Sir Waldo’s wrath subsided somewhat upon hearing this clarification. “Estranged, are you? On what grounds? If you come into my house in such a disguise, concealing the circumstances of your birth, I feel I have a right to know the truth of the matter.”
“Certainly you do, sir,” Jack agreed more humbly. “And I meant no disrespect in deceiving you. It was just that I did not feel I should claim what Sir Geoffrey was not pleased to recognize. You see . . .” He looked at Cecily again. It was one thing to own up to his mistakes to Sir Waldo, and quite another to confess them to his granddaughter. Jack was not proud of what he had to relate.
Cecily, however, was regarding him sympathetically, and with a hint of curiosity, so he took courage and went on, “It was a matter of debts, sir. Excessive debts. My father was of the opinion that some time spent working for a living might give me a greater respect for what I had been born with.”
“A wastrel, eh?” the old man asked.
Jack stiffened, but replied with restraint, “If you will, sir.”
His manly answer softened Sir Waldo and brought an understanding gleam to his eyes. “Gambling, I suppose,” he said more kindly. “Well, boys will be boys. I must say, your father goes about curing profligacy in a rather unique way. A bit of rusticating ought to do the trick just as well—or it did for me,” he admitted with a chuckle.
Determined not to let Jack off too lightly, however, he frowned and added, “All the same, young fellow, you had no right to come among us and accept our hospitality without informing us. To think that I have allowed my granddaughter to converse with you without heed of the proprieties . . .”
Jack cut him off, this time more forcefully. Cecily had uttered a sound of protest. “I beg your pardon, Sir Waldo, but with respect to Miss Wolverton, I have conducted myself as a gentleman would under any circumstances. You can have nothing there with which to reproach me. If I caused you a moment’s apprehension, I am truly sorry, but the truth is that I am a driver of the Royal Mail and intend to remain one. If I know my father, he has made no mention in that letter of my returning to his side. He will expect me to carry on, and has merely taken steps to assure himself of my continued existence.”
He waited for Sir Waldo’s answer, which was reluctantly given. “That is correct, my boy,” the gentleman said, visibly abashed. Then, after a pause he added, “But we cannot have Sir Geoffrey’s son staying in our servants’ quarters now, can we, Cecily?”
Before she could speak, Jack said quickly, “In that case, Sir Waldo, I shall be happy to remove to an inn. But I thank you sincerely for all you have done for me.”
Sir Waldo raised his voice again. “What do you take me for, boy? A pinchfarthing? I only meant you ought to be given one of the guest bedrooms!”
Surprised, but gratified, Jack protested that he was more than comfortable where he was, and that he would not allow Sir Waldo to do more than he had already done for him. But the old man was adamant. “Nonsense, Jack!” he said finally, near again to losing his temper. “You must be moved at once. And you will take your dinner in this room with me. Cecily will act as hostess. Let us have no more of this play-acting. You shall be doing me a favour.”
When Sir Waldo put it like that—and since Jack could see that Cecily herself favoured the change—he could not continue to object. He did point out that he had no proper clothes for dining at a gentleman’s table, but Sir Waldo did not consider that of material importance. With a wink, he gave Jack to understand that he had done queerer things in his day than to sit down to table in his riding clothes.
Jack laughed, and desisted, and straight away his things were moved into the best guest bedroom.
Chapter Seven
Jack could not be sorry for the improvement in his accommodation or status. It was true that he had lately been comfortable enough but he could not deny the immediate benefits of being recognized as a gentleman. Mr. and Mrs. Selby, who had been informed of the change, and told that Jack’s deception had been due to a delicate family matter, had been forced to alter their manners towards him. Selby might never come to regard him with anything approaching respect, but Mrs. Selby was openly curious. If she had speculations of her own, however, concerning the young gentleman, she kept them to herself, which was a rare occurrence indeed.
