by Julia Parks
Roland turned up his nose at Jean-Francois’s extended hand. “Show us to our rooms immediately.”
The landlord turned on his heel and led them up the narrow flight of steps.
When they were alone, Jane rounded on her cousin. “Really, Roland, was it necessary to be rude? The French despise class distinctions. They held a revolution about that very thing, you may remember.”
“Yes, and then we beat them when they got out of hand,” he retorted, examining the mantel and its figurines for dust. “Really, you would think these people could keep the rooms clean.”
Jane shook her head and turned away in disgust. It was impossible to make him understand. When she looked back, he was exploring her bedroom—or rather the one she had occupied on the way to Paris.
“I’ll take this room. There’s only one window, and I am susceptible to drafts. You can have the other one. It’s a corner room. It has three windows. I know you won’t mind, you’re so robust!” With that, he disappeared into his chosen room.
Jane toyed with the idea of storming in after him. But he would wonder at her vehement protests, and Jane didn’t feel strong enough to answer his questions. Silently, she entered Drew’s bedchamber. She wished she could laugh at such an absurd notion. After all, he had only spent one night in this chamber. A small fire burned in the grate; it was a warm, inviting room. Her eyes travelled to the bed where she had lain with Drew. She closed her eyes, swaying as she recalled the exquisite pleasure of his touch.
The door opened, and Tucker entered. Jane gave the maid a weary smile.
“Poor lamb, you’re worn to the bone. I told Mr. DuClaire just to send up a tray to your room. You’ll feel better once you’re all tucked up in bed.” The maid helped Jane off with her bonnet and gloves.
b
The maid, Jean-Francois’s eldest daughter, struggled to open the sitting room door while balancing two trays precariously. Roland, hearing the noise, opened the door, saving one tray as it slid out of her grasp.
“Merci, monsieur!” exclaimed the girl, smiling at him.
“You’re quite welcome, my dear. But what’s this? Two trays?”
“Yes, monsieur. The maid requested one for madame’s room. And here is yours, monsieur.”
She set the heavy tray on a table and proceeded to lay the covers for one. With the girl’s back to him, Roland slipped a small vial from the pocket of his scarlet brocade dressing gown and lifted the top off the pot of hot water on Jane’s tray. Three, four, five drops. That should do it. Silently, he replaced the lid.
“Voila, monsieur. I hope you enjoy your dinner.”
Roland’s thick lips formed a sweet smile. He was feeling good, invincible! He reached for the girl and pulled her against him. Groping her backside, he lowered his head for a wet kiss. She cried out, struggling against him. He held her tighter still.
“Mr. Havelock!” growled Tucker indignantly, after shutting the door to Jane’s room.
He released the frightened maid who fled the room.
“Just a bit of fun, Tucker.”
“That child is not one of your village wenches! She is the landlord’s daughter, and he is a respected businessman.”
“And you, woman, forget yourself. Get out of here and take that tray with you. Next time you dare to question me, you’ll feel the back of my hand!” He loomed over her, but Tucker never flinched.
With great dignity and composure, the maid moved past him, picked up the tray, and returned to Jane.
b
Less than an hour later, Jane was tucked into bed, her stomach full and her stiff limbs warmed and relaxed.
“Ye’re sure ye won’t have some more tea?”
“No, it just doesn’t taste right.”
“It’s th’ way these Frenchies make it. They must use sweetened water in th’ pot.” Tucker blew out the last candle before she left. “Goodnight, Miss Jane.”
“Goodnight, Tucker.”
With the room bathed in mellow firelight, Jane was left alone in the soft bed. An aching loneliness settled over her. She wished she were a little girl again; things were simpler then. But now, even in the darkened privacy of her room, she struggled against the tears. Her eyes burned and her temples throbbed, but she refused to give in to her despair.
It was the bed, she decided. Abruptly, Jane climbed off the thick mattress. Dragging the counterpane behind her, she curled up in the overstuffed chair by the fire. Mesmerized by the orange flames, she drifted off to sleep.
