“I know,” she said. “Nobody disturbs the brave knight when he’s polishing his sword, or whatever he gets up to of an idle afternoon, but this is urgent.”
She patted Pahdi’s arm and marched off, though she’d managed to surprise the unflappable butler, and that was a small satisfaction.
Madeline rapped three times on Jack’s door in the exact rhythm Pahdi typically used, and she was bid enter.
“If you must flagellate me again so soon, at least have—oh, it’s you.”
Not a cheerful realization, apparently. “You were expecting somebody to beat you?”
Madeline had heard of such goings-on. The Candlewick library had a number of texts that depicted exotic sexual practices in detail. Dusting the books had not allowed for more than the occasional, furtive peek, much to Madeline’s frustration.
“I was expecting more torment from my butler,” Jack said, picking up a cushion from the floor and tossing it onto the bed. “Come in.”
He wore a robe, pajama pants, and nothing else. His feet were bare, and behind him was a large four-poster bed. No hangings hid the bed from view or distracted from the soft expanse where Jack slept nightly.
The scent of the room was exotic—not the soothing sandalwood of the library, but more complex fragrances, as if incense was often burned here. Stepping into this room was to cross a cultural threshold as well as a physical one, and to leave Madeline in the position of the foreigner.
“Perhaps your butler would be happier in India,” Madeline said.
The furnishings were unusual. The bed was carved teak. A folding screen in the corner had been painted to depict tigers amid lush foliage. A brilliant peacock-feather fan was displayed over the clothes press, and the desk—more teak—was so low, the floor was the only possible seat from which to work.
Perhaps Jack would be happier in India?
“My mother would delight to see Pahdi repatriated to his homeland,” Jack said. “I hadn’t thought you shared her prejudices.”
Madeline did not have time to fence with the man who’d occupied her waking and sleeping thoughts for three days.
“Your mother is jealous of your butler,” Madeline said. “He has more of your time and your regard than she does. I hope I am not prejudiced where Pahdi is concerned, but I didn’t come here to discuss your mother’s loneliness.”
For Madeline to be in this room alone with Jack was scandal waiting to happen—again.
Jack unknotted his robe and opened the wardrobe, another massive teak creation. “I could ask you to step out and receive me fifteen minutes hence in the family parlor, but that strikes me as ridiculous. What can I do for you?”
They hadn’t exactly avoided each other in the past few days, but Jack had been busy trying to track down the darts thief and the coal thief. Madeline wasn’t sure he intended to prosecute either miscreant, and hoped she’d never find out.
“My Aunt Theodosia is ill. One of the Candlewick maids stopped in to visit her on the way to the village, and found Theo battling a lung fever.”
“I hate lung fever,” Jack said, tossing his robe onto a hook inside the wardrobe. “I hate anything that smacks of illness and suffering. You aren’t thinking of risking contagion by going to her yourself?”
That’s exactly what Madeline had been thinking, but when she would have replied to that effect, Jack plucked a shirt from his wardrobe.
In so doing, he turned enough that his back was visible, a part of him Madeline had never seen. She’d touched the scars writhing across his flesh. The marks were old, pale, and far too numerous.
“You don’t want your mother to know,” Madeline said.
Jack pulled the shirt over his head. “I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t want your mother to know how close she came to losing you in India, and so you keep a distance. The distance hurts her.”
“The distance protects her too, as you must remain protected from your aunt’s illness. I’ll send a note around to Dr. Higgans. He can have a look and let you know how your aunt fares.”
“You will do no such thing,” Madeline said, stalking up to Jack. “Higgans won’t bestir himself to see to a sick old woman until his every other patient is in the pink of health. Theo can’t pay him, and he’ll say she’s too elderly and nothing can be done. That’s exactly what he said when she fell ill two years ago.”
Madeline saw in Jack’s eyes that he wanted to argue—to reason with her, in male parlance.
“I will go to her without your blighted permission, Jack Fanning, and you can call it breach of contract and toss me out into the snow.”
