Red Jack's Daughter

by Edith Layton

  While Tom bowed his head in pleased acquiescence and began a suitable thanks, Sir Selby cried, “Handsomely done, Alex. He knows his horseflesh, Tom. And you needn’t worry, Alex, for Preston here has velvet hands.”

  Lord Leith was just beginning to disclaim any reservations about the fate of his bay gelding when Tom put in with a little crooked grin and a sidewise glance at Jessica, “Not at all like the time Red Jack gave me the use of his new phaeton, oh, Jess?”

  Before another word could be said, Jessica was laughing heartily, while Sir Selby crowed in delight. And once again, the company was treated to another tale of the idiosyncrasies of Red Jack Eastwood, this time told lovingly by the blond young gentleman. Again, Lady Grantham sat with a polite smile pasted upon her face and Lord Leith lounged silently, watching the company.

  Another pot of tea was rung for, another plate of small cakes and tea sandwiches was absently devoured, while another and yet another exploit of mad Red Jack was recounted and greatly appreciated by his daughter, his boon companion, and the young gentleman who had lived nearby. Lady Grantham spent the time tapping her toes beneath her chair and thinking of what she would wear that evening. Lord Leith sat quietly, saying not a word, almost as a shadow guest at the party. But he often glanced toward Jessica as she both listened or spoke of her late father. Her face was alight with intelligence and eagerness, her affect was natural and free, and though she used the cant expressions of a young blade, there was nothing either masculine or underbred about her behavior.

  It was true, the tall gentleman mused, that she did not simper or giggle, rather she laughed aloud. But there was that naturalness and gaiety in her laughter that took the curse of boisterousness from it. Neither did she bat her lashes, nor dangle a little white hand from a lowered wrist when something personal was addressed to her as a young woman of her years might be expected to do. Instead she grinned boyishly or clapped her hands together. No, Lord Leith corrected himself, not so much the boy, after all, but rather an ingenuous child.

  The afternoon was advanced and his aunt appeared bored to oblivion when Lord Leith realized he had scarcely said a word for an hour. Whenever he had attempted to broach a fresh subject or introduce a new concept, the subject of Red Jack had come up again. When he had brought up the topic of Tom doing some sightseeing in town, the answer had to do with Red Jack’s tale of his day at Tattersalls purchasing new mounts. When he spoke of Tom’s lodgings and asked if they were suitable, the reply contained a reference to Captain Eastwood’s accommodations in some provincial French town, a tale that Sir Selby had quickly fastened upon. There seemed to have been, Lord Leith perceived, no conversational gambit that Tom Preston did not link up with Jessica’s absent father. And all the while, Jessica herself had been oblivious to all else but the teller of such tales.

  At last, when shadows began to lengthen and his aunt seemed in almost a trancelike state, Lord Leith took advantage of a lapse in the conversation. He bowed slightly, and, smiling, said, “Although it has been delightful, I really must be off now. Don’t forget, ladies, we have an engagement at; the theater tonight. It’s time to show off your new finery, Jessica, as promised.”

  As he turned to leave, he added as almost a thrown-away suggestion, “Oh, Preston, should you care to accompany us?”

  “I’m sure it would be difficult to get tickets at this late hour,” the blond gentleman demurred quietly as he too rose, “but I thank you for the offer.”

  “But Alex has a box,” Sir Selby said heartily. “Come, along, Tom.”

  “Oh, do,” Jessica put in quickly. “It will be great fun. You must come, Tom.”

  “Why, then, I must,” he said, shrugging helplessly, “or Jess will commandeer me, as her father used to. Remember the time I did not care to go fishing, Jess?”

  Under cover of the laughter the remark sparked in both Jessica and Sir Selby, Lord Leith took his leave. While the other three sat down again to continue the tale, Lady Grantham accompanied her nephew to the door.

  “Lord,” she sighed, and then asked in an under voice, “What’s being presented tonight, Alex?”

  “Othello, and then a farce, I think,” he answered absently, looking past her to where Jessica was gasping with laughter, never noting his absence at all.

