Rescuing Lady Jane

by Lydia Pembroke

  His eyes flitted towards the letter in her hands.

  “Let me see that.”

  “No, my love,” she giggled nervously. “It is private.”

  “There is no privacy between a husband and wife. Have you not learned that yet?”

  She held the letter tighter.

  “You cannot have it.”

  “Give it to me this instant,” he growled, his eyes flashing with sudden menace.

  “No, my love. I will not.”

  “Hand me the letter, or I shall tear it from your hands.”

  Her eyes narrowed, her anger spiking. “It is intended for my sister’s eyes only. It is not for you to see. You must allow me this one piece of confidentiality, for some mystery ought to remain between lovers. However, there are no secrets between sisters.”

  “And what secrets have you been whispering into these pages, my dear?”

  His bitter tone cut through her like a knife.

  “Nothing…”

  The tremble in her voice gave her away.

  “Give it to me,” he demanded. “You will not write to your family unless you have explicitly informed me, first. I will read through every piece of correspondence you send and receive, starting with this one. If I am not happy with the content, I will have you rewrite it until I am satisfied. Is that understood?”

  She stared at him with wide eyes. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Do you still not comprehend?”

  “No, my love… I do not.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, as she held onto the letter for dear life. If he saw what she had written, she was certain of the violent punishment that would ensue.

  “Because you are not her, Jane. She was taken from me, and you can never replace what I have lost. You will never be her.” His voice held such venom that she physically flinched as each word landed its deadly blow.

  “Then… why marry me at all?” she croaked.

  “I have explained this to you. My children needed a maternal figure to guide them through their young lives — they needed a stepmother, to teach them and love them the way that she used to. And though I have lost my wife before her time, I am still a man. A man does not lose his needs simply because his wife has died.”

  Jane clawed in a ragged breath.

  “You have a wife.”

  “A substitute, nothing more.”

  “Must you be so cruel?”

  “It is only to be kind, Jane. If I were to continue to charm you and put up a pretence of adoration, you would only end up with your heart broken once you discovered it to be false. This way, I have saved you from growing more attached, thus easing the pain that might have been far more intense, further down the line. Honesty can hurt, but it pays dividends to tell the truth instead of living a lie. I would not do that to you.” He sighed heavily. “Now, hand me the letter.”

  Jane gritted her teeth.

  “I will not!”

  James stalked towards her, taking her forcefully by the shoulders and slamming her against the nearby wall. Her head hit the wood, a groan rising from her throat as he shook her. His face was terrifyingly close, his nose almost pressed to hers. And when he spoke, spittle flew outwards, the slick bite of it spattering her skin with his loathing.

  “You will behave,” he hissed, shoving her into the wall once more. “The letter, Jane!”

  “James, what in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?” a voice cut through the tense atmosphere, prompting James to whirl around. Jane sagged as he let go of her, sliding down the wall into a heap on the floor. She had thought herself to be stronger than this, but she had lost the will to fight back. Each night, he took that vigour from her, piece-by-piece.

  Georgette stood at the top of the stairs with a horrified expression on her face. She stormed towards her brother, grasping his arm and pulling him away from Jane. Casting a furious look back at him, she ducked down to see to her new sister-in-law, lifting her hand to Jane’s chin and teasing it up from its miserable position on her chest.

  “Are you well, Jane?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

  “I am not.”

  She reached for Jane’s hand. “Come, allow me to take you out to the gardens for a while. The children can wait to have their lessons. I shall send Marjorie up to divert them in the meantime.”

  Using Georgette’s strength to bolster her own, Jane rose to her feet and allowed Georgette to lead her away from James. She was almost at the stairs when she realised the letter was no longer in her hands.

  Frantically, she patted her body for any sign of it, but it had vanished. Turning dejectedly over her shoulder, she saw the innocent square lying in the middle of the plush, dark-green runner, the wax-seal facing up towards the frieze of godlike angels that decorated the ceiling. It must have fallen from her hand in the shock of being pushed against the wall.

  Her heart gripped in her chest as James bent to pick it up, shooting her a triumphant look as he slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. How she wished she had cast the troublesome thing into the fire of her bedchamber, for it could come to no good now. It would never reach her sister, and she would be left to face the repercussions with no hope of reward.

  Chapter Four

  It took just shy of another fortnight before Jane gave in, and began to be obedient to James’ volatile wishes. She sent no letter to anyone that held any truth of her situation, and dutifully handed each one she received to James. If he thought them inappropriate, he simply tossed them into the fire before she had the chance to read what lay within. Otherwise, he read them aloud to her, her family’s words marred by the gruff tone of his voice. Indeed, she could take little enjoyment from them.

  Slowly but surely, she was coming to terms with the life she had entered into. The estate grounds continued to ease her heavy heart, and she found herself spending more and more time there. Some evenings, after dinner, she would take a brisk walk by herself, defying protocol to fill her lungs with summer air that would refresh the life in her veins.

  On such balmy nights, walking in the evening’s welcoming embrace seemed like the only proper thing to do. Georgette often accompanied her, too, for she had become Jane’s sole ally.

