Jack on the Box (8 page)

“Yes, what is it?” she asked. She still did not seem to be offended.

“Might I have . . .” he began. It sounded so silly, really. “Might I  have something to eat?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Haven’t you been given anything, Mr. Henley? Oh, I am so very sorry! But I brought you in a bowl of soup myself!”

“You did?” Jack said, peculiarly pleased. “Well, yes, the soup was here when I awoke. But, you see, it was very cold by that time, and I could not eat it.”

“Naturally,” she said, quite contrite. “I should have left instructions for it to be heated and brought to you later. You were sleeping so soundly when I brought it, that I did not like to disturb you. I thought you would wake soon. Would you like to have more brought now?”

Jack directed her a pleading look. “No, not exactly. I was wondering whether I might not have something more substantial. You see, my leg may be injured, but I assure you, my stomach is perfectly unharmed.”

Cecily looked blankly at him for one moment and then laughed. “Yes, I see. I am so sorry, Mr. Henley. You must be starving! Well, I had quite thought you would be feeling too poorly to eat. I shall have something brought up to you quickly. But you must take your laudanum. Mrs. Selby told me you were in pain.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably and saw her wince in sympathy.

“I can’t very well do that or I shall fall asleep before my food gets here,” he said.

She frowned, thinking for a moment. Then she said, “You ought to take it. It will take a short while to take effect, and I will engage to stay with you to keep you awake until you have eaten.”

Jack readily agreed to this arrangement, so Cecily stepped out into the hall to order his meal. He behaved docilely when she gave him his medicine.

The dosage was not really so strong as to put him to sleep, but he did not bother to tell his companion. She sat down upon the small chair, which seemed perfectly suited to hold her, and folded her hands in her lap.

Recalling what Mrs. Selby had said, Jack cleared his throat and ventured, “Miss Cecily, when I was carried in, I hope I did not say anything particularly offensive. If I did, I hope you will pardon me on the grounds that I was not myself.”

Her brows lifted. “Offensive? I do not recall that you said anything offensive, Mr. Henley.”

Jack sighed inwardly with relief. “That’s all right, then. It was just that Mrs. Selby said . . . But never mind. It must not have been anything.”

Cecily smiled rather secretively and he was left to wonder at the source of her amusement.

“You must tell me about your work, Mr. Henley,” she suggested. So Jack told her about being a driver on the London to Birmingham mail, and as he talked, the laudanum began to take effect. His leg hurt less, and he forgot for a while who he was pretending to be. If Cecily noticed anything unusual in the manner in which he discussed his employment, however, she kept it to herself.

A servant brought in a heavily laden tray and set it beside him. Cecily watched as Jack was given a large plate of roast mutton, boiled potatoes and turnips, with pudding and ale. It was a meal for a hungry labourer, but Jack did not mind, for he had an appetite to suit.

Much to his satisfaction, Cecily stayed while he ate and sat until the last bite of food crossed his lips. Then she rose and removed the tray to one side.

“There, Mr. Henley. I trust you will be able to sleep now. Henceforth, I shall give orders that you are to be fed regularly at mealtimes. And if there is anything amiss, you must simply say.”

Jack did not like the note of finality in her voice, so he said, “But how am I to call anyone? I do not like to be thumping the floor with a chair for the servants whenever I am in need of anything.”

Cecily’s lips twitched. “No, you must not do that. I shall see that you are given a bell.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you brought me my laudanum yourself, Miss Cecily,” Jack suggested, doing his best to maintain a look of innocence. “That is, I would not trust the servants with it if I were you.”

“Ah,” Cecily said, with the hint of a smile about her lips. “I admit that had not occurred to me. I shall have to think it over. Mrs. Selby could be trusted to bring it, however.”

Jack tried to sit up in protest, and then cursed his impulsiveness as his leg constricted in pain.

“Mr. Henley!” Cecily cried, hurrying back to his side. “You must be more careful!”

Jack spoke through gritted teeth, “It is just that I should not like to inconvenience Mrs. Selby. I should not feel right to know I had disrupted Sir Waldo’s household.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Cecily agreed quickly. “I shall bring your laudanum to you myself. Twice a day,” she assured him.

