by Julia Parks
To give the man credit, Havelock hesitated all the same. Drew suspected he was weighing his cousin’s anger against the windfall of having his vouchers returned.
“Well?”
Roland Havelock’s beady eyes returned to the pile of vouchers. “Very well, as long as it doesn’t harm her.”
“She won’t come to any harm, I promise you. The first thing I want you to do is to see to it she discovers this note.” He handed over a small note, which Havelock read quickly.
“I don’t understand. What are you doing with a note to my cousin Cherry from Pierce?”
Clearly, the man’s understanding was limited.
“It is not really for Miss Cherry, nor is it from Lord Pierce. I wrote it so that Miss Lindsay would feel it necessary to go to the graveyard just past the Heartland gardens. She would only venture to such a spot at midnight if she thought she were saving her cousin.”
“That’s true enough. Still, I don’t see what good that will do you. It’s not as though there is going to be a ghost to scare her or anything.”
“Oh, but I can assure you there will be.”
b
How her Cousin Roland had engineered an invitation to dinner, Jane couldn’t be sure. He had probably flattered Aunt Sophie dreadfully, for as a rule, her aunt disliked him. But here he was, and they were stuck with him for an entire evening.
It was not as if her evenings were exciting without his presence. Quite the contrary, but while the ladies of Heartland lived quietly most of the time, their evenings were never boring. And boredom was what Jane was experiencing at that moment. She forced herself to pay attention to her company once more.
“And then the duchess said—“
“Which duchess?” asked Cherry. “Was it the Duchess of Wentworth? I am acquainted with her, you know.”
“Why, yes. Yes, so it was. Anyway she said, ‘Roland, you scamp, I believe you’ve the devil’s own luck with cards!’ Of course, she was right, and she was soon into me quite heavily.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize she gambled,” said Cherry.
“Lord, child,” said her mother. “All the ladies play, though mostly silver loo. Why, we must teach you before we go up to London, so that you will know how to go on.”
“I should be happy to be of service,” said Cousin Roland with gallantry. But Jane thought it time to intervene; she had heard rumours about her Cousin Roland’s skill at the tables—or lack of it.
“I will teach you, Cherry.” She ignored a glare from Havelock. “After all, you want to know how ladies play, not an expert, neck-or-nothing player such as Cousin Roland is reputed to be.” With this, Jane rose from the table and led the way to the gold salon.
“I’ll just bring my port along, if you ladies have no objection. Nothing worse than sitting all alone at a huge table with only a glass of spirits for company.”
The gold salon was so named for the colour of its draperies but also for the delicate white Louis XIV furniture trimmed in gold. Jane led the way to an intimate grouping of two couches and two chairs. The sofas faced one another, and she claimed one of these, pulling Cherry down by her side. Aunt Sophie sat on the opposite couch while Cousin Roland prepared to sit on one of two dainty chairs.
As he lowered his considerable bulk, Jane wondered irreverently where she would find another to match the set. She wasn’t certain if the subsequent creaking emanated from the chair or Cousin Roland’s corset, but the chair remained intact.
Roland leaned toward Cherry and began to tell her slightly scandalous tales of London and its better-known inhabitants. Cherry blushed at his boldness, but Jane recognized the stories as being two or three Seasons old and quite exaggerated.
Trying to draw Roland’s attention away from Cherry, who was obviously uncomfortable, Jane asked, “How is your mother, Roland? You have been to see her since your return to England, haven’t you?”
“Actually, I intend to go next week. She has been ill, and I didn’t wish to visit on account of that.”
Aunt Sophie looked shocked. “But surely you must realize, my boy, that the best thing for an ailing mother is her child? You should go to her at once and beg forgiveness!”
“There’s no need for that. Mother understands only too well my delicate, susceptible constitution. She would be terrified lest I contract some deadly disease from her.” He patted Aunt Sophie’s plump hand on the arm of the sofa on his left.
Their conversation drifted haphazardly here and there for the next hour. Jane’s thoughts wandered, and she was caught several times without the appropriate rejoinder to a query. She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs and endeavoured to pay attention. Yawning, she wondered desperately if it were too early to send for the tea tray.
“What we need is music,” she announced during a lull in conversation. “Cherry, why don’t you play something? You perform much better in company than I do.” This was certainly true. Whereas Jane’s playing was more inventive—a tactic she employed to cover mistakes—Cherry’s skill could easily be appreciated by any audience.
Roland helped Cherry to her feet and led her to the pianoforte. The listening trio smiled at one another as Cherry began a flawless introduction.
Jane settled back on the sofa to enjoy the performance, one hand leaving her lap and coming to rest on the upholstery where Cherry had been sitting. Her fingers touched paper, and she looked down at a note. In bold, masculine handwriting, she read Cherry’s name on the outside. Unobtrusively, she picked up the note, easily holding it in her palm.
Jane looked about to be sure everyone’s attention was elsewhere while she opened the note slightly and digested its contents. Then she slipped it between the cushions.
That I have been reduced to this! And if I didn’t read notes addressed to someone else, notes found accidentally, I would have no clue about Cherry’s little peccadilloes.