But Drew haunted her even in her dreams. Jane was riding Sinbad across the green lawns at Heartland. Her hair streamed behind her, fanned by the cool breeze. Suddenly, in the distance, she saw another figure on horseback. It was Drew calling her name as he came closer. Behind him were two other riders, slower than he because they rode ponies. Jane dismounted, waiting for Drew to pull up and jump to the ground. He took her in his warm embrace, kissing her tenderly until they were thrust apart by eager little hands. She looked down to see two dark-haired children, a boy and a girl. She knelt and put her arms around them, hugging them to her bosom. Drew laughed and pulled her to her feet, enfolding her with one strong arm while he picked up the little girl with the other. Jane tousled the dark hair of the boy, and he giggled.
Jane opened her eyes slowly. She focused on the windows, wondering if the dim light were moonlight or the beginnings of dawn. She was back in bed, though she couldn’t recall how she had gotten back there. She stretched, smiling as she recalled her dream. How could she have such a sweet dream about such a villain? How could she believe the terrible things Roland had told her? And yet, being a realist, Jane reflected that it was impossible not to believe her cousin.
Shivering, she reached out from under the thick counterpane and took her grandmother’s timepiece from the bedside table. Holding it up to the dim light, she read the time; it was six o’clock. Too early to expect her cousin to be awake. Resigned to an hour of inactivity, Jane burrowed back under the covers.
What she needed more than anything was to be back home. Once there, she would be able to make some sense of the confusion troubling her. At Heartland, she would find peace.
b
Drew was up early. He breakfasted in his room then dressed hurriedly. It was only eight o’clock, but he wanted to reach Jane early, even if it meant waking her.
He settled his bill before stepping out into the crisp morning air. The sun was up, brightening the world as servants hurried along the streets, shopping bags under one arm. Drew tipped his hat to an industrious matron sweeping her front steps. He even whistled quietly, assured that such a lovely morning could only be the beginning of a wonderful day.
He tripped up the front steps of Madame DuClaire’s house and beat a confident tattoo with the knocker. No back steps for him this morning; he and Jane would shortly be leaving Tuttle and his prying eyes behind.
“Yes, monsieur?” asked the downstairs maid as Drew walked past her.
“I wish to see Madame.”
“Of course, monsieur.” The maid hurried away and returned with Madame DuClaire.
Drew said, “I’m sorry, madame. I meant for the maid to get Madame Davies.” Madame DuClaire looked very grave. “What is it? Madame Davies hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, has she?”
“No, monsieur. Please come into the salon. I have a note to give you.”
Drew did as he was bade. Madame DuClaire watched as he digested the contents of Jane’s note.
Dear Drew,
I find that after many hours of reflection I must admit that I have mistaken my feelings for you. It would be unfair of me to pretend otherwise, so I have decided to return to Heartland without further interchange between us. I hope you will forgive my rather callous farewell, but I think it is for the best.
Best Regards,
Jane
“When did she leave?” he asked, his voice hollow with resignation.
“Yesterday, monsieur. Madame was emphatic that I not give you the note until this
morning. I hated having to deceive you last night. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Madame DuClaire,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing his purse.
“Ah, non! I will accept nothing from you, monsieur. Perhaps madame will come to her senses.” Drew shook his head, and Madame DuClaire protested, “She is very much in love with you, monsieur. A woman can tell these things. If the other gentleman hadn’t come—”
Drew’s polite expression vanished, replaced by flaring nostrils and piercing brown eyes. “What gentleman?”
Madame DuClaire retreated a pace. “A cousin, one of my maids said. He came to see her twice yesterday. Once at breakfast, and when he left, madame was very distressed. Then he came again while she was packing to leave. I overheard them.”
“What did this man look like?”
“He was a huge man, tall and big. He wore an unpleasant expression, as though he smelled some old poultry.”
