Black Rainbow (30 page)

"You would have done the same if you had been here.
And," Megan admitted, with a rueful laugh, "it was no last-minute reprieve, or anything of that sort, Jane; only a preliminary hearing, with the possibility of a trial to follow."

"I know," Jane said in a remote voice, as if she were talking to herself. "I realized that after a time; and that is why I cannot understand. ..." She checked herself and sat in brooding silence for a few moments before continuing, "Pay no attention to me. You know my habit of talking to myself. What were you saying?"

"That I might just as well have waited and consulted with you—and Edmund, of course—before rushing off."

"No. No, you acted rightly."

Neither of them had mentioned his name. Megan nerved herself to do so. "Sam came to thank me, last evening. He looks well—he . . ." She could not think what else to say. "He told me to remember him to you."

"That was kind," Jane said.

She had dropped into a chair and sat with bowed head and hands clasped. Impulsively Megan bent and kissed her on the cheek.

"Your holiday does not seem to have agreed with you, Jane. How thin you are! Have you been eating properly?"

"No," Jane said, with a little laugh. "Not properly."

Edmund never
again referred to Megan's testimony. She had not expected such magnanimity; few people can forgive an injury, fancied or real, without endless reminders of their nobility of soul. She renewed her private vow to be a dutiful, fond wife. Perhaps Edmund, too, had determined to turn over a new leaf. He gave up jeering and taunting her; he invited her to participate in some of his hobbies. They were
closer than they had been since the first months of their marriage, except for one thing—Edmund did not assert his rights as a husband. This bothered Megan less than it ought to have done. She had the satisfaction of being physically faithful to the man she secretly wanted, without the onus of rejecting the man who had the legal right to her love.

Their quiet hours together in the library came to be a source of considerable pleasure to Megan. Edmund was pursuing his investigation into the history of the house and its previous owners, and some of the stories he unearthed were as fascinating as any novel. To his great disappointment, however, he found no secret passages or priest's holes.

"You are a hopeless romantic, Edmund," Megan said teasingly. "What would you do with a priest's hole if you found one?"

"Shut Higgins up in it when he annoys me," Edmund replied. "If he continues to cast sheep's eyes at Jane, I will have to take steps of some kind."

Edmund's next suggestion was that the girls learn how to shoot. Their exclamations of disgust made him laugh. "I know you are both too squeamish to kill game," he said. "I was thinking of target shooting. But if guns offend you, what about bow and arrow? Archery is an old and honored English art, and if Her Majesty practices it, it must be considered suitable for ladies. It ought to attract you, Jane; you always claim you can do anything as well as a man."

"I never made any such claim!"

"Oh, very well, if you are ready to concede your inferiority. . . ."

Jane rose to the bait like a trout to a fly, and Edmund had butts set up on the lawn. To see Jane, hair clubbed back and sleeves rolled up, squinting to find her point of aim, was a sight that never failed to amuse her brother, yet she developed considerable skill and drew a surprisingly heavy bow for one of her size. Megan was not so ambitious; but both admitted they derived a good deal of pleasure from the
exercise, especially because they shared it with Edmund.

He was so affable, so considerate, so like the old Edmund, that both girls stopped exchanging glances of surprise when he did something accommodating. One evening at dinner, when he made an announcement he knew would displease them, his manner was almost apologetic.

"I feel I must warn you well in advance so you can take steps to revenge yourself on me," he began. "I have invited three of the people you most dislike to visit. Promise you will defend me, Megan, if Jane loses her temper; you know I am in deadly terror of her."

Jane could not help laughing through her frown. "You needn't tell me the names. The Astleys and Mr. Belts?"

"I assure you, Jane, you need not fear any undue familiarity from Belts," Edmund said earnestly. "Our acquaintance is one of business. I have no more desire than you to be connected with him intimately."

"And what is the business?" Jane asked.

Once Edmund would have haughtily denied her right to question him. Now he said mildly, "We are in the same trade, we have common interests and common problems. In fact, Jane, you ought to commend my present intention. I hope to persuade Belts to give up his prejudice against a labor union."

"You astonish me, Edmund," Jane said. "I thought you had the same prejudice."

"As I told you once before, I have reconsidered. I am counting on you, Jane, to put up with Mr. Belts's crude habits for the sake of principle; will you not consent? To mitigate your suffering, I will invite Sir William and Lady Gilbert, and your admirer, Higgins."

He had to go out that evening, so after dinner the two girls retired to Jane's sitting room. After much grumbling Jane had finally consented to employ her skill in making a party frock for herself. Megan insisted on supervising, to make sure Jane would not alter the elegant pattern she had helped
to select. This evening marked the occasion of the first fitting. Jane circled slowly, at Megan's direction, and the latter laughed merrily at the contrast between the charming look of the sprigged taffeta and the sulky face above it.

"It becomes you," she said.

"No doubt Belts will think I am making myself fine for him." Jane's lower lip went out another half inch.

"It needs a deeper dart here. Let me pin it. ... Now take it off and I will help you whip the frills." She went on more soberly, "If Belts bothers you so much, Jane, take to your bed while he is here. I will swear you have the vapors or the ague."

"If you can endure the Astleys, I can stand Belts. Megan —do you mind very much?"

