Jack on the Box (7 page)

“How is he, Doctor?” Cecily asked quietly.

 Jack’s eyes opened, and he frowned, as if he were straining to hear her voice.

“It’s almost set, Miss Wolverton,” answered the doctor with a sigh. “But it’s been a fierce one. The poor lad’s stuck with me all the way. One more pull now and I ought to have it.”

She motioned him to carry on and not let her presence delay him. She was standing near the head of Jack’s bed and he was staring at her as if she were a vision. To her consternation, he extended his hand.

She did not take it, but looked round quickly to see whether the doctor had noticed. Doctor Whiting was busy, preparing himself to take the last  wrench at Jack’s leg. Her  eyes returned to Jack, who had let his hand fall back onto his forehead. She  heard him mumble, “‘O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?’”

Suddenly, Doctor Whiting took his patient by the ankle and gave his leg a sharp yank. A hiss escaped Jack’s lips and his eyes shut in pain. Quickly, without quite knowing what she did, Cecily grabbed one of his hands and held onto it tightly. A moment more, and her coachman was unconscious.

The doctor was soon finished, and Cecily accompanied him to the landing. He gave her instructions for Mrs. Selby to carry out with respect to Jack’s care, and was about to take his leave when Cecily remembered something. “Doctor Whiting,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, “it might be best if you did not mention to my grandfather what you heard today. There is no need to bother him with speculation, and I am certain from all that is said of the coachman that he won’t repeat his earlier behaviour.”

Doctor Whiting nodded. “That’s all right, then. I won’t mention a word to Sir Waldo. You will likely get to the bottom of it before long. And,” he added with a twinkle, “I doubt that Mrs. Selby knows her poets well enough to give the poor lad away.”

Recalling how the housekeeper had mistaken the source of Jack’s words, Cecily smiled and waved the doctor goodbye.

She returned to her room, where she lay down for an uncustomary rest upon the coverlets. Jack’s pain had distressed her, but her heart beat queerly for another reason.

There were his words, of course, so convincingly uttered that he might well have been an actor. But that was not all. Cecily now knew for a certainty that he was not an actor. For no actor received instruction in both Latin and Greek.

Chapter Five

Jack slept soundly for most of the night. In the early hours he awoke to strange surroundings. It took him no more than a moment to remember the accident, for the pain in his leg reminded him of it quickly enough. The ache in his head was almost worse. For the life of him, he could not recall where he was or how he had been brought here. From the little he could see of the furnishings in the pre-dawn light, he could only surmise that he had been carried up to a servant’s room in someone’s house, the place being much too quiet for an inn. The nearest window was several feet from his bed, too far to permit him a view of anything below, even had he had daylight with which to see

Exhausted from pain, he soon gave up his efforts. He lay awake for most of the time, dozing only fitfully till morning, when a servant brought him his breakfast. She was in a hurry to do her work and would not linger long enough to answer many of his questions. She did inform him, however, that he had been carried to the house of Sir Waldo Staveley, Bart., who would see that he was cared for during his recovery. Jack accepted this news gratefully, acknowledging that he would be far better off here than left alone in his lodgings, or even at an inn. Under either circumstance, his meagre savings would rapidly be exhausted, and he had no intention of notifying his father of the accident so he could beg for his help.

His jaw tensed at the very thought of asking his father for money, a gesture which did nothing to ease his aching head. Resting it against the pillows, which the maid had fluffed, he closed his eyes and sighed.
Oh, to be in the hands of his valet!
Obviously, he had undervalued the poor devil’s skills.

Soon, hunger inspired him to sit up again. Raising himself as well as he could, Jack managed to spoon most of his porridge down his throat without spilling it. He only wished there were more. He recalled now that the accident had taken place in the morning, and he had had nothing to eat since breaking his fast the day before. The throbbing in his head, however, was testimony to the fact that he had been given much to drink, and he would have been grateful for a full stomach to mitigate the effects of the brandy.

