by Lynn Collum
Jacinda bowed to the old man like her father’s footman had to Stritch. The butler’s narrowed eyes swept over her and she thought she wasn’t faring well in his judgment. While she was tall for a female, she was much shorter than the average footman. For a moment she wondered if he saw through her disguise, for he frowned so frightfully.
“Sir, it’s a grand thing that you’ve done, bringing us more help, but how your father’s going to pay the lads is beyond me. There’s her ladyship, to boot. She don’t like anyone usurping her role in making such household decisions. Fired Mrs. Lester, she did, for hiring a parlor maid without consulting her first.” The old man’s brows drew inward, giving his amiable face a fierce look. Then his eyes widened. “But what am I thinking, do come in, sir.”
Jacinda followed the captain into the cool, dark great hall and looked about. Her memory from her one visit was vague but even she could see things had changed. The walls had been all but stripped bare of paintings and tapestries. Gone to cover expenses, no doubt. At one end of the great hall, near the fireplace, a battered old settle and two large iron candle stands were all that decorated the huge entry.
“You needn’t worry about the lads, Hodges, I shall see to their pay.” Shock played on the captain’s features at the stark state of things. He looked upward at cobwebs that hung from the iron chandeliers, then his gaze locked on the shadows at the top of the stairs. He bowed.
Jacinda looked up and caught sight of a tall woman staring down at them from the upper landing. Her attire was garish even to Jacinda’s inexperienced eyes. The bright red silk had too much lace and furbelows for an afternoon gown.
The woman stepped forward to demand, “Hodges, who is this and why was I not informed we had visitors?”
“Lady Rowland,” there was a tired quality to the servant’s voice as if he’d gotten used to such treatment, “ ’tis not visitors, but the master’s only son returned from ...” Hodges frowned, for he hadn’t a clue where the heir had been.
“From Calcutta.” Captain Morrow filled in the missing information even as he took the lady’s measure.
Jacinda recognized this woman’s type in an instant. London was full of such females. Rich merchants’ daughters with steely ambition, a thin veneer of breeding, garish taste in apparel, and a great deal of arrogance. They rode about in their carriages in the poorer parts of town, hoping to garner the respect they were denied from the gentry in Mayfair. Lady Rowland looked to be barely thirty, which was rather startling since the baron would be near sixty by now. She was tall and thin with a face that might have been called handsome but for the sour set of her thin lips.
For a moment Jacinda wondered: had her father lived and had she remained at Chettwood, would she have become one of those types? A smile touched her lips when Cousin Millie came to mind. Unbecoming behavior—over that lady’s dead body. She’d had a rule of conduct for every occasion. No doubt, she would have seen to it that Jacinda behaved a proper young lady. It was the advantage of having had a mother from the upper ranks who’d employed a distant cousin to oversee her only daughter’s education. Jacinda schooled her face to the placid mask of a servant.
The baroness held her position for a few minutes, almost as if to remind them who she was. Satisfied she’d made her point, she came down the stairs stopping just above their position. She looked down her nose at her new stepson. “Well, young man, it surprises me that you would show your face here after all the pain and disappointment you caused your father. I suppose you will be trying to see what you can get from him, but be warned that I shall not allow you to take advantage in my role as your new Mama.”
The captain bowed a second time. “Madam, I know I have much to do to make up for my behavior. I failed my father so many years ago, but I’ve come to make amends for those failures if he will allow, not to ask for favors.”
“Make amends? How might you do that? The little heiress is long gone so I cannot think what you might do to make up for his disappointment there.” She shook her head then turned her cold gaze on Jacinda as if her stepson could have no answer.
“There are ways, madam, but I think this is something I must speak with my father about if I see—”
“Who is this low person and why is he loitering here in my hall? ” Lady Rowland asked interrupting him as if he were no more important than the servant she looked at. “Your taste in companions leaves much to be desired.”
A brief flash of anger in the captain’s eyes disappeared quickly. Jacinda sensed a struggle within him to maintain his temper.
