Nightingale

by Ervin, Sharon

  Odessa’s voice commanded the room as the housekeeper swooped upon them like an avenging angel.

  “Away. Get away from her. All of you.” In her distress, the woman gave no quarter to anyone, titled or otherwise.

  Devlin shuffled back, out of the way of the overwrought housekeeper.

  • • •

  When Jessica appeared in Devlin’s study late in the afternoon, she found him gazing out the window. Although her skirts swished, she cleared her throat to announce her presence.

  “Nightingale, how are you feeling?” he said, turning his chair to face her.

  “I am fine, Your Grace. I apologize for my behavior and manners earlier — and for Odessa’s as well. Can you see right now?”

  “No, but I’ve had sight several times today. Thank you for asking.” He heard her clothing rasp and assumed she had raised a hand to her poor injured head. “You showed admirable restraint in not pummeling me when you roused after my unconscionable behavior.” He struggled to control his mingled relief, guilt, and good humor at having her up and seeking him out. “As to your apology, it is I who should beg forgiveness for thumping you. It was not a malicious blow. I misjudged your height.”

  “Are you saying I was partially at fault for being taller than I ought to be?”

  He smiled dutifully at the self-effacing humor in her voice.

  “My height is a fact you have mentioned on more than one occasion, Your Grace. You might have allowed for it.”

  His good humor increased as he pushed back from the desk, but remained seated. “Would you care to sit in my lap, my offended pet, and allow me to console you?”

  “Console me?” She lowered her voice, “or fondle me, Your Grace?”

  He held a roguish smile in check. When she did not pursue the subject, he couldn’t tell if her reticence was modesty or uncertainty. As dizzy and disoriented as she had been, perhaps she had not realized how his touching her had come about.

  Her nervous laugh prompted a new grin. Obviously she was sufficiently recovered not to need pampering. He expected offering his lap to prick her pride and set her on the attack. Still, he would have enjoyed holding her, if she needed or wanted his attention.

  “Is the hunting party returned?” she asked, referring to the young gentlemen who had gone visiting, scheduling themselves at the homes of what Devlin described as vapid, wealthy, young women — potential heiresses.

  “Lattimore and Hardwick are entertaining Mother in the music room. Mr. Fry is, I believe, in the library. Would you like to join them? Mother probably would enjoy some whist. She is a wicked player. They need a fourth.”

  Fry was in the library alone. This might be her opportunity to confront him and perhaps judge his unguarded reactions.

  “I might take a moment to see what Mr. Fry has found to read and ask if he cares to join the others at cards. If not, then I will be glad to.”

  • • •

  “I remembered you,” Jessica said, opening her conversation with Fry rather brusquely.

  Lounging on a sofa, Fry did not stand, demonstrating his lack of regard. “I wondered if you did. From Welter, was it?”

  She advanced into the room. She intentionally left the door to the hallway ajar as an escape path. “Gull’s Way, as well.”

  “Oh?” He did not appear concerned. Did he mean to imply she had not seen him at Gull’s Way or did he think her notice of little importance? Was his lack of interest pretense, or did he not realize he had been seen with Martha? Or was she mistaken and he had not been Martha’s shadowy visitor? She needed to press, even if it risked arousing his annoyance.

  “Tell me — ” she was pleased that her voice did not tremble with her distress, “ — were you one of the brigands who waylaid the duke on the highway?” She retreated a step as he straightened to stare at her. “Are you thinking to finish the evil deed here because the duke is blind and you consider him as vulnerable as a lone man set upon by a mob of thieves?” She glanced around to judge the distance to the open door. “If so, you are wrong again. The duke is not defenseless here. If you attempt another attack on him, I shall tell about you and your associates in Welter.”

  Moving more agilely than she anticipated he could, Fry threw his book and stood. His long legs consumed the distance between them. Jessica’s quick response stopped him when he realized she could reach the door before he could reach her.

