Jessica (14 page)

He walked inside, the chandeliers of the black-and-white tiled entrance hall burnished his golden hair, and he waited as she followed him, a bedraggled little figure with muddy feet, soaking-wet mantle, and hair that clung in rats’ tails around her pale face.

“ ‘Pon my soul,” he said sarcastically, “what would the drawing-room biddies have to say could they see you now? The notorious Miss Durleigh, a sight to be spoken of with great relish by those less well-endowed than herself.”

She said nothing, staring at the muddy footprints she had left behind on the polished tiles.

He seemed unable to control his dislike. “I was prepared to be kind to you on your return, Jessica. To welcome you back to Henbury and prove to the world that you were not as had been said.”

She looked up at the impassive faces of the footmen standing at the foot of the red-carpeted stairs to the ballroom. “If you must talk to me like this, pray choose a more private place, Francis.”

He walked to some large gold and white doors and threw them open. “We may shout at each other in complete privacy in here,” he said, standing aside as she walked slowly past him into the drawing room.

“I will not shout at you, Francis,” she said wearily as he closed the door.

“You were Philip Woodville’s mistress, and I believe you were also his accomplice.”

“No.”

“Then how....”

“I told you, it was the stolen mail bag.”

“Maybe so, but there is still the matter of the note.”

“Note?” She remembered what Rosamund had confided in her.

“Yes. Oh, come now, Jessica. Let’s not play games over this. You know what note as well as I do.”

“No, I don’t.”

He took off his mantle and threw it across the back of a chair. “The gambling note of my father’s.”

She stared, shaking her head.

He poured himself some cognac, pausing a moment before pouring a second and handing it to her. “Everyone knew he gambled heavily, and drank with equal excess.”

“It was no secret. But he died five years ago.”

‘“Before he died he gambled Varangian Hall away. He lost at vingt-et-un, to a man called O’Connor
—
a drunken little Irishman who was arrested the same night for stealing from Woodville House.”

“And?”

“Only three men in the world knew about the high stakes that were played and lost at that game. My father, O’Connor, and Philip Woodville, my father’s alter ego in vice and sin. O’Connor was in poor health, a bronchial condition that worsened with each month spent languishing in Taunton jail. My father lived in anguish, waiting for O’Connor to make some move to reclaim what was now rightfully his, and in the end he killed himself rather than face the ruin. He told no one what had happened, hoping against hope, I suppose, that the truth would never come out, for O’Connor was, of a certainty, a long time silent. But O’Connor was himself close to death. He died within a week of my father, and Philip Woodville took himself along to Taunton to reclaim the dead man’s belongings, ‘to send to his widowed mother in Dublin.’ He got his hands on the note, and so it all began
—
the blackmail and torment that have been my lot since inheriting all this.” He waved his arm to encompass the house.

“So it is not yours?”

He shrugged. “I know not who else it belongs to. O’Connor had no relatives and left no will. But, no doubt, the would-be heirs would come flocking were the tale to become common knowledge.”

“Oh, Francis, I swear to you I knew nothing of this. Philip said nothing to me, and indeed I had no idea that he was anything other than the sweet, gentle man I loved. Please believe me, for you must know I would never hurt you.”

He looked at her for a long while. “If it is not you who has the note, then who is it? Someone must have it, for it did not come to light after Philip’s death. It must still be in existence, and while it is, I am not secure here.”

“Then do you believe me?”

He put down his glass and took her hand, nodding. “I believe you. Fear and uncertainty make monsters of men like me. Forgive me.”

“Francis, if there have been no demands, except that one from the stolen bag, then it must be that whoever has the note does not intend using it. Perhaps it could be even that Philip destroyed it.”

“That I know not to be so. He would have destroyed his passport to a small and steady fortune for life? Why should he? No, it still exists, and someone has it. Jessica, I must have it. Varangian Hall belongs to me, to my family, to my heirs when I marry. I want Rosamund to be mistress of all this, and yet I cannot take her for my wife until all this is ended. Do you understand that, for I fear Rosamund does not.”

