Jessica (4 page)

He helped her down from the curricle and for a moment she held his hand. “Do not invite me to the ball, Francis. For Rosamund’s sake I will not come.”

“Rosamund? She did not even like Philip Woodville, so why should she concern herself about your presence at the ball?”

“Oh, Francis! Why are men always so very dense over these things? Suffice it that I will not come and that Rosamund would prefer it that way.”

She released his hand and went into the cottage.

Tamsin looked up from the table where she was pounding dough as if she had a grudge against it. “Miss Jess, what have happened this time?”

Jessica looked at the ripped gown again. “I fell. Is Sir Nicholas here?”

“In there, drinking that there Madeira as if we had a well of it.”

“Did you lace it well with tansy?” asked Jessica in a soft whisper, a wicked grin on her face.

“Would that I had, for I’d relish each gripe he felt, great, overbearing so-and-so that he is.”

“I’d better see what he wants. Did he give any hint?”

“Not a word, nor would he to the likes of me.
”
Tamsin sniffed angrily and thumped the dough again. “Proper ruffles my feathers he do!”

“And mine, if he did but know it.”

Jessica took off her bonnet and laid the parasol on a chair. “Do I look too bad?”

“No, there’s only the tearing now. You looks fit for Carlton House itself and the company of the Prince Regent.”

“That’s all Sir Nicholas would say I am fit for anyway.” She lifted the latch of the drawing room and went in. “Sir Nicholas?”

He stood, bowing slightly. “Miss Durleigh.”

With some amusement she noticed that his tone was exactly as it had been the night before in the woods. She looked at him. He was so like Philip, only older. But there was none of Philip’s softly handsome looks about this last remaining Woodville son. Nicholas’ face was good-looking, but stern; his hair was dark and curly, but with a touch of gray here and there; and his figure, although elegant, was not as slender and graceful as had been Philip’s. And there was a coldness in his eyes that chilled her.

She crossed the room and sat on the wooden, high-backed settle, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. “What brings you to Applegarth again, Sir Nicholas.”

His eyes flickered. “Matters of great import, Miss Durleigh.”

“Perhaps you wish to replace the peas which your horse trampled last night.”

“Peas?” He looked blank.

“Yes, sir. Peas.”

He straightened his crisp white cravat uneasily. “I saw no peas, madam.” With a flick of his dark green coattails he sat down opposite her. “I will, of course, have my gardeners send over fresh plants if I am indeed guilty of riding over yours.”

“Will they not wonder how it came that you rode over my garden in the middle of the night?”

His eyes were steady then. “Or how you were out in your night clothes creeping around Ladywood?”

“Perhaps we should forget the peas.”

“Indeed. Now, Miss Durleigh, believe me that I would not have come here at all were it not so important.”

“I am listening.”

“My late brother was a reasonably wealthy man, you will agree, but in no way was he sufficiently well off to live as he did.”

She colored slightly. “I do not see why this concerns me.”

“What I must ask you is this. Do you know of any business ventures, investments, gambling successes, or anything that would account for this seemingly vast fortune he had access to?”

“No. Sir Nicholas, are you suggesting that Philip was in any way dishonest?”

“I suggest nothing. I merely seek to know the truth. I cannot help having noticed on going through his papers, that there were bills and receipts for large sums of money, far more than his income from the family. I know you are no great heiress, Miss Durleigh, and neither was Rosamund, and I know Philip’s legitimate income. I can find no hint of how he became so wealthy.”

“If Philip had wished you to know, then he would have confided in you. So, even if I did know, I would certainly not tell you.”

He seemed unruffled. “Then I assume you do not know?”

“No, Sir Nicholas, I do not know. I was, as you well know, your brother’s mistress, not his business associate. We shared a bed, not an account book.”

“I see no reason for coarseness, Miss Durleigh.”

“Do you not? Then you astound me still further, sir.”

“I grant that I perhaps warrant the sharp edge of your tongue, but believe me I have not come here to cause you upset. I am genuinely concerned about this money.”

“But why? It cannot have any bearing on your affairs.”

“Because my family’s accounts and books are shortly due for audit.”

She stood then. “You think Philip embezzled the money from your family? How could you?”

