Chapter 22

Benjamin

"Love is no assignment for cowards." ― Ovid

Benjamin set out the following morning for the large shed which housed both sets of steam ploughs on the home farm. He had been there the previous afternoon and spent several hours inspecting the faulty machine, trying to ascertain the cause of the problem. He believed he had found the answer. There was a leakage from the boiler valve that controlled the flow of steam to the main cylinder.

Yesterday, he had spent the day draining the boiler and beginning to de-assemble the parts that needed repair. By that point, however, it had turned too dark—even with the lamps he had lit—to keep on with his work. Reluctantly, he had headed back to Stanton Hall, determined to return at first light the following morning and continue his task.

It was a relief to have something to do that required his full attention. It prevented him from dwelling too much on his heartbreak and from spiralling into despondency. Work was his salve, he realised. Was it not Horace that had once said, ‘Life grants nothing to us mortals without hard work'? That was what he would do, work hard and discharge his duty to his brother as best he could. Perhaps then, he would begin to feel a lessening of the burden in his mind and in his heart.

As soon as he arrived at the shed, he set to work, removing his outer coat and rolling up his sleeves. Time passed as he toiled, his mind concentrated on the challenge before him. It was not going to be an easy task to repair the valve with the limited tools at his disposal. He had to ensure that it fit perfectly on the boiler dome and stopped excess steam from escaping once the boiler was in operation. He worked away at the various metal parts before him, using his chisel and hammer to forge them into the right shape.

The noise from the hammer masked her approach, so it was with a start that he heard her voice speak from behind him, "Is it the boiler valve then that is at fault?"

He dropped the hammer with a loud clang and turned abruptly. Sarah stood a few feet from the shed door, observing his efforts with interest. He tried to speak, but no words came at first. "Ah, erm…"

She moved towards him, a hesitant smile on her face. "I suspected as much when Ambrose spoke of it to me last night at supper. He said you had volunteered to help repair the fault. Do you think you will manage?"

His voice finally returned, "I believe so, though it will take time. I am attempting to tighten the valve fitting through the primitive means at my disposal, then I shall have to put my repair to the test by filling the boiler and heating it to see if the steam still leaks out. If it does not work, and in all probability it will not on the first try, I shall have to empty it and remove the parts all over again."

She came to kneel at his side, looking closely at the boiler parts he was working on. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

His gaze flew to hers in surprise. "This is no work for a gentlewoman," he said tersely.

"Nor is it work for a gentleman, yet here we are," she pointed out.

His mouth curved in the beginnings of a smile. "I am not sure I could be called a gentleman. I have long worked with my hands and so has my father before me." He held up his hands, still bandaged, and showed her the tips of his calloused fingers which were slightly blackened from the work he had been doing.

In response, she stripped off her gloves and raised her hands for his inspection. The fingers were long and elegant, the nails neatly trimmed. Benjamin's gaze took in creamy skin that looked soft and inviting. For a brief instant, he entertained the idea of burying his face in those hands, but the thought was quickly replaced by bafflement. What was she trying to do, showing him her beautiful hands?

Then she turned her hands palm up and he noticed that the ball of her fingers bore thickened skin with a few faint scars from where she must have cut herself on more than one occasion in the past. She saw the question in his gaze and explained, "The same goes for me. These are not the hands of an idle gentlewoman. I have spent far too many hours making use of them on crafting the parts for my miniature railway."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I take your point, Sarah, but this is messy work, even for you."

"That is why I came in my oldest gown today," she challenged. "Oh, do please let me help."

He was no match for her insistence. He wondered also about her motives. Was she here to reconcile with him after their sharp words yesterday, or did she simply want to get involved in this task because engineering was her passion? "Alright," he replied, "but you must keep away from the engine when I heat up the boiler."

She looked as if she were about to dispute this matter but changed her mind on seeing his uncompromising expression. "Very well," she muttered. She spied a wooden stool in one corner of the shed and went to fetch it, settling herself down beside him.

It occurred to him that now would be an opportune time to make amends for his behaviour the previous day. He cleared his throat. "Sarah," he said, "my manner with you yesterday was unforgivable. It is difficult for me to speak about the things that ail me, and so I tried to deflect your questions with unwarranted mockery. Please forgive me."

"Oh my dear friend, you have long been forgiven," she said softly.

"Is that what I am, your friend?"

"Of course," she responded indignantly. "How could there be any doubt?"

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "I have often wondered what it would be like between us when we met after the forthright nature of our correspondence."

