Jack on the Box (18 page)

“You must not do that,” he told her earnestly. “You might discover . . .” He struggled to find the right words. “You might discover that you had wasted your youth. You ought to be living the way you were intended to live. If you were to wait—” He broke off suddenly, before he could imply more than he ought.

She looked at him sombrely. Her next words dropped into the painful silence like pebbles into a well. “I see no need to wait at all.”

“Don’t say that,” he said sharply, feeling remorseful as Cecily hung her head in shame. She had offered to take him as he was, without the redemption of his father’s blessing. But as much as he wanted her, he could not allow her to make such an uneven bargain.

“You must go into Society. You will surely marry.” The words issued from his lips mechanically. He saw her shoulders stiffen slightly as if from a blow.

After a moment’s silence, she said in a small voice, “Has no one ever told you, Jack, that pride is a sin? You are rather more like your father than you realize.”

The sound of hurt in her voice was almost enough to make Jack relent, but he steeled himself. Now he became conscious that he had been squeezing his hands tightly into fists, and his leg was aching again from the strain of standing so stiffly.

“We ought to go at once to your grandfather and tell him what we suspect,” he said wearily.

She looked up and then her eyes fell. “Yes,  I suppose you are right.”

Jack hesitated a moment before offering her his arm. She took it slowly, still refusing to look up at him. He laid his other hand on hers and gripped it tightly. Only then did she appease him with a sad smile. He hoped she knew that if he had wounded her, it was not half so deeply as he had hurt himself.

Chapter Thirteen

The familiar journey to Sir Waldo’s rooms was made in silence and mutual sadness. When they had greeted Sir Waldo and recounted their tale, it was obvious that they could not have brought him better news, for Sir Waldo was delighted.

“Sudbury, come to blackmail the weasely Alfred!” he exclaimed. “If that don’t beat all! How I would love to see the scoundrel’s face at this moment, knowing the torture he must be going through! Ah, it would give me another fifty years, at least!” He leaned back on his cushions and uttered a long sigh.

Jack and Cecily had to smile at Sir Waldo’s perverse humour, despite the ache that engulfed them. They had both taken pains not to let him see their misery, but in other circumstances he might have noted it. The news they had to give him was enough to make him oblivious to all else.

“What do we do now?” he asked eagerly. “I’m a magistrate, you know. I could have them both up before me and wring the truth out of them.”

Jack put up one hand to suggest caution. “Not yet, Sir Waldo. The time will come for that, when we are certain of our evidence. If we confront them now, they can simply deny any knowledge of the will, and no one can dispute them. I think it best we wait until we can prove their culpability.”

Sir Waldo smiled grimly, but the spark in his eyes showed he appreciated Jack’s suggestion. “Then what do you mean to do?”

“Follow Lord Stourport,” Jack answered. He could feel Cecily’s eyes upon him but he refused to meet them. “I have it from Sudbury himself that he expects a visit from Lord Stourport. The gentleman can hardly refuse. Sooner or later his lordship will have to confront Sudbury, and when he does, I shall be there.”

“But, Jack!” protested Cecily. “Your leg . . .”

“Is fine as fivepence,” he said, finishing her sentence. Nevertheless, he sought to reassure her. “If I am well enough to go back to driving the mail, I ought to be up to any rig. Alfred should give me no trouble at all. In his condition it should be easy enough to follow him.”

Sir Waldo snorted. “Never did move faster than a snail’s pace. You needn’t worry about Jack, Cecy,” he told his granddaughter. “There’s nothing that nambypamby Alfred could do to Jack, here. Why he’s twice the size, and twice the man. But what do you suppose the meeting to be about?” he asked Jack.

Jack shrugged. “I shall only know when the meeting takes place and I do not think it will be long in coming. Because, if we are right, and Sudbury has information that can damage Alfred, he cannot afford to keep the man waiting. He’ll be much too worried that Sudbury will do something precipitous. Sudbury hinted that he might do just that to me himself. He almost accepted my offer to drive him up here in the carriage.”

The old man laughed. “You offered, did you? I would have liked to have seen Alfred’s face when his former valet came driving up to the manor with one of our guests. That would have sent him reeling, I’ll warrant.”

