The Highwayman (15 page)

But he did not. Instead, he suddenly stiffened and pulled away from her with a muttered curse, then stood and ran his hands through his hair.

Confused, and feeling cold and bereft at his abrupt withdrawal, Jane stammered, “I—I’m sorry. I...”

Glancing back with a harsh laugh, he said, “Not nearly so sorry as I. That should never have happened, but at least you have learned a valuable lesson. You see, now, what comes of consorting with a rake.”

Jane was very glad, a moment later, that she stifled the protest that rose to her lips, for as he turned away again, he said, “To think that I would attempt to seduce even you!”

Had he slapped her face, she could not have been more shocked, but nothing could have brought her to her senses more effectively. She said coldly, “I think you had better leave now.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and strode to the door.

Unable to look at him, she stared straight ahead as she listened to the door open, then waited to hear it dose. But, when it did not, she finally turned her head to see him gazing at her.

He said, “Jane, I...” He stopped and shook his head as if he would say something, but instead he turned abruptly and left her room.

Jane found herself alone to suffer the sting of rejection, as well as self-disgust, knowing that nothing would have occurred had she not thrown herself at him so brazenly. She also knew that, had he not found the attempted seduction of her too distasteful to continue, she would have done nothing to stop him. She was forced to the bitter realization that she was her mother’s daughter, after all.

Over and over, as she lay sleepless in her bed, her mind replayed the events of the past hour while she wished with all her heart that she could somehow change them. And, over and over, she wondered how she was going to face St. Clair in the morning.

CHAPTER TWELVE

As it happened, when morning finally arrived, Jane discovered that her worries had been for nothing. When she entered the breakfast room, she found only Agatha and Alice there. She could not prevent her eyes from going to the empty chair where St. Clair usually sat.

Agatha, who had been watching her closely, said baldly, “He is gone.”

“Gone?”

“St. Clair,” Agatha explained. “He and that odd man of his have taken themselves off to Ethridge Hall.”

“Oh,” said Jane, going to her chair and trying desperately to hide her devastation. She yearned to ask if they had gone to stay at Ethridge Hall or if they had merely gone to inspect it. But she dared not, for fear of revealing too much.

Her question, however, was answered when Alice sighed and said, “It will be very dull here without him, even though he is not nearly so dashing as I thought he would be. But I daresay we shall see him quite often, since the Hall is so close by.”

For a moment, Jane felt the beginnings of hope, but in the next, despair descended again. They would not see him unless it came about by accident. She had seen to that by her actions last night. She had not only given him a disgust of her, but had ruined all chances for any sort of relationship between them—even that of friendship.

Agatha said with exaggerated nonchalance, “He said that since the Hall was now habitable, there was no longer any need to take advantage of your hospitality. I thought it very peculiar that he should leave so abruptly and without the least notice, but I suppose he had his reasons. Oh, and he asked me to thank you— for everything.”

Jane merely nodded and forced herself to feign interest in the food on her plate.

Blithely unaware of the emotional undertones in the air, Alice unwittingly came to Jane’s rescue by changing the subject, although the new one was only slightly more welcome. She said, “I can scarce wait till tomorrow! I have not been to Leeds in an age!”

Having completely forgotten her promise to take Alice to Leeds on Monday, Jane was at first filled with dismay. At the moment, she could think of nothing she wished less to do. But on second thought, she decided that it might be the very thing for her. She needed to keep busy so that she would not have time for moping. But today was Sunday, which was customarily the slowest day of the week, and she still must get through it somehow.

Immediately after church and a cold nuncheon, she was summoned to the cottages of two of her tenants, where chickenpox had broken out amongst the children. There she was kept too occupied to think of St. Clair—at least, not more than three or four times an hour.

He did fill her thoughts on the way home, however, but in a different way. Surprisingly, both of her tenants had mentioned how favourably impressed they had been by St. Clair-when he had visited them.