Obviously, Cherry would soon announce that she was retiring. Hadn’t she said earlier she needed to write letters to her schoolgirl friends in London? Probably invented that tale just so she could escape and meet Lord Pierce in the graveyard!
Jane stifled a shiver.
Still, the message held a desperate ring to it. Perhaps they were planning an elopement! She had to go. Oh, she could confront Cherry now, but that would only lead to more subterfuge. She would have to speak to Peter, too.
Cherry’s piece ended and Pipkin entered with the tea tray. Bless his pious heart, he had read the boredom in her eyes at dinner and was trying to hurry their guest’s visit along.
“These cakes are wonderful, Jane. There must be a new cook here since l was a boy.”
“No, it is still Mrs. Brown.” Mrs. Brown had never deemed it necessary to serve her best to such a rude and naughty little boy. “Do have another.”
He took the last cake, spilling crumbs as he leaned over. Jane wondered again how such a mousey woman as his mother could ever have produced such a great lug of a man.
Then she turned her attention to Cherry. She had no wish to be up all night, so she would help Cherry make good on her escape.
“Cherry, didn’t you tell me you hadn’t written those letters yet? You know—to your friends, apprising them of your arrival date in London.”
“That’s right. I really should make a start tonight.”
What an excellent thespian she would make.
“You mean you haven’t even written to Emily Bingham?” asked Aunt Sophie.
“I’m afraid not. I hate to be rude…”
“We quite understand,” said Cousin Roland, dusting off his hands and returning his cup and saucer to the tray. “I, myself, must be going. It’s quite a long trip back to Bath. Still, at least we have a full moon tonight.”
b
It was half-past midnight when Jane slipped out of the house by the back stairs. The note had instructed Cherry to meet Peter at half-past one. With any luck, Jane would send Lord Pierce packing before Cherry even left the house.
The family grav
eyard was located past the large, well-manicured gardens at the back of the house. One of her ancestors had built a small chapel on the grounds when she had grown too infirm to make the journey to services at the village church. The formidable matron had also engaged the services of a full-time clergyman. When she had died, she had instructed that she be buried beside the little stone chapel at Heartland. Since that time, all of the family had been interred there. The chapel itself was kept in good repair, but it was never used.
As a child, Jane had been locked in the dark building one afternoon. She had been playing hide-and-seek with Roland, who was visiting. She had hidden in the chapel, and the door had been mysteriously jammed shut with a large stick. She was sure Roland was responsible, but no one would believe her. The hours spent in that stone chapel had been terrifying for a superstitious little girl, and she rarely went there afterwards.
These memories came flooding back as she made her way out of the garden and past the small stand of trees that shielded the chapel and its graveyard from the house’s view.
She half-expected to see Lord Pierce’s horse tied up by the fence, but the area was deserted. Jane paused, gathering her courage before opening the rusty gate. Its hinges creaked, rending the still night air like a knife.
I must tell the gardener to oil those.
Keeping to the centre of the path, her eyes never straying to the graves on the left or right, she approached the chapel. The door was open. Odd, it was always kept closed, usually locked.
She hesitated, her fear overwhelming her. Then a whisper of white appeared just at the corner of the building. Not on the ground, but higher up, as though floating.
Jane turned and the apparition floated to the ground, coming closer, closer…
b
“Jane! My God, what have I done? Jane! Jane! Wake up—it is I!” Drew sat on the ground and pulled her into his lap. He threw the gauzy white material off his body with one hand while gently patting her face with the other.
He hadn’t expected this. He had expected her to put up some sort of fight, some argument. But when the full moon had revealed her look of sheer terror, he had realized his mistake. Miss Jane Lindsay was a brave, strong woman when she faced another human being, but her own fears of the supernatural could vanquish her without so much as a whimper.
She hadn’t even screamed; she’d just fainted dead away. If Drew hadn’t been so busy rubbing her wrists and unbuttoning the top buttons of her woollen gown, he would probably have taken a whip to himself.
Let her be all right.
When he had climbed up that ladder at the back of the chapel, he had felt clever and enterprising. He had been pleased with the result as he swung down from the top rung, holding onto a rope and waving his fluttering white costume in the moonlight.
Then she had fainted.
He was a cad, a cretin, a nincompoop! How could he have—?
“Oh-h-h.”
“Jane, my dearest, are you all right? Tell me.”
“I… Where am I?” She struggled against his embrace and looked around. “Oh! What happened? How did you…?” Her eyes came to rest on the discarded costume. His eyes followed her gaze, and he shifted uncomfortably.
“You! It was you!”
“Now, Jane, calm down and I’ll explain.”
“Explain? Of all the low, despicable—the note, that was yours, too!”
He nodded, though it hadn’t really been a question. “I was only trying to teach you a lesson—”
“A lesson? Hah! You did it to humiliate me! I never want to see you again, Lord Devlin!” She made his name sound like a curse, and he winced.
Jane struggled to rise, shaking his hand from her arm as he tried to steady her. Without another word, she walked away, her head held proudly, her steps firm and sure.
“At least let me escort you back to the house.”
She ignored him, but Drew continued to walk by her side.
