by Kerryn Reid
“Jack!” Lewis forged his way in. He wrapped his arms around Jack from behind, grasping his own wrists to lock the hold. “Come on, Jack. It’s all right, come with me.” After a few more meaningless blandishments, Jack stopped fighting and allowed Lewis to haul him through the doorway into the main room.
There they collided with the nurse, hurrying to lend his assistance. The man held his ground, a wall of bone and muscle. Behind him stood Robert, the footman who’d accompanied them on their journey. Lewis stepped on something and lost his hold as he battled to regain his balance. Robert grasped Jack’s unresisting arm and helped him into a chair.
“Oh, sir, I beg your pardon!” exclaimed the nurse, his head swiveling between Lewis and Jack. “How clumsy of me. I thought I’d best…” The man plowed through his extended apologies with a series of grimaces that did nothing to improve his looks. Despite his comparative youth—perhaps thirty-five—his square face was marred by old scars, a few missing teeth, and a nose that had surely been broken once or twice. Also a fading bruise below one eye. Did Jack inflict that? “I should have stepped right when I saw you was headed left, but I—”
“All’s well,” Lewis interrupted, straightening his coat sleeves. “Except possibly your foot, Mr.—?”
“Maggs, sir, just Maggs.” He made a little bow, then held out his hand for Lewis to shake as though he, too, was unsure of his status. “I’m thinking you must be Mr. Lewis Aubrey, sir. It’s kind of you to ask, my foot will be fine, though I don’t mind admitting that it hurts at the moment. I’d have come right upstairs, sir, but Sir John wanted to introduce the staff, and he assured me that you and my master would be all right together, so I—”
“Of course we’re all right,” Lewis said, though he was not at all sure of it. “Your chamber, however, will require some attention before you retire.”
Maggs turned his attention to Jack. “Well, Mr. Jack, I’m betting it feels good to be at home after all our travels, and to see your friend again. After all you’ve said about your Mr. Lewis, I think I would’ve known him anywhere.” As he talked, the big man moved lightly about the room, setting out the baggage he and Robert had dropped in their hurried entrance.
He stopped at the dressing table and poured water from the ewer into the basin. “Now, sir, let us get you cleaned up a bit for dinner. It’s to be informal tonight, but we shall need clean hands and a fresh cravat. Oh, ha-ha, I see you’ve lost your cravat entirely!”
Sprawled in a chair by the fire, Jack appeared calm, even stupefied.
Maggs rested a hand on his patient’s shoulder. The fourth and fifth fingers were crooked. “Do come to the dressing table now, sir. We mustn’t keep your father waiting.” His voice was gentle, even fond.
Jack yawned, a jaw-breaking event that made Lewis wince, and rolled his head to one side so he could see his keeper’s face. No one would believe that ten minutes ago Lewis had needed brute force to subdue Jack’s hostility toward that same man.
“Oh, Maggot, I’m so tired. May we not have something sent up?”
Maggs nodded. “Oh yes, I’m sure there will be no objection to that.”
Lewis could just imagine. Cooped up in a carriage for days on end, with Maggs gabbling the whole way and never knowing what mood Jack would be in from one moment to the next? It sounded like a level of hell. Sir John must be desperate for time apart.
After less than an hour in their company, Lewis felt the same, but that would have to wait. “I’ll stay and dine with him, shall I?”
“There’s no call to do that,” said Maggs. “Don’t want to leave Sir John to dine alone.” He moved toward the door, gesturing to indicate Lewis should accompany him. “He’ll likely be asleep before he finishes his dinner. These fits take him that way.”
Lewis glanced over his shoulder at Jack. Fits. One hell of a word. He heard the tremor in his own voice. “I’ll just go bid him goodnight, then.”
But Maggs shook his head. “He’s forgotten you’re here, sir. I’d leave it, if I was you.” He pulled the door open.
Lewis took one more long look at his best friend before escaping into the hush of the corridor. Feeling the long-dead sting of tears, he backed against the wall and pressed his fingers to his eyes until it passed. The crows downstairs would know the truth soon enough, but not because Lewis couldn’t master his own expression. He had not taught Anna artificial smiles for nothing.
