Clare developed one alarming new habit. He had been an abstemious man; now the after-dinner port hour lengthened, and twice, long after I had retired for the night, I heard his unsteady steps stumble down the hall.

  One afternoon, less than a week after Jonathan's arrival, they remained at the table for a long time; and when they finally joined me in the parlor, I knew Clare had taken too much wine. His face was flushed and his hair disheveled, and as he came into the room he stumbled and would have fallen, had it not been for Jonathan's arm. He cast it off with a drunken laugh.

  'What the devil—keep your hands off me, sir! You think I need help, eh? 'F I do, don't need yours. M' loving wife; loving wife'll help me. Come here, Lucy ... lean on you.'

  I put my embroidery aside and rose. I had never seen him in this mood, but it was easier to obey without question.

  He caught me by the shoulders as I came to him, and I staggered, bracing myself against his weight.

  'Will you not sit down?' I suggested. 'You are unwell; let me call Phillips.'

  'No.' He shook his head so violently that his hair flew all about. 'Walk it off; walk, that's the thing. Lean on loving wife. Walk! Up and down, up and down—'

  We took a few turns about the room. Clare was staggering and stumbling; his weight was actually painful, and I could barely keep my feet. Jonathan stood rigid by the door, where he had retreated after Clare flung him away. He was unwilling to leave me, and in a way his presence was a comfort; yet I wished he would withdraw. He could not interfere without making the situation worse.

  Suddenly Clare dug his fingers into my arm with such force that I cried out. My weak foot gave way,, and in a grotesque embrace we fell against the wall, with Clare's arm tight about me and his breath hot on my face. In a drunken burst of energy he spun me around, laughing, and spoke over my shoulder to Jonathan.

  'Devoted wife, eh? Can't help it, poor girl, if she is a cripple. Limps. You notice? Can't stand it—deformity, ugliness. Ugly! Hate it...'

  He tried to push me from him; since I was already flat against the wall the movement succeeded only in overturning him. He crashed to the floor at my feet and lay there breathing stentoriously through his open mouth.

  Jonathan said something under his breath and came quickly toward me. I threw up both hands to ward him off. My state of mind was not at its coolest; but I could have sworn I had seen one of Clare's eyes open and look at me.

  'No,' I stammered. 'Please—take care of him; call the servants. I must get away, I cannot...'

  I had no doubt that the butler was in the hall, drawn by Clare's loud comments; but he had the grace to keep out of my sight when I came running out. I was able to reach my room without encountering anyone but Anna. In her usual taciturn fashion she made no comment, except for a harsh indrawn breath when she helped me off with the rumpled dress and saw the reddening marks on my arm.

  Soon the servants, and the entire village, would know that poor Lady Clare had a drunkard for a husband. Some might say that her Ladyship had driven her husband to drink. Yet it was not these thoughts, nor fear of Clare's future rages, that filled me with dread. It was the memory of his eye, open and alert and watching.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I could only imagine in what state of mind Jonathan spent the evening. I did not leave my room. I knew I must not see him or talk to him. It was no longer his pity I dreaded, it was something far more perilous. When I came down to breakfast next morning, I was in a considerable state of trepidation, but I had decided not to breakfast in my room; the situation had to be faced, and the longer I put it off, the more difficult it would be.

  I had pictured Clare in a number of possible moods—repentant, ill, self-justifying, angry. The reality astounded me.

  He greeted me with a smile and a reference to the pleasant weather.

  'We are to enjoy St. Martin's summer, it appears; it is a short lull, to prepare us for the rain and snow to come. You must take advantage of it while it lasts. Of course I will not press you; but I do wish you could bring yourself to ride Sultana, for her sake as well as your own. With a groom, and Mr. Scott beside you, you would not be afraid, I hope?'

  I looked at Jonathan, who was already at the table, but he looked away. Clare continued to talk in the most affable voice; either he did not remember what had happened, or he was determined to pretend it had not.