When they reached the kitchen door, Jane stopped and turned.
“I was quite in earnest, Lord Devlin. I never want to see you again. If we meet in public, I shall not cut you, for I wouldn’t wish to stir up curiosity. But you are never to set foot on Heartland again.”
b
The next morning, Jane took her bruised and battered pride and drove out before her aunt or cousin had risen. In the gig she packed food, medicines, and small treats to distribute among her tenants and the invalids in the parish.
Returning just in time to dress for tea, she was greeted by her maid.
‘This came while you were out, Miss Jane,” said Tucker, pointing to a single red rose on the dressing table. Frowning, she opened the attached card.
In the now-familiar scrawl was another quotation from She Stoops to Conquer:
I’m so distracted with a variety of passions that I don’t know what I do. Forgive me, madam.
Yours forever
Really! Cherry was carrying this too far!
But Jane’s temper quickly cooled. Cherry was leaving in a few days, and Jane felt sure her cousin was the culprit. When Cherry left, the bogus love notes would cease.
Jane might just see if she could speed their departure along.
b
Two days later, Bath saw the leave-taking of two of its more lively inhabitants. Jane had only to suggest to her aunt that they should depart for London before the best dressmakers became too busy. Aunt Sophie had gasped in horror and insisted that they leave immediately. It had taken only two days for them to be ready.
Lord Devlin hadn’t exactly bolted from Bath, but he must have decided that his mother had moped enough at his long absence, and he, too, left town. Jane, who had been basking in the sudden tranquillity of her life, ignored the tiny flicker of distress that this news produced and returned to her novel.
It was Pride And Prejudice by a Lady. The characters were quite entertaining, but in reality, no one could fail to recognize such strong feelings as Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet exhibited.
b
A week later, a disapproving Pipkin announced her cousin Roland Havelock.
“Jane, I feel fortunate to find you at home.”
She eyed him curiously and bade him be seated.
Dressed in a dark blue morning gown of modest cut, Jane’s dress was at odds with Havelock’s bright yellow pantaloons and puce waistcoat. He looked the perfect fop against her quiet elegance. But Roland saw nothing amiss as he smiled coyly and produced a gold heart-shaped box from behind his back.
“Tm going to visit my mother, and I wanted to bring you these to thank you for your hospitality during my visit.”
“How kind of you, Roland. Thank you so much,” said Jane, surprised by the gesture. Perhaps Roland had finally grown up. She hadn’t believed him capable of such thoughtfulness—never mind that she broke out in a rash every time she ate chocolates.
She slipped the satin ribbon off the box and offered one to her cousin. “I believe I shall wait, but do have one, Roland.” He gave a wheezing laugh and held up his pudgy hands.
“No, I mustn’t indulge. Must watch my figure, you know. But there is a small favour I must ask of you, Jane.”
Ah, here it is.
“Since I’m going home, I will have no need of additional servants. But I do hate to leave this one chap high and dry, as it were. He’s been with me several years, and he’s acted as my butler, valet, footman—even a groom, if needed. Just an all-around decent fellow. I was wondering if you might have a place for him here?”
Jane had misjudged her cousin. Here he was, concerned with a servant’s plight. To make amends, she said, “Of course. Have him come out in the morning. I’ll tell Pipkin to expect him.”
“You won’t regret it!” He reached across to pat her hand and knocked the cutwork table scarf to the floor. “So clumsy of me,” he said amidst a creaking of corsets as he bent to retrieve the scarf.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding up a piece of jewellery.
“Oh, it i
s Grandmother’s pendant. I was wearing it earlier when the clasp broke. I must take it to have it fixed.”
“It must be very valuable.”
“I suppose so. The stone is very fine, but I value it because it’s such a part of Heartland tradition. It’s my good luck charm; it could never be replaced.”
“No, it certainly couldn’t. Now really, I can’t stay. I have other calls to make before I leave tomorrow.”
“Be sure to give your mother my best.”
“I certainly shall. No, no. I can see myself out. Goodbye, Cousin.”
“Goodbye, Roland.”
Later, when Jane left the room, she picked up the box of sweets and took them to the kitchen.
“Mrs. Brown, could you do something with these? You know how I am about bonbons, and I really don’t want them.”
“Certainly Miss Lindsay.”
“Thank you.” Jane smiled at her and received naught but the tiniest lift of the lips in return. Mrs. Brown must be in a good mood today, she thought wryly as she left.
b
Tom, the potboy, stared open-mouthed at the pretty box as Mrs. Brown opened it.
“Nothing but trouble,” she announced. Tom frowned and watched in mounting horror as she opened the back door.
Mrs. Brown would have been indignant had anyone called her vain, but the truth was she could not bear the thought of anyone under her domain consuming food prepared by anyone other than her. If the family wanted to go to dinner somewhere else, that was their business—they were quality. But the lesser servants knew better!
With the wide-eyed boy watching in agony, Mrs. Brown stepped to the edge of the kitchen yard and threw the chocolates as far as she could. Tom stifled a gasp.
“You, Tom, close your mouth and get back to work!”
He did as she bade him—everyone did—but he sniffed quietly as he bent over his scrubbing.
