Jack on the Box (5 page)

Cecily tried to make light of her tale. “You’ll say it wasn’t much,” she said, laughing, “but I assure you, it mattered to me. I had to get away from the Odious Alfred! “

“That loose screw!” Sir Waldo cried, getting all red in the face. “What’s he doing bothering you? I should think he’d done enough, cheating you out of your fortune.”

“It’s all right.” Cecily calmed him by placing a cool hand on his cheek. “You mustn’t let it excite you. I’m here now, and none the worse. It was simply that Alfred wrote me a note, advising me of his intention to call on the morrow, and the only way I could see to avoid him was to hop aboard the mail and come straight to you. That way, Aunt Emma can say that I’ve gone on a visit and missed his letter entirely.”

Sir Waldo looked at her anxiously. “A call? Since when does that hedgebird pay you calls? He don’t plan to make you an allowance, I suppose?”

Cecily shook her head. “I can’t believe he would . . . not after all this time.” Then she added quite sincerely, “I really don’t know what Alfred’s intentions are.”

“Hummph!” Sir Waldo snorted. “I don’t suppose you would. No decent person could understand that . . . that . . .” But here his vocabulary failed him.

“No,” Cecily agreed, amused at finding her grandfather at a loss for words. “I don’t suppose anyone would.”

She waited for his heightened colour to subside, planning to divert him with her account of her ride on the mail, but a sudden notion struck him.

“Cecily,” he said, his hands shaking slightly in hers. “I know you don’t care to speak of it, but you don’t suppose that Alfred—that he somehow has managed to find your father’s will?”

Startled, Cecily stared at him for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible,” she said. Then, giving her head a slight shake, she added, “But surely if he had found the will he would have notified my father’s solicitors and they would have contacted me directly. If I know Alfred, he would want to make certain of its being verified before handing the property over to me. He would not be so anxious to part with it.”

Sir Waldo snorted again. “If he’s the man I think him, he would destroy any similar document he came across. Not like him to fork over the dibs, once he’s got his hands on them. No, that cannot be the reason. Don’t know what got into me to suggest such a thing. Oughtn’t to have spoken a word about it.”

When he finished, he looked so down at the mouth, that Cecily hastened to comfort him.

“That’s quite all right, Grandpapa. You cannot help wishing for the impossible any more than I can. Papa made no secret of his intentions to bequeath the property to me. What I cannot bear is the thought that he might have changed his mind for some unfathomable reason.”

“That he wouldn’t have!” Sir Waldo asserted firmly. “I know Stephen could be peculiar when he chose, though I’ll never know what possessed him not to leave the will with his solicitors—he could be more crotchety that I am about some matters. But I
do
know, he meant to leave the property to you, and no one will ever persuade me to change my notions about that! “

“I know,” Cecily said, gratefully. “But what’s done is done, and there’s nothing more to be said.”

“Perhaps not.” Her grandfather frowned at his helplessness. “But, lying here, I have thought and thought about it—without being able to come up with any answer. I would give my front teeth to know what became of that will!”

“So would I,” Cecily agreed—and seriously, in spite of the peculiar image his words had conjured. “But,” she said with forced cheer, “since Alfred has never invited me back to Stourport to tap the walls looking for hiding places, I don’t suppose we were meant to know. Let’s not talk about this any more, shall we? Let me tell you about my trip today.”

Sir Waldo patted her hand indulgently. “There’s a good puss,” he said. “All right, tell me about your ride.”

“Well,” she said giving him a saucy look. “I rode upon the box.”

“You what?”

“I rode upon the box,” she confirmed.

“You mean to say,” he said, lowering his brows threateningly, “that the proprietors had no more sense than to risk your life on the box?”

“As you did so many times?” she reminded him. “No, it wasn’t their fault. The coach was booked, but the coachman permitted one of the passengers to ride next to the guard and took me up beside him.”

“And charged you a pretty penny for the privilege, too, I’ll warrant,” Sir Waldo said, outraged.

“As a matter of fact, he didn’t charge me at all.”

His brows rose in surprise. “A peculiar sort of coachman, if you ask me!”