  “Fine,” his aunt said, rolling her eyes in the jubilant trio’s direction. “I only pray that Jack Eastwood never chanced to see it anywhere in his travels, or else we shan’t hear a word that’s being said on the stage all night.”

  Her nephew laughed and then took his leave. Interesting, he thought as he strolled toward his town house, thinking about the odd tea party and the newly come loquacious chronicler of the late Captain Eastwood. Interesting, he thought as he remembered Jessica’s brown eyes lit with laughter and her gaze fastened on Tom Preston’s lips as he spun out every word. Interesting, but no, not amusing.

  The frock was sea green and the soft kid slippers were dyed to match the exact shade. Lady Grantham had given Jessica a jade pendant to wear as well as a pair of ornately carved jade ear bobs. Now Jessica sat and twisted her head this way and that, as if in silent negation. But as she sat alone in the downstairs salon, awaiting her hostess’s entrance, there was no one she could have been arguing with.

  Rather she was testing the effect of the unaccustomed weight of the stones upon her earlobes, and soon she was indeed shaking her head in a determined negative gesture. Her ears felt leaden and she scowled fiercely. Thus the first sight that Lord Leith had of Jessica as he was announced and shown into the salon, was that of her angry frown.

  “But I haven’t said a word as yet.” He laughed lightly. “Is it that you disapprove of my waistcoat?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, bringing her head up with a guilty start and staring at him. “Indeed you look fine.” Then after she stared at his closely fitting black jacket, white neckcloth, black evening trousers, and muted gold waistcoat, she added, “Very fine, indeed, in fact. But it is these ear bobs your aunt has lent to me. She says,” Jessica said, rising and coming close to him so that her whisper could not be overheard, “that for a lady to go out of an evening with her ears bare is for a lady to go underdressed. But I cannot like it, Alex, I cannot. A small pearl or a tiny gold ring might be unexceptional. After all, when I was very little a governess saw to the alterations of my ears so that I might wear such, before Papa came home and gave her marching orders. But these huge pendants! It feels as if I had great weights hanging from each ear, and when I turn my head, they swing against my cheek. It’s very foolish, now I think on it, to have to wear such ornaments at all. It’s rather like wearing a bond through one’s nose. We had a book at home with pictures of savages and they wore bits of jewelry in the most remarkable places. I cannot think it is quite civilized to hang gems from one’s head, can you?” she asked quizzically and with such a solemn face that he could not ascertain whether she was serious or not.

  “But it looks very attractive,” he said. Seeing how his words seemed to displease her, he added, “Still, if it is not in in your style, I’m sure she would understand if you return them to her.”

  “That she would not,” Jessica said sadly, “for I tried to tell her, but she only said I’d get used to them in time. I won’t, you know,” she said wretchedly, turning from him. “But you are so used to seeing females hung with fripperies, I doubt you’d understand.”

  “But I do”—he smiled, watching her as she shook her head slightly and frowned again—“for I am sure that I should dislike wearing them. But it is your century to do so, you see.”

  She ceased shaking her head and turned a questioning face toward him.

  “Why, yes, I should have to had worn them a few hundred years ago. Cavaliers did, as a matter of course. Then you females took up the fashion, so we had to give them up.”

  Jessica glanced up at the aristocratic visage above her and thought for a startled moment that he was right, and further that it was a pity that it was so, for such ornaments would suit hi
m very well. There was that of the courtier in his bearing and in his refined features. She recognized suddenly that there was, in fact, an aura of elegance about him that must have been from some more graceful, antique age. It was a subtle insubstantial thing, ranging from the clean, faint, delightful essence of sandalwood that emanated from him, to the cool dignity of his bearing. She could almost envision him with ruffles at his throat and a great gleaming barbaric jewel depending from one ear to balance the civilized cast of his face. The thought disturbed her and she shook her head as though to clear it.

  He took the gesture to be a denial of what he had said and so added idly, reaching out to gently finger one trembling jade pendant, “You are right, though. I’ll admit that I don’t repine because I cannot bring them back into fashion. But don’t look so stricken, Jessica. Just ease one off during intermission and I’ll say that there’s something amiss with the clasps. I’ll wear them for you for the rest of the night. In my pocket, of course,” he added as she understood and laughed.