“I confess, I had some such object in mind, sir,” said Jack, grinning appreciatively. “But whatever Sudbury’s game is, it’s obviously much too important to him to waste on a foolish prank. He’s waiting for something bigger. I just wish I knew exactly what he is threatening. But never mind. With a little luck, we’ll soon know.”

Sir Waldo regarded him seriously from under his grizzled eyebrows. “If you manage to find what happened to Stephen’s will, my boy, I will be forever in your debt. I would have gone after Alfred with a whip and made him tell us if I hadn’t been confined to this godforsaken bed. But seeing as I was, there never was much I could do about it.”

Jack was moved by the feelings of helplessness behind Sir Waldo’s words. “Of course not,” he said. “And it was only by the purest luck that I stumbled upon this news myself. Much as you would have liked to go after Alfred with that whip,” he jested, “if he had not confessed, you would have been in the soup.”

Sir Waldo’s good humour returned. “I’ll wager I could have got it out of that little weasel, though,” he said, raising his eyebrows significantly.

Jack laughed. “No doubt you are right there, sir. There’s nothing of the stoic about our Alfred, is there?”

Sir Waldo chuckled, and then insisted upon being told more of Jack’s plans. There was not much left to say, however, and soon Jack retired from the room. He fervently hoped that Alfred would make a move that evening, for he could not afford to stay in the house much longer under any circumstances. The conversation with Cecily that afternoon had convinced him that he had been playing a dangerous game: first, in carrying on a flirtation with her, and later, in fooling himself that he would soon be able to claim her. As long as their circumstances had been similarly altered, he had been able to justify his pursuit. But now . . . The outcome of Sudbury’s confrontation with Alfred would surely affect more than just Cecily’s fortune.

* * * *

Jack did not have long to wait. Alfred came down to dinner that evening, but did not linger over his port. He claimed a headache as the reason for his recent indisposition, but Jack thought he was feigning the yawns he covered with his hand as he bid them good night.

“I trust you do not intend to sit up together, Cousin,” Alfred said pointedly to Cecily. “I do think, do you not, that it would appear most particular, especially to the servants.”

This time, Cecily did flush at his words. She had not directed one look at Jack throughout the evening, although she had carried on the conversation as though nothing were amiss. Only Jack was aware of the difference in her manner towards him. She glanced at him now, though, as if she could feel his eyes upon her. “That is nonsense, Alfred,” she said coolly. “But, of course I do not intend to sit up with Mr. Henley. I shall accompany you upstairs and attend to my grandfather. Good night, Mr. Henley,” she said with grave formality.

“Good night, Miss Wolverton.”

Jack followed a few paces behind, as the others made their way up the stairs. He wanted Alfred to have the impression that he had decided to turn in for the night, as well.

Once in his room, he discarded his neckcloth and called the footman to remove his brogues. Then, after dismissing the servant, he waited until the house seemed quieted down for the night, before tiptoeing in his stockinged feet back down the stairway and out the side entrance. He had already chosen a handy place of concealment on a knoll, behind a privet hedge, where he would be able to see if anyone approached the house or left it.

He had covered his white shirt with a darker cloak and carried his shoes along with him. He had a lengthy and tedious wait out in the garden in the cold night air, but not long after two o’clock, his efforts were rewarded. A slight squeak from the direction of the house alerted him to the fact that someone had opened a door. And before long, he was able to make out the silhouette of a man moving hesitantly across the lawn.  It was Alfred, he had no doubt, and not making for the stables.

Keeping as low to the ground as possible, Jack followed him, the only difficulty being the stiffness in his leg. But he soon saw the unlikelihood of Alfred’s spotting him, for he turned back only once or twice to look at the house before striking out along one of the garden paths. It seemed that Alfred had only worried he might be seen as he left the manor, for once clear of its view, he did not look back again.

Jack followed more swiftly then, and soon gathered that Alfred was making for a summerhouse, a sort of folly made of open brickwork, at the bottom of the rose garden. There was a faint light showing in it, and Jack’s heartbeat quickened as he realized that Sudbury must be waiting inside. Alfred, he saw, had paused to take something from his pocket, but he could not make out what it was. He could only hope it was something which would prove the existence of Cecily’s father’s will. He decided to skirt the beds of roses to another hedge on the far side of the cut-out structure, where he might hear without being seen.

