tied her bonnet and walked out the door.

  Sir John’s friend, Dr McKenna, was kind, friendly and an easy conversationalist. He was knowledgeable about Sir John’s work and requirements and full of encouragement and admiration for Holly’s preliminary sketches. The morning passed quickly as they paged through the manuscript, the doctor pointing out the places Sir John had marked for the colour plates, helping her decipher his notes, and explaining any concepts which were unclear to her.

  Elizabeth returned shortly before noon and, along with Mrs Tournier they shared a light meal in the parlour.

  “So,” Mrs Tournier began with her customary directness to their guest, “you are an aspiring geologist? Whatever for? I believe I can claim the privilege of hostess to have you explain to me, Dr McKenna, exactly what it is that makes rocks so fascinating and worth your passion. I assure you, although it at present is a mystery to me, I am by no means unwilling to see your reason and even learn a thing or two.”

  Dr McKenna smiled and met Holly’s eyes. Holly recognised an intelligent man in his look and realised Sir John most probably had warned him about her mother’s unguarded behaviour and eagerness for debate, even with virtual strangers. The rest of the conversation consisted of pointed questions and intelligent answers, good natured teasing, laughter and not a little bit of knowledge shared around the room until it was time for their guest to leave to catch the coach to Edinburgh.

  THE MORNING SUN WOKE LORD Baugham the moment it peeked over the fell. This was by no means unwelcome to his lordship, and he was restless to get up and take advantage of the clear weather.

  He was somewhat surprised, however, to discover that his otherwise fastidious friend did not appear at breakfast. He still had not shown himself after Lord Baugham had had a good rummage through the kitchen for provisions from Mrs McLaughlin and the gun room for equipment from Mr McLaughlin. In the hall, impatient to be on his way, he questioned Riemann while he prepared himself for his outing. Since the valet would not answer his inquiry of Mr Darcy’s whereabouts, he concluded nothing was to be done.

  “Well, when you see him lurking about somewhere again, tell him I’ve gone down to the trout rock by Nethery Farm and that I shall try to catch dinner for us before lunch. He might join me if he wishes; I shall be there for as long as I can manage. Glorious weather! Can’t wait to see if it has bewitched the fish as well as myself!”

  With that he was off, whistling, down to the place where the fish always bite and the stream always sings. It was a fair way to walk but the sun had done an admirable job of drying out the worst of the rain from the last few days and so he could keep up a good pace. The place he was heading to was a very secluded spot by a narrow part of a brook that took an elegant turn just around a large f
lat boulder only to almost tie a bow on itself as it tried to catch its own tail again on the other side. Consequently, a large pool of water lay quietly just under its rocky path, letting the river catch its breath before it cheerfully rolled on.

  His lordship set himself down on the flat boulder, admiring the scenery and the glittering, bubbly stream rippling by his feet. He could see no fish yet, but they would come. They always did. He laughed softly to himself and shook his head. “Darcy must be the most perfect fishing partner imaginable with his cursed taciturnity and then he ends up not coming!”

  The sun, the fresh air and the inactivity of the trout made Lord Baugham hungry for his lunch at an early hour. He sat down beneath a large elm, resting his back against the trunk, cutting pieces of bread and cheese while watching his rod peacefully bobbing up and down on the twirling water. It was very pleasant in the shade and quiet — the only sounds were the rippling of the water and the birds singing in the tree above him. Before he could make a conscious decision, he had slid down the trunk, crossed his arms behind his head and placed his hat over his face. Approximately two minutes later, Lord Baugham was fast asleep.

  “Baugham!” a voice bellowed.

  His lordship jerked in his sleep and shifted his long frame splayed against the tree. His hat tipped and slid down on the ground. Without opening his eyes, he sighed and only considered getting up when he heard twigs being crushed by determined footsteps close by. When he looked up, there was Darcy poised above him, frowning.

  “Are you awake?”

  Baugham sighed again. “Evidently.”

