My Dear Jenny

by Robins, Madeleine

  It seemed that Domenic had completely forgotten his guest’s fear of horses; he waxed on lyrically, thinking to persuade her, and Jenny found that, despite the fear, the thought of galloping over the fields she had seen from her window that morning was attractive—if only there was some way to accomplish it without resorting to a horse!

  “Please do fetch Emmy,” he was begging. “And I’m sure Mrs. Reed will find you something to wear. Please, Jenny?” In any case, she could not withstand his pleading look, and felt that he deserved a chance to shine before Emily after his mother’s behavior the night before.

  “I’ll fetch her, certainly, Dom,” she replied. Then, after a moment, she took her heart in her hands: “Nothing too spirited for me, please?” It was, after all, time she rid herself of this foolish fear, she assured herself as she went along to wake Emily.

  Emily, still soundly asleep, took some effort to waken, and at first was unable to see why Domenic had to go riding at this horrible hour.

  “I think he wants a chance to show you Teeve without his mamma and the Brickerhams—it’s a compliment to you, love.”

  “To be sure,” Emily agreed hazily. An image of Joanna Brickerham, speaking as she had been to Peter Teverley the night before, passed through her mind, and she sat up abruptly. “P’raps I will go. Where’s that girl? How can I dress this way?”

  “Allow me,” Jenny said dryly.

  When Emily was hooked into her habit, and the maid finally arrived to arrange the girl’s hair and place the toque on her head, Jenny was informed that Mrs. Reed, at Domenic’s request, had found a habit she thought would fit Miss Prydd, and that it was laid out in her room. With a feeling of doom that she sternly ignored, Jenny donned the habit, an old-fashioned garment, lower in the waist than the current fashion allowed, and of a strange, deep brick color. It fit almost exactly, although it was a little long. Still, on a sidesaddle that needn’t matter, she told herself. Gathering the graceful skirts about her, she went to join Emily and Domenic.

  “Jenny, do you join us?” Emily asked in surprise.

  “Certainly, my love,” Jenny said, for Domenic’s benefit. Then, somewhat lower, she added, “Your mamma bade me stay by you—in case someone—you will understand of whom I speak—should appear again.” Lady Graybarr had said no such thing, but it seemed a better story for Emily’s benefit than the truth: that she was attempting to ride in order not to think of other things.

  “But Jenny,” Emily hissed. “This is on horses.”

  “I understand that, Emmy. I’ll be just fine, unless you talk me into a pother. Time I stopped being so nonsensical about horses, isn’t it? And Dom has promised me the gentlest mount in the stables. But I do wish that Dom would hurry.”

  “Jenny, you’re afraid of horses,” Emily insisted, lest her companion should have forgotten this fact.

  “I know that,” Jenny said bravely. “I am endeavoring to be less so. And I have no intention to ruin your fun or Domenic’s, or to let Lady Teeve say that I have let you go off together without a chaperone.”

  “Why on earth would she have said that?” Emily quizzed innocently.

  “Good morning, Emmy,” Domenic called before Jenny was forced to answer this awkward question.

  “Morning, Dom.”

  Dressed in riding coat and top boots, there was no doubt that Domenic appeared to advantage. “Come along then, I’ll show you the way to the stables.”

  Once the stables were attained, it was hard for Jenny to ignore her apprehension. Had they simply mounted and started their ride it would have been easier, but Domenic, since he had not been reminded of Miss Prydd’s fear of horses, was lost in detailing the fine points of one of the three mares being walked in the yard. Emily, assuaged by her friend’s assurances, was no better, listening raptly to Dandy Dancer’s lineage and Bluebell’s fine record on the hunt field, and admiring the good hocks and deep chest on one horse or the other—Jenny was not sure which, as she was intently examining the view through the stable gate. At last Dom lead her to a pretty, plump-looking black, introduced to her as Bonnie, and lifted her into the saddle. Hands clenched and damp in her kid gloves, Jenny was forced to admit that Bonnie seemed a harmless enough sort of horse and took her seat properly, if a trifle stiffly. Emily was thrown upon the back of the chestnut, Dandy, and Dom took his own seat upon the other black, which appeared to be one of Bonnie’s offspring.