She did not know what they meant by such remarks, nor could she fathom when or why St. Clair had visited her tenants. She was still puzzling over the matter when she went to bed that night. And she fell asleep with the thought that most certainly she would be seeing him again after all, for she thought she had a perfect right to question him on the subject.

She also fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

* * * *

In the morning, she chafed at having to delay her confrontation with St. Clair, but she could not renege on her promise to Alice, and so she resigned herself to making the best of a bad lot. She would spend the day in Leeds with Alice and do her utmost to enjoy it. Tomorrow she would most definitely pay a call at Ethridge Hall.

It would have been impossible to describe the shock she felt when, stepping outside with Alice, she discovered St. Clair standing beside the carriage, talking easily with John Coachman.

He turned as they approached and said, “There you are! It is time we were leaving if we are to reach Leeds before noon.”

Jane could not prevent her mouth from gaping, and he looked at her quizzically with the familiar laughter in his eyes. “What is it?” he asked. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.”

“But...but...” she spluttered. “I thought you did not mean to go with us.”

“Certainly I do,” he replied, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between them. “I thought I had made that clear several days ago.”

“Yes, but...” Of course she could not complete her thoughts aloud, and was saved from thinking of another excuse for her behaviour by Alice, who was growing restive.

“Oh, do let us go!” cried the girl, and she scrambled into the carriage without waiting for assistance.

With a grin, St. Clair handed Jane in, then climbed in after her, closing the door behind them.

The carriage dipped and swayed as John Coachman climbed to the driver’s seat, and a moment later the vehicle rolled forward.

For a time, they travelled along at a sedate pace, but it was not long before they gradually picked up speed and were soon bowling along at a spanking clip.

With an amused glance at Jane, St. Clair remarked, “Your coachman seems to have an inordinate fondness for speed.”

Jane blushed and said, “Well, yes, but he is really an excellent driver.”

“As I recall...” mused St. Clair.

Knowing full well that he must be remembering how their carriage had come hurtling round the bend the day they had met, Jane said quickly, “I fear John was not quite himself that day.”

“You mean he was in his cups? Still, I must give him credit for being a fair marksman.”

“I have apologized for that,” she said crossly. “Besides, had he not been in his cups, the mishap would never have occurred.”

“Oh, I would not have missed it for the world. Except for a few unpleasant aspects of the situation, I have reason to be grateful to the man. After all, I might not otherwise have met you.”

She did not know how to take that, but suspected him of being sarcastic. With a swift glance at Alice, she said under her breath, “Can we not speak of this at another time?”

“By all means,” he said agreeably, and for the remainder of the trip amused them with more tales of his adventures in America.

In Leeds, the day passed with amazing swiftness. The morning was taken up with poring over pattern books at the modiste’s, choosing materials, and being fitted for new gowns. Jane had not intended having any made for herself, but soon convinced herself, with St. Clair’s help, that it was almost a necessity. He reminded her that at some point, no doubt, she would wish to take Alice to the assemblies either here or in Harrogate, and therefore it behooved her to refurbish her own wardrobe.

She had expected that he would become quite bored with the whole, lengthy process, but he gave no indication of it. In fact, he seemed to take an extraordinary amount of interest in each step, studying patterns with them, suggesting materials, and insisting that Jane try styles which she would not, ordinarily, have chosen for herself.

His choices, of course, were of the latest fashion and far more daring than anything she was used to wearing. But Jane had to admit, when the materials were draped round her and pinned in place, they were rather becoming.

While Jane and Alice were being fitted, he sat conversing and joking with Madame Estelle. In truth, he seemed so at home in the modiste’s shop that Jane couldn’t decide whether to be irritated or amused by it all.

She ended by ordering far more clothes than she could comfortably afford, but she was determined not to ruin this day with thoughts of the economies she would need to practice to make up for her extravagance.

After they left Madame Estelle’s, it was time to repair to the inn for the lavish nuncheon which St. Clair had ordered earlier. It proved to be so enjoyable that they lingered far longer than they should have, and Jane declared that they had only time to visit one or two more shops before heading back to Meadowbrook.

