A sharp needle of guilt immediately pricked Jane as she saw the gloominess in her sister’s face, but just as she’d done a thousand times during the sleepless night, she shut the door firmly on the image of Nicholas and herself standing together in the night. Bitterly, she pushed the image deep in the bottomless well of mistakes she had made.
Just as Jane was considering if she should give this lunacy an hour or two to settle down, her mother’s victims began to disperse. Two upstairs maids practically tripped over each other in their haste to escape. One of the kitchen servants stormed out muttering a profane curse in Gaelic. Fey, to her great misfortune, was the solitary victim left behind. The mistress’s voice rose in excitement as she fired a dozen directions pertaining to a dozen different tasks at the red-haired woman. It was upsetting for Jane to see that even the housekeeper’s usually calm demeanor was affected by her mother’s ongoing harangue.
As Lady Purefoy paused to take a breath, Jane seized the opportunity and stepped in.
“I need a moment of your time, Mother.”
“It shall have to wait, Jane. Not now.”
“But it cannot wait.” She walked in and sat comfortably in one of the two available chairs. She was relieved to see Clara give her a side glance and a smile before returning her attention to whatever she was so consumed with outside.
Her mother gave her an exasperated glare. “Well then, what is it, Jane? Be quick about it.”
“I am planning to visit old Mrs. Barry…in Dublin. I shall be taking a coach from Cork and will leave in about nine days.”
“And how long will you be gone?”
“A fortnight, perhaps a few days more.”
“Very well. I shall tell Sir Thomas about it.” Lady Purefoy turned back to the housekeeper.
All as Jane had expected. With very few exceptions, she had not spoken directly with her father for years. Everything he needed to know could be communicated through her mother. And now that she knew of the trip, there really wasn’t any reason for Jane to remain. Curiosity, though, held her in her seat.
“Oh, yes. The seamstress we used before our trip to London,” Lady Purefoy said, recalling her instructions to Fey. “I want Paul to send a groom with you to Cork City and bring the woman back. Now, I told you what to buy as far as fabrics and colors. Make sure whichever groom Paul chooses to send, he must understand he is not to hurry you.”
“I’ll not be rushed, m’lady.”
“But I want you back immediately. Do dallying in the city, mind you. There’s much to be done, Fey. Much to be done!”
“Preparing for a party, Mother?” Jane asked good-naturedly, trying to gain moment’s respite for the housekeeper.
“A ball,” Lady Purefoy corrected immediately. “The grandest we’ve ever had at Woodfield House.”
Catherine leaped out of her chair and scurried behind a writing table, scowling at a neat stack of papers.
“I thought you were planning to help me with these invitations Clara?” She stared at her young daughter’s troubled profile for a moment. “You have to start these now so we can have them delivered today.”
Jane watched her sister, obedient as always, leave her place and sit behind the desk. She was an angel of the household, trained to dutifully follow their parents’ orders.
“Is this the engagement party…er, ball that has…that everyone has been waiting for?” Despite what he’d said to her, Nicholas Spencer was here to marry Clara and everyone knew it. Everyone had accepted it. She had no right…no reason to feel this hot iron that had suddenly pierced her chest.
An uncomfortable silence descended over the room. Her mother and Fey were both staring at her. Clara, though, was continuing to scratch the pen across the paper without pausing.
“Miss Jane has just come down.” Fey gently reminded Lady Purefoy. “She does not know yet.”
“If you were not sleeping half the day away, as you do, then you would know what is happening around here.” Jane’s mother turned her back and moved the wax and seal closer to Clara on the desk. She picked up a list and started to complain about all that needed to be done.
“Well, does anyone care to tell me what is going on here?”
Clara put down her pen and spoke. “There is no offer of marriage. Sir Nicholas told Father last night that he does not wish to marry me.”