Chapter 19
Neither food nor companionship held any appeal, but Lewis had eaten nothing since leaving the vicarage that morning, and whatever shock he felt at the moment, Sir John must be suffering far more. The man deserved Lewis’s time and some rational conversation. Besides that, Lewis had questions of his own.
He found Sir John in the library, gazing into the fireplace. Lewis could not see his expression, but the slump of his shoulders spoke of fatigue that sleep alone would not cure.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, sir. You must be ready to eat an entire sheep.”
Sir John turned, his mouth curving into a smile. “Oh, it’s not so bad as that. We had a bite at Otley before setting out. This is still my first brandy—you’ll join me?”
Lewis accepted the glass Sir John poured for him and they surveyed one another as they drank.
“You look well, Lewis. You’ve added a few much-needed pounds. Some color too. I see why you were so eager to come home.”
“And you, I believe, have lost the weight I gained. Did Lady W put you on a reducing diet?” Or had anxiety done the damage, painted him thinner, grayer, balder?
Sir John groaned and patted his well-rounded belly. “I could lose a good bit more without anyone worrying that I’ll waste away.”
With the servants in attendance, they talked of unexceptional topics over dinner—the predictable trials of winter travel, Lewis’s work with the vicar, Cassie’s doings in Bath. Nevertheless, Lewis’s spirits lifted. In the past three months, he’d eaten too many meals with only Milton or Pope or Edward Gibbon for company.
They didn’t linger at table, instead returning to the comfort of the library. With a roaring fire and brandy to keep them warm, Sir John broached the subject they’d been avoiding.
“How does Jack seem to you, Lewis?”
“Very well, at first. Talkative and happy.” As Lewis went on to describe Jack’s tantrum in the dressing room, Sir John’s scowl deepened.
“It sounds like he went to some trouble to show you the whole range of his moods.”
“I’m sure the traveling played a part, sir. I’m glad to have missed it. Must have been exhausting.”
“It certainly was for me. But Maggs is a godsend! The man is quite imperturbable. His chatter gets tiresome at times, but he says it helps calm Jack down. I’ve seen it work.”
Lewis nodded. “I wondered if it might be a role he plays. When we talked privately, he spoke like a man of sense.”
“His accent is unfortunate since he must go into company with us, and that annoying laugh, but we can hardly expect the language or manners of an aristocrat. He came into this line of work after a brief career as a pugilist.”
“That explains his nose and his—er—solidity. I imagine he has some stories to tell about his past.”
“Yes indeed. Jack finds them very entertaining. So do I, though for me,” Sir John said, “one iteration would be sufficient.” Not much later, he pushed himself to his feet, groaning as he did so.
“I’m for bed,” he said. “I’ll be closeted with my man of business most of the day tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, sir. I’ll just finish my brandy, and then I’ll be up myself.”
At the door, Sir John turned around. “I forgot to tell you, your parents are coming for dinner tomorrow. They invited us to Aubrey Hall, but we thought it best to do it here. You can help, if you would, by keeping Jack upstairs until a footman lets you know they’ve arrived. Afterward, Jack can retire whenever it seems advisable.”
Lewis grimaced. His parents, the new Jack
, and his nurse? Not a happy combination. “How much do they know, sir?”
“Only that he’s been ill, with a long recovery ahead.” Sir John’s voice hardened. “Not that they haven’t poked for details. Your family doesn’t deserve you, Lewis!”
Lewis sat bolt upright and searched Sir John’s fierce countenance. It was the first outright criticism of his parents he’d ever heard the man utter. They had been friends, once upon a time. The ladies still were. “Good lord, sir, I’m a poor enough specimen of a son. I think we’re well-matched.”
“They planted that rubbish in your head. Their letters are filled with aspersions—you’re ungrateful, think you’re too good for your parents. Ha! For them to call you prideful is—” He broke off, rubbing one hand across his scalp as if he were scrubbing a stubborn stain.