“Madeline, I would never—”
“But you’ll consign an old woman to suffering alone? She’ll try to feed her chickens, Jack, in this miserable cold. She’ll worry over those damned dogs, and neglect herself, assuming she can get out of bed at all. She’ll cough herself to death because nobody could spare her a toddy or find warm stockings for her feet. Bedamned to you if that’s your idea of Christian charity.”
Jack brandished a handkerchief, which made no sense.
“Your cheek,” he said, touching his own face. “You’ve tears…”
She snatched the handkerchief from him. “Thank you. I’ll likely miss supper, and don’t expect me back tomorrow. I’ll make my excuses to your mother if I return, and I’m sure the Belmonts will retrieve my things if I’m not welcome back.”
“I’m sending a note to Higgans,” Jack said.
He was a decent, honorable Englishman, and protecting the women of his household was his duty. Sending for the doctor was generous—Jack would see that Higgans was paid—also pointless.
“My aunts are all I have. You can’t stop me from going to Theo now.”
He took the handkerchief from Madeline, and when she expected him to toss it aside, he instead dabbed gently at her cheeks.
“Meet me downstairs in a quarter hour. We’ll need the medicinals, clean sheets, a basket of provisions, and some spirits. If you must charge unarmed at dragons ten times your size, at least ride into battle with a trusty squire at your side.”
Jack wasn’t a willing squire—she had no delusions about that—but in this instance, he was her squire, and she very much needed the aid.
Madeline pitched into him, reveling in the succor of his embrace. “Thank you. Thank you, Jack.”
“Thank me when Theodosia has been returned to good health, and your own well-being hasn’t been imperiled.”
Madeline held on to him for another long moment, because that feeling—of riding into battle unarmed, against dragons ten times her size—was all too familiar.
The privilege of having a trusty squire at her side was all too rare.
* * *
Jack clucked to the horse the instant Pahdi set the bag of provisions beside Madeline on the bench of the sleigh. The evening air was brutally cold, and Madeline’s silence conveyed loads of worry.
While Jack’s emotions veered close to anger.
Saras had been as stubborn as Madeline, unwilling to leave Jack’s side as he’d thrashed his way through days and nights of fever and nightmares. He’d had three weeks to gradually mend and regain his strength, and then she’d fallen ill.
Idiot woman. Dear, precious, unique, bold, lovely, dead, idiot woman. And then Jack’s temper lurched toward sorrow because he missed his late wife, though the missing at some point had become more nostalgic than bereft.
When had that happened?
“Does Pahdi want to return to India?” Madeline asked.
Jack could feel her shivering in her plain cloak. He switched the reins to one hand, pulled the lap robe up to her shoulders, and wrapped an arm about her.
“If you catch your death, I will haunt you through your next seven lives.”
She tucked in close. “If you catch yours, I will never forgive myself.”
“Yes, you will,” Jack said. “It might take ten years, but you will. I’ve never asked Pahdi if he’d like to return to
India. He has family there and writes to them regularly.”
Jack still had a few friends in India as well, such as old military associations qualified as friendships.
“If you don’t ask him what his preferences are, he’ll never tell you,” Madeline said.
“Pahdi can be blazingly articulate when he’s of a mind to be. I honestly don’t think he’d leave James.”
Good God, the night was arctic. Jack urged the horse to a canter, because the sooner they were out of the frigid air, the better.
“Pahdi won’t leave you,” Madeline retorted. “People in service are loyal to their employers in the misguided hope the loyalty will be reciprocated. For the employer, the transaction involves coin, room, and board, for services rendered. Loyalty from a domestic is our way of insisting that we’re not slaves for a wage.”
Jack let that provocative insult remain unchallenged. Madeline was terrified for her aunt, and she spoke from bitter experience.
“I sent a note to Higgans,” Jack said. “I expect he’ll come by this evening or tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.”
They didn’t speak again until the sleigh pulled up in Theodosia’s yard. Barking started up within the cottage. No candles glowed in the windows, and Jack could detect no scent of smoke on the night air.
