Exiled (8 page)

The scene faded away and Akil quickly took his leave while Stuart sat in silence waiting for his wife to respond. She had long since finished her tea and was neurotically twisting the cup in her hands while staring into its depths. Stuart noticed her hands were shaking as she turned the cup. Finally, after an extensive, awkward silence, she spoke.

“So you’ve been running off with this Ogilvy lady for the past six months and telling me you were meeting with parliament?”

“I’ve not been neglecting my post if that’s what you’re asking. When I’m needed, we transport to the city.”

“We?”

“Tabbi and I,” replied Stuart.

“So now it’s Tabbi?” asked Margaret.

“Will you put aside your insecurities and listen to what I’m saying before you pass judgment,” Stuart admonished.

Margaret took a deep breath and nodded, not lifting her eyes from the inside of her cup.

“As I was saying, Tabitha and I have been training for the past several—”

“Training? Have you lost your mind?”

Stuart stood, rounded the desk, and raised his hand above the chair in which Margaret sat.

“Don’t scream,” he said.

Before she could reply he muttered a word that sounded vaguely familiar to Margaret. Without warning, the chair lifted from the ground until she was eye level with him. Her mouth dropped open. She grasped the arms of the chair and the teacup dropped to the rug. Margaret leaned over the side expecting to see someone lifting the chair from beneath, but she could only see the shadow the chair cast on the floor.

Finally, she regained her voice and whispered, “Enough.”

Sensing her fear, Stuart slowly lowered the chair to the ground. Margaret was breathing rapidly, her hand clutched her chest. Stuart bent to reassure her, and she recoiled fearfully.

“Everything I’ve told you is true. Every word, “Stuart said. “Tomorrow you and I must take leave. There is much to be done and very little time in which to do it.”

Stuart pulled her close and held her until the tension ran out of her body. Eventually she fell asleep in his arms, and he carried her to bed.

Margaret’s eyes opened. Above her were the crimson drapes that cascaded over her four-post bed.
A dream
, she thought. Relieved that she hadn’t lost her mind completely, she sat up and walked to the window.
James must have rekindled a fire in the bedroom
, she thought as she passed the roaring flames and pulled back the drapes.

Outside the ground was covered in a blanket of snow. The sky was overcast and threatened more precipitation in the near future. She could hear voices approaching in the hallway behind her. She turned as she heard a diffident knock at the door. James poked his little head into the room before she could acknowledge her visitor. He smiled at her and ran into the room.

“Is it true, is it true?” he asked fervently, dancing with excitement in front of her.

“Is what true, darling?”

“Am I going to stay with Auntie Dez?”

“Auntie Dez? What are you talking about?”

“Father said I am going to stay with Auntie Dez for a while.”

Her head began to pound. She didn’t recall discussing any of this with her husband. Margaret despised Stuart’s sister, which made the situation all the more worse. She turned as James ran off excitedly down the hall. As she looked out onto the courtyard bathed in early morning light, Margaret suddenly had a flashback to the events of the previous night. Her hands began to shake. She thought about the chair and surmised it must have all been a dream.

By the time she arrived in the breakfast room both James and his father were seated over a table piled with food.

Accustom to a simple cup of tea and slice of toast for breakfast, Margaret asked, “Why the feast?”

“We will need our strength,” Stuart replied.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Margaret made the connection between what she had been told last night and her husband’s statement. The forefront of her mind, however, decided to take control and push this thought away. She sat at the table.

“What’s this about your sister?”

“It’s all been arranged. She left a day early because of the weather, so she should be arriving sometime this morning. She and James will head back to her cottage after the weather breaks.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me she was coming to visit?” she asked.

James crumbled pieces of bacon over his eggs, taking little notice of the conversation going on around him.

“Someone must watch James,” he replied. “Someone we trust.”

She found it odd that he called their son James. Usually he was known as
The Boy
when his father talked about him.

“We’re perfectly capable of watching our own son,” she replied, burying the thoughts deeper still.