  Truthfully, Jane had lost count of the amount of times that Georgette had rescued her from James’ wrath, though there was little her sister-in-law could do about the nightmares that came to visit her once she took to her bed. Still, she had learned to endure the cruelty, and retreat into a peaceful place within the recesses of her mind. Soon, she hoped, she would be with-child, and James would have no cause to be cold towards her anymore. Once a child began to grow, she felt certain his violence would come to an end, and his harsh behaviour would cease.

  On the fourth Friday evening of her married life, she wandered through the hedge maze in contented solitude, drinking in the coarse scent of the privet bushes that formed it. The rest of the family thought she was in the library, reading a novel, but she had slipped out of the French doors and come to seek solace in the complexity of the maze. Finding its centre, she sank down on the bench that had a commemorative plaque on the back. A memorial for the former Lord Waterford, James’ father.

  Stubbornly, she covered it with her back and gazed up at the wonderful bolts of colour that streaked across the pre-twilight haze. The heat of the day still weighed heavily in the air, making every breath feel like treacle. Being the end of September, it was somewhat unseasonal to be so temperate, but she knew the first cold breaths of Autumn would soon be upon them. With that in mind, she relished the enduring warmth. Indeed, she liked the almost viscous sensation of the thick air as it trickled down to her lungs. Suddenly, she sat up straight. A crunch of gravel signalled someone’s approach. A moment later, a figure appeared in the centre of the maze, having taken one of the many branches to reach the beating heart within.

  No, you cannot be here. This place is for me alone.

  James moved out of the shadows and walked towards Jane. A smile tugged at the corne
rs of his lips, whilst his eyes held a glitter of something akin to happiness. She had not seen that expression since before they were married. Back then, it might have pleased her, but now it worried her. What reason did he have for such joy?

  “So, this is where you come to hide away?” he asked with a low chuckle.

  “The library felt much too humid, so I thought to take some air.”

  “There is no need to lie, my dear. I would not deny you this simple pleasure.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You would not?”

  “I am not a monster, Jane, regardless of what you may believe.”

  “Have you come to join me in taking a turn about the gardens?” She sincerely hoped not.

  “Actually, I have come to deliver some rather exciting news,” he replied, as he took a seat beside her on the bench. “A letter arrived on the evening post from my associate near Reading. He has arranged accommodation for the two of us whilst I conduct some business in the area — we shall depart tomorrow morning for a pleasant village called Lower Nettlefold, where I am certain you can walk to your heart’s content. Not without a chaperone, naturally. You cannot expect to enjoy the same freedoms that you have been given within these grounds.”

  She gave him a hard stare.

  “So, you have come to deny me this simple pleasure. Tell me, husband, does it bring you joy to see me saddened? Do you take some sort of exultation from my misery?”

  “Do you honestly think me so cruel?” He seemed amused by her questions.

  “I have come to believe so.”

  He shrugged. “Then, perhaps you are right.”

  “May I not reside here with Georgette, whilst you undertake your endeavours at this Lower Nettlefold?”

  “You may not. You are my wife, and it is your duty to remain at my side.”

  “I cannot change your mind?”

  He smiled. “You cannot.”

  “Then I must go inside, for I will need to gather my belongings.” She rose slowly, brushing imaginary dust from the front of her dress. His hand shot out and grasped her by the wrist, pulling her towards him with a sharp jolt. His lips caught hers, his mouth pressing hard as his other hand clasped the back of her head. A second later, he released her, leaving her entirely baffled. She doubted she would ever come to understand her husband.

  “May I retire now?” she asked.

  “You may,” he replied quietly. He gazed at her in a most bizarre manner, his eyes glistening as though filled with tears.

  As she turned and made her way back through the maze, she could feel his eyes burning into her back. Why the sadness, James? Is it regret? She hardly dared to hope for such a miracle.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, with her luggage stowed safely aboard the family carriage, Jane said her goodbyes to the rest of the Fellings. The Dowager was her usual sour self, offering little more than a cursory “farewell”. The three children were also less than forthcoming, their goodbyes shy and vaguely insincere. Only Sarah seemed to show any hint of sadness at Jane’s departure, moving awkwardly forward to hug her as she made her way down the line of family members.

  “Have a safe journey,” she murmured, before pulling away.

  Jane looked at her with unexpected fondness. “Until we meet again, Lady Sarah.”

  She curtseyed. “Until we meet again… Lady Jane.”

  Was she about to call me Mama? It did not seem likely, but there had been a very tangible pause. Perhaps, she had been about to try it out but thought better of it in front of her father. Besides, the wound of their mother’s death had yet to scar over. It would be a long while before the pain of it became easier.

  Jane herself had experienced the death of her mother and father, who had been taken by the ravenous claws of consumption several years ago. Even now, Jane existed with the ache of their loss still firmly in her heart.

  With the farewells over and done with, Jane took James’ proffered hand and climbed into the velvet and mahogany interior of the carriage. She sat down on the opposite squab, their distance serving as a stark reminder of how she had arrived at the Waterford Estate — how she had nestled into his side and anticipated the happy future they would share together.

  How naïve she had been, but a month ago.