She bent her head, studying the scuffed floor at her feet. In a low voice, she said, "When I wrote the things I did to you, it was never with the expectation that one day, we would meet face-to-face again. There are things you know about me, shameful things, that I would not have dreamed of revealing to anyone."

"There is nothing shameful about the things you did!" he rasped angrily. "Do not, I beg, feel shame for knowing your true sensual nature."

She laughed lightly even as a rosy flush came over her face. "That is what I admire about you, Benjamin," she said. "You are unapologetically honest about yourself. Would that I could be the same as you, but I am afraid I have had too many of our society's values instilled in me to be unashamed of such things. And besides this, you also know all the details of my foolish infatuation for Mr Templeton these many years."

"Not so foolish," he rumbled low in his throat, "given you are now betrothed to him. I have been remiss in not offering you my congratulations. I know this is what you have dreamed of all these years, and I… I am happy for you." That last statement was hard to say, but he forced it out nevertheless.

"Yes," she murmured, clasping her hands together in her lap. "It is still difficult to believe that this has come to pass. It is as if I am living in a dream."

"And I in a nightmare," he thought. He expelled a breath. It was best to get back to work. He bent to pick up the metal part he had been working on, saying, "I have been trying to shear the edges over here in an attempt to seal the valve more securely."

She leaned closer to see, and as she did so, he was engulfed in her feminine, slightly floral scent. He breathed in deeply. "Yes, I see," she murmured, observing him at work as he continued stoically with his task.

Time passed. It was spent in companiable silence, interspersed with the occasional instruction or query as they worked together. Towards the middle of the afternoon, Benjamin deemed the parts ready for re-assembly. Once that was done, he and Sarah went back and forth with buckets to the nearby well, filling up the boiler with water. Then, adjuring Sarah to maintain a proper distance, he lit the coals in the firebox and waited for the water to heat in the boiler. It took several minutes as they waited on tenterhooks to see if the repair was successful.

The engine chugged and hissed, and a surge of steam flowed through to engage the cylinder. They both held their breath. The rotor, around which was attached the steel cable that pulled the plough, began slowly to turn. Then it stopped. They heard a loud hiss of steam as it escaped from the valve in the boiler dome. Benjamin sighed in disappointment. He had known it was too much to hope that the repair would be successful first time around, yet still he had hoped. There was nothing for it now but to wait for the boiler to cool and tomorrow, he would drain it and start over again. He banked the fire in the firebox then stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag.

He turned to face Sarah, lips downturned. "Well, that is that," he said.

"I shall come by again tomorrow," she responded calmly, "after I have finished my tutoring duties in the morning. Perhaps we shall have more luck then."

He smiled wryly. "Perhaps. And thank you, Sarah, you have been invaluable today."

She laughed, "Hardly that, but I hope to have helped a little." She pulled her coat on, which she had discarded earlier, together with her bonnet and gloves. He too donned his jacket and searched for his hat. Retrieving it from a dusty corner, he gave it a quick swipe with his hand before placing it on his head.

"Let me walk you back to Ivy Cottage," he said as they stepped out of the shed. He locked the door securely and pocketed the key.

"There is no need, but I shall accompany you part of the way towards Stanton Hall," she retorted.

He had no intention of parting company with her until she had been escorted back to her home, but he refrained from saying so. He was not quite ready yet for his time with her today to be over. Together, they began their walk. There was a light drizzle and a fresh breeze, but he did not mind. It helped cool his heated body, which had been supremely aware of Sarah's proximity all this time—and besides, he was well used to being out in the cold.

Sarah broke the silence between them with a question. "When you return to America, what do you propose to do? Work for your father again?"

Looking ahead of him, he replied softly, "Papa and I spoke of it when I first returned home. He saw how weary and wretched I was, for he told me there was no rush for me to do so. Perhaps that was what gave me the courage to tell him that I had no wish to be a gentleman farmer at all."

"But how marvellous!" Sarah clasped his arm in excitement. "Remember how you dithered about it before the war? And now it is all out in the open, as it should be."

"Yes," he said, taking the hand she had placed on his arm and slipping it through his.

She did not remark on this but kept smiling, then thought to ask, "So, if you are not to be a farmer, what is your plan for the future?"

"Must I have a plan?" he countered, only to be argumentative.

"Well of course you must. You cannot simply sit at home and do nothing. Idleness is not good for the soul, you know."

He grunted in amusement, "And now you sound like a puritan."