That first evening, a table for two was set up in Sir Waldo’s room alongside his bed where he was taking a tray. When Jack arrived at the time he had been bidden—washed, combed, and shaved at Mr. Selby’s hands—Cecily was already seated. Sir Waldo looked quite elegant in a brocade dressing gown, and Leto lay curled up before the fire.
Sir Waldo regarded Jack expectantly.
“Not too shabby an appearance for a coachman, eh, Cecily?” he joked. “I see Selby has made you the loan of one of my neckcloths. You are welcome to them. I have no use for them now and, truth to say, I never could abide them. Always interfered with my driving. It’s hard to watch the road when your neck’s laced up like a boot.”
Jack took a seat opposite Cecily and they exchanged smiling glances. He had never seen her in candlelight, for she had always taken care to come to his room before dusk. Now, in the softly reflected light, she appeared to glow with an inner radiance. The amusement in her eyes only served to make her sparkle the more. Jack felt strangely that, despite his many adventures, he had never experienced a more extraordinary occurrence than sitting down to table with this lady, her in her evening finery, and himself dressed no better than her servants. In spite of Sir Waldo’s protective presence, he could easily imagine they were alone in the room.
But Sir Waldo dominated the conversation, as was his habit. He loved to talk, and when the recipient of his wisdom was as well versed in the things he loved as Jack, there was no restraining him. He kept the conversation centred upon horses: their prices; good qualities in wheelers and leaders; and the fastest times to be achieved between villages.
Jack wished he could include Cecily more in their talk, but she seemed to be satisfied just to listen, and only occasionally gave him a mischievous look, as if to say, “Humour him, please. It makes me happy to see him so lively.”
Only once during the evening did Cecily venture a comment, and that was when Sir Waldo asked Jack about his driving escapades at Oxford.
“Did you act in any Shakespeare when you were at Oxford, Mr. Henley?” she asked.
Her question startled him. “Why, yes, I did,” he admitted. “I played Romeo. It was a terrible performance, as I recall,” he added, chuckling. “The present Lord Beasley played Juliet.”
Cecily put her napkin quickly to her mouth and smothered a laugh. He wondered what she had found to be so funny, for he doubted she was acquainted with Beasley, who now measured over six feet in height and even then had had a very heavy beard.
“Pardon me, Mr. Henley,” she said when she had recovered. “It is just that something suddenly struck me as funny. But it was not the idea of your performance; I am certain you were quite competent as Romeo.” She smiled as if she would like to continue laughing at his expense, and Jack returned her look with a challenge.
“What made you ask if I had read Shakespeare, Miss Wolverton?” he asked.
Cecily strove for an air of innocence, but failed. “Oh, it was nothing. Simply that you recited a few lines the day you were brought into the manor. The ostlers from the inn thought you were too much under the influence of drink, and Mrs. Selby thought . . . well, she thought something else. Shakespeare, you know,” she finished, “has not been part of her education.”
“Humph!” said Sir Waldo. “A fine conversation for a coachman on the mail that was. You never said anything about that to me, Cecily.”
Cecily lowered her eyes in confusion. “No, I did not, Grandpapa. To tell the truth, I merely thought Mr. Henley had had a most particular upbringing. I did not think you should be bothered with it.”
Sir Waldo smiled indulgently. “Naughty puss!”
Then dismissing the topic, he continued to questi
on Jack and to give him advice until the evening was much advanced. After tea had been drunk, he admitted the lateness of the hour and begged to be excused. Jack and Cecily passed together out of the room and strolled slowly down the corridor. Jack could now move soundly on his crutch with no assistance.
“Miss Cecily,” Jack began staunchly, for this time he was determined not to be put off. “Something tells me I made a complete ass of myself when those men carried me in here. Can you deny it?”
A laugh escaped her before she answered, “Of course you did not. You were only very funny.”
Jack bowed and winced; his vanity slightly wounded. “Happy to have amused you, madam.”
But Cecily would not allow him to be offended. “No, no, you misunderstand me!” she protested. “Surely I did not find your evident pain amusing, nor your efforts to remain gallant under such—trying circumstances. It was only your rendering of Shakespeare under the influence of Mr. Rose’s medicinal brandy that provided the much needed comedy. But I assure you that you acted neither foolish nor anything but very courageous.”
