Jack on the Box (12 page)

She managed to answer him with tolerable tranquility, though his implications angered her. “Stourport is yours now, Alfred. How could I be offended by any changes you might care to make?”

Well Cecily knew the excellence of her father’s servants, but she also knew they had no desire to work for the new baron. Several of them had informed her of their intention of seeking new situations as soon as she should be gone. In fact, she had written several letters of recommendation on their behalf.

Her answer seemed to satisfy Alfred, for he gave her a feline grin.

“But you have not told me the purpose of your call,” Cecily reminded him. “Or are you just stopping on your way to somewhere else?”

Alfred responded with a wounded air. “It is you I have come to see, Cousin. Can you doubt it? Did your aunt not tell you that I wrote of my intention to visit, more than a month ago? Imagine my hurt when I discovered that you had just left her house on the very day of my arrival.”

There was a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes, and Cecily wondered if Alfred had discovered her means of evading him. “Yes, she did inform me, by post after I arrived here. But my plans were already made, you see. I am sorry you were inconvenienced.”

Alfred beamed upon her. “So considerate, my dear Cecily. But then you always were a model of feminine virtue.”

Cecily laughed. “My grandfather would smile to hear you say so, Alfred, remembering my childhood scrapes. I was not such a pattern card then, if you recall. Either your memory is at fault or you must be trying to gammon me!”

His smile stiffened. He seemed more than usually on edge, shifting back and forth quickly from amusement to irritation. “You must not deprecate yourself, Cecily. It does not become you.”

She sighed inwardly. It appeared that Alfred was not going to volunteer the purpose of his visit and that she would have to drag it from him.

“Are there business matters you wish to discuss with me, Alfred?”

He started, and then waved an impatient hand. “Did I not just say that it is you I have come to see, Cecily? I am here to help you. As soon as I found out where you were—your aunt, you must know, gave me to understand that you had gone visiting, and I did not know your whereabouts. Anyway, as soon as I knew them, I hurried to be with you.”

Cecily looked at him blankly. He explained. “Your poor grandpapa,” he said in a mournful tone. “To think that you have been down here nursing him, at his bedside as it were, without the support and comfort of another family member nearby . . . . Why, it is most distressing!”

A moment’s pause, and Cecily laughed.

Alfred’s eyes narrowed unpleasantly.

“You must forgive me, Cousin,” she said, “But I had no idea you were under such a misapprehension. I am here by my grandfather’s invitation and by my choice. We get on quite well together, I assure you, and he is not in such a bad way that I feel myself in the least burdened. I have been enjoying myself immensely. So you see, there is not the slightest need for you to trouble yourself.”

But Alfred, it seemed, would not believe her. “You are too noble, Cousin. I cannot depend on you to be truthful in this circumstance, for I perceive you are trying not to impose upon my good nature. You see, I know you too well. I insist upon being allowed to help you. I will have my things taken to my room, if you please, if you will be kind enough to ask the housekeeper just where I should establish myself for the present.”

Cecily looked at him in horror. “You do not mean you intend to stay, Alfred!”

He smiled as though she had intended this as a compliment to him. “Yes, of course. You may indeed be surprised by the degree of my cousinly devotion, but I beg you to consult your own heart on the matter to see whether I might not have another interest in mind. For the present, however, I shall say nothing more on the subject. Will you have the goodness to have that woman—Mrs. Shelby, is it—show me to my room? I find myself desperately in need of a rest.”

Cecily could not deny such a pointed request. Little as she trusted Alfred, and wanting him there even less, she could see that he indeed needed a rest. “It is Mrs
. Selby
,” she corrected him. “And I shall ring for her.”

In a few moments Mrs. Selby had come and, with a poor show of grace, taken Alfred to his room. Cecily sat for a little while longer, gazing at nothing in particular and wearing a frown.

Alfred’s visit was a puzzle to her. She could not credit his motives. Had he not already taken all that should have been hers? She had nothing left to give him.

A scraping sound in the corridor jerked her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway. Of its own accord, a smile sprang to her lips.

“Am I disturbing you, Cecily?” he asked. She did not have to answer for her smile told it all.