“I understand you and I understand her. She wants to be with you wherever and however you are. You, on the other hand, are so much the gentleman, wanting to come to her with all this to offer.” Jessica turned as hoofbeats sounded along the driveway. Drawing aside the net drapes she saw the man Chandler and the physician.

“The physician...” She almost ran to the door, but Francis stopped her.

“No, you cannot go, it would not be decorous.”

“But I have no reputation left to protect.”

“Then now is as good a time as any to begin. It’s only a small head wound, he’ll recover quickly.”

Jessica sat down, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. She heard the butler take the physician up the stairs.

Francis poured himself another glass of cognac. “Why were you and Woodville in Ladywood? And how did he get shot?”

“I cannot say.”

“Cannot? Or will not? The latter, I suspect.”

“Francis, you of all men should understand, for I gave my word to a friend.”

“A greater friend than Woodville?”

“An older friend.”

His blue eyes rested on her. “A mongrel-owning friend, perchance?”

She said nothing, but she knew her cheeks had reddened.

“Young Pike never goes anywhere without his hound, and yet tonight we find that atrocious Nipper all alone.” He swirled the cognac in his glass. “I fancy that I shall have to get my illicit French brandy elsewhere from now on.”

“You were on the list?”

“Occasionally. For the occasional blind eye. I suspected Pike was involved. He was, by far, too quick and clever, his mind darting in all directions at once and leaving me standing. He had to be more than a mere shepherd
—
he could not have been content otherwise. But Woodville is another matter. Was he? ...”

“No. Nicholas was trying to catch them.”

“And so where do you stand? With Nicholas or with Jamie?”

“It is not a question of that. Jamie has gone now. There’ll be no more smuggling through Ladywood. All he asks is a day’s start. I gave him my word.”

“And Nicholas?”

“No. He does not know. He was shot before I saw Jamie. Jamie could have killed us both, but he did not. I have confided this in you, Francis. Please honor the confidence.”

“My dear Jessica, who am I to pass comment upon anyone else’s conduct? Besides, anyone who knocks Nicholas Woodville down to size cannot be wholly bad.”

“You don’t like him?”

“He has made his dislike for me somewhat noticeable, and I cannot pretend not to have noticed. There is only one likeable Woodville, and she is that only by marriage.”

“Rosamund?”

He nodded. “I love her, Jessica. I love her very much.”

“She is leaving Woodville House to come to me. Did you know?”

“No. She should not.”

“Lady Amelia has danced a merry jig over her being seen with you so soon after Philip’s death. Rosamund asked me to give her shelter and I agreed.”

“We are in your debt, it would seem.”

“Not really.”

He saw the nervous twisting of her hands. “And what does Nicholas say?”

“He doesn’t know yet.”

“I doubt that he’ll approve.”

“I know.”

“And still you would do it?”

“How could I refuse her? I could not condemn her to Lady Amelia’s care merely because I think Nicholas might not approve. Even if I were certain of his disapproval, I could not refuse her, for no one should have to endure that old dragon.”

“She has a certain way with her, I will admit. The more so since her precious Philip died. Forgive me, Jessica, but I cannot and will not speak gently of him.”

“I understand. You know, he could be so charming and gentle, so very good to be with. It is so sad he was all these other things, too. I wish he had never left me Applegarth, for then I would never have known the truth.”

“If you would consider for a moment, he made certain of your eventual disillusionment, for he insisted you come here for a period of two years if you wished to have the cottage. He knew you would have no choice but to return to Henbury. That was the nature of the man
—
perverse and unkind. In the end, always unkind, even to you.”

“But would I have known? Until the stolen mail bag came to light, you had said nothing to me and I doubt that you would ever have, were you not so pushed beyond endurance by the thought of it all beginning again. I would have known that he was not liked, but no more than that.”

Francis stared at the cognac. “Unless he was sure that in the event of his death, not only would you come back to Henbury, but the note would be in someone’s hands who would know how to use it.”

“I think we romance a little now, don’t you? It is a little farfetched to think of Philip planning so much for something to happen after his death, when he was in perfect health and still a young man? He was not to know he was to catch a dangerous malady that would take him so quickly.”

