Silent on the Moor Read Free Page B

court misery.” There was afleeting shadow in her eyes, and I thought of how much she and Portia had risked to be together. Jane had been the poor relation of Portia’s husband, Lord Bettiscombe, and society had been cruel when they had set up house together after Bettiscombe’s death. They had a circle of broad-minded and cultured friends, but many people cut them directly, and Portia had been banned from the most illustrious houses in London. Theirs had been a leap of faith together, into a world that was frequently cruel. And yet they had done it together, and they had survived. They were an example to me.
    I covered her hand with mine. “You are right, of course. One must be brave in love, like the troubadours of old. And one must seize happiness before it escapes entirely.”
    “I will wish you all good fortune,” she said, lifting her glass. We toasted then, she with her wine, I with my tea, but as we sipped, we lapsed into a heavy silence. My thoughts were of Brisbane, and of the very great risk I was about to take. I did not wonder what hers were. It was only much later that I wished I had spared a care for them. How much might have been different.

THE SECOND CHAPTER
    O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
    —William Shakespeare
Twelfth Night
     
     
    T rue to Portia’s intention, we left early the next morning, but we did not achieve Grimsgrave Hall by nightfall. The journey, in a word, was disastrous. Jane did not accompany us to the station, preferring instead to bid us farewell at Bettiscombe House. It was just as well, I thought. Between Portia and myself, there were two maids, three pets, and a mountain of baggage to be considered. Valerius met us on the platform, arriving just before the doors were shut and lapsing into his seat with a muttered oath and bad grace.
    “Good morning, Valerius,” I said pleasantly. “How nice to see you. It’s been ages.”
    The corners of his mouth were drawn down sullenly. “It was a fortnight ago at Aunt Hermia’s Haydn evening.”
    “Nevertheless, it is good to see you. I know you must be mightily put out with Father for asking you to come—”
    He sat bolt upright, clearly enraged. “Asking me to come? He didn’t ask me to come. He threatened to cut off my allowance entirely. No money, ever again, if I didn’t hold your hand on the way to Yorkshire. And worst of all, I am not permitted to return to London until you do. I am banished,” he finished bitterly.
    Portia gave a snort and rummaged in her reticule for the timetable. I suppressed a sigh and gazed out the window. It was going to be a very long journey indeed if Val meant to catalogue his wrongs. The refrain was one I had heard often enough from all of Father’s younger sons. Although the bulk of the March estate was kept intact for Bellmont and his heirs, Father was extremely generous with his younger children.
    Unfortunately, his generosity seldom extended to letting them make their own choices. They were expected to be dilettantes, nothing less than gentlemen. They might write sonatas or publish verse or daub canvases with paints, but it was always understood that they were strictly barred from engaging in trade. Valerius had not only struggled against this cage, he had smashed the bars open. He had at one time established himself, quite illegally, as physician to an expensive brothel. His dabbling in medicine had violated every social more that Father had been brought up to respect, and Father had very nearly disowned him altogether. It was only grudgingly and after a series of violent arguments that he had consented to permit Valerius to study medicine in theory, so long as he did not actually engage in treatingpatients. This compromise had made Val sulky, yet unsatisfactory as his work had become, leaving it was worse.
    He lapsed into a prickly silence, dozing against the window as the train picked up speed and we began our journey in earnest.
    Not surprisingly, Portia and I bickered genteelly