Lady Jane (8 page)

“Well, Mama, you seem to have somewhat more promising material in this girl than has been your fortune heretofore,” he said as he applied himself to his soup.

“Oh, Sebastian! A treasure! If only she will stay,” breathed Lady Payton warmly.

“Already hinting of her young man left behind in London, I suppose,” he said sourly, instantly assuming that here was the source of her unhappiness of the morning.

“No, no, I assure you, but—well, she suits me so well I’m afraid to trust it. She’s so pretty and quick and seems so—so grateful to be here. It’s very hard not to allow oneself to grow too fond of her too quickly.”

“Surely one cannot dictate to oneself in such matters, Mama. The heart has its reason, as Pascal says.”

“Does he, dear? How clever he must be to put it so aptly,” replied Lady Payton, quite ignorant of who Pascal might be.

Sebastian smiled but didn’t bother to enlighten her. Jane reentered bearing a very large tray, and so there was no further chance to discuss her with his mother until the end of the meal. He contented himself with watching her as she served them, waiting for what he could not help praying would not happen. The memory of the last maid from London still caused him to flinch: pasty-faced, eyes like raisins as she’d avidly slid them around to him at every opportunity. He’d finally flung down his napkin and fled the dining room with a muttered, angry apology to his distressed mother. The girl had been sent away the next day, but the memory of her sly eyes still caused his skin to crawl. He didn’t want to think about such a look from this girl.

Jane was much too engrossed in doing her job to the best of her ability to have time for curious stares, even had she been inclined so. Such an inclination, however, was not part of her nature. Her innate trustingness in her fellow creatures caused her to approach all with directness and openness. Only once had her trust been abused, and though it now caused her to flinch away from men, she did not feel this instinct with Lord Payton. She was unaware that part of the reason for this was the very fact of his small stature, which gave her confidence in her ability to prevail if he should attempt anything. It was purely an unconscious knowledge; consciously she was only fearful of him as far as his reactions to her would govern whether she would be allowed to stay in this paradise or not.

When she’d removed the last dishes and put the wine bottle in front of Lord Payton, she dropped a perky sort of curtsy, smiled blindingly upon both of them, and withdrew. Lady Payton, as was her custom when her son dined with her, stayed on at the table with him and took a glass of wine in order not to lose a precious moment of his company.

“Your maid paid me a visit yesterday, Mama,” he said noncommittally.

“She told me all about it, dear. I hope you were not upset I assure you she would not—”

“Only surprised.”

“I felt sure you could not mind. She’s such a taking little thing, is she not? No harm in her at all, and very pretty-behaved for a girl of that class. I wonder who her people were?”

“Some lords by-blow, no doubt,” he replied cynically.

“Sebastian!” she said reprovingly.

“I beg your pardon, Mama. I only meant there’s more than peasant blood there. Brains too, or at least curiosity and interest, to judge by the questions she asked me. I wonder if she can read and write?” he mused.

“I’m sure I don’t know, my dear. But I should think probably not.”

“I could give her some lessons if you’d like,” he said casually.

“Oh—my dear, it would be too much trouble for you, and it might tire you—” she began to protest.

“Nonsense, Mama. I’ve nothing else to do. It would help fill up some hours.”

“Why, of course,” she cried enthusiastically, turning about in her opinion abruptly at the bitter sting of his words. No one knew better than she how lonely he must be, day after day with no one to speak to but that man of his, who the Lord knows could not be a stimulating companion, however well-meaning he was. “She shall come tomorrow if you wish it for as long as you like.”

She leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine happily. Who would have imagined that Sebastian would make such an offer? Sebastian! who would not even speak to any of the other maids who’d come here, and who had refused to even leave his room when Angela Gilbert came to call since he was a young boy of ten or so and she had made the mistake of calling him “Poor, dear child,” in his hearing.

Bless the girl, she thought, her eyes misting with tears of gratitude, bless the dear little soul for coming here. I’ll have the dressmaker come and make her up a pretty dress, maybe several, for Mrs. Plummer says she has only the one she wore when she came, poor child. So rosy and innocent—but no—not innocent, she remembered with a shudder of horror at the story her sister had told her.

“Sebastian,” she said slowly, “I think I should tell you something of the girls story. It is just possible she will—well, the fact is, she’s had a perfectly dreadful experience—”

He listened stonily to the sorry tale, never betraying by a flick of the eyelid that he was moved by it, but somewhere deep inside, in an area hitherto untouched, he felt the first lick of a flame that built steadily into a fire of rage against the man who had so used a young girl. It was a startling sensation for Sebastian, the first time in twenty years he’d felt himself emotionally concerned by someone else’s misfortune.

