Black Rainbow (9 page)

The library was out of bounds that evening, but Jane's sitting room contained several bookcases, and she had been invited to make herself free with the contents. Surely Jane would be asleep by now.

Lest she disturb that slumber, she took a candle instead of a lamp and moved on tiptoe. As she had expected, the sitting room was dark. No sound was to be heard from the adjoining room. Megan put the candle on a table and began to scan the shelves.

She had left the sitting-room door open, since the guest rooms and Edmund's bedchamber were not on that corridor. When she heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor she was so startled she almost dropped the book she was holding. She knew the steps, as she knew every other feature of the man who made them. Her hand darted out and flattened the candle flame.

Edmund stopped in front of Jane's door. He stood there so long that Megan began to think he had decided not to disturb his sister's rest, but finally he knocked softly. Almost at once the door was opened. Jane was not only awake, she must have been expecting him.

If words were exchanged, they were in tones so low that Megan was unable to hear them. Without thinking, without stopping to consider what she was doing, she tiptoed across the sitting room and pressed her ear to the door connecting the two rooms.

She had never done such a thing before. As recently as that morning, she would have dismissed the very idea with scorn and loathing. Now she felt only irritation at hearing an indistinguishable mumble of speech. The ancient builders had known their trade and had not skimped on material.

Megan did not hesitate. With the skill of someone who had long practiced the art of eavesdropping, she twisted the knob, prepared to stop if the slightest creak resulted. She need not have worried. The speakers were too intent on their discussion to notice lesser sounds. As she eased the door ajar, Jane's voice burst out.

"Enclosure! First the mill, and now this—you must be mad."

"Every other landowner in the county did it years ago. Morton told me tonight—his father's income quadrupled after he enclosed his property."

"And the tenants he evicted are in the workhouse. You know how Father felt about enclosure—"

"Father is dead!" The brutality of the words startled all of them, including Edmund. He went on in a more subdued voice, "I loved him, you know that, but he was old-fashioned, behind the times. And so are you, Jane. It's not your fault; how could you be anything else, rusticating in this old house, working like a common millhand, and without decent society. Why, Jane—dear Jane—it is your welfare I am considering. I want the best for you—a season in London, the best society—"

"Such as George Belts?"

"Belts is a boor," Edmund said contemptuously. "I endure his offensive manners because I mean to make use of him, but once—"

"He
is using
you,
Edmund. No, don't interrupt; if the mill were not a valuable property, he would not want it. Have you thought of that?"

Edmund had no answer to this, and Megan hoped Jane had made an impression. Jane thought she had; in a softer, pleading voice, she pressed her point. "You could run the mill as well as he, Edmund; you have ten times his intelligence. Why should he profit from it?"

"It is not the income itself," Edmund began.

"What, then?"

"I see no point in answering. The very fact that you can
ask such a question indicates you have no proper understanding of a gentleman's—"

"I knew it—I knew it! She is responsible for this. She and her brother have corrupted your thinking. Edmund, she is not worthy of you; she is a selfish, worldly, immoral—"

"How dare you speak of Lady Georgina in those terms? I have asked her to be my wife."

The unseen listener lost control of her breathing when she heard that, but her gasp was drowned out by Jane's cry of protest. It would be hard to say which of the two was more stricken; but before either could react, Edmund added, "She has not yet accepted me, but I feel sure she will when I can offer her the hand of a gentleman instead of that of a mill owner."

Jane's reply to this was an outburst of impassioned rhetoric that surpassed anything of the sort Megan had ever heard. She quoted every authority she could think of, from the Old Testament prophets to her deceased father, and some of the expressions she used made Megan's eyes widen. She grimaced to herself. Wrong, Jane, she thought. That's not the way to gain your ends; you must not call a man's beloved a whited sepulcher and a painted harlot. But poor Jane was so unworldly; she had never learned the methods women used to cut down a rival—the cool praise, the sweet compliment that concealed a poisoned dart.

Edmund did not attempt to interrupt the torrent of words. No doubt he realized it would be futile to try. Finally Jane exhausted her store of biblical epithets and found a keener weapon.

