Authors: Roberta Gellis
Sharp words rose to her lips when she recalled the
complications caused by running a business under a trusteeship—not that dear
Albert Gallatin, her trustee, had ever caused her trouble, it was just the
inconvenience of needing to obtain his signature for any legal transaction that
rankled her. But that was all behind her now, and it was a comfort to know that
the bookshop was there and that Albert would make sure it was not run into the
ground. If she should find the conditions of Victor’s inheritance too
impossible, Abigail thought, they could return to America and remain there
until Victor was of age and entitled to take the Lydden estate into his own
hands.
The notion of that safe haven gave Abigail a sense of
freedom that nearly brought her to say caustically that she would thank Sir
Arthur to mind his own business and permit her to mind hers, but she recalled
how startled Mr. Deedes had been by her earlier sharpness. It was ridiculous,
she told herself, to antagonize the family solicitor unless it was necessary,
so she lowered her eyes to conceal the irritation she felt and said sweetly,
“But you have not yet told me, beyond saying that he was your co-executor, just
what powers Sir Arthur will have, and thus, I cannot tell in what situations I
should apply to him.”
“Oh, you may call on him in
any
difficulty,” Mr.
Deedes assured her enthusiastically.
Infuriated, Abigail bit her lip until she had her voice
under control. “I should be most reluctant,” she said then, “to impose on a man
who, no matter how worthy, is a total stranger to me. What I wish to know is
whether I am free to live in Rutupiae Hall, to draw money to pay the servants
and to purchase food and clothing for myself and my children, whether I am free
to dismiss any servant I find incompetent and to employ others. I am sure Sir
Arthur would find it inconvenient if I should call him from his own business
each time I found it necessary to order smalls for my son or hire a new
scullery maid.”
“My dear Lady Lydden,” the solicitor exclaimed, “of course
you are free to live at Rutupiae Hall or in any of the other houses, including
the town house—Lydden House—in London. And naturally the staff must be under
your direction, although…er…I hope that…ah…you will not wish to make too many
changes. As to ordering…oh dear…er…garments for Lord Lydden, I…such matters are
generally left to the valet. And the servants’ wages would be attended to by the
bailiff, the butler and the housekeeper, depending—”
“Mr. Deedes,” Abigail said, controlling herself with an
effort, “I have no intention, I assure you, of turning Rutupiae Hall upside
down or, indeed, of making any changes until I am fully familiar with the place
and the servants. These questions were only meant as examples. I wish to know
in general, on the one hand, what I am free to do on my own and what
expenditures it is fitting for me to authorize—in my son’s name, of course—and,
on the other hand, for what actions or expenditures I must seek Sir Arthur’s or
your authority. In other words, I wish to hear the gist of the articles of the
late Lord Lydden’s will that apply when the heir is a minor.”
Mr. Deedes blinked. Abigail’s voice was still gentle, but
there was a force behind it that made him more nervous than Hilda Lydden’s
tirades. “The articles of the will?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Abigail said, so exasperated that she completely
forgot her intention of discovering what she needed to know without antagonizing
the solicitor. “In fact, if there is no specific legal prohibition, I would
like to have a copy of the whole will to read and study.”
“But surely,” Mr. Deedes protested faintly, “there is no
need for your ladyship to trouble herself with such a complex document. I
assure you that your ladyship’s needs and those of Lord Lydden and his sister
will be provided for amply. And this is a dreadful season to be in London—so
hot and oppressive. Will you not allow me to arrange transport for you to Rutupiae
Hall? Sir Arthur will explain to you—”
“I cannot see why Sir Arthur should be required to travel
heaven knows how far—”
“Ah, how thoughtful you are!” Mr. Deedes cried with the
enthusiasm of relief. “But it is no distance at all. Stonar Magna—that is Sir
Arthur’s most important country seat—is no more than ten minutes’ walk from
Rutupiae Hall. Sir Arthur is your nearest neighbor. How stupid of me not to
realize that you did not know and to fail to mention it. No wonder you have
been in so much doubt about these little details, thinking it might be days or
weeks before Sir Arthur could be made aware of any difficulty. No, no, he will
be instantly able to help you.”