  “What do you know of my associates?” he hissed.

  Jessica saw fury in his distorted expression, but she met and defied his gaze. “You recruit ne’er-do-wells to waylay travelers and lighten their purses to line your own.”

  His jaws clenched.

  Surely an innocent man would react with indignation and sharp denials. She waited.

  “Do you have proof of these accusations?” he asked, casually shifting his gaze to the book he had tossed.

  “If I had, you would be lounging in gaol rather than enjoying the hospitality of a nobleman’s home.”

  At his next look, every nerve in Jessica’s body sang an alarm. He studied her a long moment, gathering himself before he hurdled the divan, his ham-like fists swinging but catching only air. His landing shook the room. Close up, the man was enormous. Was he thinking to kill or maim her right here in the Miracles’ home, in their library, mere yards from the family?

  Alerted by his fury, Jessica was ready and skittered back, staying well beyond his reach before she turned and bolted through the open library door.

  Fry grappled for her as he fell. His size threw him off balance. She shot into the hallway several seconds before he could block her escape.

  She fairly flew to the music room seeking the safety of company. As she ran, Jessica entertained ghastly thoughts. If Fry were a friend of Lattimore’s and of noble blood, his word would be considered more reliable than hers. She needed evidence to accuse him. Further, as flustered as she was, the others might think her hysterical, yet, it seemed certain that the big, bumbling man was responsible for recent attacks on lone travelers near Welter, including the attack on Devlin, and for the murder of Martha the chambermaid, and her unborn child.

  Jessica slipped into the music room without drawing notice. Fry followed immediately behind her, casting ominous looks she took as threats.

  Was Fry the instigator of the attacks or did he take orders from someone else? Someone who did not care to participate in the assaults? Did Fry rob and murder to prevent witnesses? Certainly, the man’s size would be easy for victims to describe and identify should they see him again.

  Did his gang rob any wayfarer, or were they specifically sent to attack Devlin? Murder him? Thinking, she did not return the looks of any in the room, certainly not Fry’s dark leer.

  If Devlin had died that night by the side of the road, Lattimore would have inherited the title and the ducal holdings. Taking speculation another step further: had Fry allied himself with brigands like John Lout, or was he an agent, one who would benefit from Devlin’s demise? Could Lattimore Miracle be the mastermind behind the assault? Might Hardwick also be involved in the evil activities?

  Jessica glanced at Devlin’s too-handsome brother. She did not want to think Lattimore wished the duke ill, yet once the thought occurred, it seated itself firmly.

  It was only wild conjecture, yet Jessica felt an urgent need to confide in someone. But who? With nothing but unsubstantiated accusations, how could a scullery maid lodge charges against members of titled families?

  On the other hand, what if she didn’t speak out and Fry were here, welcomed into the bosom of the family, to finish the deed? How could she protect Devlin by herself?

  She couldn’t. She needed an ally. A strong one. Her closest friends and confidantes were Lady Anne and Devlin. If she could not speak of her suspicions to them, then who?

  • • •

/>   Both Jessica and Devlin were pensive through the evening meal. Fry’s glower continually directed at Jessica got no response.

  As they finished eating, Hardwick was telling a long, involved account of an adventure in Scotland, when Devlin interrupted to excuse himself, saying he had business to consider.

  Jessica watched him climb the stairs. Almost immediately, Henry scurried from the duke’s chamber, having obviously been dismissed.

  Staring at the stairway after Devlin disappeared, the dowager quietly — speaking beneath Hardwick’s narrative — suggested she and Jessica retire to “sit by the fire” in Lady Anne’s chamber and “leave the men to their stories and their brandies.”

  As she had conscientiously ignored Fry’s ruthless squints and thinly veiled verbal threats, which had become less and less subtle through the meal, Jessica was happy to leave. While she was not concerned about Fry for herself, she felt restless about Devlin’s safety.