Jack’s self-respect was grateful for the balm. “Let us hope so,” he said, dismissing it. “I will not ask you which lines I delivered that night. I can only be horrified at the thought. But I will ask you what you thought when you heard them, and why you did not tell your grandfather?”
Cecily took a few steps in silence, before she reluctantly confessed, “I must admit that I thought you a gentleman. Doctor Whiting supposed you might once have been an actor. But when the maid unpacked your things and found two books, one in Greek and one in Latin, I could not think otherwise.”
“Ah,” Jack replied, enlightened. “So all this time, you knew . . . .”
She protested again, “I could not be certain! Mrs. Selby thought you must have stolen the books,” she said mischievously.
Jack laughed, “As if anyone would. And I thought that I was being so clever . . . .” He sighed in mock disappointment, and Cecily laughed.
They continued their walk until the end of the passage signaled the parting of their ways.
“I shall send a footman to wait on you this evening and in the morning,” she told him. “Selby must devote most of his time to my grandfather, but he will assist you with your shaving and whatever else you need most.” She paused, as if uncertain how to go on.
Thinking she must be waiting for his reply, Jack said, “There will be no need. I can very well shave myself. And the footman’s services should be enough to help me dress.”
He could see that this was not what concerned her. Indeed, he perceived that something was causing her acute embarrassment. “You must not trouble yourself about my comfort,” he said, trying to help her. “I shall go on perfectly well.”
She smiled at him gratefully. But her next speech was accompanied by a flush of self-consciousness. “I shall ask Mrs. Selby to bring you your laudanum,” she told him quickly. “I really ought not to . . .” She could not find the proper words.
Immediately Jack grasped her difficulty. She ought not to come to his room now that he was known to be an eligible person. “Please don’t bother,” he said. “I do not really need it any more. In fact,” he added, feeling bold, “I have not drunk it any time these past three weeks.”
Cecily gasped, and her eyes flew to his face. He read surprise in them, but no outrage. Her lids were quickly lowered, but a little smile hovered about her lips.
“You ought to be ashamed, Mr. Henley,” she said primly. “But something tells me that you are not easily cast down.” She gave him one quick, twinkling look and then said, “Good night, sir.”
Jack chuckled as he watched her disappear from view. The evening had passed off very well, he reflected. How much better it had been to take his dinner with Cecily and Sir Waldo, for even if the old gentleman did talk rather too much, Jack had at least been able to have the pleasure of Cecily’s company.
Of course, he did like and admire Sir Waldo. It was just that Jack was realizing he would be trading these more civilized meals for the privilege of having Cecily come to his room twice a day. That Cecily had suspected all along that he was, in truth, a gentleman, went a long way towards explaining her behaviour towards him. He doubted that she would have been so accommodating if she had believed he was nothing more than a coachman. He flattered himself that she had enjoyed their private meetings almost as much as he had. His spirits soared at the thought, only to be damped by another.
Cecily Wolverton was a lady, and a lady who would take her charity seriously. If he had been a beggar with the smallpox, she would have attended him just as dutifully.
Still, Jack thought, smiling to himself, now that she knew he was a gentleman he would have a better chance of impressing her with the Henley charm.
Then, as he was passing in front of a mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. The smile was wiped from his lips. What was he about? What right did he have to start a flirtation with a lady like Cecily Wolverton when he was nothing better than a coachman?
The clicking sound of a dog’s paws echoed down the corridor, and Jack turned to find that Leto had risen from Sir Waldo’s hearth to follow him to his room. He held out a hand for her to sniff and scratched her absently on the shoulder. Leto welcomed this attention with idiotic bliss and sat down on the floor to facilitate her enjoyment. Unable to refuse the invitation, Jack lowered himself into a chair against the wall and continued to pet her.