“Perhaps you are right. I am so consumed with loathing for the man, I consider him capable of anything. The physician is coming.” He stood as someone knocked on the gold and white doors.

“Enter.”

“Sir Francis?” The physician’s eyes slid to Jessica’s bedraggled figure and back to Francis. “I have dressed the wound and cleansed it. Sir Nicholas is still unconscious and likely to remain so for some time. How did it happen?”

“No one appears to quite know. No doubt, he will tell us himself when he regains consciousness.”

“Yes, quite so. I’ll take myself back to my bed then.” The physician glanced at Jessica again. “I’ll send my account, Sir Francis.”

Francis nodded.

When the man had gone, Jessica stood. “I shall go to him now, Francis,” she announced determinedly.

He smiled suddenly.

“What is so amusing?”

“I was thinking of Lady Amelia having to endure Rosamund and myself, and then Nicholas and you. She’ll have a fit of the vapors that will lay Henbury by the ears. And I’ll warrant she’ll do all in her power to prevent both matches.”

“There is a match for you and Rosamund. But Nicholas has said nothing to me of such a thing. He will not consider marrying his brother’s mistress
—
my own common sense tells me as much.” She lowered her eyes unhappily.

“If he loves you, he will marry you regardless. I would be unjust to him were I to state otherwise. He is not one to abide by the endless stream of do’s and don’ts society insists upon ranging before us all. He is in the second room beyond my study upstairs. I will send a maid in a short while to take you to your own room. With some luck to smile on you, you may sleep for what remains of the night. Oh, and I shall send one of my dressing robes for you.”

She smiled, closing the door behind her.

The morning brought Rosamund in the Woodville barouche. Holding her breath Jessica peeked from the curtains of Nicholas’ rooms, but there was no sign of Lady Amelia.

She turned to look at Nicholas. He had wakened briefly during the night. His head was bandaged and he lay so still that each time she looked she feared his heart had ceased to beat. It was a foolish notion that insistently forced its way into her head and could only be calmed by sitting beside him, holding his hand and feeling the pulse in his wrist. She sat there now, looking across the rolling parkland toward the sunlit bay. There was no trace of the storm now and the rain had washed everything until it was clear and sparkling. Even the trees seemed a fresher green.

Where was Jamie Pike now? Had he and Cluffo reached Bristol?

Rosamund came in, her delicate pink skirts rustling slightly. “Jess? How is he?”

“He is still not awake.”

“Francis says it is nothing to worry about.”

“I know.”

“But still you worry.”

“Yes.”

“Jess, did you speak to him about Francis?” Rosamund stood the other side of the blue and white bed. “Or about me coming to Applegarth?”

“No. There was no time before the accident.”

“Francis told me. It’s Jamie, isn’t it?”

“How?...”

“It was not difficult for me to worm the story from Francis. Why are you protecting Jamie?”

“He spared our lives.”

“He’s crafty enough to know not to add murder to his name. I doubt if he’d have shot you anyway.”

“It does not matter now. But I wanted to help him. Surely you would do the same?”

“I do not think my memories of Jamie Pike and the old schoolyard are as tender as yours, for I associate those days with the sudden deterioration in my family’s fortune, the loss of my comfortable tutor, and my initiation into the horrible farmyard ways of country children
—
yourself included, Jessica. You were the most awful terror when first I knew you. You and Jamie, together, made my life a misery until you decided I was perhaps not so bad after all. After that I enjoyed things, but Jamie pinched and poked me whenever the chance presented itself, for he lost you to me and he did not like it.”

“Jamie was all right. He could have done worse had he wished.”

“And now you are protecting him.” Rosamund’s eyes were thoughtful.

“Don’t look like that. Just leave the matter alone for all your guesses would be wrong.”

“Well, you are going to have to endure Nicholas’ suspicions on the same point, for he is certain to wonder when he knows.”

“There is no need for him ever to know. Is there, Rosamund? You and Francis must hold your chattering, and all will be well.”