  They set off across the yard, Jenny gaining a little confidence when she realized that in truth this was a gentle and biddable mount. Smiling a little tremulously, she urged Bonnie ahead to keep pace with Dom and Emily. Domenic sensed that Jenny was not a confident rider, and at first kept his pace moderate. Later, he did some flashy riding for Emily’s benefit, and Emily was gratifyingly appreciative. Although she fancied herself a notable horsewoman—based mostly upon the fact that she looked to advantage in her habit—Emily was still a cautious rider, and thought Dom’s exhibition quite fine.

  Dom had called something about the north field, which Jenny presumed to be their destination. She tried not to feel uneasy as the house receded into the background.

  “There’s the most beautiful view in the world from our north field,” he explained when he was close enough. “I mean to say, there may be more beautiful, but this is—the most beautiful in the world. You understand?” He blushed, but both Emily and Jenny were in sympathy with him.

  Emily was certainly more pleased with Domenic this morning, and raised her long lashes to smile up at him. He was so encouraged by this sign that he let his horse have her head for a moment, and made a long, dashing circle, most effective to watch, and returned to Emily’s side.

  “Phoo, you think you’re splendid, don’t you,” Emily countered teasingly. “Then watch.”

  Jenny tried not to call out a warning, feeling it was certainly her own fear which made her want Emily to stop these antics before they began. The girl was certainly not in Domenic’s league, but would have made her own sweeping circle in good order had not the streamer from her hat, caught by the wind, swept about and caught her in the eye. Involuntarily she kicked Dandy’s side, and the horse needed no further encouragement to take its head. She let out a shriek as the horse bolted with her.

  “Oh my God.” Dom kneed Bluebell furiously and took off after Emily; Jenny, without time to think of what she did, followed close after, urging placid Bonnie into an unaccustomed gallop. Emily had gotten halfway across the meadow when Dom caught up to her and the horses slowed.

  “My God, Emily, are you all right? Emmy?” he cried hoarsely.

  “Well, of course I am,” Emily said with partial truth. She was scared and winded, but she had sustained no actual injury except to her pride. “I would have come aright myself. You needn’t have come tearing after me.” She pouted.

  “Needn’t I?” Relief gave Dom his tone of outrage.

  “I would have—” Emily began. Then the sight of Jenny, riding Bonnie down upon them like a madwoman, interrupted her.

  “Hi, Jenny, it’s all right, she’s safe!” Domenic cried out.

  “Dom—” Emily whispered, watching Jenny coming toward them.

  “My word, she is a goer, ain’t she?” Dom breathed, all admiration.

  “Dom, she’s not. She can’t be. Remember, she hates horses—she’s afraid of them, although she can ride, and I don’t think she means to be—”

  “Emmy, what the devil are you saying?” But Bonnie, with Jenny clinging for dear life to the reins, had careened away from Domenic and Emily, and appeared to be returning to the house, her speed undiminished.

  “Dom, I don’t think she can stop. Dom, catch her. Oh my God!” Emily wailed. Domenic swung himself into the saddle and was off like a shot. Emily, after a moment of shock, began to look for a stump, or a fence, or something from which she might mount Dandy Dancer; finally in sheer desperation she scrambled up unassisted, tearing a dreadful rent in her skirt, and, feeling a mingled sense of ill-use and dread, she began to gallop off in
the direction of Jenny’s flight.

  Peter Teverley, finished with his uncle’s business, had gone out to the stables to check the progress of a young colt he had purchased a few days before. He was talking to the head groom, arguing genially about the colt’s merits, when the sound of a horse ridden hard startled him. Looking out the gate he saw Jenny Prydd, seated on an old black mare going at a panicky gallop, close on the stable yard, with Domenic only a few dozen yards behind her.

  “My God.” He started up, pushing the groom aside. “Come on, damn it, Dom,” he urged between his teeth. “Come on, boy. You may just catch her before she falls. Damn it, boy, hurry,” he shouted, louder than he knew.

  Just when it looked as if Dom would catch Jenny, and the black mare began to slacken her pace from exhaustion, Jenny’s old-fashioned habit, flailing out behind her like a fan, caught an old, rusted bolt in the stable yard gate, and Jenny, almost in control of the horse again, was yanked entirely off of Bonnie’s back, to fall in a crumpled heap by the stable gate.