He tried to remember more about the afternoon. What was it?
Oh, yes
. The accident had occurred outside the village where he had dropped off the mysterious lady a month ago. Since that day he had watched out for her each time he had driven the mail through, but he had never caught a glimpse of her. He had dreamt she was with him last night.

Such foolishness produced a twisted smile, but there was little mirth behind it.

A knock came at the door. He called, “Come in,” and waited for it to open. To his amazement, the object of his thoughts came walking into the room.

“Good morning,” the vision said brightly. She was carrying a tray with a glass of water, a spoon, and a packet of powders. Jack stared speechlessly at her as she went to a table and busied herself with a preparation.

Finally, his silence caused her to raise her eyes to his. She quickly lowered them again in confusion.

“I am Cecily Wolverton,” she explained. “You were injured yesterday and brought up to my grandfather’s house. His name is Sir Waldo Staveley. Do you remember?”

“It
was
you!” he said, too astonished to reply.

She raised one eyebrow and said, “I beg your pardon?”

It was Jack’s turn to blush. “Forgive me, Miss . . . Wolverton. I am afraid I do not recall much of what occurred, but I do recollect seeing you.”  He added softly, “I thought it was a dream.”

She turned away from him abruptly and busied herself again with the powder and water. After what seemed an excessive amount of stirring, she brought it to him and told him to drink. “The doctor left this. It will help to ease the pain.”

In spite of the ache in his leg—the worst he had ever felt—Jack did not wish to take the medicine right away. He held the glass and promised to drink it soon if she would answer a few of his questions. The name Wolverton sounded vaguely familiar, but he needed to keep his mind clear if he wanted to place it.

She eyed him warily, but did not seem offended by his request.

“You say this is your grandfather’s house? Why was I brought here?”

Cecily smiled. “My grandfather, Sir Waldo, is a subscriber to the Foundation for the Relief of Indigent Coachmen and their Dependents. He often extends his hospitality to coachmen, and when he heard of your injury, he insisted you be brought here to recuperate.” Her eyes twinkled. “He likes to have visits from other drivers, and he would be very glad, when you are better, to converse with you about the finer points of driving.”

Jack recalled that she had mentioned her grandfather’s interest in coaching when she had ridden with him on the mail. “Of course. He must be the one who supplied you with that very useful piece of harness.”

Cecily inclined her head. She seemed slightly flustered by the recollection.

“And you live here?” Jack asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I most certainly shall be happy to converse with him,” Jack said, forgetting his current station. “Will you be so kind as to give my compliments to Sir Waldo, and thank him for his generosity?”

“And whose name shall I give?” she asked.

This reminded him of his situation, and he answered more humbly, “That would be Henley, miss. Jack Henley.” He wondered if she had noticed the slip in his manner. It seemed so difficult to remember his position when she was near.

She smiled enigmatically, and Jack suspected that she was more than a little amused.

“I shall be happy to convey your compliments, Mr. Henley. Now I shall leave you to your rest, but if you have any requirements for your comfort, I beg you will tell the girl who is serving you. The doctor wants you to rest as much as possible.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest her leaving, then closed it again with a frown. She could not be expected to linger at the whim of a coachman, and he had no intention of divulging his true identity.

He lay back in the bed and stared up at the ceiling. This was a strange kettle of fish! To awaken in her home, of all places! He could scarcely believe his good fortune. And now he knew her name
. Cecily
. Cecily Wolverton.
Miss
Wolverton to him now, that was true. But Jack was by nature a cheerful fellow, and he did not concern himself overmuch with details. He would soon come about. And now he could rest content in the knowledge that he was under the same roof as a very intriguing lady. He only wondered why her name should sound so familiar.

His leg hurt him dreadfully, so he kept his promise, drank his laudanum, and drifted off into a happy sleep.

* * * *

 In the afternoon he woke to find his leg throbbing unbearably. There was no one else in the room, but he saw that another tray had been left. It held a bowl of thin soup—nothing else—and it must have been there for some time for the fat had begun to congeal on the liquid’s surface. Jack eyed it disgustedly and swore. The pain in his leg was enough to try the best of tempers, and while a substantial meal might have lifted his spirits, the soup was an affront to his sensibilities.

