Jessica (5 page)

She found herself by the apothecary’s shop, staring in at the array of bottles, packets, and boxes that lined the dark, narrow shelves inside. Polished brass handles on the many tiny drawers gleamed in the dull interior, and she could see the slow swing of the pendulum clock on the wall behind the counter.

A large coach rattled along the street, stopping at Miss Brendon’s haberdashery opposite, and Jessica turned quickly to see Rosamund climb down, telling the coachman to go to the church to find Lady Amelia.

Rosamund stood for a moment before the bow windows of the shop, looking at the array of ribbons and laces displayed there. Jessica stared at her, for she had forgotten how graceful and beautiful Rosamund was with her pale golden hair, fine complexion, and elegant figure. She was dressed in a turquoise pelisse and straw bonnet with bright blue ribbons that fluttered as she pushed open the door. The jingle of the bell carried across the road over the noise of an oxcart that lumbered slowly by.

On impulse, Jessica crossed the street to look in the window past the rainbow of colorful ribbons to where Rosamund stood at the counter discussing a bolt of fabric with the fussy Miss Brendon. Rosamund was shaking her head and Miss Brendon held up her finger and then hurried into the storeroom.

Almost before it was thought of Jessica had opened the door and entered the shop. “Rosamund?”

Rosamund’s eyes darkened. “I don’t wish to speak with you.”

“I know. I know that. But I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry.”

“Sorry that you stole my husband?”

“I loved him.”

“And I did not, therefore it was in order to take him?”

“Please, Rosamund, I do not wish to remain at odds with you.”

“Then stay away from me.”

Anger stirred her and Jessica felt provoked into retaliating. “Your attitude is somewhat unbelievable, Rosamund, when you look down your lose at me. Your widowhood is recent and yet you do not wear black. Do not cast stones at me for my conduct when your own does not bear close scrutiny.”

Rosamund stepped back, her hand clenching the bolt of fabric on the counter, but then she gained control. “Such a low outburst is what I would expect of you, Jessica.” She turned her back and the conversation, painful and disastrous as it had been, was at an end.

Jessica closed her eyes faintly. Why had she attacked Rosamund like that? Why? Now the barrier was, if anything, greater than before. Slowly she turned and walked from the shop.

She found herself back at the market square, although she was not too aware of how she had got there. Tears blurred her eyes and she bowed her head so no one should see her face. The wagonette had another two hours to wait. But two hours were unendurable in the circumstances, and she walked around the edge of the market and back on the road towards Varangian and Applegarth. Outside the Feathers she paused. The ford was too deep to cross on foot and men were repairing the rickety footbridge that had been in need of attention for some time.

Miserably she hesitated on the edge of the stream, watching the green weed swaying as the current rushed past. Rosamund’s words still rung in her ears, and she was struggling with her tears and did not hear the horseman rein in behind her.

“Do you wish to cross over, Miss Durleigh?”

Sir Nicholas leaned forward on the pommel to look at her. He wore a blue riding jacket and buff, high-waisted breeches, and his dark, curly hair caught the breeze as he doffed his hat.

“I do, Sir Nicholas,” she answered, hoping that her bonnet afforded sufficient shadow to hide her tears.

“If you can stomach so odious a prospect, I would be delighted to carry you across.”

“I accept your offer, sir,” she whispered in a small voice.

He dismounted and lifted her onto the saddle, mounting again behind her. She sat sideways, looking down at the water as the horse moved easily across the ford. Her arms were tight around his waist as the animal struggled up the sharp incline at the other side and then moved up the lane between the high hedges.

“You are going back to Applegarth, Miss Durleigh?”

“Yes.”

“Then allow me to take you all the way for I, unfortunately, have business at Varangian.”

“Unfortunately?” She looked up quickly.

He smiled. “It is so very far when one has other things one wishes to do first,” he said by way of explanation. But she was left with the impression that he had chosen the word for another reason.

They rode in silence, and he made no comment upon the loud sniffs he heard occasionally, nor did he seem to notice the number of times she took her handkerchief from her reticule.

As they reached Applegarth he reined in to dismount. She stretched down to him and he could no longer pretend that he did not know she was crying.

“Was Henbury so very unkind then?”

“I spoke with Rosamund.”