  Disregarding Fry, Jessica nodded at the dowager’s suggestion, stood, and left the room without excuses or wishing good evening to the others.

  Although Jessica and the dowager each took needlework, neither seemed inclined to it.

  “I don’t like Devlin’s sudden dark mood,” Lady Anne said. “I’m surprised. I expected Lattimore and the others to lift his spirits, not send him plunging back to the depths.” She held quiet for a moment or two. “Jessica, do you think the change in his mood signals a relapse?” She slanted a glance at the younger woman. “I thought we were beyond that. If it hadn’t been for you, my dear, he would not have managed as well as he has until now. You perform a vital service in this household, dearest.” When her companion did not respond, Lady Anne tried again. “Do you think we came to town too soon?”

  Jessica laid her handwork aside. “May I be excused, Your Grace?”

  “Certainly my dear. Do you have a headache?”

  “No, Your Grace.” Without further explanation, Jessica rose and walked listlessly to her quarters directly across the hallway.

  Lady Anne was curious about the behavior of both of her usually vibrant companions. Questions begged answers. She did not like to interfere in the relationships of others. This was neither her business nor her responsibility.

  If not hers, then whose? Thinking her way to a conclusion, she set aside her knitting and, whipping her mind to resolute, walked to Devlin’s rooms.

  He did not respond to her light knock until she identified herself. After another moment’s delay, he called for her to enter.

  He stood in the center of the room, his hands fisted behind his back as if he had been pacing. The dowager duchess studied her son’s expression and wondered at the tension in his stance as she entered and closed the door quietly behind her.

  “Jessica has gone to her rooms. I suppose we all need rest.” She advanced the innocuous salvo as a peace offering.

  “I see.” He scowled at the rug as if entertaining troubling thoughts. “Lattie’s arrival changes things.”

  The dowager’s concern deepened. “Oh, darling, they are just here for a couple of nights, to check on us and as a respite from living at their club.”

  “And to inspect Jessica.”

  “It is quite natural for Lattie to be curious about a person we have taken into our home and our hearts. Perhaps he was concerned she might be a different sort, cunning or someone with evil intentions.”

  “Do you think he believes neither you nor I would recognize evil intent? We would need the baby to rescue us?” Devlin grimaced. “Don’t be ridiculous, madam.”

  She didn’t care for his tone, but thought it best to disregard it for the moment. “Regardless, Devlin, they are leaving soon, going to the Hardwicks’ country home in Bristol.”

  “To Bristol?” He pivoted to face her. “The way is near Shiller’s Green and Welter. They said none of them had been that direction.”

  “Perhaps they did not realize the proximity. They are going to deliver a new brougham and team purchased by Marcus’s father, and to visit his family, of course.”

  “Does Lattie go to Bristol often?”

  “I don’t know, Devlin. If he did, I think he would stop in on us when we are at Gull’s Way.” She glanced away. “Although Lattie says the keep holds too many sad memories. He is terribly sentimental about your father and Roth. Losing them was a terrible blow to him, coming during his formative years.” She looked again to her elder son. “What does it matter who goes to Bristol or when?”

  “I was on the road from Bristol when I was attacked.”

  “Darling, I doubt one thing has to do with the other.”

  “Still, it seems a curious coincidence.”

  “People from London travel west all the time. Are you worried about Lattie’s safety? I hardly think thieves would attack three of them. If they did, the brigands probably would get the worst of it.”

  Devlin gave a thoughtful frown. “Yes, I suppose.” He appeared to shake off his dark thoughts. “All right, madam, what activities have you scheduled for you and your charge tomorrow?”

  “I thought we might take a day or two away from the gadding about and let Jessica rest?”

  “Rest? Why? Has she complained of fatigue?”

  “No, darling. I thought she might need to recuperate after your brutish behavior.” The dowager was casting a line to test his response.