“This is Jack. I brought him with me to Rowland Park, for I owe him a great debt and hoped to find employment for him on the estate.”
“A debt? Why am I not surprised? In that respect you are like your father. I won’t have ruffians in my house. I suppose we could use him in the gardens. I understand the old gardener’s cottage is empty since he died, not that I ever saw evidence that he did much work his final years. All his tools must still be in the shed. The boy can fill that position.”
Jacinda’s heart sank. The surrounding grounds looked as if they hadn’t seen a hoe, a scythe, or shears in years. The formal gardens appeared even worse. Then she flashed on an old memory of wonderful hours with her mother and the gardener at Chettwood, working side by side. She had listened to old Hatfield’s advice to her mother about planting, pruning, and other suggestions. Jacinda felt certain she could transform the tangled, overgrown mess outside into a thing of beauty. And best of all, she would have no one looking over her shoulder, as Lady Rowland didn’t look like a woman who paid much heed to such things. Jacinda’s position would give her a great deal of time to pursue her true reason for being there. She tugged her hat politely and said, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Hodges,” Lady Rowland spoke the butler’s name as if he’d disappointed her on more than one occasion, “Take the boy in hand and show him what his tasks shall be.” She then turned her sour gaze on Jacinda. “And don’t think I won’t fire you, boy, if I don’t see proper progress.”
Jacinda bowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
When she moved to follow the butler, Captain Morrow turned and winked at her. “I’ll speak with you later, Jack. You and Ben settle into the gardener’s cottage and I’ll have Cook send down some supper.”
“Who is Ben?” Her ladyship folded her hands in front of her and arched one brow. “More debt, sir?”
“Ben is Jack’s brother, and he shall do nicely helping Seth in the stables. You needn’t fear the expense, madam, Ben is my tiger.”
Jacinda followed the butler through the green baize door. The last thing she heard was the captain asking to see his father before the butler’s voice interrupted, telling her what would be expected of her. She was taken below stairs and introduced to the staff, which were few. There were Cook, two maids, a footman, Lord Rowland’s valet, and, of course, Hodges, none of whom were under fifty years of age. Hoping to make inroads into their good will, Jacinda offered to do any errands the staff might need when she wasn’t occupied with the grounds. The plump upstairs maid pinched the lad’s cheek and declared “Jack” to be pretty as a girl, with skin just as soft and manners to boot.
Jacinda gave her best scowl and merely declared, “Give me a few years. I’m only fourteen.” It was the only way to explain her lack of whiskers and delicate features.
After some further teasing, the footman, whose name was Nate, lead her out to the tiny cottage in the woods behind the stables, all the while chattering gossip about the family. She was quick to determine that the servants thought the estate was rather adrift with no steward and the baron abed. The only thing she found of interest was that Nate warned her to steer clear of Lady Rowland. “She’s little better than a fishmonger wife in lace, but no pearls, them was sold for the money. And she got a tongue what runs on wheels when she’s in the boughs.”
Nate brought her to a small stone cottage. She could see a pond in the rear woods. “Tools are in a shed in the back and I�
�m guessin’ her ladyship will give the rest of the day to rest ’afore she expects ye to work.” On that dark note, he left her.
It was a plain stone cottage with primroses growing up the walls. She opened the door and went inside. There was a small, single room with a sooty hearth and a tiny loft. It was bigger than most of the rooms she and Ben had lived in the last few years, but not by much. There were several pieces of furniture: a table, two chairs, a cupboard, and a rough-hewn bed frame that stood in the corner with a feather mattress rolled and bound on the rope slats. She would get Ben to help her roll it out for airing along with the one she could see in the loft.
She moved to the lone window, which overlooked a pasture. The daisies and cowslips growing wild reminded her of Chettwood and she remembered just how close she was to her old life. Her father’s manor was only five miles away. She pulled her mother’s locket from beneath her shirt and fingered it tenderly. She always wore it to remind her of all that she had lost and of what she needed to do. But Chettwood might as well be a hundred miles away, for she would have a great deal of work to do here ... at least until she showed enough progress that no one would question her about her ability.