  “You look terrible.”

  “And you look much too agitated. What is it?”

  “You promised me tea at Rosefarm within three days. Get dressed. We’re going.”

  Mr Darcy stalked off. Baugham jumped up and called after him.

  “Now? Why?”

  “Because we have received an invitation and we do not wish to disappoint. It was hard won.”

  With that Baugham had to be content, for Mr Darcy had a coat to consider back at Clyne.

  “PERHAPS YOU SHOULD TELL ME who invited you,” Baugham said later on as they directed their horses over the fields at a trot.

  “Miss Bennet,” Darcy said calmly and kept his eyes on the emerging village beyond the trees.

  “And does the rest of the family know of this invitation?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Miss Bennet mentioned her aunt was always fond of lively company.”

  “Which is why I am being dragged along?”

  “Something of that nature, yes.”

  Baugham contemplated his friend’s short answers and remembered the look of unbridled dismay on the face of Miss Bennet’s cousin when they met after church. He sighed. That, and an old widow, would certainly require all his effort if the afternoon was to turn out to be lively. He decided Darcy owed him at least a hunting trip up towards Blechan Fells if he managed to serve his appointed purpose.

  MRS TOURNIER WAS ENJOYING HERSELF immensely. Spontaneous jigs, guests in fezzes and spirited arguments about Poor Laws were all very well, but a live drama of four young, determined characters, meeting and playing out their various agendas right in front of her was infinitely to be preferred as far as unexpected entertainment was concerned. On occasions like this, she had to admit she missed London society and the menagerie of the perpetually intriguing ton!

  She glanced at her daughter. Holly’s jaw was set and her dark eyes looked warily from under her long lashes as she filled teacups. Her niece sat straight-backed on the edge of the sofa with her hands in her lap. Her speech was effortless and she led the conversation easily, but her uncommon stiffness spoke louder than her easy exchange.

  And best of all — the gentlemen! Mr Darcy smiled easily, but had difficulty in meeting the eyes of any who addressed him. They strayed all too often to admire the back of the sofa, the arm rests of the sofa, the fabric of the sofa, the carved legs of the sofa and, in doing so, often hastily skimmed over the woman who sat in the middle of it all, apparently obscuring his view and study.

  Mrs Tournier was, however, most entertained by the young man sitting beside her. He could hardly know why, but she was both listening to his constant flow of light conversation and trying to see the father in the son. It was not easy. Mrs Tournier had met the notorious sixth Earl on a few occasions in London in her youth, fully aware of his grim reputation. He was a gambler, a libertine and a drunk. His infrequent appearances in polite society were most likely motivated by a need to apply for loans from his more reputable associates and he had always quickly disappeared again to more depraved pursuits, which no one in her acquaintance had ever witnessed firsthand, though everyone claimed to have detailed knowledge of their degree of wickedness.

  She could see but little of the father in the son, excepting for those blue eyes that were detached, though by no means hard or unfeeling. He returned her silent thoughts on his family by asking about hers. She answered honestly, to which he showed a remarkable degree of intelligence and interest for a man with such easy manners.

  Once the tea was poured, Mrs Tournier derived another source of pleasure in guessing what thoughts were running through her daughter’s mind as the guests helped themselves generously to the offerings from the tray, and most specifically, from the sugar bowl. In receiving her own cup from Holly’s hands, the unmistakable fragrance of mint gave evidence that, however lofty the status of their guests, she had not felt they deserved the privilege of being served pure, black tea. The gentlemen’s faces were portraits of polite surprise, Elizabeth’s of subdued curiosity, and Holly’s of scarcely contained suspicion and defiance.

  “So!” Lord Baugham said and broke the silence surrounding the first sip. “Here we are, travelled all over, restless in our pursuit of novelties or peace, yet never before having been to tea in Clanough. I must thank you, Mrs Tournier, for opening your door to show us what we have been missing.”