  “You don’t plan to divest yourself of any other adornments, do you?” he asked hopefully, raising one brow wickedly.

  She stiffened, then relaxed and giggled. “And if I did, there would still be room in your pocket and to, spare,” she said merrily. “I know this frock cost the world, but there is so little of it, it seems a waste of money.”

  He threw back his head and laughed as she turned a pirouette for him. It was true that the gown was cut low and was of simple design. But, he thought, she needed no bows or ruffles or tucks to compliment her supple form. He was admiring the way her red tresses fell in long coils against the nape of her neck when she stopped her spin and said sincerely, “I want to thank you, Alex, for you were quite right. I seem to have made both Ollie and your aunt sublimely happy simply by allowing myself to be tricked out in fashionable togs. And it’s really not so bad at all. Just a trifle chilly.” She grinned conspiratorially.

  They were laughing together when Lady Grantham, clad majestically in hues of silver, came into the room. She nodded approvingly at the way they seemed to be getting on but overrode her nephew’s compliments as she told them to stir themselves so they could get to the theater when the curtain rose. “For I cannot tolerate latecomers,” she confided to Jessica as they settled in the carriage, “since they arrive late only to attract attention, and it always galls me that they succeed, since there is no way to see the stage without seeming to stare at them as they walk past your line of vision.” As she went on about the inequities of being a captive audience to fops and dandies, her nephew sat across from Jessica and grinned at her. Jessica, wrapped tightly in her lush cream velvet cape, looked out the window at the sights of a busy London evening. She frankly gawked at the procession of coaches that stood in line, pulling up to the theater.

  For one moment Jessica felt unease well within her. London by day no longer frightened her, but this glittering gaslit, torchlit night with all the fashionables congregating, dismayed her. She drew in her breath when she alighted from the coach, and almost clung to Lord Leith’s sleeve. But then she saw Sir Selby and Tom waiting in the press of people, and greeting them and hearing their familiar voices above the babble, she felt her breath go out again.

  Tom looked very different, she thought as they came forward to greet her. She had never seen him looking so fine back at home in Yorkshire. His black evening clothes were almost spectacularly set off by his buttercup hair, and when he laughed, his strong white teeth shone in contrast to his outdoorsman tan. Jessica saw several young ladies casting surreptitious glances toward their party, and thought that if the young females at home could but see Tom now, they would never have let him go past the outskirts of town. Sir Selby was correctly dressed, but now so portly and distinguished that she could scarcely recognize the wild Jolly Ollie that she knew from her childhood. Still, they were her friends, even if they were done up in their new finery. Just as she was still Jess, although masquerading as Miss Eastwood. She relaxed as they ranged around her. As she entered the theater with them, she recalled her father had always said that no matter what the circumstances, wherever one’s friends were, one was always at home.

  Thus she did not mind when she was ogled as she mounted the broad staircase to Lord Leith’s box. Nor did she tremble when fashionable gentlemen raised their quizzing glasses not only to better see, but to better salute the new beauty in their midst. She did not turn a hair when several gentlemen rose to get a better glimpse of her as she settled herself in her plush chair in the box, and she did not stammer when several young blades presented themselves to be introduced to her even before the theater darkened. For Ollie was there, his voice bringing back memories; and Tom was there, again telling her how proud her father would have been to see her; and curiously, the silent presence at her side of the tall gentleman she had only recently met was reassuring to her. She was among friends, she thought as the lights dimmed so that only the footlights flared and danced in the darkened hall, and she was safe and secure as she had not been in years.

  After the featured vocalist’s presentation and at the first intermission, Lady Grantham suggested that Jessica accompany her to the ladies’ withdrawing room. Jessica did not see the broad hint of a gesture her hostess gave to her nephew as he rose to see them from the seats. She did see, however, the press of persons that seemed to be awaiting them on the broad balcony as they walked from their curtained box. Withdrawing seemed to be the furthest thing from Lady Grantham’s mind as she greeted dozens of acquaintances and as her nephew performed endless introductions. It seemed that Jessica had met an even dozen Lord Thises and curtsied to a score of Sir Thats before Lady Grantham finally decided to act in earnest to achieve the private precincts of the ladies’ withdrawing room.