  Dom was behind her and off his horse at the same moment that Teverley reached her. With a black look, the older man motioned his cousin away and dabbed awkwardly at the cut on Miss Prydd’s forehead with a kerchief.

  “Damn it, boy, tell them to fetch a stretcher. And how the devil did this happen?” He glared at Domenic.

  “I’m not unconscious, you know,” Jenny’s voice came faintly up. “And you needn’t blame Dom for what was no fault of his own—I had no business to try and ride, and—ooooh.” She broke off and winced. “Now, if you promise not to read Dom a lecture-ooh dear—I think I shall have to—I’ve never done this in my life, but—” With a strained smile which became a grimace, Jenny fainted in Teverley’s arms.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When she awoke, to the fiercest headache she had ever known, Jenny found herself in her room. The process of fully opening her eyes to the sunlight that flooded in through the light curtains took her fully five minutes. Even then it was necessary to take another minute to let her eyes focus properly. And every second hurt.

  “Are you awake?” a cool voice inquired. Moving her head too quickly for comfort in the direction of the voice, Jenny saw Miss Quare seated at bedside with a book in her hand.

  “Yes, thank you. It was very kind of you to wait with me.” Jenny began.

  “Not at all,” Miss Quare assured her shortly. “Lord Teeve required that I do so. And it was a chance to do some reading.” The companion looked down at Miss Prydd with obvious dislike.

  “Well, in any case, I do thank you,” Jenny insisted mildly. Miss Quare sniffed unbecomingly and left the room.

  Had she been able to do so in comfort, Jenny would have shrugged. She indulged in a mental shake instead, as much to clear her mind and recall the events that had brought her to bed as to dismiss Miss Quare’s animosity. When she closed her eyes she tried to imagine some part of her body that did not ache, with very little success.

  “Oh, Jenny, are you all right?” Emily whispered from the door.

  “I shall do, I suppose. But you, dear? I was quite afraid when you dashed off like that. Come in, do.”

  “Miss Quare said I ought not,” Emily admitted uneasily.

  “I see. Well, then, stay there, and tell me what happened to you. I am afraid I know all too well what happened to me! Was there ever such a clumsy fool? I ought to know better than to try to ride, but I feel so foolish being afraid of a horse when even a baby can sit on one and crow about it!”

  “I don’t suppose I even need tell you what I did—everyone will be in a great hurry to tell you. They have me, certainly.” Emily said sulkily.

  “I had by far rather hear it from you, since it was you who were in danger.”

  “You wouldn’t think that true to hear Mr. Teverley and that odious Domenic talk of it!” The girl cried. Then, all in a rush, “Jenny, I am sorry. That was a silly thing to do, showing off for that stupid Domenic, and I was never in any danger, or—I didn’t think—”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Jenny assured her calmly. And winced.

  “Jenny, you are hurt. I never thought anything—”

  “I know it, dear, and certainly I don’t blame you for my foolishness. We were both showing off a bit, love—I to ... myself, and you to Dom. And we’re neither so much worse for the wear as we might be. But be a good girl, before Miss Quare comes in to scold us! Run along, ask Dom to amuse you; I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to do so. Heigh ho, how my head does ache!”

  Jenny’s words slid into a murmur. She had begun to doze off when she was awakened again by voices. An elderly man in a rusty riding coat was staring down at her, with Miss Quare attending on him.

  “All in one piece.” It was a funny, creaking sort of voice. “The young lady will do very nicely, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Miss Quare returned in an unenthusiastic manner. She turned to leave the room; beyond the doorway there were other people, and Jenny could hear their voices as the doctor came out to see them.

  “Will there be any problem? She will be all right?” one voice quizzed.

  “Just rest,” the rusty old man replied. “Rest her and she’ll be about in no time. I’ll leave you a powder for sleep, though it don’t look as if she’d need one.”

  Another voice thanked the doctor for his time, and offered to walk him to the door. Jenny had given up trying to sort one person from another by ear—it only made her head ache more. She closed her eyes. And opened them again when she felt someone else in the room with her.

  “I do wish you would not always act as if I were unconscious,” she said to Peter Teverley unfairly.