Lewis rose and strode toward him, put an arm awkwardly around his shoulders. “Sir, there’s no reason for—”
“I’m sorry, Lewis, I’m just so tired.” Sir John drooped. “I wish Margaret and I had realized sooner how wretched they made things for you. When you were five, or ten, or fifteen.”
“Honestly, Gideon was the bigger problem. If they had exercised the least restraint over him… But it was their job, not yours. You could not possibly have done more, sir, and I am more grateful than I can say. Would that I could do more for you.”
“Stay Jack’s friend, that’s all I ask.” Avoiding Lewis’s gaze, Sir John pulled gently away from his embrace and gave him a pat on the arm. “You’re a good lad. In any event, we were bound to see your parents sooner or later. Just as well to get it out of the way.” He opened the door and stepped across the threshold. “Should be quite an adventure.”
Lewis awoke the next morning, anticipating an early ride in honor of old times. Jack slept until noon, however, and by the time he had dressed and breakfasted it was too late for the kind of ride Lewis had in mind.
“Probably for the best,” Maggs confided to Lewis as they waited for Jack to finish eating. “Go slow with it. He’s not been on a horse since before he fell sick, and it seems like whatever sense regular folks have about how they touch things, he’s lost it. Like the way he hauled you up that grand staircase yesterday?”
Lewis nodded as though he understood. But he didn’t. Not really.
“I ain’t no horseman, mind. But mebbe a nag what’s got a thick skin? And stick close to home. Best if he had time for a rest before that fancy dinner.”
Did he mean that Jack could not be trusted to manage a horse? Impossible. From the time they’d learned to ride in the paddocks and pastures at White Oaks, Jack had been the first to conquer every new gait, the first to jump his pony over each successively larger obstacle. “Come on, let’s go!” he would call, and Lewis went. Jack was the best rider he knew.
Yet Maggs had told the truth. Even the placid, elderly mare took exception to Jack’s rough handling of the reins.
They returned in plenty of time for Jack’s rest. They would ride again, of course they would—but not before a careful review of riding basics.
Chapter 20
Dressed for a dinner he had no wish to attend, Lewis went to Jack’s room. He tapped lightly in case Jack was asleep, but he heard Maggs talking from inside, and a moment later, the door opened wide.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Lewis, do come in, sir,” Maggs said. “We are mostly ready, aren’t we, Mr. Wedbury? We had a bit of difficulty deciding what to wear, ha-ha, but as you see, we came around in the end. Now, Mr. Wedbury, we must just keep your raiment tidy until we return to this room.”
Jack looked handsome in navy, with a silk waistcoat of narrow red and white stripes. His linen was impeccably white, his cravat simple but elegant with a garnet pin as adornment. No reason for an observer to think he’d suffered a day’s illness in his life.
Lewis crossed the room and sat by the fireplace. Jack sat primly in the matching chair, obeying his nursemaid like a child dressed up for an audience with guests.
Maggs stood before the mirror, grappling with his own cravat. He finally settled the knot in place and tucked the ends inside his waistcoat. Then he pulled on his coat, a plain, unobtrusive black expertly tailored to fit his bulk, and stretched out his arms in a grand gesture. “All primed for company. What do you say, sir? Will I embarrass you?”
Jack surveyed him. “You look like a boxer stuffed into a magpie costume. Could stand a little color.”
“A magpie costume!” Maggs laughed at some length. “That’s very good, Mr. Jack. I’ll leave the colored bits to you gentlemen.”
When Robert came to fetch them to dinner, Jack suffered Maggs to give his cuffs a final twitch and strode out the door.
Maggs followed and Lewis brought up the rear, trudging down the hallway. Why was he so bloody nervous? This was not his trial; his parents had tried him years ago and found him wanting. No, this was Jack’s trial. It was a blessing he didn’t know it.
Maggs slid one finger round the front of his neck between skin and cravat. “Don’t know why I should be anxious, Mr. Aubrey. Your mama and papa raised you, they must be as pleasant and broad-minded as you are.”