Cecily flushed unexpectedly. “Yes, he was,” she confessed. “He was very well-spoken and most polite. I never expected to find such good manners in a coachman.”

This information seemed to please her grandfather. “Well,” he said, “I fancy it is due to the interest of gentlemen such as myself that we begin to see improvements in the coachmen’s manners. It is a matter of pride to the members of the Benson Driving Club that our patronage has done much to bring about a change for the better. A little recognition, a kind word and a good meal, a consultation on the finer points of driving—all these things help to show our servants of the road that they are valued for the excellent job they do. And in return they please us by improving their manners—watching their language before the passengers, and so forth.” He chuckled. “Of course, they are often puffed up with their own consequence, but we mustn’t deny them their pride.”

Cecily started to protest. Her coachman had not been conceited in the least. Of course, he had been a bit above himself at times—he really had seemed to find it hard to remember his station. But she could not call it conceit. He simply appeared from time to time to be unaware of the distinction between them, enough that she had almost forgotten it herself! Perhaps due to a peculiar upbringing he might have had.

Nevertheless, she did not bother to protest her grandfather’s reading of the coachman’s character. It did not matter, after all, and it would be most particular of her to point it out.

Instead, she told him about the reins breaking and how his leather contraption had saved the day. Of course, she did not tell him that she had been dangerously flung about, or that the coachman had been forced to take certain liberties to save her. Sir Waldo seemed highly gratified by the story, and Cecily was happy to see his good humour completely restored. Sometimes she feared that another blow—not as grave as the loss of her estate—would be more than her ailing grandfather could withstand, and she hoped never to have to alarm him with news of Alfred’s perfidy.

She stayed with him for a while longer, personally tending to the little details of his comfort, which she knew would please him. Then she made arrangements for her bags to be fetched and brought to the manor as soon as possible, and ordered a small meal to be brought to her room.

* * * *

It was carried up by Mrs. Selby herself, who returned to the kitchen some time later in a most disagreeable frame of mind. She was so irritable with her husband for the remainder of the day that he finally begged to be told the reason for her rare taking.

“It’s Miss Cecily,” she finally admitted. “I don’t care to see her so mopish as she’s been. Oh, she tries to hide it,” she added. “But I, who knows her, can see that she’s still cut up about her father’s will. And it’s not right for a pretty young thing like her to be shut away with an old man when she ought to be out dancing and having a merry time.”

Mr. Selby, taking offence at a misperceived criticism of Sir Waldo, began to protest, but she cut him off.

“You don’t have to go telling me that it’s not the master’s fault, Mr. Selby. Nobody knows that more than me. Why, where else should she be, but with her grandfather who loves her! But what she’s going to do when he moves on, I don’t know.”

Mr. Selby made bold to speak again. “As I informed you in confidence, Mrs. Selby, having received the knowledge of it from Sir Waldo himself, the master has made provision for her in his will to the best of his ability.”

She scoffed. “Two thousand pounds! When she expected to inherit at least twice that much income a year! I know he’s done his best for her, but you can’t expect it’ll make up to her for all she’s lost! “

Her husband responded primly. “There will be plenty of young gentlemen who will not scorn to ally themselves with woman possessed of a fortune that size.”

“I would not be so certain, Mr. Selby,” his wife objected. “It may seem like a fortune to you or me, but it’s not what she’s used to. And if there are so many young gentlemen, where are they? I used to worry she might be chased by some fortune hunter and not know the difference, but there’s not much chance of that now. When you think she was all set to go to London to have her come-out before the scandal and then had to settle for Stratford upon Avon instead! She couldn’t be squandering her little bit of fortune on London then, could she? And the rumours that was flying! I know. Her Aunt Emma’s housekeeper, that Mrs. Green that used to live in Hockley Heath before she married, she told me what they was saying. Calling my pretty ‘poor Miss Cecily’ and the like. Her relatives and their servants, too, treating her like a poor relation, when she was used to being treated like a princess! It stood to reason with all the money she was supposed to get. But it never turned her head. Not at all.” Mrs. Selby sighed.

