Lady Jane (23 page)

The door opened softly and Betty tiptoed in. “Are you all right, m’lady?”

“Of course, Betty. Nurse says it is nothing to worry about.”

“I know. She didn’t half ring a peal over me for scarin’ the wits out of you. I am that sorry, m’lady, I never meant—”

“Never mind, Betty, it is all right now. Did you speak to Lord Montmorency?”

“Oh—there now, I was near forgettin’—he give Crews this to give you before he left,” Betty said, pulling a folded paper from her apron pocket.

“Left?”

“Yes, m’lady. He had this message from Lunnon, you see, and Crews said he read it and swore somethin’ fierce and then ordered his carriage and wrote the note and went away.”

Jane opened the note and read,

My dear, Crews tells me the child is unwell, so I won’t allow them to disturb you. I have had word that my mother has broken her hip in a carriage accident and I must return immediately. I will stop at the Barclough’s and take up Sarah. Will write. Love, J.

Jane folded the note again and turned away to the bedside. Keeping her face averted she said, “My lord has been called back to London. His mother has been injured in a carriage accident, poor soul.”

“Dreadful dangerous things, them carriages can be,” Betty said encouragingly.

“Yes. I—I will just sit here until Nurse comes back and then I will have a bath and a tray in my room. Thank you, Betty.”

It was a dismissal and Betty, who would have liked to hear more about Lady Montmorency’s accident, had nothing to do but go away. Jane sat down again, her eyes on her sleeping son, trying to shut out all else. She pushed away the damp curls clinging to Clinton’s forehead and laid her lips to it and then to his cheek in the age-old mother’s test for fever. Nurse was right. It had been only a slight thing and was now over.

How soundly he sleeps, she thought, admiring the small red mouth, pouting slightly open, and his dark lashes making stiff little fans against his cheeks. One chubby fist was curled into the side of his neck, and she remembered that Sebastian had used to sleep with his hand held so. She felt a distant, remembered ache at the thought. She recalled that same small fist grasping Sebastian’s finger. Thank God he lived long enough to see his son, she thought, at least I gave him that!

With that silent protest there came flooding back to her the memory of the afternoon and she realized why she had needed to remind herself of her one accomplishment for Sebastian. She knew it was by way of a justification before she could charge herself, as she knew she must. Yes, here it came and she could no more stop it than she could stop breathing. She, Lady Payton, mother of the heir to the Payton name, had disported herself today like any witless village girl behind the hedges with her swain, while her son, Sebastian’s son, had been ill.

Oh God! She rose abruptly and paced about the room, twisting her hands together in anguish and guilt. What have I done? Is this the way I carry out the responsibility handed on to me? Is this the way Clinton’s mother should conduct herself? What would the Paytons think of me now? What would Aunt Stanier think?

And what must
he
be thinking of me now? No doubt the same way the village swain thinks of the hedge-girl—and with good reason! I led him out into that field and lay down with him. I practically seduced him!

He was no doubt happy to make his escape so easily. He is probably congratulating himself now on how lucky he is to have a mother who so obligingly extricates him from the sticky aftermath of an afternoon’s romp. If that fortuitous message had not arrived he would soon have found another reason to go to avoid the possibility of becoming entangled. Oh, he will come back, she thought bitterly, when he believes I have understood just what sort of love affair we are having. After all, why shouldn’t he do so? Why should he not take advantage of what is being so freely offered?

On and on her mind ground out a monotonous litany of self-recrimination, not allowing the smallest break for less condemning thoughts to enter. She did not want hope or consolation to soften what she now saw as the truth. She wanted total self-reproach to lash her as punishment for what she conceived as her sin against the Payton name.

When Nurse Watkyn returned to relieve her vigil she dragged herself off to her room. The night wore itself away finally, after fitful sleep, and the dawn brought another brilliant spring day to remind her of the one before. If only it had rained, she thought drearily.

She informed the servants to make ready to return to London as soon as Dorrie arrived back with the carriage. Larkwoods, whose happy memories had held her after Sebastian’s death, now seemed a place she had despoiled. A place she must get away from as soon as possible.