“Have you forgotten everything I told you last night?” Stuart asked.

“And what is there of that nonsense that I need remember?”

Frustrated and in no mood to argue in front of their son, Stuart stood, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and climbed the stairs without a word. Margaret decided that if everything she remembered had actually happened, she would not only ignore it, she would also refuse to take any action involving it. She was raised in a very intolerant family. Their beliefs were strict and unquestionable. If her mother had heard the nonsense spewing from her son-in-law she’d go mad. Magic indeed.

James soon followed his father up the stairs, leaving Margaret to finish her breakfast alone. An hour later Stuart came thumping down the stairs with two overstuffed saddlebags. Margaret, who had been reading by the fire, gave him a piqued look as the bags crashed to the floor.

“I packed your clothing as well,” he said. He waited for her to reply but she silently went back to her book. “I saw my sister’s sleigh turning down our lane. She should be here momentarily.”

Again she made no effort to act.

“Margaret, we will be leaving shortly,” he said sternly.

She let out an exasperated sigh, closed her book, and stood to confront him.

“We will be doing no such thing,” she said.

“If I haven’t been clear, allow me to clarify now. This is not an option. We are going.”

He turned and walked across the hall toward the front door. Margaret didn’t know what to do. She’d never heard her husband speak to her in such a demanding tone. Immediately she attributed it to this other woman. Whoever she was, Margaret considered her a threat that needed to be dealt with immediately. This reason alone moved her to act. She took a resolute breath, bid her son farewell, and then made her way to the stables.

When she arrived, Stuart was strapping the bags to his two best horses, Archos and Noch. He mounted Archos, the larger of the two, and looked at his wife, who watched in disbelief.

“What about the carriage?” she asked.

“The carriage will not travel where we are going, my dear,” he said enthusiastically.

“But I am not dressed for a long ride.”

“We will stop before long, and you may change. I must insist that we get moving. Mrs. Ogilvy will be expecting us shortly.”

She cringed at the sound of
her
name. This Tabitha Ogilvy had filled her husband’s head with nonsense. She mounted Noch and followed her husband’s lead, ignoring the stable master’s greeting as they continued down the lane. Her mind was set on proving this woman a fool so she could return to her normal life as quickly as possible.

Stuart turned Archos off the lane down a small trail, its edges barley visible beneath the blanket of snow. After miles of gradual decline, the snow receded and the trail became steep and rocky as it wound into the forest then down toward the sea. As they entered the forest, the biting cold of winter lifted and Margaret began removing the blankets she had layered over her shoulders shortly after their departure. The trail flattened and widened as it rounded a bend, revealing a small cottage overlooking the sea. Smoke drizzled from the chimney. The heavy mist from the ocean kept the air wet and cool. They dismounted, and Stuart led the horses to a small stall at the far end of the path while Margaret looked around. The small shanty, as she would have called it, was positively quaint, although she would have never admitted it. Each window contained beautifully arranged flower boxes. The small lawn was perfectly manicured even though goats or sheep were nowhere to be seen. A large pile of firewood lay in the breezeway that connected the stable to the house. Perfectly flat stones spaced a step apart drew Margaret to the front door. A beautiful wreath of fresh flowers hung on the door. There was no doubt that the flowers had been picked today.

Margaret stared at the wreath and allowed her preconceived notions of the woman inside to run away with her. The door swung open. Startled, she jumped back. In the threshold, stood a woman who could have been her sister. She was tall and lean, although not without muscle. Her hair was nearly identical to Margaret’s in color and length. The most obvious difference between them was their eyes. Margaret had jade-green eyes like the necklace given to her by her husband on their first anniversary; Tabitha’s eyes were black, like two bottomless wells. Margaret stared into them, mesmerized. Expecting to see her reflection, she was startled to see nothing, as if the darkness absorbed all light surrounding it. She was drawn from her gaze when Tabitha spoke.

“My goodness,” she said, clutching her chest. “I thought you were those kids up the hill again.”

