Jessica (8 page)

She clung to his hand suddenly. “May I go home now, please?” she whispered.

He snapped his fingers at the Negro boy. “The Woodville barouche, boy, and quick about it,” he said, flicking a coin into the outstretched hands.

“Yes, sir!”

“Miss Durleigh, I much preferred you when you acted with defiance and spirit.” Nicholas took her chin in his hand and made her look at him. “What has happened to so set you down?”

“I cannot tell you, Sir Nicholas.” She looked away quickly for he was so like Philip.

The boy was there again. “The barouche, sir.”

She walked with Nicholas to the doorway. Outside the night was clear and moonless and stars glittered in the dark sky. The barouche waited at the foot of the flower-strewn steps and Nicholas began to descend with her. At that moment a large party of horsemen appeared from the stables. Francis led them, urging his horse swiftly across the parkland toward the hill where Lady-wood’s dark outline could be seen.

Nicholas paused. “What is going on?”

“Francis and his gamekeepers are in pursuit of poachers.”

“Poachers, eh? In Ladywood?”

“Yes.” She looked at him. He was suddenly tense.

“Well, Miss Durleigh, I am about to foist my company upon you, I fear.” He handed her swiftly into the carriage, turning to speak urgently to the coachman. “Get a move on then, Parr, and keep your eyes and ears peeled.”

“Yes, Sir Nicholas.” The coachman cracked his whip and the horses leapt forward, the wheels of the barouche crunching on the gravel.

“
Over there, Sir Nicholas, beneath the beech tree.” Parr pointed with the whip as the barouche rattled to a standstill.

Nicholas leaned out of the window. The horses were tethered to the fence by the stile where earlier Jessica had seen Jamie Pike and Nipper. “Can you get the barouche off the road and out of sight?”

“Yes, sir.” The reins slapped slightly and the barouche moved quietly off the road to a grassy verge behind an elderberry bush.

Parr climbed down, testing the brake against the rear wheels and then coming to the door. “Perhaps we’ll be lucky tonight.”

Nicholas nodded. “I sincerely trust so, for this has gone on long enough.”

Jessica listened in surprise. There seemed some sort of understanding between the two men, an understanding that crossed the barrier of class. Just what was Nicholas Woodville’s interest in what went on in Ladywood? Was he hare, or hound?

The coachman pointed through the stile down a long gully thick with foxgloves and bracken. Lights flickered in the heart of the wood and then were gone. “They’re cocky enough about it now.”

“They might have cause to regret it. Come on.”

“But what about the lady?”

Nicholas paused in the act of alighting to look back at her. “Miss Durleigh, I fear you will have further cause to sanction me, for I must leave you alone here.”

“Alone? Out here in the middle of nowhere you would leave me by myself?” She was horrified.

“I fear so.”

“But why? What is your business in Ladywood?”

He raised her hand to his lips. “Patience, Miss Durleigh. For the moment it is more than enough that you are aware of my jaunts into Varangian’s territory, without further burdening your ears with my reasons.” He released her and jumped down.

She leaned from the open door to watch the two men slip over the stile and begin to move swiftly down the gully. There was no moonlight and in a moment or so they were lost from sight in the dark shadows of the wood. The wind rustled the trees and somehow the noise was chilling. The horses shifted slightly and the springs of the carriage squeaked. Something small and dark scuttled across the road and plunged into the long grass by the ditch, and she shivered, for it had looked like a rat. From deep in the woods came the sudden baying of hounds and the horses tossed their heads nervously.

The barouche moved slightly before the brakes gripped. Anxiously, Jessica climbed down, going quickly to the horses to soothe them. The harness jingled, and she ignored the spoiling of her white gloves as she held the bridles and whispered gently. All around the breeze soughed through the branches and her heart was thundering as she stared at the dark, hidden shadows suddenly so menacing now that she was alone.

Abruptly, Ladywood was alive to shouting. More lanterns bobbed between the trees and a pistol shot rang out. The hounds renewed their noise and Jessica had difficulty holding the horses that were by now thoroughly alarmed.