“I see,” she remarked in a colorless voice.
Abigail had forced herself to speak calmly, but she was
growing alarmed. She did not like the resistance Deedes was showing to
discussing the will with her, nor his anxiety to hurry her off into the country
where somehow relatives Francis had never mentioned were established in the
house he had spoken of frequently and where this Sir Arthur lived so
conveniently close. She was alone with two young children in a country where no
one knew her. Who would care if they should all disappear?
A wave of panic swept over Abigail, receding only when she
recalled that she was
not
friendless. She did have a friend in England,
Alexander Baring, nor was he a negligible person. Alexander Baring was the head
of the great banking house of Baring Brothers and a Member of Parliament. She
had met him at the home of Commodore Nicholson, Albert Gallatin’s
father-in-law, who also lived on Williams Street, and had later several times
entertained him and his American-born wife. Baring was a kind and courteous man
and had offered to facilitate her orders and payments to French and English
booksellers by doing the foreign banking necessary for her bookshop, despite
the fact that ordinarily such small accounts were more of a nuisance than a
profit. And over the years, their correspondence had contained many personal
friendly notes amid the business matters.
“Will that suit you, Lady Lydden?”
Abigail became aware that Mr. Deedes had been expounding
some plan while her mind had first recoiled in fear and then found an answer.
She shook her head. “I cannot commit myself,” she replied, curving her lips
into a smile. “We only arrived in London late yesterday and I came to you
immediately, but I must first inform my friend Mr. Alexander Baring that I am
here in England. I am afraid that my letter to him, which went at the same time
as the one I wrote to you, has also been lost. Mr. Baring has shown me much
kindness, and it would be extremely rude for me to leave the city without
informing him of my arrival.”
Mr. Deedes’ face immediately displayed relief and pleasure.
“How fortunate!” he exclaimed. “I happen to know that Mr. Baring is still in
town—you do mean Mr. Alexander Baring of Baring Brothers, do you not?”
Abigail nodded, her smile warming as she realized that her
fears must have been bred out of anxiety. Mr. Deedes could not have any nefarious
purposes if he was so delighted at her friendship with Alexander Baring. And,
indeed, on the following afternoon when she was invited to tea with Mr. Baring
and his wife, Anne Louisa, she discovered that her suspicions of both Mr.
Deedes and Sir Arthur St. Eyre were totally unfounded.
“No, no,” Baring said, smiling, when she asked if Sir Arthur
were the kind of executor who would plague her, particularly about Victor’s
upbringing. “I don’t know him very well, although he’s a fellow M.P. and a
fellow Whig—though heaven knows he seems to spend more time attacking the party
than supporting it—but I’m sure that he will be more than happy to leave you to
your own devices. He’s a bachelor, no children of his own, and I shouldn’t
think he has much interest in them.”
“I’m glad of that,” Abigail said, sighing with relief. “I
know that Victor will have a lot to learn—and so will I—but I don’t want anyone
sneering at him.”
Anne Baring laughed. “I don’t think anyone will sneer at
Victor, Abby. Boys are much the same whether—”
A loud crash from somewhere outside the open windows of the
small drawing room in which they were sitting interrupted her. Abigail jumped
at the noise, but her hostess merely shrugged her shoulders and then laughed
again when guilty whispers drifted in.
“I suspect mine are teaching yours cricket,” Anne sighed,
“and that must have been one of the windows in the servants’ hall that was
broken. How fortunate that William should be home convalescing from measles.”
Abigail started to apologize, but Anne laughed again and
shook her head and then grew serious, coming back to what she felt was more
important. “Really, it is just as well that Francis’ father did not survive
very much longer. If Victor had come to England five or six years from now, it
would have been more difficult for him.”
“Francis did teach Victor to ride and was starting to teach
him to handle a gun,” Abigail offered. “But, of course there was no land, and
I-I felt that all in all it was better for Victor to be in school, even though
he missed some of what Francis could teach him—”
“I agree with you completely,” Baring broke in kindly, to
spare her the embarrassment of admitting that she dared not allow her son too
much contact with his father, lest Victor pick up the notion that Francis’ bad
habits were to be emulated. “But give the boy a few months to run free on the
estate before you send him off to school again, if that is what you decide to
do. But I must warn you that there are only a few suitable schools, and it is
not always easy to obtain a place. There Sir Arthur might be helpful, and I
will do what I can too, of course. However, there are excellent private tutors
available if you prefer that Victor be educated at home.”