There was no way for him to ring for a servant, the servants’ rooms not being equipped with bell pulls. But there was a light, straight chair set close to his bed. He reached for it, swearing again as the movement set his leg to burning, and began to thump it against the floor.

The sound echoed down through the manor, and soon he heard quick steps coming up the stairs, followed by a pair of heavier ones.

“Lord on us, Mr. Henley!” cried the girl who had brought him his porridge that morning, as she entered the room. “Whatever is the matter? You’ll have the whole house down upon us!”

Jack frowned at the girl. He had allowed himself to hope that the steps he had heard belonged to her mistress.

“My leg hurts. That’s what the matter is,” he said. “And I am hungry. Would you please fetch your mistress and tell her I would be grateful for some more laudanum?”

An offended voice came from the doorway, “That will not be necessary, young man.” An older woman had followed the maid up the stairs and was standing at the door, puffing in indignation. “Miss Cecily gave me instructions you was to have another dose when you woke up. You’ve got no call to bother her. You can have your laudanum and go back to sleep after you’ve had your broth.”

She approached his bed with a glass.

This was not at all what Jack wanted. “I thank you, whoever you are,” he said irritably, “But I must insist that you call your mistress. I want a word with her.”

The woman turned red in the face. “I am Mrs. Selby, if you please. Housekeeper to Sir Waldo Staveley. And I’ll have none of your cheek!” She began to grumble, “Coming in here and raising such a rumpus. You ought to be ashamed!”

Jack bit back a retort. He reminded himself that these people knew nothing of him other than that he was a mail coach driver.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Selby,” he said more cordially. “But I would be extremely grateful if you would ask your mistress if I might have a word with her.”

The housekeeper looked at him suspiciously. “And why would you be needing to talk to Miss Cecily? Not to repeat them things you said to her yesterday, I hope?”

Jack was startled. “Yesterday? What did I say yesterday?”

Mrs. Selby would not oblige him. She looked as if she would like to, but for some reason could not repeat his words. “Never you mind,” was all she said. “But you were that disrespectful.”

“I was?” Jack was thoroughly mystified. He had never spoken disrespectfully to a lady in his life. And if he had, why had Miss Cecily given no sign of being offended? He decided Mrs. Selby must be exaggerating and dismissed her comment from his mind.

“Well, never mind that now. I, of course, shall be most respectful to your mistress. But would you please send someone to fetch her. I really am in the most intolerable pain.”

Now Mrs. Selby was not a cruel woman, but neither did she think Miss Cecily should be waiting on a common coachman. She tried to get Jack to drink his laudanum, but he refused. Then she tried to coax him with his soup, but he complained that it was too cold. In frustration, she told him that if it were left to her she would let him lie and rot, but Miss Cecily had left her orders that he was to be made comfortable.

“Then ask her to come here, please, and I will promise to be a good boy.”

Mrs. Selby noticed the firm set of his mouth. There was something about him she mistrusted, but she had lived long enough to respect determination wherever she saw it. She also knew that Jack’s ghostly pallor was a sign of real pain.

Without another word she nodded to the servant girl, who ran gratefully from the room. Mrs. Selby rose ponderously from her chair and started towards the door, looking over her shoulder only to deliver these final words: “Very well, young man. But just so you know, I’ll be right outside here in the corridor if Miss Cecily needs me.”

Jack closed his eyes and sighed in relief, but he wondered what he had said yesterday to make Mrs. Selby so wary of him. Perhaps the pain had made him curse. He must apologize to Cecily if he had said anything rude.

After a few minutes, Cecily entered. She must have come quickly to arrive so soon, he reflected, and now that she was there he felt sheepish. She studied him with concern as she stood by the bed.

“What is the matter, Mr. Henley? Sarah said you would not take your medicine.”

She looked young and fresh standing there, in a green muslin gown which hugged her neat figure. Feeling curiously better, Jack stared at her a moment longer before answering.

“I am sorry for disturbing you, Miss Cecily, but I must ask a favour.”