"This is a universal Christian value too," she huffed. "And not just Christian but also a precept from classical times. Was it not Horace that once said, ‘Life grants nothing to us mortals without hard work'?"

He smiled to himself but contented himself with saying, "You have been reading Horace now, have you?"

She spoke so quietly he had to strain to hear her words, "After you left that last time, I picked up a volume of Horace's odes and verses from the Stanton library, and Daniel generously let me keep it. It served as a reminder of you."

His grip on her arm tightened imperceptibly. They had come to the avenue which led to Stanton Hall on one side, and to Ivy Cottage on the other. Sarah slowed her steps, as if to bid him goodbye, but he turned left purposefully and continued towards her home. They walked on in charged silence, the air between them buzzing with the unspoken electricity of their emotions. Benjamin could feel it as if it were a tangible thing in the air. In this instant, he thought he could discern the sentiments beating in her heart. He could swear that this chemistry between them was not one-sided, and for the first time since his arrival in England, it gave him hope.

After a while, he decided to humour her and answer the question she had posed about his future. "Papa then wanted to know what I wished to do," he said in a voice that sounded hoarse to his own ears, "and I told him I was not fit anymore to work with others. I need to be alone, at least until I have figured out how to put a stop to the rages that overpower me."

He saw her gaze fall to his bandaged hand that held her arm, and he knew where her thoughts had flown. "You were quite right yesterday," he said. "Punching nothing would be infinitely better than punching a tree, if only for the health of my poor hands. I have yet to learn how to do it."

"And is that why you were sent here all alone? To enclose yourself in the protection of the fortress that is Stanton Hall?"

It could have salvaged his pride to respond affirmatively. This was a plausible reason for coming to England rather than the real purpose he was at first unable to enunciate. But he would not lie to Sarah. The truthfulness between them was a thing of rare beauty that he could not desecrate. "No, Papa had nothing to do with the decision to come here. I did want to be alone, but more than that, I wanted to be of use to Daniel. I think he wishes to assuage some guilt he may feel at living in the lap of luxury all these years while I fought in the war. It is his way of saying, ‘Now it is your turn to enjoy the material pleasures I have so long been privileged to have'."

"I would have thought he would want to spend time with you rather than send you away," remarked Sarah, not quite convinced of this argument.

"We may not have spent a great deal of time together, but it was valuable nonetheless. Daniel and I… we have reached an understanding. If you like, we had a clearing of the air between us. It had been poisoning our relationship for far too long, much of it my own fault, I may add. But being with him again, and being faced with his unfailing kindness—added to which my time at war had built an understanding that life is too short to keep family at a distance—the walls I had built to shield him from my envy fell away, and I remembered just how much it is that I love my brother."

"Oh Benjamin," murmured Sarah, much moved. "I am so glad to hear it." They walked on, each lost in their own thoughts until she spoke again. "And then, having come here searching for solitude, you had to endure my badgering of you yesterday morning. I am so sorry."

"Do not be!" he ground out. In a gentler voice he went on, "I have spent one of the happiest days I can remember for a long time today, and much of it was due to you, so you have nothing to be sorry for."

"Being productively engaged more likely is the cause of your greater happiness," she said sagely, but he saw that she had blushed slightly at his words. "So you see how important good, honest work is to one's wellbeing."

"I do see it, but I also see how one's wellbeing is augmented by the company of a true friend," he responded, a trifle huskily.

She smiled. "On this then, we are agreed. And so, my good friend, I shall come to assist you again tomorrow after I have had my lunch."

They had come to a stop in front of Ivy Cottage, but Benjamin was loath to let her go. On an impulse, he said, "Speaking of lunch, I thought perhaps you and Ambrose would wish to join me for luncheon on Sunday after church, much as you have been in the habit of doing with Daniel and Bella." He paused. "Mr Templeton too, of course."

"We would be glad to," said Sarah warmly. "As for Philip, I cannot say for sure. He is away in London to do some sketches for his next painting, and I do not know when he shall return."

What kind of man proposes marriage and then leaves his betrothed not a day after, and for such a trifling reason? The thought was quickly followed by another. If it were me betrothed to Sarah, I would keep her close. I would not let a day pass without my being by her side. And then another thought came to sour his mood. But it is not I who is betrothed to her. It is Philip Templeton who has that privilege—at least for now. Brusquely, he bowed, "Good day, Sarah," he said. A moment later, he had turned tail and walked briskly away.