Megan took her time threading her needle. She knew what Jane meant, and wanted to reassure her, but she could hardly explain to Edmund's unmarried sister that she no longer cared what Edmund did or whose bed he shared.

"I don't believe Edmund cares for her any longer," she said truthfully. "I don't know why he goes on seeing them, unless it is because he is trying to impress them with something. . . . His happiness, perhaps, or his success. But I am not jealous, Jane, believe me."

"I am so glad you feel that way. I agree with you. He has changed, hasn't he? And you are happy, Megan? I am sure he loves you; he has been so affectionate, so caring."

Megan bowed her head over her sewing to hide her face. Dear, innocent Jane! She must know that Edmund still occupied the bedchamber in the Tudor wing; did she really believe that married love consisted only of smiles and courtesy? Well—perhaps she did. For all her down-to-earth manner, there was something essentially virginal about Jane. The words "spinster" and "old maid" didn't really suit her, for they suggested frustrated hope and dried-up emotions. Jane suffered from neither of these, at least not visibly.

Megan rubbed her aching knee as she tried to think of something noncommital and comforting to say. Jane looked up from her work.

"I noticed you were limping. Have you hurt yourself?"

"Some careless housemaid left a patch of grease or oil on the library steps this morning. I managed to catch the railing when I slipped. I count myself lucky to have only a sprained knee."

"I should think so," Jane exclaimed. "I told Edmund that cast-iron spiral staircase was dangerous when he installed it. I hope you gave the maid a sharp lecture."

"Edmund did, I believe. He was very angry. But it is nothing, only a bruise."

Jane had apparently forgotten her question. Megan was glad she had not been forced to lie. She was sorry she could not speak freely to Jane; they had once been so close. There were too many forbidden subjects now.

For instance, her suspicion that Edmund was sleeping with one of the maids. It would not be surprising if he was; such things were only too common, and if Edmund preferred a servant to his wife, there was nothing his wife could do about it.

It had unquestionably been a woman's voice she heard that night when she had gone late to the nursery, worried because the baby had appeared to be starting a cold. A faint light in the corridor where Edmund slept had caught her attention as she returned. It was only a soft glow, quickly fading; but she had immediately thought of fire. When she ventured into the corridor, the light was gone, and there was no smell of smoke. Passing Edmund's door, she had heard a woman laughing, softly. Something in the quality of that laughter had sent her tiptoeing away, her face hot with embarrassment.

Certainly she was in no position to complain. But she felt sorry for the girl.

And certainly it was not the sort of thing she could discuss with dear, innocent Jane. She glanced at Jane's absorbed
face, bent over her work. At least the reticence and the reservations were all on one side. Dear innocent Jane had no guilty secrets.

Watching edmund
with Lady Georgina, Megan felt sure she had been right about his feelings for the lady. He was civil, but hardly more than that; in fact, she caught a look of faint disgust cross his face on several occasions when Lady Georgina was more than usually coarse or rude. She treated him with the same proprietary insolence, but she also devoted some attention to George Belts. One could hardly call her ladyship's technique flirting, it was too unsubtle, but Belts responded with elephantine gallantry.

He had not given up hope of Jane, however, and Megan was sometimes hard pressed to hide her amusement as she watched her sister-in-law's two admirers vie for her attention. Mr. Higgins' soft brown eyes followed Jane's every movement with doglike adoration. If she dropped a skein of silk or a book, he was out of his chair before the object touched the floor. Once he collided with the footman, who was intent on the same errand. Megan laughed with the others, but felt guilty immediately afterward. The unfortunate young man was really devoted to Jane, and his suit was hopeless. Jane would never care for him, and doubtless Edmund had higher ambitions for his sister.

Belts was obviously making an effort to avoid offense. Only once did he break the unwritten rule in regard to discussing business before the ladies, continuing an argument that had begun over the port and that he was unwilling to abandon. As the men entered the drawing room where the ladies were sitting by the coffee tray, he exclaimed, "Nay, nay, Mandeville, you don't know a domned thing about it.

These domned cooperatives have spread over Yorkshire like plague sores on a mon's face—" He took the coffee cup Megan handed him, nodding his thanks, but before he could continue, Edmund said coldly, "Moderate your language, I beg. There are ladies present."

Jane's ears had pricked like those of a little gray fox. "Mr. Belts's language is rough, but his subject interests me very much. Go on, Mr. Belts."

It was one of the few times she had addressed him directly or shown any interest in what he said. Belts swelled with pleasure. "I told you the lass had raight good sense for a female," he informed Edmund. "May be she'll see what you don't—these shops run by t'workers take profits from us. It's not only t'shops, mind—they're putting their plaguey hands into other kinds of businesses, grain mills, housing—and textiles. What d'you say to that, eh?"

"Even if I disapproved, I could not prevent them," Edmund said resignedly. "The law supports them."

"Radical scum, the lot on 'em," Belts fumed. "Union men and Owenites. . . ." Both words sounded like vile epithets as he spat them out. "That villain managing t'shop in your village—he's a bad 'un, I know of him. I wonder you allow him to hang about, after what he did to—"

With a neat twist of the wrist Jane poured her hot coffee into Belts's lap, bringing his tirade to an abrupt halt. Apologies and repairs followed, and the topic of cooperatives was not renewed.