He set her gently on the ground. “A grave mistake, I would imagine.”

“Yes.”

“And you chose an unfortunate day, for she had already been set about the ears by my mother who is outraged at her sudden setting aside of widow’s weeds in favor of more happy garb. Lady Amelia is something of a stickler for the proprieties, I fear.”

Jessica heard this with a sinking heart.

“But, Miss Durleigh, let me speak of something more pleasing to your ears. The audit revealed nothing untoward concerning Philip.”

“I did not think that it would.”

“You alone would appear to have such faith in him. I almost envy him for being loved so completely and so faithfully. And I never cease to marvel at how blind that emotion can be.”

“You are all wrong about him,” she said stoutly, conquering the urge to sniff again.

“Among the army of marching men you alone are in step? Come now, Miss Durleigh, that is hardly likely to be so.”

“I believe that I am right, Sir Nicholas, and I will stand by the man
I
knew.”

He remounted. “That is fair enough, for everyone should speak as they find. I salute your loyalty, madam.” He doffed his hat again, and then turned the horse toward Varangian and rode up the incline.

She watched him for a moment and then straightened her bonnet, taking a deep breath. She was glad Tamsin would be with Dolly Dowdeswell still, for she could attend to her face without any further uncomfortable questions. The matter of the visit to Henbury was something Jessica wished to forget.

Two weeks later the invitation to the ball at Varangian was delivered at Applegarth. Jessica put the gold-edged card beside the pile of beans on the table and Tamsin looked at her.

“Shall you be going then?”

“I don’t think so.”

Tamsin looked at it, reading slowly. “ ‘Please come, Jessica, for I think it would be the best course, both for Henbury and for you. Francis.’ Well, happen Sir Francis do think you should.”

“I couldn’t.” The recent disaster of her visit to Henbury was too strong and painful.

“Listen, Miss Jess, ‘tis time the folks hereabouts realized you’m not one of them ladies’ entertaining different men each night, and sometimes in the day as well! You made a mistake
—
and mistake it were, so don’t go pretending it weren’t
—
and now ‘tis all done with. A start has to be made somewhere and this ball do seem as good a spot as any.”

“I could not endure so embarrassing an evening, Tamsin. Truly, I couldn’t. They would all stare and whisper, and only the most lecherous of the men would offer to partner me. It would all be too much. And Rosamund would be there.”

“You always could handle that one. Ignore her, Miss Jess. Pretend she don’t exist. Balls is for enjoyment, for prettying yourself up and having a good time. You think on it a little. Old Tamsin knows what’s best for you, and skulking here all the time ain’t right at all.”

“I will think about it, but I don’t really want to go. Francis means well, but it wouldn’t be right for me to foist myself on Henbury society when that society most plainly does not want me.”

Tamsin went on slicing the beans, glancing out of the window. “Someone’s paying a visit. I wonder who he be?”

A man with a thin, nervous face rode a stout gray cob across the orchard toward the cottage. He was dressed in a brown cloth coat of a good cut without being too fashionable, and as he dismounted he wiped his forehead with his kerchief, as if unsettled, or even shocked. Jessica opened the door to him, rather alarmed at the pallor of his face.

“Er, Miss Durleigh? Miss Jessica Durleigh?”

“I am, sir. Please come in. Are you all right?” She drew a chair quickly and motioned him to sit down.

“Thank you kindly, madam. I fear I have had something of a fright. I was just leaving the Feathers when there was a commotion outside. It appears some mail from a lost mail bag was at last being handed out to the various people whose letters had gone astray, and Sir Francis Varangian was passing. There was a letter for him. He took one look at it, went as white as a sheet and drove his curricle blindly forward without looking. He almost drove over me. I am not a fine rider at the best of times, and it gave me such a fright. Dear me, I have never seen Sir Francis in such a way before. He did not halt to apologize, nor even say anything. He just drove on over the ford and away. So unlike him
—
oh, dear me, yes. Now then, Miss Durleigh, allow me to introduce myself. I am Jethro Slade, the jeweler of Bath. My card.”

She took the little card. “Mr. Slade?” Why had he come to see her?

“I was beginning to be concerned as to what I should do, and then the letter arrived yesterday and set my mind at rest.”