Jack had not planned this particular ruse, but it had been very effective.

When the pain in his leg had subsided again, Cecily moved towards the door. “Oh, Mr. Henley,” she said, turning before leaving, “were you ever in an acting troupe, or were your parents actors?”

Jack started in amazement. “Actors? Certainly not. Why?”

She smiled. “I just wondered . . . from something you said, but . . . never mind.” She gave him another secretive smile and then closed the door behind her.

“Actors . . .” Jack said to himself. His mind was beginning to fog over from the combination of laudanum and ale, and the fullness of his stomach was inducing sleep. Why should she think he was an actor? That was worse than being thought a coachman! He frowned, his eyes closed. What could he have said to make her suspect something like that? Confound it! What
had
he said yesterday?

* * * *

The question continued to plague Jack in his dreams. But the following three weeks were a greater trial, as he spent the main part of his days in unrelieved solitude. He was well fed and made as comfortable as could be, but there was little he could do to combat the boredom. The highlights of his days were the two visits from Cecily, morning and evening, when she would bring his medicine. Jack did his best to prolong these visits, thinking up excuses to keep her there as long as possible. And he did not tell her when the pain in his leg stopped requiring the use of laudanum. He simply held the glass until she left the room, then poured its contents into his chamber pot.

Once Cecily suggested again that Mrs. Selby could take over the duty of bringing his medicine, but Jack protested vehemently that he was quite afraid of Mrs. Selby.

“She has taken me into an unaccountable dislike, Miss Cecily,” he said plaintively. “I’m afraid she might try to poison me.” Some time since, Jack had conveniently forgotten to use Cecily’s surname and had adopted the style of address used by her grandfather’s retainers. She had not bothered to correct him.

“Poison you, Mr. Henley! I assure you, she would do nothing of the kind! You cannot be quite rational if you can imagine such a thing.”

Jack feigned innocence, though his blue eyes danced with merriment. He would have liked to say how much her visits meant to him, and how much he looked forward to them. But he had not forgotten the one time he had overstepped his bounds when speaking to her on the mail. Her look of reproach had stayed with him, and he would not like to see it repeated.

“That must be it,” he said, putting his hand to his brow. “I must be feverish. But please don’t leave me to Mrs. Selby. The fright would not be good for a man in my condition. Who knows what I might not do?”

For a moment he was certain that she had seen through his ruse, but if she had, she disguised her mirth with a hasty cough and rose to leave.

“Very well, then, Mr. Henley. I shall continue to bring your medicine myself, although I cannot think you will be requiring it much longer.” She ignored Jack’s sheepish grin and continued, “But you must be quite bored with nothing to do all day but stare at the walls. It is too bad you do not read.”

“Read?” Jack said. He had not liked to ask for books, knowing it would be a most peculiar request, coming from a servant of the road.

At the eager sound of his tone, she gave him an inquisitive look. “Do you mean to say you are a reading man, Mr. Henley?”

Jack flushed uncomfortably. “Yes, of course. That is, I know my letters, and I . . . Yes, I am,” he finished lamely.

“Well,” Cecily said, evidently very much surprised. “Then I shall see about sending you up some books to read. That will be much better than having you fret with boredom. You might get up to mischief, and we mustn’t have that leg injured again now, must we?”

Something in her voice made Jack look at her suspiciously, but her manner was simply that of an efficient nurse. He thanked her very humbly.

The books were soon sent up, and they came as quite a relief to Jack, though he was still unaccustomed to such little activity. In some ways he would have preferred to be back on the box, driving the mail. But, at the same time, he knew that returning to his job would mean losing Cecily’s companionship entirely. And he had discovered that there was much pleasure to be derived from the company of a pert young lady.

Chapter Six

Reflections about the lady of the house had begun to occupy his mind excessively, when he was surprised one day by a visit. It was midmorning, not Cecily’s customary time to look in. She knocked and entered, accompanied by an elderly manservant carrying a crutch.

“Good morning again, Mr. Henley,” she greeted him. “I have come to request a favour. My grandfather has been waiting to have a chat with you and I thought, if you were feeling up to it, you might like to come along to his room right now.”