“See to the horse,” Madeline said, leaping to the ground and grabbing the bag from the seat.
“The horse can stand for a moment,” Jack said, but in this cold, only for a moment. “Let’s unload the supplies first.”
Madeline was already halfway to the door. Jack followed, carrying blankets and what felt like a bag of coal. No paths had been shoveled across the snowy yard. No chickens perched on the fence boards.
Madeline rapped on the door, then pushed it open.
The stench hit Jack before he’d crossed the threshold. Confined dogs, sickness, boiled cabbage, and despair. The fire in the hearth was down to coals, giving off only meager light. Heat would doubtless intensify the stink, but Jack could see his breath clouding before him in the front room.
“Aunt Theo!” Madeline called over the barking and whining of the dogs. “Aunt?”
The puppies and their mother occupied a boarded-off corner of the front room, and from the stink, they’d been there for some time.
“Tend to the fire,” Jack said, setting the blankets on the kitchen table. “I’ll see to Theodosia.”
See if she was still alive, which required lighting the tallow candle before Jack could make out anything in the bedroom.
Theo lay curled in a box bed, nothing but her face peeking out from the covers. A nightcap covered her hair, and though she was a tall woman, illness had made her small and frail.
“Theodosia,” Jack said, sitting on the bed.
Madeline stood in the doorway, still in her cloak and scarf.
“Theodosia, wake up.” He gently shook her shoulder. “Theodosia Hickman, you’ve company. Your Madeline has come to call, and she’s upset to find you abed at such an hour.” Theo very likely sought her bed as soon as the sun went down, to conserve candles and coal, if nothing else.
“Maddie?”
“She’s brought beef tea,” Jack said. “You will swallow every drop.”
“Martha.”
“Martha may have some as well.”
“Her hound,” Madeline said, from the end of the bed. “We’ll look after Martha, and the chickens, and you, Aunt Theo.” She spread an extra blanket over her aunt, a thick wool afghan brought from Teak House.
“My feet,” Theo said. “So cold.”
“I’ll heat some bricks.” Madeline patted her aunt’s shoulder and whisked off again.
“I’ve horses to see to,” Jack said. “You are not to run off, Theo Hickman. Be good for your Maddie, or you’ll get the sharp edge of my tongue and hers too.”
Jack left the bedroom door open and found Madeline adding coal to the meager glow in the hearth. The fireplace hadn’t been swept clean in some time, and the bed of ash was probably the only reason the coals still held some heat.
Had the fire gone out…
“I’ll put up the horses,” Jack said. “I’d get some beef tea into her as soon as you can. It should still be warm, as many towels as Cook wrapped it in. The dogs have to go. This stench is intolerable.”
Madeline rose, the wrought-iron poker in her hands. “Theo loves these dogs. The puppies are worth money, and they belong to her. You can’t just toss them in the river because we’ve hit a bad patch.”
Jack set both hands on Madeline’s shoulders. “I meant, I will remove them to the byre, where the sheep and goats give off some warmth. The bitch is doubtless famished too. If there’s enough beef tea, give the hound a serving.”
Besides, the river was frozen solid, much like Jack’s toes, nose, ears, and chin.
He kissed Madeline’s forehead, risked a quick hug, and then forced himself back out into cold and darkness.
* * *
Madeline was numb, though the numbness was born of fatigue rather than cold.
Theo’s cottage was snug, the dogs ensconced in the byre. A pot of soup steamed on the pot swing, and late-morning sun streamed through the windows.
The doctor had not come, of course. Madeline hadn’t expected him to, though Jack clearly had. Theo’s cough had quieted with regular applications of whisky toddies, though low fevers had come and gone throughout the night.
Jack had come and gone too. He’d dealt with the chickens, sheep, goats, and the dogs; brought in a quantity of wood for the wood box; then taken the sleigh back to Teak House. Around midnight, he’d returned with more coal; food for canines, livestock, and people alike; incense to chase the stink of dog away; three books; a change of clothing for Madeline; and several pairs of thick wool socks.
