by Edith Layton
It had been delivered late but at precisely the right moment. She had come home, angry and discouraged after a terrible row with Cousin Cribb. It had been over some paltry thing, repairs for the stable or renovation of the parlor, even now she could not remember. But she could never hold her temper around either Cousin Cribb or his wretched wife. It was not only because they had been so quick to come and take over Oak Hill after Father had died, she told herself repeatedly. Even she could see that though the laws of inheritance were unjust, they were the law of the land, after all. And Jeremiah Cribb, although only a distant cousin, was her closest male relative and thus had clear claim to her father’s entailed home.
One look at the seedy fellow, though, and she had known that even Oak Hill’s commodious rooms could not contain the two of them. She had requested and received, with obvious relief on both sides, permission to take up residence in the cottage. Even though she was still under age, there was no one in the village who could not understand the situation. For she and Cousin Cribb fought constantly, and she had begun to seriously wonder how she could make her way in the world when the letter had come.
She had stood in her small parlor and read it with tears flowing down her cheeks. He had fallen over a year before, and it had taken this long for the missive to reach her. It was so brief that even though she had it still she had no need to refer to it. It was graven in her mind’s eye.
Dear Jess,
Everything’s going well but the fighting is fierce. Don’t worry, though, for I’ve the luck of the devil. Speaking of which, it occurs to me that I’ve been a devil of a papa to you. But I’ve put things right at last. If anything should ever befall me, rest easy. Red Jack don’t forget his own. I’ve settled a neat future for you and it’s in safekeeping. If I should stick my spoon in the wall, contact old Jeffers in London. He’ll have the direction of your future well in hand. And you’ll be a lucky rich young thing indeed. The best part of it is that it isn’t entailed, nor can any other soul lay a finger on it but you. But that’s grim speaking. I’ll see you in the spring. All my love to my brave little soldier,
Love,
Red Jack.
She had written to Mr. Jeffers immediately and anxiously awaited his reply. When it had arrived, requesting that she come to London to discuss the matter, she had fired off another letter to the only other soul she knew in London, dear Ollie, now the impressive Sir Selby. All her bags had been packed when his letter came, ebullient and loquacious as ever, castigating himself for not inviting her sooner, felicitating her on her inheritance and enumerating all the jolly times they would have together.
She had both letters in hand when she marched back to Oak Hill to speak with Cousin Cribb. Her father’s letter was not for his eyes, though; she would not give him such a glimpse of her greatest treasure, even though he was nominally her guardian.
He sat behind the high desk in the darkened study and fingered the letters for a long while before he spoke. His wife sat in a deep chair to his side. Mathilda Cribb was a massive, round woman, but there was nothing jolly in her countenance. Though she seldom spoke, her husband never made a decision without looking in her direction. It was eerie how the pair seemed to communicate with so few words.
Jessica sat up straight and met his long gaze without flinching. He was a small, crabbed-looking fellow, a shopkeeper who had worked hard all his life to no apparent avail. Oak Hill had fallen to him by chance, and it was the greatest luxury he had ever known, though it did not seem as if he greatly enjoyed it.
“Folk will talk about me letting an eighteen-year-old miss go to London by herself,” he said at length.
At least, Jessica breathed to herself, there would be no dissembling between them.
“Not at all,” she said, raising her chin, “for I won’t be by myself. I’ll take one of the maids for propriety’s sake.”
“Not that,” he said, waving her answer away, “but staying with an older man. He’s unwed, I take it.”
“I shan’t stay with Sir Selby. I will take a room in a reputable hotel,” she answered promptly, though until that moment she had not realized that anyone could ever put such a construction upon her relationship with dear Ollie.
Cousin Cribb grunted, then stole a look at his impassive wife.
“This legacy,” he began. “What do you suppose it to be? Your father left nothing to me that wasn’t in the entail. He hadn’t a groat of his own. Ran through his money like he ran through his life, heedless.”