Margaret blushed, embarrassed at having stared for so long. She smiled, attempting to hide her embarrassment.

“You must be Margaret. Mr. Stuart has told me so much about you. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Margaret stood in shock.
An honor? What had James told this woman?
Still unsure how to respond, she nodded gently in response to Tabitha’s curtsy.

“Please come in,” she said, opening the door completely and extending an arm into the cottage.

Margaret looked over her shoulder for any sign of her husband, but she couldn’t see the stable from where she stood. Not wanting to be rude, she stepped inside. To her dismay, the inside was just as quaint as the outside. A large inviting fireplace stood on the opposite wall. An untended fire expelled smoke in intermittent breaths as it ate away at the last log it had been fed. A white, bearskin rug lie in front of the fire.
How did a woman such as this acquire a skin from the bears of the north?
Margaret wondered. Two rocking chairs sat on either side of the rug. Dried flowers hung from the exposed rafters that arched above their heads.

The floor was a stone with which Margaret was completely unfamiliar. It was smooth and polished. She could feel warmth emanating from it through her riding boots. Try as she may, she couldn’t locate a seam anywhere in the room. Not even in her grand manor had they been able to find a single stone as large as this.

The windows to her left overlooked the stable. Margaret could see Stuart spreading hay for the horses to eat. Just inside the windows were more flower boxes with what looked like spices growing inside.
Imagine, window boxes inside the house.
Margaret was both perplexed and enthralled. The light in the room seemed brighter than the light outside, but Margaret knew this to be impossible as the only sources of light in the room were the windows.

“May I take your cloak?” Tabitha asked.

Margaret unbuttoned her traveling cloak and slid it from her shoulders. Tabitha hung it on the wall behind the door. Margaret was sure she hadn’t noticed hooks on that wall, but she discounted the thought when she heard a knock at the door. Tabitha quickly opened the door and Stuart entered without waiting for an invitation.

Margaret noticed that rain had begun to fall. Despite the darkened clouds, the inside of the house remained bright and cheerful to Martha’s continued consternation.

“Mrs. Ogilvy, good to see you, good to see you,” Stuart said, removing his cloak and hanging it on a hook next to Margaret’s cloak. “I trust you’ve already met my lovely wife.” Stuart smiled, kissing Margaret on the cheek as if they’ve been apart for several days. Margaret was startled and flinched at his unusual show of affection.

“Indeed I have. I was just going to ask her if she’d like a cup of tea.”

“Tea!” Stuart said a little too enthusiastically. “A great idea, wouldn’t you say, sweetie?”

Sweetie? Something strange indeed is going on here
, Margaret thought. She hadn’t heard that pet name since their first anniversary, the year he was appointed to the House of Lords. Tabitha swung the lug pole from which the kettle was suspended over the fire and lifted it with her bare hand. She filled three cups and turned to her guests.

“Sugar, cream?”

“Both,” Stuart said.

“Neither,” Margaret said, looking curiously again at her husband who never took anything in his tea.

As she prepared the tea, Margaret noticed Tabitha took hers exactly as her husband had requested. She ushered them into the rocking chairs while remaining standing, smiling over her guests. They were seated for just a moment before Stuart jumped to his feet.

“Well then, now that the introductions are complete and everyone is comfortable, I think it time to address the task at hand.”

Margaret looked up at her husband, cradled her tea in her hands, and thought she’d never seen him this nervous. It was obvious he was smitten with this woman and why shouldn’t she be? She appeared so outwardly kind it was hard for even Margaret not to like her despite knowing what she thought she knew. Part of her believed she could actually grow to like this woman, she knew she could also grow to hate her. Tabitha is what Margaret could be. What, deep down, Margaret wanted to be. Tabitha and Stuart exchanged glances and Stuart let out an exhalation of resignation.

“Margaret, my dear,” Stuart began. “There is no easy way to tell you this—”

I knew it
, Margaret thought
.

“You, of course, remember what I showed you last night,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

“I do not,” Margaret said stoically.