Macbeth's Niece (7 page)

Following the pathway with head down, the
girl almost missed the sound of murmured voices, which she later
thought would have been most embarrassing—to be caught
eavesdropping on Jeffrey Brixton a second time! As it was, she
stopped short and stepped between two lilac bushes already green
with early leaves. The two people who passed her unknowingly, just
a few feet away, were Jeffrey and his sister-in-law Eleanor,
walking arm in arm and talking softly. Tessa heard the words,
“—doesn’t understand me at all,” from Eleanor.

“It’s a pity for a woman such as you to be
unappreciated,” was Jeffrey’s answer. “My brother is a fool.” It
was said with decision, but no vehemence, as if he had said it many
times before.

Eleanor sighed. “Oh, it could be worse. He
doesn’t beat me or force me to live in London and watch his
affairs. I am content to be here where I am free to do as I please
each day. Still, it’s a pity he is not on better terms with his
brothers. To keep you all penniless is his shame, not yours. He
should at least provide for your needs so you have the means to
take your rightful place in society.”

“But he’d have to give me a few acres of
land then, and that he will not do,” Jeffrey growled. “It doesn’t
matter. I’d rather earn my way with my sword than attend him as
Aidan does.” His voice changed to a different tone. “I don’t mind
the soldier’s life, really, except it leaves the work of managing
this place to you alone.”

“And I miss you when you are away and worry
for your safety. But that is life, and one may as well accept what
one has and find the good in it. You were here for a day, and you
have left me a companion, little Tessa.”

Jeffrey snorted and the sound of their steps
paused. Tessa jumped as a small rock came clattering toward her.
She froze, but Jeffrey had thrown it idly, unaware she stood on the
other side of the lilac. “Companion? Problem. I hope the minx does
not annoy you too much.”

“She seems intelligent despite her rural
speech and ways,” was Eleanor’s reply. “We’ll get on well enough, I
think.” Eleanor had spoken to Tessa kindly at dinner the night
before, adroitly explaining her appearance at Brixton Manor to the
household. The story was that Tessa had come to visit, being the
daughter of an old friend of Eleanor’s. She had traveled with an
elderly waiting-woman as chaperone, but the woman fell ill near
York and therefore stayed behind. Tessa had come on in Jeffrey’s
protection, being anxious to arrive, and the other lady would
return to Scotland when she recovered.

Tessa had been surprised at Eleanor’s calm
spinning of this string of untruths, and it sounded totally
believable when accompanied by the lady’s serene composure. Tessa
was grateful for the lie, for Eleanor had made it possible for her
to keep her reputation, at least as far as anyone in England knew.
It seemed the lady of the manor would do anything for Jeffrey.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am you will
take her off my hands,” Jeffrey said now as he turned to Eleanor
and took both her hands in his, “but I must go. Old Matt should
have my horse brought round by now.”

They moved off, and Tessa digested what
she’d heard. First and foremost, she was stung by how glad Jeffrey
was to be rid of her. Second, she’d confirmed to her satisfaction
that he and Eleanor were lovers behind the back of her husband, his
brother. What sort of man cuckolded his own brother? The sort who
abducted helpless girls, that’s who. She imagined the tearful
farewell taking place at the manor gate, Jeffrey leaving his love
to go off to war. Eleanor would surely be a wreck at breakfast.

On the contrary, Lady Eleanor was composed
when they met for the morning meal, which consisted of oatmeal, a
rasher of bacon, milk, and aromatic, freshly baked bread. Eleanor
merely announced that Jeffrey had left for Norway very early. Tessa
was oddly disappointed he was gone, and oddly content that Lady
Brixton was her usual, gracious self. She ate heartily, watching
Eleanor and copying her manners, remembering the comment about her
rural ways.

Chapter Seven

Despite herself, Tessa could hate neither
life at Brixton nor the Lady Eleanor. She was allowed to explore
the house and grounds as she liked, and within a few days she had
fallen in love with the place. The countryside was not as ruggedly
beautiful as Scotland. The hills rose more softly and the grass was
a lighter green. Sheep and cattle abounded, of course, the cattle
calling intermittently from their pasture, while sheep dotted the
hillsides like clouds in the grass, choosing their spots and moving
only when the dogs insisted.