  “If you are referring to the tea itself, my lord, I think it is probably about time you were treated to new sensations. As for our company, I would suppose a man like you is not inclined to come to obscure Scottish villages with an eye toward enlarging his social circle. Perhaps you feel we ought to be spectacular in our singularity in order to warrant another visit?”

  “Oh, no!” Lord Baugham laughed. “You are singular enough in the fact that you have failed to live up to my prejudiced expectations! And I assure you, madam, you have failed in a most charming manner!”

  “You are surprised at the quality of society outside your own circles, my lord?” Holly sat down beside her cousin, stirring her cup slowly.

  “Perhaps, but such surprise is nearly always the fault of the expectant party — as it surely is in this case — and the triumph of those being visited.”

  Holly arched her eyebrow and looked at Lord Baugham. What a smug face he had! It was all sport to him, this whole thing.

  “I suppose,” her cousin broke in, “Scottish society is by no means foreign to your lordship. I would venture a guess that you are intimately acquainted with its wilder forms.”

  “That is very true, Miss Bennet,” Baugham said cheerfully. “I am not overly familiar with the society here, other than the wildlife. I tend to visit Scotland when I am in my more subdued frame of mind, to enjoy the solitude and quiet — and I must say beauty — of the place.”

  “And I see that when you do require company,” Holly added, quietly, but with a noticeable edge to her voice as she glanced at Mr Darcy, “you prefer to import your own rather than seek out what may be close by?”

  Lord Baugham gave her an amused look, Darcy shifted in his chair and Mrs Tournier smiled smugly into her teacup.

  “Now Holly!” Elizabeth laughed uncertainly and stood, ostensibly to fetch some more cheese. “Take care! As your own imported companion, I must ask you to have pity! Or else quickly praise my bravery in venturing so far north!”

  Lord Baugham watched Miss Tournier for a few mo
re moments, and then shifted his attention to Miss Bennet.

  “Well, Miss Bennet, I will certainly praise you then and ask you to entertain us with your travel exploits all the way from Hertfordshire. Travel guides being all the rage, perhaps you might inspire us!”

  “I do not know how well I can inspire one who has undoubtedly made the journey countless more times than I have, and since my aunt and cousin make the reverse journey but rarely, I have exhausted my gift for description of the picturesque beauties of the roadsides long ago. They grow quite out of patience with me sometimes. It is hard to believe, my lord, but living here as they do, they do not appreciate my raptures over the green of the landscapes, the grandeur of the wild storms or even the fickleness of the weather as they ought — but do not you agree that, though the journey is long, the pleasures awaiting us at the end of it make all the inconveniences worth while?”

  “My sentiments exactly, Miss Bennet! Although I must be honest and admit to generally being of a romantic disposition and longing for whatever exact landscape I just left behind.”

  “My cousin and I walked to the edge of your grounds the other day — you have a lovely estate, my lord, and certainly no reason to want for any other surroundings.” Elizabeth appeared happy to be able to converse with Mr Darcy’s easy friend, while at the same time her eyes frequently darted across the room.

  “I am glad you approve,” he said, bowing his head in recognition of the compliment, though his smile momentarily tightened. “But,” he brightened again, “never having been to Hertfordshire, Miss Bennet, you must awaken my interest in it. It is, as I said, in my nature to be curious.”

  Holly listened as Lord Baugham skilfully steered the conversation to rest on Elizabeth, questioning her in a friendly, but particular, way on her family, her home, her interests and opinions. Holly had no wish to sit quietly and listen to her cousin being grilled in this manner — however good-natured it seemed on the surface — but she could not think of a single thing to say to break the conversation that did not seem impolite. And Mr Darcy certainly was no help! He sat there, as he would, seemingly quiet and poised and content, but with a restless look in his eye and no conversation. No conversation! Holly saw that whatever his professed feelings for Elizabeth might have been, he would be of no help in rescuing her from the interrogation of his friend.