“I beg your pardon?” Mary asked.
“The loss. Though we lived some distance apart, I am ashamed to admit that I feel I took for granted that she would always be at home. But now she’s not. At times, I feel like I might go and pay her a call next month or send a letter informing her I might be passing through in two weeks’ time. Then suddenly, I remember that there’s no point.”
They remained wrapped in silence for a moment, Callum thinking of his family and their tragedy, Lady Mary most likely feeling the weight of awkwardness. Finally, she was the one to speak first, saying, “I should perhaps go in and see to the other guests.”
Callum nodded. “Yes, that’s probably for the best. I’m miserable company right now, I suppose.”
“Not without just cause, My Lord. Good night,” Lady Mary said kindly, then she ducked her head and took her leave.
Several minutes had passed before Callum realized what had just transpired. He chastised himself for his rudeness, though in truth, he also felt it to be a relief. His conversation with Peter came to mind, the fact that these events were often thinly veiled efforts at securing marriages. He had no cause to believe Lady Mary had any ulterior motive, and perhaps she had only been making sure that all of the guests were tended to, including him. But he couldn’t help also feeling that he might have been stalked, followed outside by a romantic predator whose claws were adorned in pearls and lace.
Callum sighed. “Surely this is some sort of madness brought on by recent taxing events, else I might not be deemed safe to be left alone with my thoughts,” he thought sadly. “But for the life of me, why must those thoughts constantly return to Beatrix?”
While much of his sentiment towards her was revulsion and disgust, she worked her way into his mind all throughout the day. Anger, frustration, and loathing for everything she was and represented would suddenly be replaced by intrigue. Who was she really?
“There are some strange machinations at work here,” he decided, still staring out at the darkened sky. “She is clearly an educated woman who has no qualms about speaking her mind to her betters. She is also steadfast in her refusal to spare her own life, all in defense of some outlaws who aren’t as worthy as the mud beneath his boots.”
But apart from her name—if Beatrix was truly her name—he knew nothing about her other than that which he could observe with his own eyes.
She was beautiful, that much was certain, but not in the way that the elegant ladies beyond the doors behind him were. Their beauty seemed to be carefully crafted, the work of hours of meticulous preparation. Beatrix, on the other hand, was a natural creature whose appearance—though sullied by days of poor care—seemed more of an afterthought to her, beauty like a curse she’d been saddled with instead of a prize to be achieved.
“But the mouth on that creature!” he thought, his anger building again. “I quite literally never know what she might say next, and with what amount of disdain she would carry for everything about me.” He had to admit that it was rather interesting to be in the presence of someone who failed to admire him and was quite honest about her loathing for him.
That’s when it struck him. Her honesty. Beatrix despised not only him but every one of his sort. He’d only ever known those who’d looked up to his class, who longed for their privilege, who willingly served in their households as it meant the chance to be a small part of their inner circles, even if it was only to change the linens or serve a tray of port. No, Beatrix would be all the happier if he and his sort were wiped clean off the countryside, and it was both insulting yet pleasantly unnerving.
“Are you still out here?” Peter asked, coming up behind him and sitting down on the stone bench. “They’ll be retiring for brandy soon. I thought you might wish to speak to some of the men. Lord Northam has brought the Earl of Hampshire tonight, and you know he’s quite well-versed in the sciences. With your vineyards, I thought you might wish to speak to him about agriculture and the market.”
“Uh, yes! Thank you, I did want to speak with him tonight,” Callum answered, shaking off his earlier musings and melancholy. “I’ll be along straight away.”
“All right then! I’ll save a chair for us, preferably far from that horrible gabster, the Earl of Malbury.” Peter stood to go and Callum smiled briefly.
“You’re a true friend, Peter,” Callum said sadly. “One who could be counted on in both the best and worst of circumstances, and that is invaluable.”
Peter looked to Callum for a moment and his easygoing smile slowly faded into a frown of deep concern. “My friend, I must say, you’ve spoken in the most alarming manner tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d fear you might be thinking the darkest of thoughts. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Callum replied after a lengthy silence. “Of course I mourn my mother very much, and feel great sorrow for my father’s loss as well. Theirs was the kind of quiet adoration and devotion that I can only pray for in my own marriage, though that day be far off. But I am so singularly enraged with this thieving that I cannot put it behind me! Even I do not understand it! I, who have so much and who even now possess more of my mother’s things—things which are so vastly more valuable than this one item—I cannot get over the theft of this one possession of hers!”
“Ah, Callum,” Peter said kindly, sitting back down and looking up at his childhood friend in earnest, “that is to be expected! There is such a rich story behind it, and it was entrusted to you not only as part of your mother’s past, but as part of her future hope for you! Of course you’re vexed by this.”
“Thank you for being so understanding, though I still feel completely foolish for being so driven to have it back or punish those who took it from me,” he admitted.
“Grief does strange things to us all,” Peter explained. “You’ve told me all about the circumstances, but it seems to me there’s something you have not tried.”
“Tell me! I’ll do anything!” Callum shouted before remembering himself.
“Have you tried kindness?” Peter waited for a moment, smiling knowingly. At Callum’s perplexed expression, he said, “Perhaps not keeping her prisoner beneath your house might prove to have better results?”
“Oh, I’ve done that,” Callum said, throwing up his hands in defeat and pacing back and forth.
“I don’t mean a hurried conversation in your servants’ kitchen where you still go after only that which you want. I mean, bring her upstairs, give her a room and a clean dress, let her see that your world is not all breakfasts in bed and pastries at luncheon. If I understand your story correctly, she despises you for your wealth and… well, snobbery. The chance to steal something you value deeply is sweet revenge for your station, in her mind.”
“And what am I to do about that?” Callum shot back. “Give all my worldly goods to the poor and live atop a mountain in the netherworld?”
“No, of course not. But you could help her to see that there’s more to your life than… than… well, this!” Peter gestured to the house, the gardens, their formal attire. “Remember, you’re at a ball right now, about to partake of a very old brandy and talk about those peasants in the Americas while she’s lying on the cold floor of an empty room, most likely wearing the same dress she’s had on for a week. I’m sorry to say it, but I’d hate you too, if I were her.”
Callum paced back and forth, thinking over Peter’s words. If they had come from anyone but he, Callum would have felt no remorse for socking him in the mouth. But his friend not only knew Callum better than anyone in the world, he also came from the same stock, the same burden of wealth, power, and prestige. If his advice was to show more charity and kindness to this villainous thief, then there must be some wisdom in it.
“I’ll do it,” Callum announced. “I’ll bring her upstairs, treat her as a welcomed guest, help her to see that we are not bad people, you and I, and then ask her for my property back!”