The manor house was warmer and more colorful
than any she had seen before. Even the stone it was made from was a
golden, inviting mineral, less forbidding than the stone at
Inverness. She and the other ladies of the house sat in the
afternoons with Eleanor, reading and gossiping as they sewed or
performed household necessities.

Due to the tutelage of her aunt, Tessa could
contribute modestly to these activities. However, the sessions were
much livelier than those at Inverness had been, with frequent
laughter and substantial learning exchanged. Eleanor encouraged all
those around her to take interest in the world, and with genuine
curiosity drew information from each person she spoke to. Her
family was accustomed to Eleanor’s questions, and each person
strove to find interesting bits to amuse or amaze her. It was
lovely to hear her laugh, satisfying to see her frown in
concentration as a new idea became clear to her.

Tessa was of course a fountain of fresh
information for discussion. At first shy, she soon became willing
to share stories and facts about her homeland. “The Scotti, the
tribe for whom you name Scotland, actually came from Ireland,” she
informed Eleanor and the other women as they sewed.

Brixton Manor’s household was largely
female: three cousins and a maiden aunt. William and his younger
brother Aidan spent their time at a townhouse in London. Now the
five ladies listened as Tessa explained that Scotland was not so
alien as they might think.

“We share many legends with the Irish and
the Welsh, since the Romans drove many Celts north and west into
those areas.”

“Are there not monsters in the lakes of
Scotland?” asked Mary, one of the cousins.

“I’ve never seen any,” Tessa said, smiling,
“but I know better than to deny something simply because I haven’t
seen it. Some of our lakes are very deep, and who knows what might
lurk below the frigid waters?”

“I don’t believe in such things as
monsters,” said Cecilia, another cousin. “I only believe in what I
can see, not fairies or witches neither.”

Tessa’s brow furrowed, and Eleanor noticed.
“Have you seen a fairy or a witch, Tessa?” she asked teasingly.

“I cannot say. I—I would have agreed with
Cecilia until recently, but now I am not sure. You see, I met three
weird women several months ago, when I was traveling to my uncle’s
home, and they told me strange things. I did not believe them
because what they said seemed unlikely.”

“Oh, tell us, please!” Mary, the most
excitable of the three cousins, fairly bounced with
anticipation.

“Well, the first one said I was bound for
England, but I had no intention of coming to England—ever.” Tessa
stopped lest she say too much and betray her lack of choice in
being where she was presently.

“Circumstances often change,” Eleanor put in
smoothly. “It’s not necessarily magic, but it was a lucky
guess.”

“What were the other two predictions?”
Mary’s delight was unfazed by Eleanor’s logic.

“Oh, something about marrying two men,”
Tessa was now faintly embarrassed by the conversation. She was not
about to tell these nice but rather prim ladies that the actual
words of the prediction had been that two men she married were
never to be her lovers. “And that a man I love would forget my
name, whatever that might mean.”

Tessa saw a look pass over Eleanor’s face,
and she remembered with a jolt that Jeffrey had been unable to
introduce her to his sister-in-law. No, she told herself, he had
not forgotten her name. He had probably never known it. They had
never been formally introduced, and if he had heard her name it was
in passing only. Besides, there was little likelihood she was in
love with a man who had ruined her life—or ever would be. Jeffrey
Brixton was to her the worst sort of man, and she hoped never to
see him again. She shrugged off further discussion of the three odd
women and took up her sewing again.

In the course of their conversations, Tessa
had discovered that all the females in the household, not just
Eleanor, doted on Jeffrey. Auntie Madeline, older sister of
William, was tall and spare, with iron gray hair and a rather horsy
face, but her eyes lit up when Jeffrey’s name was mentioned. “I
wish the boy were not away so much,” she mourned. “He brings life
to the house, and we are a sorry lot without him, a bunch of hens
with no rooster to preen ourselves for.” Tessa could see no
likeness between Jeffrey and a rooster, but Auntie Madeline did
resemble a hen, albeit a very thin one.