  Lady Grantham seemed strangely pleased as they settled in their seats once again. But the only comment she made, and that only when Lord Leith bent over to whisper, “Note the golden ear bob on the fellow, aren’t you all over envy?” to Jessica as Othello strode out upon the stage, was “Hush, I can hear you speaking any old time, Alex, but I can hear this fellow Kean only at the theater.”

  As soon as the second intermission came, Sir Selby, upon receiving an urgent stare from Lady Grantham, rose to escort the two women for “a stroll to stretch the legs.”

  As the three left, Thomas Preston arose and made as if to follow. He was about to leave the box when he was forestalled by a touch upon his sleeve. Lord Leith smiled and motioned for him to reseat himself.

  “A word,” the tall gentleman requested softly.

  Lord Leith sat back and contemplated Thomas Preston. They had had no chance at private speech since they had met in the lobby of the theater, and now Lord Leith asked idly as the blond young man took his seat again, “How long shall your business keep you in town, Mr. Preston?”

  After a pause the fair-haired gentleman smiled and answered sweetly, “I expect until it is finished with.”

  Lord Leith’s eyes narrowed, yet he went on in the same light, bored tones, “I imagine you were staggered to see the change in Jessica.”

  “No,” the other man answered, looking directly at him, “Not really. It is only a change in her attire. Jess is the same as she always was. I have no doubt that once her business is finished, she’ll return home and put off these London airs and graces.”

  “But surely you know,” Lord Leith replied, “the plans Ollie and my aunt have for her?”

  “I have known Jess since the days when she was only a shadow of her father. I doubt those plans will mean much to her,” Tom Preston replied, not looking at his host but rather letting his gaze idly rake the crowd below.

  “I thought,” Lord Leith said, “that you had agreed with Ollie that marriage was the only answer for her future.”

  “Oh,” the gentleman said, letting his cool blue eyes wander to the other’s face now, “but I do. Still, my Lord, you must agree that she would never make a conformable, contented helpmeet for such fellows as you all a
re throwing in her path?”

  “No,” Lord Leith answered, “I don’t agree at all.”

  At that Tom Preston threw his head back and laughed. “Lord,” he gasped, “Then you cannot know her very well. She strode before she could walk. She never played with dolls but at tin soldiers. The villagers used to say that when the midwife raised her by her ankles at birth, Red Jack asked, ‘Is it a boy?’ and when the answer came ‘No,’ he sighed and said, ‘Well, we’ll make do.’ I’m not saying,” he went on pensively, “that she was by nature a boy, but her father filled her head with tales of how perfidious females were, using her mother as example. Now, I can recall from my infancy what a beauty that one was. But the fighting that went on between the two of them made the Captain’s battles with Napoleon pale by contrast. No, Red Jack made sure that Jess would not follow in those little footsteps. How you got Jess into such fashionable attire, I do not know. But I do know that it is only surface. Good Lord, she cannot sew, or spin, or, more to the point, even flirt or dally with a man, nor does she want to.”

  Lord Leith only sat and watched Tom Preston as he laughed again and went on, “She’ll only bat her eyes if she’s got a cinder in them, and all she’s looking for in a man is good fellowship.”

  The tall gentleman did not share in the laughter; he only waited till his guest had done speaking and asked quietly, “so then you think she can never wed?”

  Laughter fled from the light-blue eyes, and Tom said with a slight smile that did not signify amusement, “Now, I never said that. I only said that Jess would never suit a chap who was looking for the usual. And these young lordlings you’re casting in her way will never do. She needs to be married, yes, for her own protection, because it’s clear she’s not fly to the time of day. Still, she’s neither a female nor a male. She needs a husband who will protect her but who is willing to let certain female duties go by the board.”