“There is no need to state it as if it were final,” Catherine protested immediately. She moved behind her daughter, placing her hands protectively on her shoulders and glaring at Jane. The younger sister simply returned to writing the invitations. “He is obviously not ready to make a decision, but his intentions are very clear. He and his family are planning to stay for another fortnight as originally planned.”
“So you are giving a party…pardon me, a ball?”
“Why not?” Lady Purefoy took an invitation that Clara had finished and carefully folded it. “A young woman’s advantages are best displayed on such occasions. There is nothing like good food and drink and dancing to open a baronet’s eyes to what he will be missing. I predict he’ll be asking for our Clara’s hand the day after the ball.” She nodded to Fey. “You can go now. And do not forget what I told you about the dallying.”
Fey hesitated before leaving. “Now should we not be planning for a dress to be made for Miss Jane, as well, m’lady? If she has no plan of leaving for nine days and the ball is in six…” Fey gave Jane a gentle smile. “—Do you not think, miss, that ‘tis high time you gave up wearing black? ‘Tis been…”
“Be on your way, Fey.” Lady Purefoy cut in sharply. “Jane is too old to reap any benefit from any of this. And besides, you know as well as I that she does not care for this sort of thing. She never has. Do you, Jane? In fact, what is the difference between nine days…six days…or two days? Why not plan to leave for Mrs. Barry’s right away? You shall be much happier there, anyway, while all this activity is taking place here. I shall tell Sir Thomas to allow you to go immediately.”
“No, Mother,” Jane protested. She rose to her feet as Fey disappeared out the door. Lady Purefoy had stung her. In spite of the difficult state of affairs at Woodfield House, it was still rare to hear her mother openly assert that Jane wasn’t wanted. But that was enough to make her stay. “I shall be leaving in nine days as I told you.”
Catherine looked mildly annoyed when Jane stopped at the door and turned to face her. “And Mother, for Clara’s sake, please think before you talk. I do not believe you even know how hurtful you can be sometimes.”
Jane glanced at Clara, who looked up from beneath hooded eyes only for an instant before silently and diligently going back to work on the invitations.
***
Patches of thin forests snaked through the worn hills. A solitary trail wove in and out of the wood and disappeared over the crest of next rise. Alexandra Spencer lifted the charcoal off the paper as a patch of gray cloud moved across the sun. She turned her attention to the east and studied the contrast of shadow and light as it slipped over in the sweeping panorama of foothills, forests, and pastures.
Looking at Jane’s work the day before had stimulated that old, familiar thirst in her again. Alexandra needed to draw and paint. She needed to create.
She also needed to talk to Jane and congratulate the young woman on her work. She doubted that Jane got much encouragement, living with the dull rustics who were supposedly her parents. She couldn’t help but wonder if the older sister hadn’t been a foundling, after all.
The sun reemerged, but as Lady Spencer readied the charcoal over the paper again, another shadow moved over her. This one belonged to her own daughter, who now stood directly beside the garden bench, effectively blocking her light. The artist’s complaint, though, was silenced when she looked up into Frances’s tearful face.
“Oh, Fanny. And what is wrong now? Is Nicholas not back yet from his ride with Sir Thomas and the trainer?” She pressed a comforting hand to her daughter’s and pulled her down beside her on the stone bench. She h
ad heard Nicholas and Frances exchange a few words this morning at breakfast. She wasn’t about to side with anyone over a petty dispute, but all the same she’d thought her son’s temper had been shorter than usual. In fact, he’d been quite impatient even to hear what Frances’s request was. “He was right about not wanting to take you along. They are looking at horses—talking business—riding through pastures and walking through stables. Why, they’re probably knee-deep in manure as we speak. Now what enjoyment would a young woman like you get out of something so appalling?”
“I am not angry with Nicholas.” Frances dabbed at the wetness on her face. But fresh tears were soon coursing down her pale cheeks again.
“Then why are you so upset, my dear?” Alexandra put aside her artwork and took out a handkerchief. She handed it to her daughter. “There is no reason to be bored. Lady Purefoy tells me that they are planning a great party for the end of this week. I am certain she could use some help if you were to offer.”