Jess contained herself with effort. Nothing could be more ruinous to her purpose than a squabble now, and well he knew it, from the bitter glint in his eye.
“I have no idea. But whatever it is, the letter clearly states that it cannot be considered part of the entail,” she replied. “I’ll take nothing that is rightfully yours. You can have your man of business see to it.”
“So I shall, so I shall,” he brooded. “Go then,” he said suddenly. “I’d be a greater fool to keep you here. There’s no love lost between us. The daughter of a gallant captain never could bring herself to be civil to a mere shopkeeper. So go. My only worry was as to how it would seem. We must be seemly now that we’re masters of Oak Hill, eh Tilda?” He laughed. “No matter that it’s a great barn of a place, with no money to shore it up, no matter, eh?”
“Thank you,” Jessica said quickly.
“But it will be seemly,” he went on, “for one would worry about most chits haring off to London by themselves, but we won’t have a care about dear Jess, will we? No life of sin for her lays waiting in the wicked city. For who’d have her, eh?” he asked his wife. Her reply was to heave a great chuckle.
“I’ll go now,” Jess said politely, though she was sure the tips of her ears were glowing red.
“Go to the devil,” he muttered, “but if you come back penniless, with his babe in your basket, I’ll turn you out. And none will dispute me on that.”
“I hardly would journey all the way to London for such a treat,” Jess blurted, goaded beyond her control.
“No, not when Tom Preston could oblige you right here and save you the journey. That is, if you paid him enough,” he chortled, pleased with the expression he saw in her eyes. It was like him, too, this ability to see into all unswept corners.
“I’ll leave,” was all Jessica could reply. And without waiting for his answer, she did.
Most young woman of eighteen would have been in raptures over the prospects of a trip to London. They would be anticipating new clothes and the excitement of new friends and flirts. Jess was content to pack her meager wardrobe of oversized, unstylish garments, and to dream of only one thing: her visit to the solicitor’s office. Many young females of such a tender age would be inclined to drop a tear or two for old acquaintances they would be leaving behind. Jessica said her good-byes to the housekeeper and Cook, the vicar and his wife, and those few acquaintances whom she knew wished her well, and she prepared to go without a backward glance.
Still, though she appeared to be quite coolly taking leave of all she had known, there were two that she was deserting whom she was prepared to shed a tear for. And only one that she would admit to. The morning of her departure found Jessica on her knees in the garden with her arms about her dearest friend.
“Ralph, my love,” she sighed, burying her head in the great dog’s massive shoulder, “it wouldn’t do. I cannot take you with me. But Mrs. Dane shall watch over you, and when I return, I’ll take you with me wherever I go, I promise.”
The huge animal burrowed his muzzle into her armpit, almost overbalancing her as he did so. He affected an air of high tragedy, for not only was he sensitive to his mistress’s every mood, he was also well aware that she had readied the traveling chaise and he was not to go with her. Her father had given the beast to her when she and it had both been tiny, and he had been her constant companion ever since. Although most in the district often said they thought Ralph a cross between a hound and a barn, Red Jack had claimed the animal had Sw
iss ancestry more finely documented than his own pedigree. He had dubbed the struggling bundle of fur “Ralph” that long-ago day, so that, he told his little daughter, he could grow to be the only dog that could speak his own name.
The memory made Jessica chuckle weakly as she knelt upon the dusty flagstones, causing Ralph’s great tail to thump happily in response. “Ralph,” she whispered brokenly, “how I shall miss you.”
“And no wonder,” a laughing voice intruded, “for I have always thought he was your one true love. Now, I could never hope to receive such a fond farewell.”
Jessica rocked back on her heels and saw the new arrival slip easily from his horse and stride toward her. She accepted the proffered hand and was drawn smoothly to a stand.
“Tom,” she said in embarrassment, brushing dust from her skirt, “I didn’t see you there.”
“How could you,” the young man laughed, “while you and Ralph were lost in each other’s embrace? But it’s too bad of you, Jessica, to waste such passions on old Ralph while I did not even get a note of good-bye.”