Alice protested vigorously, but Jane insisted that they did not wish to be on the road after dark. When neither adult paid the girl any heed, she soon resigned herself and they started towards the shops. They were passing a dim alley between two buildings when Jane heard an odd whimpering coming from that direction. It sounded like an injured animal, and, without a thought for the dirt or possible danger, Jane turned into the narrow space.

A short distance from the entrance, behind some discarded boxes, she discovered a small boy, curled up protectively and seemingly insensible. He was dressed in mere rags, filthy, and thin to the point of emaciation, but it was not just that which drew a shocked exclamation from her. She discovered far worse when she went down on her knees to examine him more closely.

Her companions, naturally, had followed her, and Jane looked up into St. Clair’s eyes. She cried angrily, “Someone has beaten this poor child dreadfully, and... and he looks to be covered with bums!’’

“Oh, the poor thing,” said Alice, peering over Jane’s shoulder. “Why, he’s only a baby!”

“Hardly that,” said St. Clair. “He is likely older than he looks. Chimney-sweeps keep their climbing boys on the point of starvation in order to stunt their growth so they will be useful for a longer time.”

He sounded so calm and matter-of-fact that Jane was about to take him to task for his lack of concern until she looked up again and noticed the grim line of his mouth.

“Is... is he alive?” whispered Alice.

“Just barely,” said Jane. “But he will not be for long if something isn’t done for him soon.”

“Here,” said St. Clair, “let me have him. The infirmary is not far, but it is in the opposite direction. As I shall be unable to escort you back to the inn, I fear you will be obliged to accompany me.”

“You could not stop me in any case!” declared Jane.

“I thought as much,” answered St. Clair. Then, lifting the small, pitiful bundle, he strode out of the alley and down the street, with Jane and Alice hurrying after him, all of them ignoring the stares of passersby.

St. Clair managed everything magnificently, arranging at the infirmary for the boy to receive the best of care. But when they finally made their way back to the inn, where they had left the carriage, daylight was already waning.

Quite reasonably, St. Clair suggested that they delay their return long enough to have dinner, since it was already so late. They did, and by the time they were ready to leave, full darkness had fallen.

Just before entering the carriage, Jane apologized to John for having kept him waiting for so long.

“Oh, ‘twas no trouble,” he said airily, and then hiccupped loudly.

Jane could not look at St. Clair. Once they were settled in the coach, he leaned towards her and said into her ear, “I fear John Coachman is in his cups again.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a sigh. “But, even so, I am certain that he will get us home safely.”

“Mmm,”
murmured St. Clair.

It had been a tiring day, and they were all rather subdued. In fact, Jane’s eyelids were growing heavy when she noticed that the swaying of the carriage had already lulled Alice to sleep. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to ask St. Clair about his visits to her tenants, she sat up straighter and shook off her lethargy.

“Well, as a matter of fact, Jane,” he said calmly in answer to her question, “I intended to speak to you about that as soon as we had a moment’s privacy. After making a few enquiries of your tenants, I have discharged Phillips.”

“Discharged!” she exclaimed, her voice rising. “What do you mean you have discharged him?”

“Keep your voice down,” he said in his maddeningly calm way as he nodded towards the sleeping Alice. “I mean I have sent him packing, given him the boot. In short, I have rid you of the thieving fellow.”

“Well!” said Jane, finding it difficult to express the full extent of her anger in a lowered voice. “I should like to know by what right you did such a thing! And what am I to do now, with no one to manage the estate? I tell you, St. Clair, you have gone too far!”

“Come down out of the boughs, Jane,” he recommended. “My own estate manager should have no difficulty looking after Meadowbrook until I can find you a replacement.”

Before she could inform him that this in no way mollified her, there came a sudden shout from outside. The carriage was pulled to a jolting halt, followed closely by the deafening explosion of a gunshot.