  'I must make my excuses. I am off to Edinburgh for a few days. I hope to get the facts I need to settle our business, Scott. I know you are anxious to return to your duties in London, and I am grateful for your patience.'

  He left the room then, with the excuse that he must prepare for his trip.

  My conversation with Jonathan was exceedingly stilted; he was as amazed as I at Clare's incredible performance, but we could hardly discuss it so long as the servants were in the room. It was not long before Clare returned, dressed for travel. I saw at once that something had happened to vex him, and I was almost relieved to see the familiar haughty frown.

  'I understand that lout of a groom has been hanging about,' he began. 'You know, Lady Clare, that I forbade you to see him or speak with him?'

  I knew no such thing; Clare had told me not to visit the boy's home, but he had not specifically forbidden a meeting. He gave me no time to raise this objection, even if I had thought it wise to do so.

  'I have instructed Williams to thrash him if he comes here again. I won't have you sneaking off to meet him elsewhere, do you hear?'

  I cast a glance at Martin, the parlormaid, who was standing paralyzed, with a dish of muffins in her hand.

  'But I never did—'

  'Spare me your lies,' Clare interrupted. 'I trust you will obey my orders without making it necessary for me to confine you to your room.

  Scott, I require you to see that my instructions are obeyed, and that I am told of any violation of my wishes.'

  With a curt nod, he left. Martin put the muffins on the table and fled; and Jonathan raised his eyes and looked directly at me.

  'No,' I said, as if he had spoken. 'Not here. Let us go for a ride. I must follow orders...'

  I reached the stableyard before him, having flung on my habit any which way. Even the thought of Sultana did not daunt me. I wanted something violent to do; I wanted to rush about and strike at things with a stick. My own feelings surprised me. I could not imagine where I had got the courage to be angry, after so much weeping and fear. It was not long before the answer came to me. I had taken courage from him, and I would need it, for his sake.

  Clare had assigned a horse for Jonathan's use, and at my order Williams saddled it, and Sultana. He then went on to saddle a third beast.

  'There is no need for that,' I said, as Jonathan joined me.

  'Your pardon, my lady,' Williams said, looking oddly. 'But his Lordship has given orders...'

  'For you to come with us?'

  'Not I, my lady.' Williams' eye shifted.

  From one of the stalls a man slouched out into the yard. His size alone was alarming; he was a great hulking fellow with arms that hung down to his knees. His nose was a twisted lump. I had not been long in London, but I recognized his type. This was no local peasant.

  He touched his cap to me with a sly insolence that wrung a low growl from Jonathan—and reminded me of the need for caution.

  'Very well,' I said, addressing Williams. 'But tell the fellow to stay at a distance. I don't like his looks.'

  We were out of the stableyard and on the moor path before I allowed myself to speak.

  'What can he mean by setting such a villain on me? Who is the rascal?'

  'A fair description,' said Jonathan, with a smile. 'I have some slight acquaintance with the good old English art of wrestling, and I fancy I have seen this fellow in the ring.'

  'Well,' I said, controlling my anger, 'he is a slight annoyance. We cannot be silent any longer, Mr. Scott. The situation has gone far beyond reticence or apology, and through no action of ours. I am sorry you should be forced to witness it.'

  'You said no apology.' Jonathan forced a smile. 'Lady Clare—'

  'Pray do not call me that; I wish it had never been my name!'

  'There was a time when I might have called you Lucy; a time when I could, and did, say things I can no longer say to you.'

  'What has changed,' I cried rebelliously, 'except a formal name and an empty legal fiction?'

  'That fiction rules our lives,' Jonathan said quietly. 'But if I cannot obey the dictates of—of emotion in speaking to you, my duty allows, nay, demands, that I give you the benefit of my knowledge of that legal fiction. Do you know what recourse the laws of this enlightened nation allow you against such acts as I have reluctantly witnessed?'

  I shook my head. The repressed feeling under his formal words shook me, and his self-control filled me with admiration. At least I could try to control my own emotions and not make his task any more difficult than it was.