Oh, from time to time he’d felt pity for his poor widowed mother, left alone with himself for an only child, but it was not a deep emotion. Nor was he given to self-pity, at least not since he was nine and had finally realized that his condition was not just a nightmare from which he’d surely wake and find himself restored to the healthy seven-year-old body that had been his before that beautiful spring morning when his horse had balked at a jump and young Lord Payton had been flung out of the saddle.

It had been a bitter, hard-won victory over a mind that thrashed about ceaselessly, asleep or awake, in its efforts to deny the truth of his condition. The winning of that battle had burned away with it all the natural softness in his nature. He was now only a shell, a small freakish shell, he acknowledged with pitiless candour, who had, if he was fortunate, only a short life to get through, and the best way to do so was by living through the minds and ideas of others. He’d immersed himself in books and studies, submitting himself stoically to the inescapable pain that intermittently wracked him, or the illnesses that invaded his enfeebled body. His bleak hope was that each bout would cause further deterioration, thus shortening the time he must endure on Earth.

He yearned toward death as a welcome release, though he refused to allow himself to contemplate finding that release by any positive action of his own. He knew he could not deal his mother such a blow after all she’d suffered for his sake.

He watched her now, her soft, faded face lit by her happiness in being able to give him something to interest him, and her gratitude to him for his offer, and he was glad he’d done something to give his mother pleasure. Other than continuing to exist, he could not remember anything else he’d ever been able to do for her.

8

Miss
Angela Gilbert
took a minute sip of her wine and bent her head attentively to her hostess, who was reading the Court news aloud to her, but her eyes followed Jane avidly as Jane served Lady Payton with wine and returned to the tray for a plate of iced cakes to hand to Miss Gilbert

Jane was very conscious of those eyes. In the past six months of her stay at Larkwoods she had found only the moments spent in Miss Gilbert’s presence to be distasteful. The woman had never addressed a word to Jane during her weekly visits to Lady Payton, nevertheless Jane found she could not accustom herself to the woman’s bold stare. Like boiled gooseberries, those eyes, Jane thought, pale green and cold and like to pop out of her head.

Miss Gilbert’s eyes were indeed bulging, and so scantily furnished with lashes and brows as to look strangely fishlike. A jutting arc of nose and a distressing lack of chin furthered this piscine resemblance. Her large front teeth bucked out haphazardly over her lower lip, making it impossible for her to close her mouth without conscious effort. This unsightly face, with its mouse-brown hair skinned back into a hard little knot on the back of her head, was regrettably perched atop a long, scrawny neck as though for prominent display. Altogether, she was disastrously ill-favoured.

Daughter of the vicar, born and raised in the manse, she had dedicated herself to a relentless pursuit of “good works,” and to her credit, was always first on the scene of any disaster or bereavement with assistance and advice. The villagers, however, rarely heeded and never welcomed her interference, and sniggered at her behind her back, referring to her as “The Old Haddock.”

She was long past the age of any “expectations” and had declared, always with a delicate shudder, that indeed she had never had any intention of marrying in any case, since the only man she found in the least tolerable was her father.

The only break in her daily battle against the backsliding, sloth and outright indifference of her father’s hapless parishioners was her weekly visit with Lady Payton, whose friendship was precious to her. She considered herself so far above the local gentry on the social ladder that her condescension and arrogance had alienated all of them. They didn’t care if her mother
was
first cousin to the Earl of Everly, and they disliked being reminded of it at some point during every conversation with her.

So, not only was Lady Payton, in Miss Gilbert’s estimation, the only lady in the vicinity of equal social status with herself, she was the only woman who still received Miss Gilbert with anything approximating a welcome.

For Sebastian’s sake, Lady Payton had long ago given up receiving visitors at Larkwoods, but her attempts to discourage Miss Gilbert had failed. Miss Gilbert, impervious to snubs in her determination, had persisted and Lady Payton, aware of the pitiful state of Miss Gilbert’s social life, had been too good-natured to hold out against her. The weekly visit had become an established ritual, performed by Lady Payton as her own “good work,” for she felt very sorry for Angela Gilbert, knowing full well that Miss Gilberts regrettable personality was a direct result of her physical appearance, as much a disability as dear Sebastian’s.