“It is a possibility, Miss Durleigh. I merely seek to cover all possibilities.”

“Philip would never do such a thing, never!”

He rose, bending to pick up his top hat and riding gloves. “I fancy that even after all this time I was more aware of my brother’s character than you. He treated you like a princess because he loved you and because he did not want you ever to discover how unpleasant he could be. Everyone else in Henbury knew the truth of how loathsome dear Philip was at times. Even my mother knew, although she still won’t admit to it.”

“Good day, Sir Nicholas!”

“There is just one more thing. Do you know anything of this?”

He set a folded sheet of paper on the table before her. It was a receipt from Slade’s, the jewelers of Bath. She blinked, for it concerned a diamond necklace
—
the price of which took her breath away. “I know nothing of it,” she said stiffly. “Now please leave Applegarth.”

He gathered the receipt and hesitated for a moment. “Miss Durleigh, now that I have made myself thoroughly odious in your eyes, I fear I must ask yet one more thing of you.”

“What?”

“It concerns last night.”

“Yes?”

“I would prefer it if no one came to hear of my presence in Ladywood.”

She stared at him. “I have told only Tamsin.”

“And nothing will go any further?”

“If that is your wish, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss Durleigh. Good day.”

“Good day.”

She listened to his footsteps crossing the tiled floor of the kitchen, and the sound of his horse leaving Applegarth. She sat back down on the settle feeling a little unsteady. Why was everyone so unpleasant about Philip? Tamsin, Francis, and now even Sir Nicholas. Why?

The summer evening was long and pleasant. Jessica sat back on the grassy bank above Applegarth, looking across the valley toward the spire of St. Mary’s in Henbury. The shadows were lengthening now, but the air was still warm and she could hear the droning of insects beneath the low-hanging branches of a beech tree. Down in the cottage the kitchen window glowed with the light of a lamp and she could see Tamsin inside testing a flat iron before embarking upon the repair of the brown and white muslin gown.

It was so pleasing to sit there twirling a blade of grass between her fingers that Jessica was loath to stir herself. She lay back among the dancing grasses, looking up at the lacework of soft green leaves overhead.

Jamie emerged stealthily from the woods a little to her right and she saw him immediately, but something in his manner made her remain silent, watching him as he made his way quickly and quietly down the slope to vanish into the small stable. She heard the snorting whinny of the pony and then nothing more. Undecided, she lay watching. What was Jamie Pike doing so secretly?

He slipped from the stable as silently as he had come and Jessica lay as if she would hide beneath a willow herb which grew by her arm. Jamie’s passage back through the grass was plainly audible and she raised her head in time to see that he carried a bundle beneath his arm. Then he was gone, vanishing into Ladywood as if he had never been.

Slowly she got to her feet, smoothing down her dimity gown and frowning at a green grass stain which spoiled the red and white stripes. Without hesitation she descended the bank to the stable.

The pony shifted, turning his shaggy head to look at her.

“It’s all right, Jinks, it’s only me,” she said softly, patting the dusty brown coat. She looked around the dark stall. The little dogcart stood next to bales of straw, and tackle hung from various hooks. Jinks nibbled from the manger, his large, soft eyes watching her as she moved from his side toward the ladder leading up into the small loft.

The hay had been disturbed recently, wisps hung raggedly over the edge of the loft and lay at the foot of the ladder. That was where Jamie had been. She began to climb, holding her skirts in one hand and praying the ladder was more sturdy than it looked. Then she was in the loft. On the roof she could hear the pigeons cooing together, fluttering now and then, and somewhere in the hay a mouse squeaked and rustled.

There seemed to be nothing untoward, nothing to show why Jamie had once hidden something that needed now such careful and quiet collecting. Then she saw the stitched corner of the canvas mail bag. It was partly hidden by the straw, but Jamie had been less than careful for some reason, and Jessica swept the hay aside and drew out the bag. The seals were intact and by its weight she knew nothing had been tampered with inside.

A rotting rope lay by the opening down into the stable and she tied it as tightly around the bag as she could, dragging it across the hay until she could slowly lower it to the ground. Jinks shied as the bag swung close to him, but she called gently to him and he quieted, rolling his eyes warily as the bag flopped to the ground and the rope snaked down after it.