Still, she suspected that in her position as gardener she would have a great deal of leeway in doing her work. As far as her investigation into her father’s murder, she would need to take things slowly. It would never do to have her masquerade end too soon by discovery that she was not only a female, but the heiress to the Blanchett fortune. With a determined sigh, she tucked the locket safely away and set about cleaning the cottage in which she and Ben would now live.
Ben arrived some thirty minutes later with their meager belongings, which he set beside the door as he inspected their new living quarters.
At last he pulled out a chair, settled himself, and gave Jacinda a piercing stare. “Are you going to finally explain to me why we’ve come back to the very place where someone tried to kill you?”
She pulled out the chair opposite and sat down. “Ben, I’m tired of living in fear. I’m tired of being poor and hungry. It’s time for me to learn the truth. To find the murderer of my father.”
The boy sat up straight. “But that could be dangerous, Jack. Do... do you think they will still want to harm you?”
“Without a doubt.” She spoke the words casually but her insides were in knots at the prospect of anyone learning that she was Jacinda Blanchett and not Jack Trudeau.
Ben’s brows drew together. “We can’t do this alone; we shall need help. Who can we trust here?”
“No one, Ben, no one but each other.”
“But I’d swear the captain—”
“Not even Captain Morrow, Ben. If he learns the truth he will feel duty-bound to make me return home. Besides, I cannot even be certain that he wasn’t involved that night.”
The boy didn’t look happy, but he nodded his understanding. He got up and came to her, taking her hands. “Only promise me, Jack, that you’ll be careful. You’re all I have left.”
She ruffled his hair. “I promise.”
Drew stepped into the large room after a weak voice called for him to enter. Lord Rowland’s chambers lay in near darkness. Heavy green curtains were drawn against the daylight, and two candles flickered on either side of the four-post bed. The small flames added to the heat and stuffiness of the enclosed room and the soft light did little to mask the shabbiness of the draperies. The baron’s skin was drawn tightly over his pale face, his body a frail memory of the once robust gentleman.
“Hello, Father.” As shocked as Drew was at the physical change in his father, what worried him most was the apathy in the old gentleman’s eyes even on seeing his only son again. No joy or surprise, not even anger registered in the depths of his dark eyes. It was almost as if the life had already gone out of him. Guilt again surfaced inside Drew. Had he done this to his father?
“Andrew?” The old gentleman’s voice sounded weak but the first hint of welcome lay in that one word.
Drew took the frail hand in his, but his father merely continued to stare. There was little doubt in Drew’s mind that it was up to him to break the ice, but he didn’t know where to start. At last he said the only thing he could think to say. “Father, can you ever forgive me?”
The old man sighed and shook his head then stared off into space. The rejection tore at Drew’s insides. The baron’s next words weren’t what Drew expected. “It doesn’t matter, boy. All my plans would have been scotched even if you’d been here. Nothing went as I thought. You disappeared, Blanchett’s dead, that sickly little girl’s still missing, I haven’t a feather to fly with and I took an immoderate shrew for a wife. None of it matters any more.” He’d closed his eyes as if those few words were too much for him and his energy was spent.
“It does matter, sir. I want to make things right. I can make things right both here and with Miss Blanchett.”
Drew saw the first spark of interest from his father since he’d entered the room. “How?”
“Most important will be to put Rowland Park to rights and to get you from that bed.”
Lord Rowland gave a bitter chuckle. “It would take a great deal of money for the first and only God could do the second.”
“I’ve been told the doctor says you can walk if only you will try. As to the other, I have money, sir. It’s taken eight years, but I have made my fortune and I fully intend to invest it here, in my home, if you still consider me your heir.”