But though her charity allowed the weekly visits, Lady Payton was not disposed to encourage Miss Gilbert’s attempts to establish their relationship on a more intimate footing. During the first few visits, many years ago now, Miss Gilbert had tried to draw Lady Payton into a discussion of Sebastian and his “condition,” as Miss Gilbert delicately referred to it. But Lady Payton would not be drawn on this subject and firmly turned the conversation into other channels, just as she rebuffed invitations to discuss her own lonely life which Miss Gilbert urged with many little, caressing pats on Lady Payton’s hands. Lady Payton had withdrawn herself from the contact with such a quelling look that Miss Gilbert had not been tempted to try it again.

Each Tuesday, however, she arrived at precisely eleven in the morning. She was shown into the drawing room where Lady Payton awaited her, and after greetings and being served with wine, they spoke of neighbourhood occurrences, or Lady Payton read aloud from the London newspapers.

The routine had not changed with the advent of Jane, but Miss Gilbert’s attention was not always so politely fixed upon her hostess. Jane could not imagine how her dear, good lady could bear Miss Gilbert, who never took her eyes from Jane and always managed to brush her hand when the wine and cakes were passed, as she did now. Jane flushed and turned away sharply. Lady Payton looked up and misreading her nervousness, smiled indulgently.

“There, dear, I can see you’re afraid to keep Sebastian waiting, so run along to your lessons now.”

Jane smiled gratefully and made her escape. Miss Gilbert watched until the door closed and then turned to her hostess.

“Dear Lady Payton, you are positively saintly, but I very much fear too innocent for this world.”

“Great heavens, Miss Gilbert—innocent—saintly? How very flattering, but I fear I must deny all halos.”

“Ah, there, you see? You’re not even aware of your own goodness in giving up the services of your maid for Sebastian’s—er—amusement. I fear it cannot be wise, however.”

“Not wise? Surely education cannot ever be termed unwise—nor amusement.”

“In its proper place, Lady Payton, certainly not. However, I cannot approve of too much education for the lower classes. They get ideas above their station and lose all respect for their betters.”

“I cannot feel that any amount of education would cause one to lose respect for those who are truly one’s
betters,
Miss Gilbert,” replied Lady Payton blandly.

Miss Gilbert was far too safe in her own feeling of superiority to read anything personal into this remark. Indeed, in pursuit of her real objective, she didn’t hear it. “Not to speak of the danger of placing a young girl in constant company with a man—”

“My dear Miss Gilbert, I really must protest,” Lady Payton interrupted sharply.

“Yes, yes, I know it is only poor, dear Sebastian,” Miss Gilbert rushed on heedlessly, “but he is a man nonetheless, and men, whatever their physical condition, are bedeviled by,” here her voice dropped to a horror-filled whisper, “
dreadful needs
.”

In spite of her previous annoyance, a gleam of mischief replaced the angry light in Lady Payton’s eyes. Unable to resist the impulse, she leaned forward artlessly.

“Why, Miss Gilbert, do you tell me so!”

“Animals, all of them!”

“How shocking!” breathed Lady Payton, “I had never realized, Miss Gilbert, that you had experienced—”

Miss Gilbert reared back, her eyes nearly starting from their sockets. “Naturally I do not speak from personal experience, Lady Payton!” she gasped.

“Oh,” replied Lady Payton, allowing the word to convey disappointment, her lips twitching.

“But surely you cannot have thought—ah—I see—you are having your little joke with me.” Miss Gilbert attempted a smile. “Very amusing—how I envy you your sense of humour, dear lady. However, if you had seen, as I have, the results of men’s bestiality, you would find it difficult to see it as a matter for humour—young girls’ reputations besmirched, illegitimate babies—” Miss Gilbert’s face had flushed unbecomingly and she seemed to be having trouble with her breathing.

“But, Miss Gilbert, I really must protest! Surely you are not implying that Sebastian would take advantage of an innocent child?”

“Propinquity, Lady Payton! Propinquity! He is the soul of honour, of course, but two people of the opposite sex who are thrown into one another’s company day after day in this way will naturally take advantage. Such a situation would be bound to rouse a man’s baser instincts despite all his good intentions—that rosy young flesh, that full, red mouth—she would be bound to tempt—”

Miss Gilbert stopped abruptly, her glazed eyes refocusing to find Lady Payton staring at her with a look of fascinated revulsion. After only the briefest of pauses, however, she turned away and picked up the latest copy of
La Belle Assemblée.