  He recognized the ploy. Did his mother know? Had someone mentioned his inappropriate behavior? He needed to cover his confusion. “If that is your concern, madam, perhaps you should have this conversation with her. She may prefer not to be in my presence after what transpired.”

  “Darling, Jessica knows it was an accident.” She drew close and patted his shoulder.

  “The thump on her nob?” Obviously the dowager did not know more than that. “Yes, I am sure she does.”

  “She has a forgiving nature. Your friendship will endure.”

  “I suppose.” Still, he was troubled.

  “You did apologize, didn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Was she aware of your apology?”

  He shot her an incredulous look. “What do you mean?”

  “Was she addled?”

  “When do you mean?”

  “When you apologized.”

  “Oh, that. Yes. Well, I mean, I think she was conscious and completely aware of … of what I said.” He lowered his voice. “Not, perhaps, of my bizarre behavior.”

  Sensing something amiss, the duchess adopted a conspiratorial tone. “What is troubling you, Devlin?” She started to suggest possibilities, but deemed it better to wait.

  He dropped into a chair. Deferring to his obvious distress, she forgave his rudeness in not inviting her to be seated first.

  “For a few moments today, Mother, I had sight.”

  Lady Anne was sweeping her dress to one side preparing to sit, but his words jolted and she remained on her feet. She blinked hard to stanch the instantaneous tears of joy. Noting his troubled look, she swallowed percolating joy, and responded instead with a soothing, “Darling, that is wonderful. How grand to have your sight back.”

  “It isn’t back. It merely comes and goes, rather whimsically.”

  “Oh.” She had no idea why such happy news had made him so miserable. She decided to delve further. “When did it happen?”

  “Today’s occurrence was not an isolated incident. I have had glimpses of light beginning even before we left Gull’s Way.”

  “Did you mention this to Dr. Conner?”

  “Yes.” He bit his lips. “For the most part, I have had teasing glimpses of light and form. Recently, they are more distinct and last longer.” He shook his head. “This one came when Jessica was injured on the floor, barely conscious.”

  “Seeing her in th
at condition, is what has upset you so?”

  “No, Mother. I couldn’t see her at first. She was concealed behind protective gear.”

  “Her face too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, well, I knew you could not be annoyed seeing her face. The child has quite a pleasing countenance.” She waited for him to agree or comment. When he did neither, she continued. “What was it about the incident you found disturbing?” She watched his expression darken. “Darling, she is all right, you know.”

  He flapped a hand at her, as if her conjecture were a swarm of gnats. “No. You miss the point.”

  “Perhaps you could enlighten me.” She was annoyed by this sparring. “Jessica would be miserable if she thought her behavior had added to your burden.” The dowager crossed the room, moved a straight chair to position it directly in front of his and sat.

  As soon as she was settled, he leaped to his feet and resumed pacing. “The glimpse I had enabled me to reach her. I fumbled to remove the protective mask to facilitate her breathing.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, well, then I unlaced and removed the breastplate.”

  “Was she properly clothed beneath the protective pad?”

  “Of course. She is not a wanton, for heaven’s sake.”

  Baffled by this even-tempered son’s mounting agitation, Lady Anne held her tongue. Obviously he needed to get this out and seemed to be mincing his way toward it.

  “Then what happened?” she prodded.

  “My sight failed. I intended to listen to her heartbeat. That was the reason I … ” He stopped pacing and stared at nothing with his sightless eyes, before turning to face his mother.

  “Is Jessica … well is she … ah … unusually well-developed for a female her age?”

  She was so relieved, she suddenly felt like laughing. Instead, the dowager pressed her handkerchief to her mouth to muffle any telltale sound. So that was what was troubling him. Finally, he had discovered the truth: that Jessica was not the hatchling he had assumed, but was instead, as the girl herself so often declared, “a woman grown.” The revelation was one Devlin was not prepared to face. The dowager had wondered when and how this discovery might occur, yet now that it had, she hardly knew what to say.