In addition to the old lady’s fondness, in
at least two of the cousins there was longing for a glance from
Jeffrey, which he seemed never to have noticed. The girl of about
Tessa’s age, Mary, was quite open about her feelings for him and
sighed over his absence until the rest of them became impatient
with her.

Cecilia declared, “Mary, you drive him away
with your mooning looks and your simpering ways. Jeffrey is not a
man to be snared by such things. In fact, he once told me he doubts
he will ever marry at all.” Mary had looked sad for a moment, but
the third cousin, Alice, assured them all that men often changed
their minds about such things as they grew older.

“Why, Father didn’t marry until he was
thirty-five,” Alice said earnestly, “and then he chose a cousin who
lived on a farm nearby. Perhaps it will be well for us that Jeffrey
has known us all his life when he looks to wed.”

Tessa watched Eleanor, wondering what she
thought of Jeffrey’s marrying. Eleanor gave Tessa a little smile
with upraised brow, as if to say, “Who can tell the future?” She
certainly didn’t seem to be worried about it.

Days, then weeks, passed, and Tessa began to
feel more at home than imprisoned. The men of the family never
appeared, which the women seemed to take for granted. Sir William
preferred London, and Aidan, the third brother, served as his
agent, acting in reality the part Jeffrey had played as his
disguise in Scotland. The last brother, a monk, was seldom seen by
his family.

Eleanor went out of her way to help Tessa
learn English ways, never criticizing hers, but simply explaining
how things were done differently in her country. Tessa’ speech
improved as they talked. Her accent was still Scots, but she became
more careful of her grammar and spoke slower, with fewer gutturals
and fewer swallowed vowels.

One day the two women had a conversation
that changed Tessa’s way of thinking about her future completely.
She had been drifting, not thinking about where her life at Brixton
might lead or when it would end. It became evident Eleanor had
thought about it seriously, however. She waited until they were
alone in the garden to announce, “I had a letter from Jeffrey today
that is rather disturbing. He says I may share it with you, since
you are interested in events in Scotland.” She took a rolled paper
from her skirt pocket and glanced at it to refresh her memory.

“Jeffrey’s side has been defeated. Duncan’s
generals, including one Macbeth he told me to mention to you, met
the rebels and the Norwegian troops on two fronts and defeated
both. He says the thane of Cawdor was executed as a traitor and his
lands given to this Macbeth.”

So odd little Uncle Biote had lost his
gamble for power. Tessa did not know how she felt about his
execution. Jeffrey claimed he had died bravely, but Macbeth emerged
the hero of the matter. Because they had become friends, Tessa
explained to Eleanor what Jeffrey’s information meant to her. After
listening to the full explanation, the older woman put her arms
around Tessa’s shoulders. “How sorry I am this happened to you. You
did nothing at all, and your life was completely changed. I wonder
that you don’t hate us all.”

“I could never hate you,” Tessa assured
her.

The faint emphasis on the word you was not
lost on Eleanor, and she turned down a side path among rows of
pinks just coming into bloom. Stooping to pull a weed from between
them, she slapped the dirt from her hands.

“I don’t approve of Jeffrey’s actions,” she
told Tessa, “but then, men often do things we women would not do,
because they think only in the direction of a goal. I believe that
women, who are not given credit for much intelligence, are actually
better at examining all the results of an action, while men simply
choose the action that suits them and accept its consequences. Our
deliberations may make us seem indecisive, but men often seem cruel
when they ignore what may happen to others as they act
decisively.”

Tessa didn’t respond. Knowing that Eleanor,
though she might criticize Jeffrey’s actions, also loved him, it
was safer to keep quiet. Turning, Eleanor faced Tessa with serious
purpose. “Because of Jeffrey, I suppose you are now a woman of no
reputation in Scotland?”

“Yes. It will be assumed he…dishonored me,
and no man will want me as wife. Not that anyone did before,” she
said in a burst of honesty.

“Why would no man ask for a beautiful,
clever girl like you?”

“I’ve a brassy manner and tomboyish ways,”
Tessa confessed, using the terms her mother had often employed to
describe her. Humiliated to admit her faults before this woman she
admired, she waited for the shocked reaction.