“Here is a biographical sketch of Lady Charlotte Duncombe, which I’m sure will interest you, Miss Gilbert. Your mother was acquainted with her father, the Earl of Dartmouth, was she not?”

Without waiting for a reply, Lady Payton began to read, careful to keep her voice bright and her eyes on the print before her, while Miss Gilbert sat as though turned to stone, the red slowly draining out of her face to leave it an unpleasant grayish-white.

“That old trout still with my mama?” growled Sebastian as Jane came dancing in from the September sunshine. She giggled explosively.
“Oh, you’ve hit it exactly, sir. That’s exactly what she reminded me of!”

“The idea is not original with either of us, since everyone around here calls her The Old Haddock.”

She laughed even harder and he watched her, the shining sherry-coloured eyes lit with merriment, the red lips against the white teeth, the round, flushed cheeks, the entire youthful glow of her holding him helplessly spellbound as it did each day when he first saw her. The feelings she stirred in him were feelings until now sternly repressed, at least during the daylight hours, since his realization as a very young man that for him such things were never to be. His dreams, as a result, were wildly erotic, but he had long ago given up all feelings of guilt about this, having learned from his reading that it was not a phenomenon peculiar to himself.

However, he had never in his life had his senses stirred by a real woman and found it required the most rigourous self-control to prevent her from occupying his every waking thought. During sleep, his imagination, slipping the chains consciousness and conscience imposed, rampaged through every possible sexual variation with her, though never, as in previous dream encounters with faceless females, reaching with her that fulfillment that had come so easily before. Added to this frustration was the guilt he had foresworn so long ago. He was ashamed to use Jane in this way, an innocent young child who had already suffered so much at a lecherous man’s whim.

He wrenched his eyes away from her and called her to order. She meekly subsided and sat down to her book, already spread open to today’s lesson on the desk he had had carried to his room for her use, and began to read aloud.

As he listened he was aware that there was really nothing so surprising about such rapid progress in a reasonably intelligent fifteen-year-old who possessed great eagerness to learn. Still he felt all the pride of a maestro discovering and nurturing a prodigy.

He had left her free of all learning by rote and followed along as her mind leaped from geography to poetry to philosophy, allowing her to explore each avenue that was opened up to her by a word or an idea. In the process, due to quiet but persistent correction on his part, she had lost most of her Cockney accent, along with her fear that if she displeased him he would ask his mother to send her back to London. Contrary to Miss Gilbert’s belief, however, she never forgot her place with him, always addressing him as “sir,” or “m’lord,” and though she giggled at the things he said, never became overfamiliar with him.

The other part of Miss Gilberts dire prediction had, of course, taken effect as far as Sebastian was concerned. Several hours a day in close contact with him had, for Jane, created an image of him in her mind that had very little to do with reality. As the fount of all the good things that had come to her he was beyond judgment; his stunted body so unimportant in the totality of her respect and admiration for him that the fact of his physical appearance no longer entered her thoughts as a separate idea. She had, like everyone else in the household, succumbed to his dominating personality. Jane, like his mother and all the servants, was now devoted to making his life bearable.

The servants had slowly become aware that she had joined forces with them and their attitudes toward her had changed accordingly. They competed with one another in their efforts to spoil her, and Lady Payton, grateful beyond measure to see a new lightness in her son’s face, and to have had him free from illness for six months, went out of her way to treat Jane with warm consideration. For Jane’s birthday in the first week of September she had given the child a new gown of claret merino and insisted that she put it on and come down to the drawing room after dinner and drink a glass of wine with herself and Lord Payton.

Though Lady Payton had firmly resolved to forget the unpleasant episode with Angela Gilbert, the woman’s words had taken root without Lady Payton’s awareness. It wasn’t, however, until a few days ago that Lady Payton saw what she recognized immediately as the sign she had been covertly watching for all this time. It came at the end of a meal when Jane, having been out of the room for the past twenty minutes, was summoned to clear the table. As the girl’s familiar footsteps neared the door, Lady Payton glanced at her son and saw his eyes fly to the door, his entire face a picture of eager anticipation. Lady Payton hastily averted her eyes, knowing she was privy to information her son would not knowingly have shared with her.

Although Lady Payton had devoted the past thirty-five years of her life to her son she had never attempted to force herself into his confidence. She had been wise enough never to oppress him by doting over him or making continuous futile inquiries about the state of his health or his feelings, allowing him to exist without the destructiveness of her pity. She had thus given to him the only part of his manhood left to him: independence and privacy.