Jessica felt her face flush, for she had wondered how to take her leave of him, and having hit upon no scheme that would appear to be casual enough, she had decided to let the matter go and leave with no notice. Thomas Preston had been, after all, her father’s favorite; there had never been any defined relationship between herself and him, though she had always admired him. He had been a soldier, and a gallant one, her father had often said. But he had sold out after receiving it wound while in the peninsula and elected not to rejoin when he had mended, despite all Red Jack’s encouragement. Though his father was minor gentry, as a fourth son, Tom had opted for the military. And while reducing the number of mouths to feed might assist his brothers and sisters, he had joked when Red Jack and Jessica had come to cheer his recuperation, he did not think his immediate future lay in the churchyard, so he needed a space to consider some new, less hazardous occupation.
“Fine lad,” Red Jack had approved as they had left him. "See if he doesn’t turn about and re-up after all.” But he hadn’t. He worked as a factor now, helping Lord Cuthbert run his huge estate. He was indeed a fine lad, Jess thought, looking up at him, and so the other females in the district thought as well. He was slender and tall, with a quantity of straight, bright primrose-yellow hair. His eyes were light blue, his face long and hollow-cheeked. His strong white teeth were thrust slightly forward, but that only served to save his appearance from mere prettiness. For without his ready smile his was a dangerous countenance.
He wore that disarming smile now.
“Now, Jess, confess it all. You would have been off to London without so much as a nod in my direction if I hadn’t taken the time to come and see you today.”
“I didn’t know,” she said honestly, “how to take leave of you without causing comment.”
He looked puzzled and she went on earnestly, “After all, Tom, how would it have looked if I just announced myself at your lodgings? Tongues would have wagged and Cousin Cribb would have known it moments after you did.”
He seemed startled for a moment and then peered closely at her. “What? You worried about gossip? Madcap little Jess? When we’ve known each other forever? But there’s something in what you say,” he mused, looking at her as she colored. “How old are you now, Jess? Can’t be more than ... Lord, you’re eighteen, aren’t you?”
He stood and silently assessed her. He had never thought of her as a woman or even as a female. She had always been Red Jack’s little shadow, almost a lad, not quite a girl-child. Now, he saw her face had changed, although he could only guess at the form beneath her loose and ill-fitting gray traveling dress. But as he was something of an authority on the subject of her gender, he smiled again.
“Why, then, you’re right, of course. But it’s hard of you, Jess, not to think of some way in which to bid an old friend a proper good-bye. Come now, Jess, I traveled all this way to see you off, you can at least afford me the same courtesy that you did that mountain of a dog.”
Without another word he pulled her close and, on an amused chuckle, bent to kiss her soundly. He was surprised immediately by a number of things: her warm lips, the hint of a full figure pressed up against him, and her sudden and convulsive jerk away from him. She stood flushed and confused as he gazed down at her with dawning realization.
The idea that the chit held a tendre for him greatly pleased him, though he would forget it by evening. His eyes glinted in the sunlight and he laughed as he brushed her heated cheek with one finger.
“Why, Jess, here’s a predicament for me. I’m such a slow top I never knew you’d grown up until now. And now you’re about to make a splash in London. Well, keep a kind thought for me and let me know the moment you return.”
She was both angry and ashamed that he could read a response from one brief embrace. And even more dismayed to discover such feelings existed within herself, waiting to be released by only a chance touch of his lips.
“Lud, Tom,” she answered in her father’s best style, “if you’ve the need to improve your fortunes, I’m never the girl for you. There’s Squire’s daughter for a guaranteed five thousand a year, and Lord Cuthbert’s niece is a good for triple that.”
“If a fellow’s of a mind to get shackled.” He grinned.
“And if a fellow’s not, there’s Polly from the tavern and Mrs. White from the town, isn’t there?” she answered in what she hoped were casual accents.
“Awake on every suit, just like your papa!” he chortled. “But I hear he’s left you a fortune too.”