Her husband and helpmate for the past forty years tried to quiet her laments then, but it was no use. She refused to be comforted.

“It’s no wonder she’s come to us,” she told him. “Us who loves her. Her Aunt Emma means well, but it’s them others. They’re not likely to let her forget she’s living on their charity now, are they? And when she’s not got Sir Waldo . . . to think of her living on her own without nobbut two thousand pounds between her and the poorhouse, having to eke out her income in dismal lodgings somewhere with nobody but the parson for society! It’s more than I can bear to think on, Mr. Selby! “ And she shocked her proper husband suddenly by bursting into tears.

* * * *

Meanwhile, Cecily, reclining on her bed, was speculating on how her coachman would look in buckskin trousers and a coat of blue superfine. His strong chest would certainly fill it nicely and she had no doubt his legs would look admirably in a pair of skin-tight trousers.

She shook herself abruptly. What was she thinking of! A coachman, indeed! If the temptations of the flesh were as great as she had often heard they were, she could see why
mesalliances
were so often formed. But she trusted she would never descend to a level of such desperation that she would encourage a common coachman to make love to her. She’d as well run off with the footman! At least then she might expect to find employment under the same roof as her husband. But what would a coachman’s wife do? When would he ever be at home? And what would be the good of having such a handsome young husband if he were always away from the house?

Recalling herself, she laughed out loud. No doubt it was the jolting of the coach that had addled her brains. Mrs. Selby had been right: taking a seat on the mail was no safe way for a lady to travel!

Chapter Four

One morning, about a month later, Cecily was engaged in a thorough cleaning of her grandfather’s library, when Mrs. Selby interrupted her with some news.

The library at the manor had been neglected for some time. Sir Waldo was not a serious scholar, though he did have his favourites among the classics, which were those works given to the sporting inclinations of the Greeks and Romans. The remainder of his collection lay ignored, and it was into these books Cecily had decided to sail, armed with a feather duster. Her hair was confined in an old cap and her clothes had gathered more dust than her trusty implement. She wiped her hands on her apron as Mrs. Selby made her announcement.

“Word’s come up from the inn at Hockley Heath, Miss Cecily. There’s a coachman been injured. Broke his leg, they said, when the axle broke and he got tossed off the box. Mr. Rose, down at the inn, thought you’d better be told, seeing as how Sir Waldo would want to know.”

Cecily stepped down off the stool she had been using and reached up to untie her cap. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Selby. I am certain Sir Waldo would want him carried up to the manor. You may send word to Mr. Rose, with my grandfather’s compliments, that the poor fellow will be welcome here as soon as he is able to be moved. And please make certain the doctor has been sent for. Sir Waldo will take care of everything. I know Mr. Rose will not like to have one of his rooms taken up for whatever time the man shall be needing to convalesce.”

“Yes, miss,” Mrs. Selby said gloomily. She did not relish the thought of caring for an outsider for the next six weeks or more. But it was no use arguing, for Sir Waldo would be outraged if he thought a fellow man of the road had not been properly tended.

She left the room and Cecily, not loath to conclude her work, prepared to carry the news to her grandfather.

She stopped by her own room and freshened up before presenting herself. He would not like to think she had been engaged upon such a menial task as dusting, but the truth was that she was bored. Only by keeping herself busy with the housekeeping was she able to conquer a certain staleness in her days. And Mrs. Selby, beginning to age herself, was not ungrateful for the assistance.

After putting on a fresh gown and washing up to her elbows, Cecily tripped along to her grandfather’s bedroom and scratched at the door.

“Come in! Come in!” Sir Waldo called out testily.

Cecily suppressed a smile and entered, only to find him scowling at the coverlets.

“So there you are, girl!” he said accusingly. “I thought you might have gone off to your aunt’s visiting and forgot to tell me goodbye. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Oh, Grandpapa!” Cecily protested. “As if I would leave you and not say a word! Did I not carry up your tea myself this morning? Or have you forgotten already? “

Sir Waldo was abashed. “No, I have not forgotten, Cecy. You mustn’t take any notice of what I say. It’s just that I haven’t anything to do or think about in this confounded bed. I might just as well be underground.”