A single horse moved up the incline from the direction of Applegarth. It was ridden at speed, careless of the ruts that lay in its path. Jessica watched, holding her breath, for she feared the rider must surely meet with an accident. Surprised, she recognized Jamie Pike. His hood had blown back from his face and as he glanced behind him she knew there could be no mistaking him. He did not see the carriage by the elderberry as he rode past, urging his horse toward the beech trees where he reined in, bending down to untether the horses there. He slapped their flanks and whistled shrilly, and in a moment the horses were scattering in all directions.

Then Jamie urged his own mount along the boundary of Ladywood until he passed from sight over the brow of the hill toward the bay far below. Jessica had no time to ponder Jamie’s activities, or the fact that the horse he rode would have done justice to any young blood in Hyde Park. The team was in no mood to be soothed and she had just about given up trying to hold them back, when suddenly heavy steps sounded by the stile.

“Sir Nicholas?” she cried, recognizing him as he half-carried, half-dragged the slumped body of the coachman. He bundled his companion over the stile and jumped after him, opening the carriage door and pushing Parr inside where he lay groaning.

“Get inside, Miss Durleigh, for there is no time to be lost.” He seized her arm and pushed her toward the door.

He was already climbing into the driver’s seat and she clambered into the cabin as quickly as she could, just managing to close the door as the whip cracked and the team strained forward down the long incline. She heard the hounds break from the woods to give chase, and she steadied herself against the seats as the barouche gathered momentum. Glancing down she saw bloodstains on her costly yellow silk, and she saw for the first time that Parr had a bullet wound in his left shoulder.

She took her handkerchief from her reticule and began to unbutton the coachman’s coat. The blood oozed thickly over the black woolen cloth and she shuddered, for she had never liked blood and there was so much of it welling from the ugly wound. In a moment the handkerchief was soaked and useless, her gloves were bloody, and she looked in dismay at the yellow silk gown. Glancing up she saw that the barouche was lurching past the entrance to Applegarth and was now hurtling on towards Henbury. Behind, the hounds had given up the chase, but still Nicholas did not lessen the reckless speed.

She struggled to her feet and opened the small grille to speak to Nicholas. “Where are you going?”

“To Woodville House.”

“But
I
cannot go there. Your mother and Rosamund would forbid me to enter.”

“I am the master of Woodville House, Miss Durleigh, and my mother and sister-in-law will do as I say.”

“What happened in Ladywood?”

“We almost got ourselves killed. I should have imagined that much to be obvious!”

“Yes, but why? What is all this about?” She closed her eyes as the barouche drove down toward the ford on the outskirts of the town. With a splash it passed over the foaming waters, then on to the cobbled street by the Feathers. Only then did Nicholas proceed steadily, so there could be no one to remark upon the wild speed of the Woodville barouche in the late hours of night.

Nicholas turned to look at her pale face peeping out through the grille. “How is he?”

“He is bleeding a lot. He should see a physician immediately.”

“Cluffo Dowdeswell can do all that is necessary, Miss Durleigh.”

She was aghast. “Cluffo is a groom, he knows horses, not men.”

“Cluffo can be relied on to keep a still tongue in his head. Physicians cannot be so relied on.”

“What is it that is so important you would risk Parr’s life for it?”

He nodded. “I have managed to involve you in my affairs, Miss Durleigh, and the least I can do is offer you an explanation. When we reach the house I will tell you everything you wish to know.”

She sat back in the seat and looked down at the unconscious coachman. He moaned, and she crouched beside him immediately, forgetting the contemplation of Nicholas’ revelations.

“Tanner!” Nicholas was shouting the butler’s name even before the barouche had halted.

Jessica looked up at the gables and latticed windows of the old Tudor mansion. Once she had been so welcome here; before. . . . She saw the door open and the old butler hurried out, staring in quick surprise at Nicholas on the driving seat.

“Sir Nicholas?”

“Have Parr taken inside and get Cluffo Dowdeswell out of his bed.”

“Yes, Sir Nicholas.” The butler asked no questions.

Jessica climbed down as two men came to drag the coachman from the carriage. Nicholas took her hand and led her into the house.