  “You had your eyes closed. How was I to know differently?” he answered simply, but a flush of embarrassment crossed his face.

  “Well, I am awake. And as far as I can tell, except for a horrible headache, I am quite fit.”

  “You’ll be black and blue all over for days,” Teverley said shortly.

  “Probably,” Jenny said agreeably, too groggy to take offense at his tone.

  “Dammit, Prydd,” he broke out suddenly, “what in the name of all the devils in the Christian lands were you about, to go gallivanting about when you’re afraid of horses?”

  “I didn’t go gallivanting, as you call it, on purpose, believe me, nothing was further from my intention. And I was afraid for Em—”

  “I know about Miss Pellering, and I have taken an opportunity to tell her what I think of—”

  “That is rather a liberty, isn’t it?” Jenny interrupted. “When she is feeling wretched enough as it is, and here you are, scolding her as if she meant for me to be hurt! She couldn’t have known what would happen.”

  “I am not going to argue with you when you ain’t in fighting trim, Prydd.”

  “Then you have more patience than I, for I am not at all sure that I won’t argue with you,” Jenny said with asperity.

  “Dammit, Jenny, we thought you’d been killed! How the devil do you expect us to feel?” Teverley reached for one of her hands. “Shake and cry quits, all right? I won’t trouble your Emily if you will lie still and mend yourself.”

  “Well,” Jenny began to temporize. Teverley gave her hand a warning squeeze. “All right, Mr. Teverley, pax.”

  “Pax.” He held her hand a second longer; Jenny was a little startled at her own feelings, and was thankful when the door opened and Teverley dropped her hand.

  “Really, Mr. Teverley.” Miss Quare stood in the doorway, a tray in her hands, a look of dislike obvious in her eyes. “If Miss Prydd is to get well, she cannot receive visitors in this fashion.” Miss Quare did not say that Miss Prydd ought not to be receiving male visitors to her bedroom in any case, but the unspoken was loud in her manner. Jenny looked at herself for the first time and realized that she was in a nightgown and dressing robe. She pulled the counterpane a little higher and smiled at Teverley rather nervously.

  “I’m going, Mary, I’m on my way,” he assured her good
-naturedly. “I’ll see you up and about in a day or so, then, Miss Prydd?” His tone was formal when he spoke to her.

  “More like the day after, or perhaps the day after that,” Miss Quare supplied, setting down her tray. “Beef broth and calf’s-foot jelly from cook. I will come and collect the tray later.”

  “You needn’t,” Jenny began. “I can call one of the maids.”

  “On the contrary, I must,” Miss Quare said sharply. “It is Lady Teeve’s express command.” She turned again to favor Jenny with a look of absolute dislike. “Enjoy your broth.”

  “Thank you...” Jenny called uselessly to the closing door.

  o0o

  Emily, had she been asked, would have said that Jenny’s presence at Teeve was a pleasant convenience only—convenient to have a friend who was willing to help out, to play lady’s companion, and to play duenna when the need arose; if it had not been Jenny who had accompanied her to Teeve it would have been one of Lady Graybarr’s genteel aunts from Knightsbridge who disapproved of anything that was amusing, or worse than that, Emily would not have been permitted to go to Teeve at all. Certainly she was happy to have Jenny there, but Emily was not by nature a very thoughtful girl, and, once used to Jenny’s attendance, she forgot about it most of the time. So it was that, of all the people at Teeve, she felt Jenny’s absence in the sickroom the most, and understood what was going on about her the least.

  Domenic and Peter Teverley both, plainly, blamed her in some fashion for Jenny’s accident. Emily’s own sense told her that, had nothing happened to Jenny, she would have received no scoldings for her riding; she would probably have been made much of for her own near-accident. Instead, Dom muttered crossly about idiotic girls, and Peter Teverley had not spoken to her at all, except to tell her that her behavior in the meadow had been stupid, at the least, and outright malicious at worst. “And he wasn’t even there!” she had wailed to herself after this encounter. Plainly she could not take her woes to Jenny; even after their brief conversation when Jenny had made plain that she in no way held Emily responsible for her accident. Miss Quare made it plain that it would not be a good idea for Miss Prydd to have visitors. So Emily was cut off from her only confidante, and had to make her own way.