Jess turned and began to walk toward the house with Ralph at her heels. The sun was getting high and she would have to leave soon. She could not leave him thinking she was angling for his future attentions.
“As to that,” she said lightly, “Cousin Cribb is of the opinion that it’s all a fantasy. I confess I have my own doubts. Could you envision my father sitting atop a fortune for long?”
“Lord, no,” he agreed, “for I never met a fellow who could go through money faster. Still, you never know. It’s good to be sure. I wish you luck in London, Jess. Lord knows you deserve it,” he added, for though he would forget her existence by the next morning and had, indeed, only remembered her leaving for her father’s sake, he did wish her well.
As the sun climbed higher, Miss Jessica Eastwood, accompanied by Amy, her uncle’s laundry maid, the only servant anxious to see London, waved good-bye to the sole two beings she was reluctant to leave behind. One was already turning his thoughts to his night’s sport and wondering in which bed he would awake the next morning; the other would wait patiently and sleep at the foot of her empty bed each night.
When Miss Eastwood arrived in London, she discovered that her own bed would be in a great house rather than in a hotel. For Sir Selby had insisted, to the point of growing quite agitated, that no young woman of his acquaintance would sojourn in a hotel like a homeless waif. Instead, she would be the house guest of his dearest friend, Lady Grantham!
“For she’s rattling around in that great house all alone since William died and her two girl’s got hitched. Her companion’s home on a mending lease and she’s delighted at the idea of company,” he had insisted as they rode from the coach station through the clamorous, confusing streets of London.
Jessica agreed, both to save dear Ollie’s feelings and to forestall an apoplectic fit on his part. For he had grown both stouter and more red-faced since he had come into his honors. Her father would have been appalled at how out of shape his boon companion had grown.
Against all her better judgment, she had agreed. Now, she thought, laying aside her brush and plaiting her hair up neatly again, that she had been right in the first place. For, she nodded at her reflection as she twisted her hair savagely, Lady Grantham had not appeared to go into transports of delight when she had appeared that morning only a few weeks past. That tall, dignified dame had only stared at her new guest and blown out her cheeks in a sigh. She had
looked over Jess’s head and nodded sharply at Sir Selby. “Yes,” she said simply, “you were quite right, Ollie.”
Jessica remembered with great self-justification as she blew out her candles that she had been right in all her plans. She had insisted on going to see her father’s solicitor at once, but Lady Grantham had argued long and vehemently about her needing new clothes to perform such a simple task in. It was not only her own determination that dissuaded her hostess, Jessica thought as she settled into her bed, it was the clear truth that without being in actual possession of Red Jack’s secret legacy, which Mr. Jeffers was still making inquiries about, it would be folly to waste her carefully hoarded funds on such fripperies as clothes. She had made it, she thought righteously, perfectly clear that she would not consider taking money from Ollie for such nonsense. A great deal of wrangling had gone on before her two benefactors had exchanged defeated looks and sighs and agreed with her.
All she had ever wanted was to grow to be her father’s companion, to keep house for him in his dotage, to be finally of some use and aid to him. Now she had to discover some new aim to suit her new life. The social whirl of London that her hostess provided did not seem to answer that question.
This ball, for instance, the indomitable Miss Eastwood thought before she traded her confusion for sleep, had not been her idea of a night’s pleasures. She had suffered the thing only to please dear Ollie and Lady Grantham, and now they were angry with her for being only what she had told them she was. No matter, she decided, turning to her side, she would be gone in the morning and doubtless they would be as she would be then, deeply relieved and vastly content.
Miss Eastwood gave herself to sleep and dreamed sometime during the night of a vast ballroom where a hundred sheep did an intricate quadrille. And when she laughed at them, a tall gentleman frowned and asked her to join the dance. Before she could answer, she found herself being led into a polka by her father, who changed into Tom Preston before her eyes. So Miss Eastwood, who had spent her night sitting dumbly at Lord and Lady Swanson’s great ball, spent the hours till dawn dancing and laughing with sheer joy.