She climbed quickly down the ladder and ran to the cottage, tapping on the kitchen window and almost stopping Tamsin’s heart.

“Come quickly, Tamsin, and see what I’ve found.”

The two women looked at the mail bag.

“Well, Miss Jess, that be a proper turn-up. The mail coach were held up at Hangman’s Cross about two months ago. It have happened before and since, but the mail bag was never took. This must be the one as was took that one time. But how did you find it?”

Jessica told her about Jamie Pike.

“Jamie? Well, I never. He’ve got a good position now with Sir Francis, so what do he want to go highwaying for? He’m a proper handful
—
always was and always will be.”

“But what shall we do? I cannot return the bag to the authorities and tell them about Jamie.”

“ ‘
Tis no more than the young hosebird deserves!”

“Yes, but he is still Jamie and I’ve known him all my life. The penalty for holding up the mail coach is terribly harsh.”

“Ah, that it be right enough. You could always take the mail back and say as you found it in the loft here. There’s no need to mention Jamie at all.”

“I shall do that then. Oh, Tamsin, whatever is going on around here? There are poachers, smugglers, and now apparently, highwaymen as well. Life was almost more peaceful in London.”

“Oh, Henbury were always a lively place and all,” said Tamsin wryly. “Us’ll take it in the dogcart in the morning. Mr. Palethorpe, the magistrate, will know what’s right to do.”

“But you are expecting to visit Dolly Dowdeswell. I will go. Isn’t Friday the day the wagonette goes round the outlying farms to take the women to market?”

“Aye, Friday’s market day.”

“Then I shall halt the wagonette as it passes. If Mr. Palethorpe wants the bag, he’ll have to send someone out for it.”

“If you wants to go, fair enough. But, Miss Jess, there’ll be plenty of folks to recognize you.”

“It must be done sometime.”

There was little room in the wagonette, for it was loaded with baskets of vegetables, bundles of fagots, balls of spindle wool gleaned from hedges, and seven buxom women whose chatter ceased instantly as Jessica climbed aboard. She took the place they grudgingly moved to provide, and sat next to a woman with a large basket containing a plump red hen that clucked angrily at each lurch of the wagon. The silence was oppressive, and Jessica kept her head averted to look out at the track as it slipped away behind them.

Down the narrow track between the honeysuckle hedges and over the ford plodded the oxen, the water deep enough to reach the axles of the slow vehicle. The market was already well under way
—
a clutter of tables, stalls, and booths, with small flocks of sheep penned before the White Horse tavern, and some goats tethered to a rail beneath a ramshackle canvas tent. The noise was unbearable after the quiet of Applegarth and, she thought dryly, the awful hush of the wagonette. No doubt the whole of Henbury would soon know that the notorious Miss Durleigh was in the town.

Her business with Mr. Palethorpe was quickly accomplished and he promised that an officer would come soon to collect the mail bag. It would be some hours before the wagonette began its homeward journey, and so she wandered slowly around the town, seeking out remembered places and now and then seeing people who had once been her friends. But each and every one turned their faces away from her, and she heard one or two unkind remarks that she knew she was fully meant to hear.

She paused by the lych-gate into St. Mary’s churchyard. The Woodville family tomb lay ahead, beneath a spreading yew tree, and her heart tightened as she saw the grave with its fresh flowers and still-raised earth. Philip, the man she had given up everything for and whom she had loved so much, lay there, cold and remote beneath the damp earth. So near, and yet so infinitely far away. Tears pricked her eyes and she opened her reticule to take out a handkerchief. She was about to hurry away when a figure caught her eye.

A little old woman with a straight back, her face hidden by the veil of her hat, sat upright on the bench beneath the yew tree, her gloved hands resting like claws on the pearl handle of her cane. Lady Amelia Woodville was staring at her younger son’s grave without moving. Nearby, a maid waited patiently. Jessica watched for a moment, feeling oddly cold at seeing that quiet, calm vigil. She turned away at last, her slippers tapping on the cobbles as she retraced her steps towards the center of the town.