23

The
rain to match her mood greeted her on her arrival hack in London with a dank chill made all the more depressing by the fortnight spent in the warmth of Kent. Exhausted by the long journey and the strain of hiding her wretchedness from her son, she stepped down from the carriage at her own doorstep in the gloomy twilight and went straight to her room. Dorrie assisted her out of her travelling costume and into a bed gown. Jane sent down word for the groom to accompany Clinton to the stables for his ride the following morning and retired to her bed, grateful for a weariness that promised sleep. And sleep she did, so deeply that the morning was well advanced before she surfaced again to find Nurse drawing the curtains to admit a pallid sunlight.

“Well, m’lady, such a long sleep you’ve had. I could see last night you was wore to the bone, so I wouldn’t let young master come in this morning and wake you. He was too excited about seeing that Brown Boy of his to grumble. Just sit up there, now, against your pillows. Dorrie’s coming with your chocolate.”

Jane did as she was told. “Has he gone off already?”

“Why, bless you, he went hours ago—it’s near midday. I’m expecting him back any minute. At least he’d better be or I’ll have that William’s ears for watch fobs!”

The chocolate was brought in by Dorrie, still full of the tale of the Barclough’s ball and all the Quality who’d been there, and how fetchin’ Lady Sarah had been in m’lady’s pink silk. “Suited her a treat, it did, and she were—was—the belle of the evening. The Beau himself stood up with her twice. And I was given me—my—dinner in the housekeeper’s room,” Dorrie concluded triumphantly, “and was taken in by Lord Barclough’s valet!”

Jane remembered with a pang almost of grief for her own innocence, a time when Dorrie’s triumph at the Barclough’s had encompassed the heights of her own ambitions.

“Now, m’lady, what gown will you have?”

“Oh—the dark blue silk. I will take Clinton to see Lady Stanier when he returns from his ride. I am not at home today,” she added, just in case Jaspar should come around before she could leave the house or, God forbid, Mr. Quint!

She dashed off a note to Lady Stanier to inform her of their early return and that she would, with Lady Stanier’s permission, call later in the day, then dressed, and went down to breakfast She sorted through her post, which had accumulated during her absence and seemed to consist mostly of cards of invitation to social events she would not attend, having already made up her mind to make no further ventures into Society. In another month she would close up this house and retire permanently to Larkwoods. By then the place would surely be exorcised of its unhappy memories.

Crews came in with a note from Lady Stanier saying how happy she was that Jane had returned and how much she had been missed. She said that she hoped Jane would dine with her, as she was sure that by then she would be recovered from the headache which was keeping her from rushing around at once to hug her darling Clinton.

Jane started. Clinton! Where on earth was the child? The door opened as she had the thought, to reveal Nurse’s anxious face.

“Madam, I’m that worrit! What can have happened to them to be so long?”

Jane felt a sharp stab of fear, but firmly suppressed it for Nurse’s sake. “No doubt William could not persuade him to come away. The child is possessed by that pony! I’ll go and fetch him myself. Have Dorrie bring down my pelisse and bonnet and tell Crews to have the carriage brought round.”

Ten minutes later she was bowling down the street, biting her lip to keep her panic in check, telling herself she was being foolish to fly into the boughs when the child was only a bit late.

When she arrived at the stables, however, she found no Clinton there, riding his pony around and around the stable yard. The owner, a bluff, red-faced man, explained that the young master had had his ride and finally, after much coaxing, been persuaded to quit and was taken off home by the groom. “He’s a game ’un, he is, your ladyship, and would be ridin’ still if ’twas left to him. But off they went, more nor an hour since.”

An hour! Jane thanked the man and hurried away, telling herself it was possible they had dawdled on the way and were no doubt there waiting for her now. Why they must have passed each other unknowingly going in different directions. Of course he was there—he
must
be there!

But he was not. Only the servants, huddled together fearfully in the front hall, waited for her, Nurse in the forefront, her white-knuckled hands wringing together painfully. She emitted a choked cry when she saw Jane enter alone, and threw her apron over her head and burst into tears. Dorrie began to sniff ominously, and Jane knew in another moment she would have a hall full of wailing servants.

