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Lord Clarendon took the opportunity to ask Mr. Swann about his scientific endeavors.
The charming Mr. Swann had everyone’s attention while he explained how he’d improved the process. His response was rather convoluted, and one would have to be keenly interested in coal to keep their mind from wandering. And Amelia found her mind wandering to the girls’ school. Whynotteach them how to do things like distill kerosene from coal? Why were improvements like that always left to the male sex? The simplicity of girls’ education by comparison seemed so ridiculous to her, as if the world—rather,men—thought girls were incapable of thinking scientifically. Girls were expected to learn how to be good wives and mothers, and boys were expected to change the world. It was even worse if one’s family lacked privilege—there was even less for a girl to learn. Read, write, and learn your figures, then sweep and cook and launder clothes and don’t forget your needlepoint.
She thought of the girls who came to school at the old cottage. They were bright and creative, full of curiosity about the world around them. She wished they could grow up to be scientists and mathematicians and parliamentarians. She imagined them in blue gowns with white aprons, wearing monocles around their necks and gathered around beakers, studying the findings of their scientific experiments. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the girls in Mr. Roberts’s care presented Queen Victoria with findings that revolutionized an industry? A new way of doing something from which the whole world would benefit, thought of entirely by girls?
Mr. Swann was describing new machinery that was currently being developed, but it was apparent to her that the charming man had lost his audience. There was an art to a supper party, and that was the ability to engage one and all. Amelia was rather good at that sort of thing, and she could have saved him. But she didn’t feel like wresting this moment from him. She suppressed a sigh and glanced at her plate, then happened to look up—right into the gray-eyed gaze of Marley. He was quietly but impassively studying her, like one might study a fish they’d just caught to determine if they ought to toss it back.
She leaned forward. “You’re looking at me again,” she whispered, just as Mr. Swann reached the crescendo of his machinery talk.
He shook his head, and with his chin, indicated something behind her. Amelia turned. The only thing behind her was the painting of a fat man. She turned back and arched a brow at him.
He arched one back at her, but his was less inquisitive and more challenging.
“What are you two going on about?” Beck asked suddenly, his voice booming.
He was speaking to her and Marley.
Mr. Swann stopped midsentence and looked around, surprised that anyone had been talking during his address.
“I beg your pardon, it is my fault,” Marley said. “I was admiring the painting just behind Her Royal Highness. She must have thought I was leering at her.”
“Not at all,” Amelia said lightly.
“The second Earl of Iddesleigh, I think?” Marley said to Beck.
“The very one,” Beck said. “A great-great-great-...uncle?” he said uncertainly and looked at his sister for confirmation.
“Cousin,” Lady Caroline corrected.
“Ah, yes. Our cousin’s legacy lives on. He had a fondness for port and horses and excessively sought them both.”
“Isn’t he the one who originally expanded Goosefeather Abbey?” Mr. Carhill asked. “I seem to recall some history about it.”
“Very good, Mr. Carhill. But he wasn’t the one to expand it. That would have been his son, our...” He looked to Lady Caroline again.
“Cousin.”
“Cousin. This one,” he said, pointing at the portrait, “sought to tear down the abbey. Didn’t like the geese, you understand. There was a time they roosted there every year and made a terrible mess.”
“Darling! Please, we are dining,” Blythe said.
“But it’s the truth, dearest. Or it was. The abbey doesn’t get many geese now.”
“What happened to them?” Lord Clarendon asked.
“The geese? I reckon they’ve gone the way of everything to do with that abbey—it’s a mystery. The place must be cursed or haunted—but we intend to change that.”
“Change what?” Marley asked.
“The abbey.” Beck motioned for the butler to refill wineglasses. “It borders your property, too, Marley. Do you know anything about it? Perhaps who it belongs to?” he asked curiously.
Marley picked up his glass and swirled the contents. “I wager I know as much as you, my lord.”
“We intend to purchase it if we can get to the bottom of who owns it.”
“Whatever for?” Marley asked. “It’s a ruin. A hazard, really.”
“Yes, but my man thinks it could be revitalized. He assures me that at least part of it can be made useful.”