The young woman shook her head. “I am not bored, Mother. And I was…I was planning to be of some help…but when I heard the story…” She hiccupped. “Oh, Mother…it is so sad…so sad…poor Jane.”
Before Alexandra could say a word, Frances had laid her head on her mother’s chest and was sobbing wretchedly.
“What happened to Jane? Is she unwell? Did she have an accident?”
It took a few moments before Frances finally began to explain.
“No, she is well now…I mean on the surface…this happened some time ago…but still…”
A dull ache had begun to eat away at Lady Spencer. In the short time they had been at Woodfield House, she was already beginning to care for Jane, and all this puzzling talk was too worrying.
“Frances Marie. You start explaining to me what…”
“I found out why…why the family treats her so…so poorly.” The young woman straightened on the bench and used the handkerchief to blow her nose. “They…are ashamed of her…I think.”
Instant objections arose in Alexandra, but she bit them back as Fanny turned her watery gaze on her.
“It is true, Mother. These people never told us about Jane…until we arrived. And…and…” She waved an impatient hand toward the house. “They care nothing for her. Last night…no one asked where she was. Did you notice? And this morning…did anyone inquire after her even once?”
There was a great deal about Purefoy household that Alexandra didn’t understand. “Each family has its own little eccentricities. Just because we have not seen much of Jane, that certainly does not mean…”
“But it does!” Frances clutched her mother’s hands. “It does if they believe her reputation is ruined and they consider her a disgrace.”
Alexandra kept silent. She knew her daughter. She knew that as distraught as Frances was, everything she must have heard would spill out.
“The problem is that I think Jane is a tragic victim. Mother, I had to question two people before I had all of it.” Frances’s blue eyes narrowed and her voice lowered as she glanced back at the house. “And that’s another thing. I think they planned this whole thing out. I mean, letting us know about Jane’s past.”
“Really, Frances…”
“Honestly! Thinking me a simpleton or something, they sent a maid in to tidy my bedchamber. And while she was there, she just happened to tell me all the gossip about the older daughter. I hardly think it a coincidence, Mother. I believe, after they saw how Nicholas last night was not happy with Jane’s absence, they wanted to make sure that we all think the worst of her.” She looked into her mother’s eyes. “I might be only sixteen, but I have been brought up to know what is what. As soon as that girl started prattling on about how horrible it was for the family when Miss Jane eloped nine years ago with a poor, good-for-nothing papist, I knew something was wrong. Naturally, she went on to tell me that—despite the disgrace—generous Sir Thomas and Lady Purefoy were quick to take her back.”
Although Alexandra didn’t have all the details, she was still pleased with her daughter for viewing the tittle-tattle with skepticism.
“I knew they weren’t going to tell me everything. So after the maid was finished in my room, I went in search of Fey.”
“The housekeeper?”
Frances nodded, wiping the last of wetness off her face. “It is obvious that she cares for Jane. So I thought, the best chance of hearing the truth would be from her.”
“And was Fey willing to talk to you about this?”
“She was, after I told her about what I’d heard.” The young woman lowered her voice again. “Jane’s reputation was ruined nine years ago. But the thing that the first woman failed to say was that she never got so far as actually running away. She couldn’t. Because the boy she’d been in love with for some years was arrested and ordered to be hanged in the same week. Oh, Mother…Sir Thomas ordered the boy’s hanging…and Jane…and Jane had to watch him die.”
There were fresh tears that the young woman stabbed at.
“That’s why she wears black. After all these years…she still mourns the young man she loved. That is…so sad…so sad!”
Alexandra gathered Frances in her arms and let the young woman weep. Such a story, even with the tragedy of the father ordering the death of this young man, was perfectly believable. A reputation lost was a lifetime sentence for a woman. But she didn’t want to remind her daughter of any of this now, for what was customary was not necessarily right…or fair.