“Nurse! Stop that at once! I’m surprised at you giving way like this. I made sure I could count on you to be sensible. After all, we don’t know of anything dreadful having happened, and you know how persuasive Clinton can be when he wants something. I imagine he wanted to stop for a street show or something and William was unable to bring him away.”

“I shall ring a peal over his head that he’ll be long recovering from if so,” Nurse ground out darkly. “Dorrie! Stop that snivelling! Now, m’lady, what shall we do first? Send for Lady Stanier, is what I say.”

“No. She’s in her bed with the headache and I would not alarm her unnecessarily. It is now half past one. They are no more than an hour late. I think we should wait another—half hour—then organize the footmen and stablemen to search the routes they may have taken home. Then—well—we shall see. After all—it’s perfectly possible they will arrive in the next moment.”

The door knocker punctuated her words with a sharp rap, and the whole group started forward eagerly, anxiety replaced by hopefulness, for surely this would be young master at last.

Crews stepped forward to open the door. A liveried footman was revealed, mouth just opening to make his speech, hand extended with a white envelope. His mouth dropped and he fell back a step at the sight of a large group of people looming forward at him.

“Uh—uh—uh—” he stuttered.

The group fell back, their expressions turning grim once more. The man found this even less reassuring, for he interpreted their expressions as disapproval of himself. He straightened his hat and his face assumed the injured look of one unjustly accused.

“A message for my Lady Payton,” he said, a whine edging into his voice. He lifted his hat, handed over the message, and scurried away as quickly as possible.

Crews handed the message to Jane, who glanced at it indifferently, not recognizing the handwriting. “An untimely moment to receive an invitation,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Now, we have twenty-five minutes to wait. Let us all be patient and cheerful. I will be in the drawing room.”

She left them and thankfully closed the door on their worried faces, unable to any longer support the combined weight of all their anxieties. She sank down upon the sofa, rigid with fear, her mind a chaos of tumbling images involving Clinton in various accidents, one so ghastly she cried aloud and clapped her hand to her mouth. It was then she became aware that she still held the message, as the sharp edge of the folded paper stabbed into her lips.

She stared at it blankly for a moment and then impatiently broke the seal and opened it. The words made no sense to her at the first reading as her brain refused to acknowledge the possibility that they could be true. She read it again:

Dear Janey

By this time, I make no doubt, you will be anxious about your young gentleman, so I send this along to let you know he’s safe with me. You’ll want to fetch him home, I’m sure, so I’ll expect you, alone of course, within the hour. Naturally, you will inform no one, since it will be best for the lad if we keep this just between you and your ardent well-wisher

Jeremiah Leach

As the full import of this message sank into her mind, with its implied threat, she felt again that tide of red rising with such heat that her body shook with rage and the room turned crimson in her vision.

That—that
animal
dared to touch her son! Sebastian’s son! A Payton! Threatened to harm him if—the room began to spin. She fell back against the sofa and waited until the dizziness passed. She must not allow herself to faint now, she told herself grimly. I must think very calmly about this.

She sat unmoving, fighting down the panic that surged up, until her heart slowed its dreadful hammering and she began to think. Should she consult Aunt Stanier? No. Desperately as she needed her support at this moment, she dared not do anything that would endanger Clinton. It was perfectly possible Leach had set someone to watch the house, so there was no way a message could be sent to anyone for help, nor could she allow anyone to leave the house for any reason. Very well, then. She would have to go alone.

After another moments thought she turned abruptly and marched out of the room. The servants, still clustered together at the back of the hall, watched in silence as she trod across and entered the library, closing the door firmly behind her. Then she stopped as a thought struck her and opened the door again.

“Dorrie, bring me my swansdown muff at once,” she ordered. The girl stared at her blankly for an instant, then gave a little jump and hurried up the stairs. Jane waited silently in the doorway until Dorrie returned and handed over the very large, feathery muff. Jane thanked her and closed the door again.

A few minutes later she emerged. “I must go out. I—have thought of where they have gone and will return with them within the hour. In the meantime, no one is to leave this house. Is that understood? No one for any reason. Not even as far as the pavement.”