Like most dogs, Leto had an expression which could shift from complete idiocy to great sensitivity due to the soulful cast of her eyes. The fur about her eyes and muzzle was white, also, giving the appearance of wisdom gained through the years. Jack stared at her and then put one arm about her, happy to have found such a trustworthy confident.
“You are a woman, Leto,” he began. “What would you think of a fellow, without a claim to anything, including his name, who conducted himself in such a way as to engage the affections of a lady? Irresponsible, would you say? Reprehensible?”
Leto drew in her tongue and swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.
“As bad as that?” Jack frowned at her. “But what if he hadn’t meant to? What if he couldn’t help himself? What if he did it without thinking?”
Leto yawned with a whine and started to leave. Clearly, Jack was not behaving as he ought. He called her back and started scratching her again where he knew she liked best.
When she had settled back down, he confessed to her, “It’s not so easy, you know, to remember not to enjoy someone’s company too much. Especially when that person is pretty and friendly and always willing to enjoy a joke with a fellow.” He was silent for a moment, thinking he might as easily have added that there was something else about her—maybe an air of authority mixed with just the right touch of femininity, which he found so enchanting in such a small lady. So much more appealing than the usual coyness.
“Cecily Wolverton,” he mused aloud. “Where have I heard that name before, Leto? You ought to be able to tell me.” He looked at her reproachfully and got a lick on the hand. “Does she have other relations? I have not heard her mention anyone besides her aunt. What about her parents? Are there sisters or brothers?” He paused. “You’re not being much help! “
Leto looked up at him blankly, and he apologized to her with a pat upon the head.
“You might at least tell me why she does not go about. In the five weeks since I’ve been here, she’s not had one social engagement. And I would swear that Sir Waldo is not the type to keep her here dancing attendance upon him.”
He gave Leto one final pat, and with the help of his crutch rose to his good foot. “Well, there’s not much I’ll learn about her from you, or by listening to your master’s talk at dinner. I suppose the thing to do is catch Miss Cecily at breakfast and ask the fair lady myself. Always assuming I don’t break my neck getting downstairs.”
Leto looked up at him as if to make certain that he really had no intention of petting her any more. Then
with a sigh, she heaved herself up and walked slowly back down the corridor to her master’s room..
“No help,” Jack said pensively to her retreating figure. “Absolutely no help at all.”
* * * *
The next day proved to be more fruitful, for when he hobbled into the breakfast parlour with the help of the footman, there was Cecily just sitting down to table. She was especially lovely this morning, Jack thought, dressed in a pretty sprigged muslin gown in bright green and yellow. She looked up in surprise, but a broad smile quickly lit her face.
“Good morning, Mr. Henley!” she said. “I did not expect to see you downstairs so soon. I trust this means you are mending well?”
Her greeting pleased Jack, for he could not doubt that she was happy to see him. “If I am mending well, Miss Cecily, I am sure it is due to your excellent care,” he answered. He did not intend to forgo this manner of address. In Sir Waldo’s presence he would always address her as Miss Wolverton, but he would not give up the advantage he had already achieved.
Cecily directed a place to be set for him and he took his seat at the opposite end of the enormous table from her. The table dwarfed her tiny figure and she had to sit very erectly even to use her knife and fork to best advantage. After Jack was served, Cecily thanked the footman and dismissed him, asking him to make himself available for Jack’s return to his room.
Jack was delighted to watch this exchange. Cecily often had the air of a little girl playing at being grown up, but this was merely due to her size. He knew she was quite competent. If nothing else, the respect she received from the servants would have told him that, but Sir Waldo’s manor showed the mark of a house well run. Sir Waldo himself could no longer be responsible for this efficiency, no matter what he had done in the past.
But there was something vaguely mysterious about her. Jack had noticed that she was treated with extraordinary deference for the granddaughter of a provincial baronet. It was almost as if she had been born to something better. There was a sense of command about her, a particular dignity, which made her the equal of any gentleman. There was nothing of the timid spinster helping to nurse the grandfather on whom she depended.
Jack on the Box Page 8