Lewis had never in his life called them Mama and Papa, and they were neither pleasant nor broad-minded. He could not leave poor Maggs thinking he was safe from them.
“My parents have a special way of sneering at their inferiors. Best be on your guard, Mr. Maggs.”
Maggs almost lost his footing as he turned, wide-eyed. Lewis met his shocked gaze with a shrug. He couldn’t change the way things were.
Sir John arrived at the drawing room door just ahead of them, as though he’d been listening for their voices on the stairs. He gave his son a quick inspection from head to toe, then a quicker one for Maggs. For Lewis he had a broad smile. Artificial, Lewis was sure, though he hid it well. This man and his wife had been Lewis’s models for social grace all his life.
Lewis grinned back—he had learned that lesson, at least—and Sir John responded with a sparkle of real humor, the skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He nodded for Horton to open the door and led the way into the room.
While Sir John advanced on Lewis’s father with hand outstretched, Lewis moved to his mother’s side. She was overdressed as always, because silk and lace meant status and the more silk and lace you could show off at one time, the higher your status must be.
“Good evening, Mother.”
“Lewis.” She presented one cool, powdered cheek for his kiss. The same cheek she’d offered when he came home in August after half a year’s absence, barely glancing up from her interminable embroidery.
“We’ve been waiting twenty minutes.” As she spoke, her critical glance swept over Maggs, now being introduced to Father as “a sort of aide-de-camp.” Maggs bowed but did not offer his hand. Right move, Maggs. Lewis could not hear Father’s reply.
As Jack and the others came to greet her, Lewis went to shake his father’s hand.
“Well, Lewis.”
From Father, too, the very same greeting. Except that in August, he’d given Lewis a thorough inspection before sniffing in disdain and delivering the inevitable criticisms. “I see you dropped some blunt on the London tailors, but I can’t say you look much the better for your grand London adventure. Did you cut your hair once in all the time you were gone?”
Lewis had been curious to see if either parent would evince any sign of affection, real or feigned. After a week of waiting, he gave up and transferred his things to White Oaks.
He’d seen them perhaps a dozen times since, at church or around town. After twenty years of insult and neglect, his calluses had grown thick. But there was no reason to subject himself to the daily barbs. Staying at the Wedburys’ made them easy to avoid.
His mother sat by the table that held her drink. Since the other men remained standing, Lewis felt obligated to join her. He could have used a drink himself, but none had been offered since they entered the room.
She took a sip. “Jack seems lively. I expected
to see him reduced to a wraith. It’s Sir John who looks ill.”
“Yes, I’m relieved to find Jack so well. We went for a ride this afternoon, and he came through it with energy to spare.”
Lewis ignored the second part of her comment. How unfair that his father should appear so vital. His color was good, and though his black hair showed some gray, he had a full head of it. A full set of teeth too. A stranger might think him fifteen years younger than Sir John, rather than three. Perhaps that was why Father seemed more than usually pleased with himself.
Not nearly soon enough, Horton announced dinner. “Finally,” Jack exclaimed. “I’m ravenous!”
Lewis’s father let out a manly guffaw. “What refreshing candor! I’m much inclined to pull out that line at the next dinner party I attend.” He took his wife’s arm. “Do you think I should, my dear? Or would it be too dreadfully gauche?”
She tittered behind her gloved hand. No one else laughed at his insulting little joke.
Lewis ground his teeth. Jack Wedbury, the poor idiot.
Chapter 21
“I must apologize, Mrs. Aubrey, for having no other ladies here this evening,” said Sir John, opening the dinner conversation. “I promise we gentlemen will forego our after-dinner chat and join you in the drawing room. Such old friends as you will forgive us, I know, if we make it an early evening. We find ourselves sadly fatigued by the journey north.”
“Of course, poor man.” She managed to make her sympathy sound sincere. She sat at Sir John’s right, across the table from her husband. Lewis seated himself by her side—better her attention should focus on him than on Jack or Maggs. Better still if she couldn’t see them at all. Short of blindfolding her, that was impossible.
