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
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
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