Jack sat up quickly. “I should be delighted, Miss Cecily—er, Miss Wolverton,” he corrected himself, seeing the frown on the servant’s face. “I cannot promise to make it there on my own, but I shall do my best.”

“I’ve brought Selby to help you,” she said. “You must not hurt yourself again. You can lean on his arm and use the crutch to keep your leg from touching down. I have already spoken to the doctor and he said you might try getting up and about if you’re careful not to put any weight on your injured limb.”

Jack eagerly reached for the crutch and rose, putting his weight on his good foot, only to waver as dizziness threatened to overcome him. He chuckled with embarrassment. “I am as weak as a newborn, Miss Wolverton. I hope I shall not disgrace myself in front of your grandfather.”

He was even more concerned about falling on his face in front of
her,
but she put out a hand to steady him and the feel of her hand on his back buoyed him considerably. “Please do not undertake the visit, if you are not able,” she said. He liked the note of concern in her voice.

“It’s nothing now.” He smiled. “Just a little shaky at first. Shall we go?”

They made their way slowly down the corridor. Fortunately, Sir Waldo’s house was built so that the servants had their own wing, and the principal bedrooms were on the same floor as Jack’s. They had only to negotiate the length of the servants’ wing and the turn to the main corridor before they approached Sir Waldo’s quarters.

Considerably weak at first, Jack found his strength returning, and with each step he took he learned to manage the crutch better. Before long he was not relying much upon Selby’s arm and could remark laughingly, “Well, Selby, I am much obliged for your assistance, but the next time why don’t we see if I can’t hop the whole way.”

He did not win the servant’s approval by saying this, however, for the old man replied, “That’s
Mr.
Selby to you, you young jackanapes. You’ll not be using your disrespect with me!”

Jack—thus put properly in his place—humbly begged Selby’s pardon, and with an abashed glance at Cecily, prepared to meet her grandfather.

As Jack entered the room, he found Sir Waldo sitting up in bed. The baronet raised his quizzing glass and studied Jack through it. Jack felt suddenly as if he were undergoing an examination by the Postmaster General himself. He hastily decided that he had better mind his manners if he wished to be invited here again. He straightened self-consciously and left his impudence at the door.

“Here is Mr. Henley to see you, Grandpapa,” Cecily said.

“Jack, sir,” he amended.

“Sit down, Jack,” Sir Waldo insisted. “And relieve that leg of yours. Glad to see you’re up on your feet. Though not quite able to handle a team of four yet, I’ll warrant.”

Jack smiled and started to lower himself into a chair, but was stopped by the intrusion of a soft muzzle between himself and his intended seat. Sir Waldo’s aged hunting bitch had come to inspect the visitor.

“Here, Leto! Come away from there! Let the poor boy sit,” Sir Waldo said.

The dog abandoned her activity with reluctance, but stiffly moved to obey her master. Jack was intrigued by her name.

“Leto, sir?” he asked with raised brows, forgetting he would not be expected to recognize the mother of Apollo and Artemis.

Fortunately, Sir Waldo did not detect the amusement in his voice and answered with an explanation. “A Greek goddess, my boy. Something you wouldn’t know about. I named her that because she was always wandering about looking for a place to pup.”

Jack hid his appreciation of Sir Waldo’s wit and arranged his face into a suitable expression of bewilderment. His host ignored it and turned the conversation to a subject he thought more suitable for his guest. While Jack listened, Sir Waldo told him about his own driving days as an amateur in the Benson Driving Club, relating such stories as he thought would appeal to a younger coachman. As they talked, Jack remembered to thank Sir Waldo for the contraption that had saved him from incurring a fine the day Cecily had ridden with him on the box.

Sir Waldo tut-tutted, but not without an air of pride.

Jack found Sir Waldo to be pleasant company, and was grateful for this respite from his solitude. Cecily, he was glad to see, had taken a chair by her grandfather’s bed and was doing some handwork while they chatted. She looked upon them with tolerant amusement, but he fancied that she regarded him from time to time with a certain curiosity.

After a good hour spent discussing the merits of various harnesses and their makers, all kinds of tack, and the fascinating quirks of coach horses and solutions to their behaviour, Sir Waldo lay back with a satisfied sigh. He looked Jack over approvingly.