He hobbled into the room in response to her invitation, which gave her the opportunity to watch. She could not help contrasting Jack’s splendid figure with Alfred’s weaker frame. In spite of his having to hobble on one crutch—perhaps even because of it—his firm muscles drew her attention. But he could not be aware of it, for his blue eyes met hers and sparkled with humour.

“I make quite a sight, I suppose, stumbling into your parlour. Not the sort of guest one’s accustomed to.”

Cecily could not very well confess what she had been thinking, so she assured him it was of no consequence. He took a seat beside her and heaved a sigh.

“I must say,” he began, “no number of long hours on the box could make me quite so eager to arrive at my destination as this crutch does. It is a most inferior form of travel.”

Cecily smiled at his pleasantry, but could not give him her full attention. Her mind was distracted by the knowledge that Alfred was in the house and by her need to know his purpose.

Jack must have realized that something was bothering her, for he looked at her silently for a moment before saying, “The servants have just informed me that your cousin, Lord Stourport, has come for a visit. Is that what has you so blue-deviled?”

She started to deny it, but faced with the concern in his expression, could not. “Yes,” she admitted finally. “I cannot help but wonder what he’s up to. You see, he’s never been here before, and cannot have a legitimate reason for coming.”

“What does he say?”

“That he’s come to
help
me,” Cecily said in an oozing voice.

Jack laughed. “And that won’t wash? Well, I suppose you know your cousin better than I, so I’ll take your word for it. What do you suppose his true reasons are?”

Cecily’s frown redescended. “I do not know. Charity, familial or otherwise, is not in Alfred’s line, so I cannot think he has come to assist me. And he cannot possibly have run through my father’s estate in just six months, so I doubt he is here for money. That does not leave much upon which to speculate.” Then she added, “But I do know that there is something he wants of me.”

Jack’s smile had faded, too. “He sounds a very pretty fellow. Is there nothing you can do to avoid him? Why not send him about his business?”

“I ought to, I suppose,” Cecily agreed. “But that would take a degree of incivility I am not accustomed to employing. And besides, I tried that once before and only succeeded in delaying his visit. I must find out at some point what scheme he has in mind.”

Her companion nodded. “Well,” he said, “I admire you for bearding the lion in his den. Just remember, however, that I am here and willing to be of help whenever you should need it.” He looked at her reassuringly, and Cecily felt a glow of warmth. She suddenly realized how much more confident she felt facing Alfred because Jack was in the house. Once again, she had confided in him without reflecting on the wisdom of it, and without a thought of discretion.

“Thank you,” she said rising, not wishing to burden him further. “Now I shall have to go inform my grandfather that there is an uninvited guest staying under his roof. He will not like to hear that it is Alfred, so it will take some skill on my part to avoid alarming him. Will you visit him afterwards and help to entertain him?”

“I would be delighted,” said Jack, rising quickly to his good leg. “But this evening . . . shall we be dining in his room, or . . .”

Cecily paused. “I had not thought of that,” she said. Then she sighed. “No. At least,
I
cannot. I shall have to entertain Alfred downstairs!”

“Then I shall come down, too,” Jack said quickly.

Cecily gave a smile of relief and then noticed his clothes. She could not help but laugh. “I cannot wait to see Alfred’s face when he learns that he is to dine with a coachman. My cousin,” she explained, “is not the broadest in his views.”

Jack’s eyes lit with mischief. “Then it shall be my pleasure to enlighten him,” he said.

Cecily went off to her grandfather’s room with a lighter heart, and her confident mood was of great help in convincing Sir Waldo that he had no reason to worry. She told him that she and Jack would have to dine without him that evening, and she managed to amuse him with the picture Alfred and Jack would make at the table together.

When she had done, Sir Waldo sighed and patted her hand. “I cannot like it, Cecily. What the blazes does the fellow mean, coming here like this? If Jack weren’t here to lend his presence, I should have the fellow thrown out—Lord Stourport or not!”

Cecily hastened to comfort him, but her cheeks were suddenly filled with warmth. “Indeed you should, but as you say, with Jack here there is no need. I shall have sufficient company so that Alfred cannot pass off any of his tricks on me. Jack has already assured me of his wish to be helpful.” She spoke these last words self-consciously.