"I cannot stop you from enclosing the property," she admitted in a voice rough with weary anger. "The house and estate are yours. But the mill is not. Father left half of it to me."

"Impossible," Edmund exclaimed. "The law does not allow—"

"The law is what men make it," Jane retorted bitterly. "And Mr. Trumbull was in full accord with Father—both
wanted to make sure I would not be robbed of my rights even by marriage. Does Mr. Belts know that, I wonder? Perhaps you had better tell him. He'll take himself off fast enough then, and leave me in peace. Half the mill is mine, Edmund, and I will not sell. If you think you can overturn Father's will—try! I will fight you every step of the way. I will employ every underhanded method I can think of. I will stop at nothing."

Megan pressed her cheek harder against the crack in the door. She heard nothing except hard breathing. Would Edmund strike his sister? No, not Edmund—but most men would have felt justified, after such an attack. Instead, she heard something that sounded strangely like a sob. Unable to bear the suspense, she applied her eye instead of her ear to the crack.

Edmund was leaning against the wardrobe, his hands over his eyes, and his back to her. After a moment Jane appeared. She had not been crying. Her eyes were quite dry. Her hair had come loose from its net and hung in wild disorder down her back.

"Edmund," she began.

"You have hurt me deeply, Jane."

His voice betrayed the struggle he was making to control his tears. Jane was not unmoved. Her lips trembled, and she twisted her hands together.

"Oh, Edmund, what has happened to you? I don't know you any longer."

"I am not the same," Edmund said thickly. "The boy who went to battle in his crimson tunic and gold braid died on the dusty heights of Sevastopol—or perhaps it was in the hold of the ship that brought him home. Half-dead with fever himself, he heard the death rattle in the throats of men who lay all around him. They died by the hundreds, Jane, and I might have been one of them. Life is too short, too precious. . . . There are so many things I want to savor and enjoy. . . . But why talk about it? You don't understand."

"I will try to understand," Jane whispered. "Only meet
me halfway, Edmund. I will do everything in my power to help you find the happiness you deserve."

"Everything except the mill," Edmund said bitterly.

"Everything except what is dishonorable, Edmund."

Her voice was gentle but firm. Wrapping both arms around her brother, she held him close, her head resting on his shoulder.

At first Edmund remained rigid and unresponsive. At last he turned and took Jane into an affectionate embrace. His tearstained cheeks shone in the lamplight. Megan ached to burst in and comfort him with the submissive tenderness Jane had withheld. However, she decided she had better creep away. Now that the storm was over, the participants might notice that the door was ajar, or Jane might come looking for a book after Edmund left her.

Megan went straight to bed. No need of a book now; she was worn out by the tumultuous emotions she had vicariously shared. She had learned a great deal. Edmund was still free. He might not admit it, even to himself, but the insult implicit in Lady Georgina's refusal must rankle.

Most important, Megan had discovered that her position was not as weak as she had supposed. Lady Georgina had no fortune; so they were equals in wealth, in beauty, and in birth. And Megan O'Neill had important qualities her rival lacked—tenderness, understanding, uncritical adoration. She also had an ally. Edmund might be angry with his sister at the moment, but her opinion must carry weight with him.

As Megan drifted off to sleep, it occurred to her that for the first time in years she had neglected to say her prayers. She dispatched a drowsy, wordless thanks to the unseen Powers who were working to help her; what she failed to realize was that, for once, she had not given those Powers a name.

The next step was up to her, and she achieved it the same day. It was essential that she join the guests in the drawing room every evening in order to observe how the relationship of Edmund and Lady Georgina was progressing. Eavesdropping must be reserved for occasions when there was no other
way of finding out what she needed to know. It was a dangerous game; if she were caught in the act, she would probably lose her position. Besides, it wasn't easy to keep from betraying knowledge she was not supposed to have.

During the afternoon she managed to waylay Edmund and insinuate her suggestion. "In case you feel like music this evening, Mr. Mandeville, I would be happy to offer my services."