“Havelock! Tell me, madame, it is of extreme importance. What did they talk about the second time?”
“The gentleman wanted to know why she was leaving. I don’t remember what she told him, but he asked if he might go with her.”
Drew took a deep breath, bracing himself for the horrible truth. “And she answered?”
“She said she would pick him up at his lodging on her way out of town. What is wrong, monsieur? You are as white as a ghost!”
“Pray God that is not what I find. If he harms one hair—Exactly what time did they leave? Could they have reached your brother’s inn last night?”
“Easily, monsieur. Jean-Luc was excited about the prospect of driving on the main roads. He was anxious to test himself and his horses. Wait, monsieur! You’re going after her?”
“Yes, I’m going after her.”
“I have a package you may give her. The dressmaker sent it over early this morning. You will see that madame receives it?” she asked, handing him the large package.
“Yes. Tell me, where can I hire the fastest team of horses?”
“At the hotel, monsieur, where you stayed.”
“Thank you.”
“Good luck, monsieur!” Madam DuClaire almost shouted as Drew rushed past and out the door.
b
Jane had little appetite for breakfast, and when they set sail on the choppy sea, she was feeling wretched indeed. Tucker, occupied with her mistress, forgot her own queasiness as she tried to make Jane comfortable.
By the time they landed at Brighton, it was evident that Jane was suffering from more than seasickness. As they disembarked, Roland hurried ahead to book them all rooms for the night.
Tucker, helping her feverish mistress along the crowded dock, muttered, “Like as not, ’e’s absconding with th’ money ye gave ’im for th’ room.”
“Nonsense, Tucker,” Jane managed to say.
“Hmph! Well, ye’ll notice ’e couldn’t be bothered to find ye a carriage. Afraid ye’re catchin’. Just like a man!”
“Please, Tucker.”
The maid suppressed further comments as she hailed a hackney and hustled Jane into the musty carriage. Moments later, they were set down in the yard of the Ship’s Inn. Tucker paid off the driver and followed Jane inside.
The same landlord showed them upstairs. In no time, Jane was smiling weakly at her maid before closing her eyes and falling into a restless sleep.
b
“How is she?” asked Roland several hours later. He glanced up from his empty plate, surprised to see a look of loathing on the maid’s face.
“She’ll do, Mr. Havelock.”
“Yes, but will she be ready to travel in the morning? I can’t stay here forever.”
“Since it’s Miss Jane’s carriage and coachman, I don’t think ye’ll have much say in the matter. Tom Summers wouldn’t think of setting off if Miss Jane’s not fit.”
“How noble of him,” sneered Havelock.
“Why don’t you hire your own carriage and leave…sir?”
“I would, but I can’t abandon my dear cousin when she is ill. Let me know when Jane wants to leave in the morning. I feel certain she will be well by then.”
Tucker withdrew, neglecting to curtsey.
“Damned servant,” muttered Roland. He sat back in his chair. It creaked under his weight. Slowly he licked his lingers, savouring the feeling of repleteness.
Jane hadn’t cooperated and died, but she was ill. That was some compensation for the risk he had taken in Dieppe. He would need to be careful; Jane was quite good with a pistol. He didn’t dare confront her, especially with that pesky maid around.
Slowly, he smiled. Yes, an accident could be arranged after he had parted ways with her at Reading. That would soon take care of his dear, dear cousin and her insolent maid as well.
But Devlin…Havelock sat up straight and glanced at the door as though the thought might produce the viscount in the flesh. Then he relaxed. Devlin couldn’t possibly be in England yet. He would be waiting to cross the channel, probably on the morrow.
Roland would be forced to pay Jane a visit first thing in the morning. A word or two about Devlin following them would soon see Jane ordering out her carriage to continue their journey.
How fortunate Jane hadn’t sent her coach and servants back to Heartland. Her carriage would be much more comfortable than a hired one. Of course, it was a shame the carriage would need to be damaged. But he could easily order a new one, a better one, when he had all the money from Heartland.