Her grandfather looked at her sharply. “In your confidence, is he? Good. I like the young man. If I were young and fit as he is, I’d . . .” He did not finish, but his shrewd eyes took in Cecily’s confusion with a gleam of contentment.

* * * *

 A little while later, Jack was shown into the room. Cecily had departed in order to see that dinner would be ordered for three persons downstairs.

Sir Waldo looked him over with a thorough scrutiny, while Jack waited for him to speak. This went on for some minutes, before the younger man showed signs of amusement at this treatment and directed an inquiring look at Sir Waldo.

It recalled the old man to the present. “Jack, my boy,” he said, and his eyes held excitement. “There is something I have to tell you.”

As Jack listened earnestly, Sir Waldo recounted to him the circumstances surrounding his son’s missing will. Then, with only a slight pause he continued, “Now what I am about to say to you must remain strictly between us. You know that I’m as good as a cripple. Been lying here stiff as a board for nigh on two years with little to amuse me but Leto here—” he gave her a pat “—and Selby’s sour face. I’ve got my books, but I know ‘em all by heart, so there’s nothing new in that. Cecily’s my only joy.”

Jack watched him silently, his heart giving a leap.

Sir Waldo continued, staring grimly into his eyes. “If there is anything I won’t stand for, it is for her to be harmed in any way.”

Jack returned his stare, letting his silence speak for itself.

After a while, seemingly satisfied with his response, Sir Waldo reverted to his former manner and said excitedly, “I’ve done quite a lot of thinking while I’ve been lying here. And it seems to me there’s just one possibility.” He paused. “Alfred must have done away with the will.”

“Have you any proof?” Jack asked him quickly.

Sighing, the old man shook his head. “No, but I’d swear to it.” He explained his reasons for thinking Cecily’s father never intended to leave her homeless, adding, “And who stood to benefit by it all if not Alfred? He took all she had. And except for a few words of regret at the start of the legal proceedings, he’s done nothing to make it up to her. Not a penny’s allowance in all this time. But it’s
how
he did it that I can’t make out.”

“Was the possibility looked into at the time?”

Sir Waldo snorted. “Barely. They wouldn’t want to offend the new lord then, would they? All they could reasonably do was search the premises, ask the servants a few questions. Alfred’s smarter than that. If he did do away with it, you can be sure it was nowhere the solicitors could find it.

“And what’s he here for now?” Sir Waldo continued. “There is no reason for Alfred to have any more to do with Cecily. None whatsoever. The only interest he could possibly have in her at this point would be if the will were somehow found. Then, of course, he would have much to lose. But if that’s a possibility, then he must not have it himself, for he would most certainly destroy it, and I refuse to believe he did not have something to do with its disappearance! “

Jack was frowning. “From what both you and Miss Wolverton have to say about him, he seems a likely suspect. It puzzles me that your son did not take greater steps to exclude him from the inheritance.”

Sir Waldo snorted again. “Stephen had his odd ways. I’m sure he thought he had taken care of everything in his will, and that it was safe. Alfred’s father was just such an unsavoury fellow, you see. To my mind that’s why the patent was written so as to pass the title to Cecily’s mother.
Her
father was trying to keep it from passing to his younger brother’s family.”

“Well, it is certainly a mystery,” Jack agreed, shaking his head. “Thank you for your confidence, Sir Waldo. I assure you it has been well placed. I doubt that I could find anything to confirm your suspicions, but if anything occurs to me, I will notify you directly. Meanwhile, do not fear for Ce— for Miss Wolverton,” he amended quickly. “I will take care she is not bothered by her cousin while he is here.”

“Good lad!” Sir Waldo said. He had not missed Jack’s slip of the tongue, but found nothing to censure in it. If the boy were taken with his granddaughter, so much the better. He hated to think of Cecily all alone when he would be gone, but he could do little to play at matchmaker. Now, it seemed, he had been landed the perfect choice, by an accident of the Royal Mail. He just hoped Cecily would agree with him. Surely there had been a strange bit of colour in her cheeks today. And Jack: would he really be willing—or able—to help his granddaughter out of this bumblebroth?