She spoke with the most charming modesty, and Edmund responded as she hoped he would, thanking her warmly. She knew she had Lord Henry to thank for this, in part; the granddaughter of Lord Connacht was welcome in company where Miss O'Neill the governess could not go.

The evening was more successful than she had hoped, though the first few moments were somewhat uncomfortable. She was not disturbed by Lady Georgina's stare, or refusal to greet her; but the warm smile and outstretched hand with which Jane attempted to compensate for her guest's rudeness made Megan blush with shame, remembering her eavesdropping the night before. Jane took the blush for embarrassment and redoubled her kindly efforts. Megan took comfort in the knowledge that she was not really betraying her friend; on the contrary, she was working with and for Jane, if Jane only knew.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies, the family lawyer, Mr. Trumbull, was with them. Edmund had lost no time in beginning his plans. Not the mill—Belts would not have left in a rage if Edmund still meant to sell it. So it must be the enclosure of the property about which he had consulted the lawyer.

Megan did not have a very clear idea of what this process involved. It had something to do with the unfenced common land, field and pasture, the use of which was determined by age-old custom rather than legal title. Parliamentary commissioners reassigned the land and, in some cases, arranged for monetary compensation for those who lost grazing or farming rights in the process. The results were increased
production and greater efficiency for some, and utter penury for others, who had eked out a precarious but adequate living by grazing a few animals and raising a few vegetables on their share of the common land.

Megan concluded that Mr. Trumbull's judgment had favored Edmund. Edmund looked pleased, Jane morose under her company manners. Later, she and the lawyer fell into conversation, and though they spoke quietly, Megan thought Mr. Trumbull was trying to convince Jane of something. He did most of the talking, while she kept shaking her head.

She found this interesting but not vitally important. It did not affect her plans one way or the other. She turned her attention to Lady Georgina.

During the course of the evening she managed to provoke that lady into several rude remarks—not a difficult task—to which she responded with the most exquisite courtesy. She made sure Edmund heard the remarks and the responses, and was delighted to see him frown faintly. Close observation of the pair convinced her that Edmund was not in love. She knew the manifestations of that disease too well to be mistaken.

A minor diversion was caused by Ta-chin, who managed to slip into the room unseen and bided her time under a sofa until she considered it safe to come out. Edmund did not like animals in the house, and he was not particularly fond of Ta-chin, who refused to give him the adoring admiration he was accustomed to. That evening the cat ignored him and made a beeline for Mr. Trumbull, who was evidently a favorite. By the time Edmund noticed her she was curled up on the old lawyer's bony knee, purring hoarsely as he scratched her under the chin. Edmund's offer to have the nuisance removed was refused with a smile.

"Ta-chin and I are old friends, Edmund; you know I am fond of animals, particularly cats."

"Nasty, creeping creatures," Lady Georgina said loudly. "I cannot abide them."

Ta-chin pretended not to hear this comment; instead she waited to take her revenge, with a cunning calculation that supported Lady Georgina's appraisal of her species. Slipping quietly from the lawyer's lap, she disappeared from sight for so long an interval that everyone forgot she was there. Her reappearance was as startling as a conjurer's trick; she seemed to materialize on Lady Georgina's satin skirt, her tail lashing and all her claws fully extended.

Lady Georgina shrieked and swore, Edmund leaped to the rescue, and Jane's face underwent a series of frightful contortions as she tried to keep from laughing. Ta-chin waited until Edmund's hand had actually brushed her fur before she sailed off into space. Jane finally succeeded in enticing her out from under the table, where she had sought refuge, and carried her off in disgrace. However, Megan suspected there would be a bowl of cream for her in the kitchen. Two bowls, in fact; Megan would contribute one herself.

The evening ended with music, and Megan had the satisfaction of joining voices with Edmund in a duet that was applauded by all—almost all. It had been a triumph, but she was not naive enough to believe she had won a decisive victory. Edmund might not love Lady Georgina, but neither did he love Megan O'Neill. She needed another weapon, and at the moment she could not think how to find it.