She recalled the paintings she’d seen in the attic room. The power in them bespoke someone who knew suffering. And now Alexandra understood. What greater anguish could a young woman bear than to be sentenced to a lifetime living under the same roof as your beloved’s executioner? Especially when that person was your own father!
“I think we…we should tell Nicholas about this.” Frances once again pulled out of the mother’s arm and blew her nose. “I can already tell that…that he is interested in Jane…but he cannot...it would never work.”
“We shall tell him nothing, my dear.” Alexandra lifted the young woman’s chin and looked into her surprised face. “Your brother shall learn what he needs to know on his own. He will then make his own decisions. We shall be here whenever he needs us. But Nicholas can decide on his future without our interference.”
CHAPTER 15
At first, Nicholas didn’t know what it was that awakened him. It was still dark outside, and there were no predawn noises coming in the window he’d left open overnight. He listened closer and thought he could hear soft whisper of voices in the corridor.
He was out of bed and had his door opened a crack in the next instant. The passageway was dark with the exception of a flicker of light coming from down the hall. He recognized the housekeeper’s soft voice. He opened the door a bit more and saw Fey standing before Jane’s door—speaking hurriedly.
He could hear only snatches of what was being said.
“…Seamus’s widow…wee ones…Buttevant…”
By the time he had retired last night, he had been impatient enough to kick down every locked door and search out every secret passageway in Woodfield House. She had successfully avoided him for two entire days. Most of the day on Saturday, he’d spent with Sir Thomas and Paul. The former magistrate was very proud of showing off his stables and what progress had been made since retiring from service to the Crown. When they’d gotten back to the manor house, though, Jane had continued to be absent throughout the afternoon, not even appearing for dinner. Nicholas had worn a path between the house and the stables, but her horse was missing. Later, he’d found Mab settled for the night, though he had still not seen Jane, at all. And on Sunday, the only other person who’d asked about her had been Parson Adams, who’d come back with them after the church service to stay for dinner.
The clergyman’s curiosity had only fueled Nicholas’s impatience.
“…Musgrave…”
He frowned at the whisper of the name. The door to Jane’s room clos
ed. As Fey’s footsteps started down the hall, Nicholas shut his own door quietly. He hurriedly dressed. Though he didn’t know the nature of Fey’s early morning visit, the few words had managed to fill him with distress. He was almost certain that Jane would be leaving soon.
The corridor was again immersed in darkness when Nicholas left his room. Taking a moment and letting his eyes adjust to the dark, he glanced in the direction of Jane’s closed door. He knew better than to assume that she would be leaving this way, so instead he started down the stairs. He would intercept her at the stables.
Soft tinges of dawn were lightening the sky above the eastern hills when Nicholas arrived at the stables. Going first to Mab’s stall, he found the horse saddled and ready, though there was no one tending her. He moved quietly to where his own horse was kept and began readying it.
Saturday, when he’d been out with Sir Thomas and Paul, the trainer had continuously sung Jane’s praises whenever the father was out of the earshot. If Nicholas had been fairly certain before of the older man’s devotion to Egan, now he entertained no doubts. And this morning he’d discovered Fey passing on a message to her.
Nicholas wondered how many others at Woodfield House were supporters of Egan, despite the passionate hatred the former magistrate harbored for the rebel.
He had just finished saddling his horse when he heard the sound of a horse in the paddock. A moment later, he heard her riding off. Hurrying, he was coaxing his steed out of the stall when Paul’s tall frame appeared in the open doorway.
“Sir Nicholas,” the man said with a hushed surprise.
“I am going with her, Paul.” He started to mount up, but stopped when the stable master put a hand on his arm.
“Going with who, sir? Everyone is still asleep at the house, to my knowledge.”
“I’m going with Jane.” Nicholas kept his voice low and turned to face the man. “I don’t plan to get in her way. And I won’t interfere unless she needs me.”
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