“Of course you are my heir.” The baron grew silent as he contemplated his son’s words. “You are still obligated to that girl. There’s nothing we can do about her, for I signed those papers the night you disappeared, albeit I didn’t know you’d run off until later. But it’s all moot, for very likely the poor thing is dead and buried.”
“I intend to find out, sir. I’ll hire someone to look for her and her maid. I’ll start with Blanchett’s lawyer. He claims to be receiving letters from her. If she’s alive, I’ll find her, Father, and when I do I’ll honor your wishes and marry her. Rowland Park and Chettwood Manor will become one estate, just as you planned.”
For a moment the baron seemed to take heart from his son’s words, then his gaze dropped to his legs hidden under the bed linens and the spark of light seemed to go out. “It doesn’t matter. I shall never leave this bed. Do what you will.”
Both his father’s solicitor and his stepmother had told Drew that the doctor had said the old gentleman could walk again, but he would have to want to do it. It was too early to hope for any changes. If he could make things better then his father’s spirits might improve. Drew would take one endeavor at a time and for now that would be working to restore the estate.
“Very well, sir, if I must then I shall do things alone, but I would much prefer to have my father at my side. I shall begin first thing in the morning by hiring a new steward.” With that he left his father, hoping that something he’d said had rekindled his father’s spirit.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Let go, you ugly blighter.” Jacinda tugged at the stubborn weed which stood nearly waist high. The borders along the walk in Rowland Park’s east garden had been full of such weeds when she’d first started. Now they were heaped in a large pile for Ben to haul off later. After most of the morning pulling them, her strength was almost spent. She gave one last tug and the roots suddenly pulled from the ground, causing Jacinda to tumble backward. She landed hard on her backside in the newly scythed grass and her hat flew off. She chuckled and lay back to rest for a moment, enjoying the warm sunshine and the smell of honeysuckle on the nearby stone wall that sheltered the garden from the wind.
After three days of backbreaking work, the results of her efforts were beginning to show. This one garden was almost back to what it had been twenty years earlier. She knew because Nate had shown her a watercolor that had been painted by a former guest of the Park’s gardens during it’s heyday. A series of three pictures hung in the hallway where the servants came and went. Jaci
nda stopped and stared at them each morning when she and Ben came for breakfast with the servants. It gave her an idea of what she was striving for as a final result.
Exhausted, she savored the moment in the grass with her eyes closed. Her back hurt, her hands were blistered and—her eyes popped open when she heard a footfall in the gravel walk beside her. She stared up into the smiling face of Captain Morrow.
“Are we working you too hard, Jack?” He smiled down at her.
Jacinda scrambled to her feet. “N-no, sir. I just fell backwards while pulling weeds.” She lifted the offending plant still clutched in her hand, then tossed it to the weed pile to her left. Her gaze swept over the captain. This morning he looked different somehow. They hadn’t met since the night they’d first arrived, so perhaps her imagination was playing tricks on her. Her gaze swept over him a second time. He definitely looked different.
Seth had told them the gentleman was so busy what with hiring a new steward and going over the books, he’d scarcely left the library, going so far as to have his meals served there, a fact that had piqued Lady Rowland. But fatigue wasn’t what made him appear different. A soft breeze wafted through the garden and the scent of lavender and spice tickled her nose. Then she realized what had changed. He’d cut his hair into a more fashionable style. A Brutus, was it called? Also, his clothes were much more fashionable than the buckskins and driving coat he’d worn to drive down. Why, he looked as if he were going somewhere important.
Noting the direction of her gaze, the gentleman self-consciously ran a hand through the neatly arranged style, mussing it a bit, then tugged at his waistcoat. “My father’s valet insisted he must see to me. Is it dreadful?”
Jacinda could only stare for a moment for, if anything, it made him more handsome. The dark gray jacket over a light gray waistcoat complemented his emerald eyes. The elegance of his cravat would rival any gentleman in Town and his once mud-stained Hessians shone like mirrors in the sunlight. “No, no, it is very stylish, sir. You will turn all the ladies heads.” A thought that strangely did little to please her.