She turned away from their frightened, pleading eyes, knowing they would follow her instructions, however little was their understanding of the reason. Crews opened the door and she went out to her carriage, still standing before the steps. She gave the coachman the direction of The Golden Crocodile and was driven away.

Crews closed the door when the carriage had disappeared from sight “Now then, I think we should all go about our business. If Lady Jane says she will return with Lord Clinton within the hour, then I’m sure she will and we can all put our minds to rest.”

They looked at him, they looked at one another, and then slowly began to move. Betty, Cook, and the maids disappeared through the door to the servants’ quarters, Nurse and Dorrie upstairs. Crews sighed and sat down wearily on the bench beside the door, where he remained unmoving for quite two minutes before the sharp sound of the knocker brought him leaping upright in shock. Running footsteps were heard, and before he had even reached for the doorknob, all the servants reappeared and stood breathlessly waiting. He opened his mouth to remonstrate, but shrugged and turned to open the door.

“Hello, Crews, I’ve come to—” Sarah stopped at the sight of all the servants peering past Crews at her. “Good heavens! What is this?”

Crews flicked a dismissive hand behind his back and the staff obediently melted away. “Nothing at all, m’lady. A domestic difficulty,” he replied smoothly.

“Oh—well—I’ve come to see Lady Payton. Will you tell her I’m here or shall I just step up and—”

“I’m sorry, your ladyship, but m’lady is not at home at present.”

“Do you mean she’s not receiving or that she is actually out of the house?”

“She—had an errand, m’lady.”

“When is she expected to return?”

“She said within the hour, m’lady.”

“Ah! Then I will wait since I’ve nothing better to do. I’ll just go into the drawing room and make myself comfortable. Could I have a cup of chocolate there, and perhaps a biscuit?”

“Certainly, m’lady,” replied Crews, going before her to open the door. She went to the camisole mirror to remove her bonnet and smooth her hair, then took up a copy of
La Belle Assemblée
and settled herself on the sofa before the fire. Her eye was caught by a crumpled paper at the other end and reached for it and smoothed it out on her knee.

As she read her eyes widened in horror. She sprang to her feet shouting, “Crews, Crews!” as she rushed out into the hall.

“Yes, m’lady?”

“Where has she gone!?”

“I—I—she—sh—”

“Stop spluttering, Crews, and answer me!”

“I—truly, m’lady, I don’t know.”

“Lord Clinton is missing?”

“Y-y-yes, m’lady.”

“How long?”

“About two hours now.”

“A message came and Lady Payton left immediately?”

“Why—why, yes—she did—well, she went into the study for a few moments after she asked for her swansdown muff.”

Sarah’s brows contracted as she tried to imagine Jane stopping at such a moment to think about her costume. She turned slowly and went across to the study to see if it could offer any clues to the strangeness of such behaviour. Glancing about, the only thing to strike the eye was that the bottom drawer of a desk stood slightly open. She pulled it out and saw that it contained only a large, flat inlaid rosewood box. She opened it to find one gleaming pistol lying inside. The oudine in the velvet was all that remained of its twin. She dropped the box and hurried out.

“M’lady, please—what—?” Crews gasped as she rushed past him, bonnetless, to the door.

“I can’t stop now. I must find my brother,” Sarah cried, rushing out the door and into her waiting carriage.

A quarter of an hour later she tumbled out without giving her men time to assist her, and ran into the Montmorency mansion, praying as she had never prayed in her life that her brother would be at home. She stumbled up the stairs calling his name.

“Good lord, Sarah, what is all this? Mama is resting, and you must—” His voice came from below her and she turned to find him standing in the library door, gazing sternly up at her. She turned and flew back down the stairs.

“Oh, Jaspar! Thank God you’re here! It’s Jane—she’s—Leach has taken the child and—she has a revolver in her muff and—”

He grasped her shoulders with an iron grip and shook her sharply. “What are you saying? Start at the beginning and tell me everything—and slowly, please.”

She took a deep, sobbing breath and gave him, to the best of her ability, an account of all she knew and suspected, “—and you must go there—wow Jaspar—before—before—”

He literally flung her aside, returned to the library for a moment, then strode past her, tucking his own pistol into his pocket, and out the door without a word, his expression so grim she burst into tears as the door slammed behind him.