There was a smell of sandalwood in the hallway from the exotic, oriental chests standing against one wall. The oak staircase and gallery were as she remembered, and she looked up as a figure appeared there. It was Rosamund. Her face was flushed as if she had been hurrying, and her tousled hair was pushed beneath a white mobcap. She wore a jade-green dressing gown, but as she began to descend to the hall, Jessica noticed the green and gold stripes of her evening gown peeping from beneath it.

Rosamund looked coldly at Jessica. “Why have you brought her here, Nicholas?”

He sighed, loosening his cravat irritably. “I have my own reasons, my dear Rosamund, and they need not concern you. Get yourself back to your rooms and sleep on.”

“I was not asleep. I was waiting for you so that I could apologize for my behavior at Varangian.”

“Consider the apology unnecessary, Rosamund. I can hear my mother’s bell ringing in her room. You had best go and set her mind at rest that nothing is wrong.”

Rosamund raised her eyebrows for she was looking at Jessica’s bloodstained gown. “Indeed? I find that hard to believe.”

“Do as I ask, Rosamund. I implore you.”

“Very well, Nicholas. I take it that I am to conceal from her the fact that Miss Durleigh is a guest here?”

“No, you may tell her if you wish. In fact, Rosamund, you can make amends to me for your lamentable conduct at Varangian by having the blue room prepared for Miss Durleigh.”

Rosamund flushed. “I am not your servant, Nicholas.”

“No, you are not. You are my sister and I would ask my sister to help me. Don’t nurse your injured pride so publicly, for it ill becomes you. Besides,” and he smiled faintly, “the small matter of possessing my brother is not worth the breach in your friendship with Jessica. Philip was most certainly not worth scrapping over like a pair of alley cats. Now, Rosamund, if you please.” He gestured toward the stairs.

Her face a dull red of embarrassment, Rosamund turned to go back up the stairs, her golden hair catching the light of an oil lamp as she looked back at Jessica for a moment.

Nicholas turned as the butler came from the direction of the kitchens. “Cluffo Dowdeswell has just arrived, Sir Nicholas. What shall I tell him?”

“That there has been an accident with my pistol. It went off half cocked. Let him believe that I have sent for him and not the doctor, because I do not desire any adverse comment to be passed concerning the matter.”

“Yes, sir.” Tanner bowed his head and went.

Nicholas pushed open the door of the sitting room and went inside. It was a dark, paneled room where a dying fire still glowed in the immense Elizabethan hearth. Bowls of roses and honeysuckle stood on polished tables and a huge portrait of Philip stared down at Jessica from the chimney breast. She caught her breath as she looked at it, for she had not seen it before.

Nicholas grunted as he poured two glasses of Madeira. “My mother had it painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and nothing will content her but that it hangs there.”

“He was so handsome.”

“Aye, he was a dashing young blood and no mistake, but he was many other things as well, and that makes his great, personal beauty somewhat distasteful.”

She said nothing.

He pushed a glass into her hand. “Do I take it from your silence that you begin to suspect I am right?”

“I loved him. I don’t want to hear anything against him. Please.” She raised her eyes to his face. “Please respect that wish, for it is not too much to ask.”

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “If that is your desire, then I will stand by it. Tell me, Jessica, what is your relationship with Francis Varangian now?”

“Relationship? There is no relationship, Sir Nicholas. In fact, after tonight I doubt there is even the likelihood he would doff his hat to me in the street.”

“Indeed?”

She nodded. “He said certain things that set a great wall between us.”“

“May I ask what happened?”

“You may not.” She smiled reasonably.

He grinned at her. “Which puts me in my place firmly but politely.”

“You were going to tell me about Ladywood.”

“Ah, yes. Do sit down, Jessica, for until you do then I must remain standing and I have a great desire to rest my feet upon the fender before the fire. There are certain times when my mother’s insistence upon a fire even in summertime appears to me to be an admirable trait in her make-up.”

Jessica sat down in a high-backed settle close to the fire, and he sat beside her, leaning forward to look into the flames. His face was aglow in the dim light of the room, and the large emerald ring on his finger flashed as he raised his glass to drink.

“I must still ask that you honor your word to me and keep what I tell you a secret.”