Through the rest of the night, he’d taken turns with Madeline sitting with Theo, and dozing in the front room. At first light, he’d left again, promising to return before noon.
“Maddie?”
“Coming, Aunt.” Madeline pushed up from her chair before the hearth, hips and knees protesting mightily. Being a housemaid was particularly hard on the joints, and cold and fatigue didn’t help.
“You are here,” Theo said, pushing herself to a sitting position. “I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or awake. Very odd to dream about being snug and warm when you’re not, though. I don’t hear the puppies.”
“Jack moved them to the byre—Sir Jack,” Madeline said. “He also brought kitchen scraps for Martha, milk porridge for the puppies, and corn for the chickens. We owe him much, Aunt.”
Theo plucked at the covers, most of which had been brought over from Teak House.
“He was here too,” Theo said. “I remember that.”
Madeline would never forget how it had felt to have Jack’s company throughout a long night. “Would you like some porridge? We haves honey and even cinnamon, and milk to go with it. I had some earlier.”
Sometime in the night, Jack had set the oats soaking so a hot breakfast had been a possibility. Madeline had been too preoccupied to think of breakfast, but oh, that first meal of the day had been sublime.
Also solitary.
“Cinnamon… Sir Jack is a man of parts, Madeline. You did well to join his household.”
Madeline pushed back the drapes, for the fire had had hours to chase the chill from the cottage. “How do you feel, Aunt?”
“Old, grateful, worried about you. You do know I’m going to die, Madeline?”
Madeline kept her back to her aunt. “Must you?” This announcement had begun to find its way into conversations two years ago, when Theo had last fallen ill.
“You’ll die too,” Theo went on. “I notice your own demise doesn’t particularly concern you.” She coughed delicately, though Madeline suspected the cough was at least partly manufactured.
The interrogation and exhortation would go on until spring if Madeline allowed that. “Aunt, I have feelings for him. I don’t know what
to do.”
Jack had known what to do, and he’d not made a fuss about it either. Madeline had emerged from a round of spooning beef tea into her aunt to find Jack on his knees scrubbing the corner of the cottage where the dogs had been penned.
Like a housemaid, but with more muscle and determination. Madeline had been so upset at the sight she’d nearly run from the cottage.
She’d had flowery speeches and flattering toasts from men of lesser station. She’d had promises and even a stray proposal or two. She’d seen men on their knees spouting ridiculous poetry, but she’d never thought to see a man—much less a knight of the realm—on his knees beside a bucket with a scrub brush in his hands.
She had wanted to cry, but had instead reminded him that the walls could hold the stink as much as the floor could.
He’d scrubbed the walls too.
On the counter sat oranges, bread, butter, jam, the three books, Madeline’s work basket, a tin of black tea, and a sack containing a loaf of sugar. The window box held butter, milk, and cheese.
Madeline wanted to cry all over again. “Pity the poor dragon, attacked by a knight who has Jack Fanning for her squire.”
“Don’t mutter, dear. Do I hear horses?”
Yes, thank God. “Jack’s returned, and he has somebody with him.”
“Not that dreadful Ralph Higgans, I hope. That man couldn’t quack a healthy piglet.”
“A woman,” Madeline said, leaving the window. “You’ll not talk of dying before company, Theodosia Hickman.” Madeline might start to cry again, and she’d already endured that mortification twice with Jack Fanning as a witness.
“I’m old and sick,” Theodosia said. “I can say whatever I please, and I say you could do a lot worse than Jack Fanning.”
“You are old and scandalous.”
Madeline did a creditable flounce from the bedroom, but came to an abrupt halt in the kitchen as Florentia Fanning entered the cottage, Jack at her heels.
“Oranges are all well and good, but lemons quiet a cough much more effectively,” she was saying. “A bit of lemon juice with honey and whisky, heated to steaming with a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg. Miss Hennessey, you poor thing. You look a wreck. How you must be worrying for your dear aunt. You did the right thing to send for me. I know Jack must have protested awfully, but I’m here now despite Jack’s grumbling, and all will be well.”
Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4) Page 19
