“Where's Colin tonight?” Christopher asked. While he liked Cary well
enough in a group, he was not as close a friend as Colin, whom Christopher had
known since childhood.
“Meeting with a potential creditor,” Cary replied grimly. “The tenant houses
on his estate are falling into ruin. He's hoping to get a loan to improve the buildings so people will stay and work the land.”
“I must say, the aristocracy's in trouble,” Christopher commented.
“They are,” Cary agreed. “Poor Colin. He's too stubborn to admit defeat.”
“What choice does he have?” Christopher asked.
“None,” Cary agreed, “but the land on his estate is so overworked, he'll never
grow enough to earn a profit. As it is, he can barely pay his taxes, let alone the
debts his ancestors incurred.”
Both friends shook their heads at their friend's woes.
“So, what did you find to read tonight?” Christopher asked, changing the
subject.
Cary grinned and swallowed his mouthful of wine. “Well, I recall you
enjoyed the first Browning poem, so I found you another.”
“Lovely,” Christopher said sarcastically. “What's this one called?”
“‘My Last Duchess.’” Cary replied, waving his familiar folio.
“Good Lord, the nobility again? All right, let's hear it,” Christopher urged.
So, Cary read it, and then he looked at his friend, puzzled. “What happened?
I don't understand.”
Christopher shook his head. “He killed his wife.”
“How on earth do you know that?” Cary demanded.
Christopher crossed to his friend's spot on the armchair and indicated the line
with one finger. “Right here. Look. ‘I gave commands/Then all smiles stopped together.’”
Cary regarded the paper with lips drawn downward and eyebrows nearly
meeting. Then he raised his head, his expression stony. “He killed her for smiling too much? That's just unrealistic. No one would do such a thing.”
Again, uncomfortable awareness rose in Christopher. “Do you really believe
every woman who is abused has earned it with bad behavior?”
“Well, no, but for smiling?” Cary said incredulously. “And who's the old man
telling this to?”
“To the representative of the woman he wants to marry. See the reference to
a dowry?” Christopher pointed again.
“Good Lord.” Cary shook his head. “I don't like this Browning fellow at all.”
“Why?” Christopher demanded. “Because he wants us to think and not
merely enjoy pretty words? There are women everywhere who are treated
terribly. Remember the sister of that fellow we knew at Oxford?” Good Lord, man, you're a vicar. You should be telling me these things.
“Which one?” Cary demanded.
“Williams. Her husband beat her, remember? It was so bad she miscarried.
Then Williams hunted him down and beat him.”