  Turning her gaze out of the window, so she might watch the beautiful gardens pass by as they departed, she wondered about this new destination. Reading seemed a foreign land to her, though she felt a flicker of excitement at the prospect of a quaint village to busy herself with. If it was just the two of them, she knew that the chances of James being around all the time were rather slim. Indeed, this departure might give her the true freedom she desired, although she kept the hope deep inside herself, for fear it might shatter before her very eyes.

  The journey was long and arduous, and the carriage wheels clattering with unrelenting force toward Lower Nettlefold. James did not seem to mind, having fallen asleep shortly after they crossed the border out of Northumberland. The hours ticked by without incident, whilst Jane entertained herself with the sights and sounds that had so enthralled her previously. They had lost none of their charm, the towns and villages fantastical and wonderful in their own extraordinary way.

  On the third day, a young boy had chased the carriage all the way down one of the country lanes, his cheeks red with the exertion as he raced along. As he came to a stop, Jane waved at him, eliciting a delighted laugh from the boy’s throat. She smiled with glee, the sweet sound cheering her soul. A good omen, perhaps? A sign of better things to come.

  However, as evening fell upon the fair landscape of England, she began to doubt the reassuring portent. Swollen rainclouds gathered on the horizon, bringing the scent of rain with them. The first droplets began to fall as the carriage trundled along down a wide road, with a river rushing to the right. In the distance, she could make out the lights of a settlement.

  Given how long they had been travelling, she realised this might be Lower Nettlefold. Ten minutes later, the carriage pulled up outside a three-storey building that towered over the farthest edge of a cobbled square.

  It might once have been a grand structure, with a beautiful exterior, more suited to official business than a place of residence, but time and disrepair had left it looking bereft and bleak. It stood far taller than the surrounding buildings, making its grim façade all the more noticeable. She peered up at it from the carriage window, noticing a large crack in one of the top panes of the house, the fissure branching out like the aftermath of a misplaced foot on a frozen lake. All across the sandstone walls, layers of grime had dappled the formerly pristine masonry, creating odd shadows where there should not have been any.

  The village itself was not much better, though she was determined not to pass judgement until the sun rose and revealed the settlement’s true colours.

  She turned to her husband, pondering whether or not to shake him awake. Perhaps, if she made a dart for freedom now, he would not notice her absence until she was miles from here. The prospect was tempting. However, with no money and no way to return to Egremont Hall, she realised it was a foolish scheme. Besides, James would only come for her, and claim what was his. She could not bear the thought of tasting liberty, only to have it snatched away again.

  “James,” she said, nudging her husband.

  He blinked awake. “Have we arrived?”

  “I believe so.”

  He yawned loudly and stretched out his limbs, before opening the carriage door.

  “Well then, my darling, I should welcome you to Clackford House. I do not imagine we shall remain here long, but it is to be our home for the foreseeable future, until all of my business here is complete. I trust you will strive to make improvements where necessary?”

  She sighed.

  “Of course, husband.”

  He stepped out of the carriage first, before taking her hand and helping her down. He kept hold of her hand as he led her up to the front door of the building, evidently fearing she m
ight suddenly run away. You ought to fear it, she thought bitterly.

  He released the brass knocker, the echo of it resounding through the hall beyond. As they waited for the staff to answer, James turned to Jane with that same, strange look in his eyes.

  “I hope you may be happier here, Jane. Waterford is full of memories, but this house may provide a new beginning for us both… at least for a short while.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, remaining silent.

  It is too late to make amends now, James. There is already far too much water under this rickety bridge we have built for ourselves. The worst thing was, they both knew it.

  Chapter Five

  In the months that followed, Jane sank into solitude in a house that felt alien and cold. James was often absent, conducting some vague business up at the ruined manor on the hill, leaving her entirely to herself. The manor of Dunsmore House overlooked the village of Lower Nettlefold like a battle-weary sentinel, holding out to the last breath. Only one full wing had stayed standing after a fire had torn through it, many years ago now, resulting in the deaths of almost the entire Southwell family, including the then earl of Dunsmore.

  The Dowager Countess had been the sole survivor, and now she wandered as a ghost amongst the vestigial remains of her former life. The rest of the building lay in a charred heap; a living reminder of what she had lost. Sometimes, Jane peered from the window and gazed upon the manor house, wondering at Lady Dunsmore’s grief. How she had survived such enormous devastation, Jane did not know.

  Even through Christmastide, James had disappeared from the house for weeks at a time.

  She suspected he had taken rooms at the nearby town of Upper Nettlefold, where he would be closer to the clerk who was assisting him — a man named Frederick Parch. Ordinarily, Frederick stayed at the house for several days at a time, cooped up in the study, but he had desired to return home for the festive season. James had gone with him, no doubt to harass him into working between the revelries.

  The staff at Clackford House barely acknowledged her presence, whilst one maid named Lucy had taken it upon herself to be outright rude. Jane could see the affection that Lucy bore for James and watched their flirtations with a mixture of sadness and wry amusement. She no longer cared what her husband did, as long as he did not enact his wrath upon her. Finally, she had come to realise that James did not love her, and never had. He had told her so himself, yet she had held on to a fruitless hope.