By the time he had taken this circuitous route and approached the summerhouse, Alfred had entered and begun speaking to Sudbury. He was standing near the opening closest to Jack with his back to him, blocking Jack’s view of the valet. But Jack could easily distinguish the two men’s voices in the stillness. Alfred’s was raised to a high pitch, indicating his state of distress.

“But I’ve already paid you what we agreed upon!” he was saying as Jack crept closer. “How dare you badger me for more!”

“How dare I?” repeated Sudbury, in a tone which showed he would not consent to being insulted. “Oh, I dare all right. I’ve got a notion to set myself up as a gentleman. Lodgings in London, holidays in Brighton . . . Why, I might put my name in for a club . . . with your sponsorship, of course.”

Jack could imagine Alfred’s livid countenance as he hissed, “You go too far, Sudbury. Remember your position!”

The valet laughed, though he did not sound amused. “You may remember it, your lordship. Or shall it just be ‘Stourport’ now, between friends?” he added in a scathing tone. “But I aim to forget it.”

“But—”

“No more gibberish, my lord! I know very well what sort of fortune you’ve got for yourself, and it’s enough to share easily with me. You’ve got no heir to spend it on—just your nasty self. So you might as well hand me my share and let me enjoy it. I certainly deserve all I can take for what I did for you.”

As he heard these words, Jack felt the hair rise on the nape of his neck. He moved silently closer, fearing to miss Alfred’s response.

But Alfred did not immediately reveal the nature of his debt to Sudbury. He strove for a reasoning tone. “I acknowledge I am in your debt, Sudbury, and I have compensated you for your service to me. But you cannot go about the countryside, claiming to be my dear friend! You cannot conceive of the ridiculous image you present, cutting up in such a fashion. Your station is stamped all over you. I am perfectly ready to overlook this absurd behaviour on your part, and willing to take you back into service, if you will simply promise to be a good fellow and put a halt to this nonsense. I could do very well with your services again, so . . .”

“Go back into service?” Sudbury’s outrage was comical. “And come under that nasty tongue of yours again? No, thank you! I’ve come for my money and that’s what I’ll get!”

“I don’t have that kind of sum with me just now . . . .” Alfred pleaded, his voice quavering again. But he was interrupted by the impatient valet.

“Then you had better get it, my lord, and fast. I know what you’re about. Come to offer for Miss Wolverton, you have. But I won’t allow it! I’ve divined your scheme! And before you could get married, I’d have a little talk with your fiancée. I think she’d be willing to pay me, if you won’t, for what I’ve got. After all, who’d have the fortune then?”

“No! No!” protested Alfred, hysteria rising in his voice. “There’s no need to do that! I shall pay you, I promise. But if I do, you must promise me to hand over the will!”

Jack’s mouth flew open as Sudbury chuckled. So that was it! The valet still had the will. He had never turned it over to his employer.

“And what if I do not, my lord? It is my insurance. I doubt you’ll let me starve if I keep that by me.”

Alfred’s voice was full of venom as he responded, “Why, you leech! I’ll not let you bleed me ‘til I’m dry. I’d rather die than suffer the worry you’ve caused me one minute longer.”

The valet was unmoved. “There doesn’t seem to be much you can do about it though, does there, my lord? I imagine you shall just have to get used to it.”

“Why, you damned—!” Alfred started forward, and Jack could suddenly see the gleam of moonlight on the object he held in his hand. He leaped from his hiding place, making a grab for Alfred’s arm, but not before a shot rang out.

As he grappled with Alfred, Jack heard a cry from Sudbury and saw him drop to the ground. Alfred was whimpering in terror from the shock of being caught in the violent act, and although he struggled for a moment, he was easily subdued. Before more than a few seconds had passed, Jack was standing over him, holding the gun and catching his breath.

“Now you’ve done it, my lord,” he said, moving cautiously towards Sudbury, who was lying a few paces away. “At this point, you’d better hope that the worst charge you’ll be called up for will not be murder.” He ignored the cowered baron’s feeble protests and stooped to examine Sudbury’s wound. The light was poor, but he could make out that it was merely a surface wound, near the elbow. Despite the evident bleeding and the valet’s swoon, his breathing seemed normal.