“I don’t know,” Abigail confessed.
“My goodness,” Anne protested, “Abby’s only just arrived,
and I imagine she had a great deal to do and to think about besides Victor’s
schooling.”
“Of course,” Baring agreed, smiling at his wife and then
turning to Abigail, “and with Gallatin tied to the Treasury Department in Washington,
everything must have fallen on your shoulders, my dear. In a way it is very
fortunate that you were not able to come any sooner. Your arrival at the end of
the London Season will give you a chance to become acquainted with our ways—not
that your own are not charming, but—”
“‘When in Rome, do as the Romans’,“ Abigail interrupted,
smiling. “I have every intention of obeying that excellent maxim and
never
saying
‘But in America, we do such and so, and it is much better that way’, even if I
must bite my tongue quite in half to keep it still.”
Both Baring and his wife burst out laughing. “Do you find
our ways
that
awful?” he asked, while Anne cried, “Oh, I know just what
you mean.”
Abigail laughed, too. “And I agree completely with
Alexander, although he was too tactful to say it outright, that the best place
for me is in the country where I can grow accustomed, with the least wear and
tear on my nerves and reputation.”
“That is not what I meant at all,” Baring protested, shaking
his head at Abigail’s provocative sniff. “I meant that you will have a chance
to meet the county families—”
“Especially those who do not come to London and cannot
recount
your
faux pas,” Anne put in mischievously. “Alex made me
practice on them, too.”
“
You
,” her husband said with awful emphasis,
“practiced on my innocent family—and enchanted them so completely that they
never had the heart to correct you at all.”
“Oh!” Abigail exclaimed. “I have discovered that Francis had
a family, too. I cannot imagine why he never spoke of them.”
“Nor can I,” Baring replied, but with a tone of reserve in
his voice that made Abigail raise her brows questioningly. Instead of
responding to her unspoken query, he continued, “Do not spend all your time at
Rutupiae Hall. There are several other estates, and it would be just as well to
live for at least a few weeks at each so that everyone will come to know you
and Victor.”
“I am willing enough to do it,” Abigail said a trifle
tartly, “if I can ever find out where they are and which ones I have a right to
use and manage.”
Baring smiled at her. “I will obtain a copy of the will for
you from Somerset House. Don’t think too harshly of Deedes. I have had dealings
with him before, and he is a very clever man of business—perfectly honest, too.
He is just terrified of women, I suspect because he manages property for so
many helpless and unreasonable widows. He is not accustomed to dealing with a
lady who will understand business. Just go ahead and manage the property in
your own inimitable way, my dear. Fortunately I was Lydden’s banker, so you can
draw on me for any sum you need. I will see that it is cleared with Deedes.”
“But might that not cause some conflict with Sir Arthur if
he is to be held responsible for countersigning the bills?” Abigail asked. “You
remember how I had to send every order for payment down to Philadelphia—and
then when the capitol was moved, down to Washington—to be signed by Albert. We
tried having him sign the bottom of some blank sheets, but that had to be
abandoned because Francis found them—” She stopped abruptly as a look of deep
sympathy came on Anne’s face.
“Sir Arthur will pay no attention unless Deedes thinks some
expenditure is extravagant,” Baring said, glancing swiftly and warningly at his
wife. “In that case, Sir Arthur would, I am afraid, have the right to refuse
payment, although I have not seen the will, of course, and cannot be sure what
arrangements have been made. But I am not concerned about
you
outrunning
the piper, my dear. Unless he is forced to take a hand, I assure you, Sir
Arthur will, most gratefully, ignore you.”
Abigail smiled brilliantly. “He could not do me a greater
favor,” she began, but had no time to make any further remarks because the
Baring sons, trailed by Victor and Daphne, burst into the room and began to
justify the accident to the window.