  'It allows you no recourse,' Jonathan said. His voice took on another note, and I sensed he was quoting. ' "By marriage, the husband and wife are one person in law; that is, the very being or legal existence of the woman is suspended during marriage, or at least is incorporated and consolidated into that of the husband ..." That is Blackstone, the foundation of English common law. You have no legal existence. Your husband has custody of your property and your person. Should you have children, he may determine the course of their lives, and you may not interfere. If under extreme pain and provocation you leave him, he may force you to return. Should you refuse, he may imprison you. If he does not want you back, he may divorce you, although you have no such right, whatever your provocation. If he divorces you, he retains the custody of your children and may prevent you from seeing them again. He retains your property; even the clothing you wear is not legally your own.'

  He fell silent; and I was silent too, from a kind of shock that had nothing to do with surprise. None of the facts he had stated surprised me; if I had not known them consciously, they had been part of my thinking for so long that I took them for granted. No; the shock lay in my reaction to hearing the facts stated so coldly and flatly. As a log may smolder sullenly upon a hearth for hours and then suddenly burst into flame...

  'It is not fair,' I said. 'It is not right.'

  'No. And it will be changed; but not, perhaps, in your lifetime. Certainly not in time to help you in your present circumstances.'

  Jonathan glanced back over his shoulder at the ungainly form of the stranger.

  'I did not tell you these things to anger you, or to recruit you for the secret army of females, as my mother calls it,' he said, with a wry smile. 'I spoke only because of my responsibility. Mr. Beam is the only male protector you have; and I am his deputy. As he would advise you, were he here, so I may advise you.'

  'I think he would not advise me as you do,' I said, answering his smile.

  'No; but he would remonstrate with Lord Clare, and that, for a number of reasons, I cannot do. In practice the situation is not so grim as I have pictured it; but its mitigation comes from public opinion and private character, not from the law.'

  'Clare cares nothing for public opinion.'

  'That I can believe. You must depend, then, on his character—his notions of right and of honor. I have no high opinion, perhaps, of his honor; and yet I confess I find his behavior astonishing. I could picture him as cruel and brutal toward inferiors, cold and satirical toward his peers. But this drunken jealousy—this petty malice toward his wife, who bears his name—'

  'I know,' I said. 'It is incomprehensible to me too. He was not always like this, and it is not like him.'

  'He has no—' Jonathan stopped, flushing.

  'No,' I said. 'He has no cause for jealousy. Did you doubt that?'

  'Lucy...' He turned toward me, holding out his hand. The impetuous movement and the color that flooded his face recalled the outspoken boy I had first met in Mr. Beam's office. It was a gesture full of meaning, conveying apology and a tacit reaffirmation of his belief in me—and another emotion I dared not name. Even as he made the gesture, he remembered; he did not need to glance back to remind me of the figure that followed us like a visible manifestation of Clare's suspicion. Jonathan's hand fell and we rode on in silence until, in an effort to find a less dangerous subject, I said,

  'It must have been here that I lost my way the last time I rode Sultana.'

  'Oh, yes,' Jonathan mumbled, still lost in his own thoughts. 'I recall your husband mentioning it. What happened?'

  I told him the story. I made light of it, but as he listened Jonathan's face lengthened, and when I mentioned the sound that had driven Sultana into flight, he looked most peculiar.

  'A whistle, you say?'

  'So it sounded. I suppose it was a bird.'

  'A bird,' Jonathan muttered. 'Yes ... It must have been.'

  When we returned to the house we found Mrs. Andrews in hysterics. A domestic catastrophe had occurred. She was in such a state of red-faced chagrin that I was quite alarmed; but when she was finally induced to tell me what the trouble was, I burst into laughter.

  There was an Aroma. That word was as close as Mrs. Andrews could bring herself to saying 'smell.' It had infested all the guest rooms, including the one assigned to Jonathan.