He wouldn’t sell the estate, of course. There would be no need. And somehow life would be even sweeter knowing he had deprived the cunning Lord Devlin of Jane and Heartland!
b
By morning, Jane was feeling better. She no longer had the fever or queasiness, though she remained weak.
When Tucker came in with the breakfast tray, Jane was seated at the dressing table, daydreaming as she brushed her long hair. She set the brush on the table.
“Is my cousin awake yet? I want to reach Heartland tonight, so we must leave as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Miss Jane. I ’eard ’im bellowing for ’is breakfast not fifteen minutes ago. I think ’e’s as anxious to be off as you are.” The maid sighed.
“What is it, Tucker? You may speak freely with me.”
“No, miss, I can’t, for what I want to tell ye is not mine to tell. I just hope ye’ll be careful and use your head. It could be the wickedness ye’re running from is closer than you think.”
“Now, to what are you referring?”
“I can’t say any more. But ye want to be careful who ye trust these days,” said the maid enigmatically.
Jane decided to ignore Tucker’s prophecies of doom and began to pick at her breakfast. A bite or two of biscuit, a cup of good English tea, and her stomach rumbled a protest. She pushed the tray away.
“I think I’ll dress now, Tucker, and take a turn outside before being cooped up in that carriage all day.”
“Just as you say, Miss Jane.”
b
“It is so good to be back in England!” said Roland as the carriage rattled down the streets of Brighton.
“I must agree with you. Perhaps someday I would like to go back to the Continent, but not any time soon.”
“I couldn’t agree more!”
They fell silent, staring out their prospective sides of the carriage. Scattered houses gave way to green meadows, and Jane yawned.
“I have a deck of cards, Jane, if you’d care to pass the time with a friendly game of piquet—penny stakes, of course.”
“What a good idea, Roland.”
Roland stared when Jane picked up her square jewellery case and placed it on the seat between them.
Jane laughed and commented, “I knew my medicine case would come in handy.”
“Medicine?”
“Yes. It is meant for jewellery, but since I rarely travel, I use it for emergency medical equipment bandages, basilicum powder, and such. I leave it in the carriage in case there i
s an accident along the road.”
“How clever of you,” said Roland, beginning to deal the first hand.
They played for two hours. Jane knew that Roland was a terrible card player; if anything, she was worse. At the final tally, she owed him one pound six. He waved away her efforts to pay him.
“No, no, Jane. It is too gratifying to find someone worse with cards than I am. I wouldn’t dream of taking your money. We’ll have a rematch another time.”
Jane was surprised at his magnanimous attitude. It was a side of her cousin she had never seen.
Roland smiled and put the cards away. “I suppose I’ll be leaving you before long. We should be in Reading in an hour. I’ll be able to hire a gig there and drive on to London. I appreciate your letting me tag along like this.”
“It’s been very pleasant, Roland.”
He extended his smile to Tucker who eyed him with distrust.
b
The closer they came to London, the denser the population of houses. They left the main road at Leatherhead to swing southwest of London. By noon they were pulling into the yard of The Crown, one of Reading’s best inns.
Tom Summers supervised the ostlers who came running out to unhitch the team while Jane was escorted to a room to freshen up.
Roland took a short stroll in the yard, seemingly uninterested in the bustling activity swirling around him. He stopped by the stable, pretending a great interest in the horses while he watched Tom Summers inspect the carriage. Next, the coachman spoke to the ostlers, assuring they would harness only the best team to his mistress’s carriage when it was time to leave.
Then he and the groom entered the common tap for a bite to eat and a tumbler of French milk, a popular drink with the mail coach guards. The milk was sweetened with a lump of sugar, two fingers of rum, and a hint of nutmeg grated on top.
Roland came into the taproom just as they were sitting down to their drink and a steaming dish of pigeon pie.
“Mind if I join you? At least for a drink.”