“I am afraid, sir, that I do not understand.”

“The necklace Mr. Philip Woodville commissioned.”

Slade’s of Bath. Suddenly she remembered the receipt Nicholas had shown her. “But Mr. Philip is. . . .”

“Oh, I realize he cannot be here, for indeed the letter came from London only yesterday.”

Her face was still. “Is this some joke, Mr. Slade?”

“Joke? Oh, dear me, I hope not. I have the letter here. It is Mr. Philip’s writing, is it not?” He took a creased envelope from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.

“Yes, yes, it is his writing.” Her hands shook a little and she gave it back quickly. “But, Mr. Slade, the letter cannot have come only yesterday, for Philip has been dead for some months now.”

How terribly cold and detached the words sounded. Suddenly she thought of the stolen mail bag. “Could it perhaps have been in the mail bag which was stolen at Hangman’s Cross?”

The jeweler was blinking as he absorbed the news of Philip’s death. “Dead you say? Oh, dear me, dear, dear me. Stolen mail bag? Yes, I suppose that it could. Sometimes my mail is re-routed this way. It is possible. Oh, my dear Miss Durleigh, I trust that I have not caused you any distress by my visit, but truly I did not know.”

“Of course you did not, Mr. Slade. Please do not concern yourself so.”

He polished his glasses busily on a cloth, looking shortsightedly at her. “I had had the necklace for so long that I had begun to worry over it
—
it is so valuable, don’t you see. Most definitely the finest piece I have ever created
—
from the finest stones, of course, but nonetheless I am very proud of it. The letter told me to deliver the necklace to Miss Durleigh at Applegarth, and so here it is.” He took a long, red leather box from his pocket and laid it in her hands.

She opened the box and saw the necklace resting on its cushion of black velvet. It was so magnificent that she caught her breath, and Tamsin set down her vegetable knife with a clatter as she, too, stared at the flashing, brilliant beauty of the diamonds. They were large and clear and perfectly matched, and an exquisite adornment for any woman’s throat; but all Jessica could think of was the enormous price Philip had paid for it.

Mr. Slade cleared his throat. “I must confess to being somewhat relieved at having discharged my duty in this. I confess also that such a necklace deserves so beautiful an owner.”

“It is mine?”

“Oh, yes. It was commissioned simply and solely for you. Mr. Philip was quite adamant, and the letter was confirmation of that. I shall be proud indeed when next you attend a ball and my creation draws the admiration of one and all.”

A ball. Jessica looked quickly at Tamsin. Was this perhaps a sign that she should go to Varangian after all?

“Mr. Slade, do you know the nearest posting inn?”

“Why, yes. The Feathers is one such now, for there are postboys in their yellow jackets, and this afternoon I saw a post-chaise in the yard.”

Jessica came to a sudden decision. “Then, Tamsin, I shall go after all.” She lifted the necklace from its box. “Can you imagine anything finer to set off the yellow silk evening gown?”

“No, Miss Jess, nothing finer on earth. And now, Mr. Slade, shall you take a glass of Madeira before you return?”

“Why thank you, thank you kindly. I am still a little unnerved by my encounter with Sir Francis.”

Tamsin smoothed her apron and brought some sparkling glasses from a cupboard. The amber-colored wine made a pleasing sound as it was poured, and the jeweler watched appreciatively. “There are few finer wines, Miss Durleigh. I’ve always had a taste for good Madeira.”

He drank, almost smacking his lips with pleasure. Tamsin’s nose twitched; the jeweler tried to act like gentry, when he was no better than she was.

The Madeira, however, proved stronger than the unfortunate Mr. Slade had imagined, for after the second glass he was smiling genially, his cheeks red and his eyes bright. He stood to take his leave, reaching unsteadily for his hat, and his glance fell upon the necklace’s box.

“Strange thing that, it’s been puzzling me. I always thought they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.”

“Who?” Jessica handed him the hat.

“Mr. Woodville and Sir Francis.”

“Why do you say that?”

He patted the hat on his head. “The necklace. Paid for by Mr. Woodville with a draft from Sir Francis.” His smile faded uncomfortably. “Upon my word, Miss Durleigh, again I must ask your forgiveness. My last comments were indiscreet and not at all what should have been said. Don’t know what came over me.”