  When I could stop laughing I started upstairs. Mrs. Andrews tried to hold me back, assuring me there was no need for my delicate nostrils to be affronted; they had cleaned and searched and inspected, yet the smell persisted, and nothing but time would cure it. I went on, all the same; and in the upper hall I met Jonathan, who had gone to investigate.

  'No, don't go up there,' he said, grinning broadly. 'It is a phenomenon of a smell, I assure you; rather like all the drains gone wrong at once, or a profusion of dead bodies. Mrs. Andrews,' he said, turning to her as she followed me, on the verge of tears, 'I beg, don't let this distress you, it happens in the best of families. I remember visiting his Grace the Duke of Eastham, when a rat got behind the wainscoting ...'

  As he admitted later, the story was quite apocryphal. But it served its purpose, which was to comfort Mrs. Andrews.

  'Well, then,' she said, sniffing a little, 'it is kind of you, Mr. Scott, indeed it is. Of course your things have already been moved. His Lordship saw to that.'

  'His Lordship?' I asked. 'I thought he had left for Edinburgh.'

  'Oh, he has, my lady. But he came back ... Oh, dear, I am so fuddled I don't know what I'm saying...'

  'His Lordship left before we set off on our ride,' Jonathan said. He was no longer laughing. 'He returned after we left ... He had, perhaps, forgotten something?'

  'Yes, sir, that is just it. He had forgotten a paper, a business paper he said it was. He went up to see whether you had gone; that is how we discovered the—the—'

  'Aroma,' said Jonathan, straight-faced. 'Yes, I am sorry I was unable to oblige his Lordship; he did not think it worth sending after me?'

  'No, he said it was not important, whatever it was. But the—the—'

  'Aroma,' I said.

  'Yes, my lady. Thank you. He was most vexed. He ordered Mr. Scott's things moved, and wished me to convey his apologies ...'

  'Of course, of course,' said Jonathan. 'And where am I to go now?'

  'The Green Room. If you will follow me, sir.'

  'Oh,' I said. 'You are next to me. You should be honored, Mr. Scott. That is the room usually reserved for visiting royalty!'

  As always, with Clare gone the house relaxed, like a dignified lady who has removed her tight stays. I had never spent such a pleasant day. After dining, we went to the library. It was—how can I express it?—it was like exploring a new country with the help of a guide who knows every foot of ground. I had tried exploring alone; I had found nuggets of pleasure and improvements here and there, but had to wade through miles of incomprehensible swamp to find them. Jonathan led me straight to the gold. He found books he loved and read me excerpts that made me eager to read more; he looked at the volumes that had baffled me and suggested other, simpler texts that would unlock the mysteries of the more advanced. We did not speak of personal matters. We were in Clare's house, with Clare's servants about.

  Naturally the door of the library remained open while we were together in the room.

  I asked Jonathan about one phrase that had intrigued me—his 'secret army of women.' He laughed heartily. He laughed or smiled whenever he spoke of his mother; it was not derision, but pure affection and delight. He did not agree with all she said, but he quoted her often—as he quoted Blackstone and Tacitus. That was a revelation to me, to hear a woman quoted as an authority on anything.

  It was an astounding day altogether. Jonathan explained his mother's little joke, which even she found quite amusing, of a secret revolutionary army of women, ready to strike for their rights as the Greek women had done. Only instead of demanding the end of wars, they would demand a voice in making the world better in all ways.

  I had never heard of Lysistrata, and Jonathan had to explain who she was and what she had done. (As I discovered later, he did a considerable amount of editing.) Then I told him how I had failed to find that quotation by Socrates to which his mother had referred. He found the book at once; it was in the original Greek, of course, so it was no wonder I had not been able to find it.

  ' "There is no occupation concerned with the management of social affairs which belongs either to woman or to man,"' he read. '"Every occupation is open to both, so far as their natures are concerned. We should not have one education for men and another for women, because the nature to be taken in hand is the same."'

  'How does it sound in Greek?' I asked.

 

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