Lady Jayne Disappears

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  Rage boiled over Clem’s pure face as he stalked away and marched up the stairs. I trembled where I stood on the green-and-white-checked tile in the silent moments after their retreat, a pillar supporting me.

  Finally Aunt Eudora spoke. “Kendrick is right. They do not belong together.” She rolled toward the window and leveled a gaze at the pair. “I suppose I’ll have to intervene and play unmatchmaker yet again.”

  Intoxicated with emotion, I spun to face the shriveled woman. “You cannot.” Every joint trembled. “It isn’t your affair. It was never your affair!”

  This was her fault. All of it. Not mine—hers. The unraveling began years ago, when this woman forced my parents apart and sent them each on a terrible spiral that would never fully mend. Jasper, debtor’s prison, the humiliation—none of that would have happened without this woman forcing her way into love affairs as if destruction were her livelihood. Mismatched, indeed. “Servant or not, that woman has more value than you’ll ever have in your wretched long life. Why must you split every couple who finds happiness? Do you really want everyone as miserable as you, or do you honestly care that much about what people think of your precious family and their worthless social image?”

  Lace trembled atop the old woman’s head, but her long face did not change. Movement to the left snapped the strain in the room, and I exhaled, stepping back. One by one, they filed into the grand hall—Glenna and Garamond, Kendrick, and several black-and-white-clothed servants. Even Digory and Lord Sutherland huddled on the fringes. I could hardly breathe.

  Garamond strode forward, moving protectively around his mother-in-law. “I’m sure you’d like to retire for the night, my lady.”

  “Absolutely not. Age does not make me brainless. Put words in your own mouth, not mine. Tell the servants to bring up tea service with plenty of sandwiches since dinner was neglected this evening. And be sure to invite Lord Sutherland to remain with Miss Harcourt until she’s recovered from the strain of the all-day search.”

  The white-hot hatred simmered to a rolling boil and cooled with each exhale. I was to stay at Lynhurst. Just like that. I forced my breath through my nostrils, pinching my mouth shut. What had become of me? Emotions had ripped through my wall of common sense again, sending me into a passion of words that could not be withdrawn.

  And that woman, limp as a doll in her chair, watched her family with detached, bug-like eyes that would never again be pretty, and clung to her bitterness as if it were her only comfort. Pity ebbed over me once again for Aunt Eudora. I had reached out a hand to comfort any number of needy souls, but this destructive woman needed it more than most. And I’d just failed her.

  “Digory, I’d like you to send that little seamstress Miss Wicke around to see me.” Her sharp voice commanded obedience. “I must have a word with her directly.”

  Eyes downcast, I slipped past the gawkers to the steps and hurried up to my bedroom sanctuary on the third floor. History was rewriting itself, despite my efforts and prayers. Poor Nelle, with her gentle soul and thirst for love that would now go unquenched.

  I pulled a notebook from my shelf and dropped it onto the floor, collapsing before it. Writer’s block had plagued me every time I’d attempted to create an ending for Lady Jayne Disappears, but now I had it. When you cannot write anymore, do not torture yourself. Papa had said it at least once per novel. Instead, torture your characters.

  Heart overflowing with grief, I was ready to torture Lady Jayne and her suitor. It was clear now where Lady Jayne had gone when she’d disappeared, and why it had happened.

  I turned to my notebook, the empty page an invitation. It was all for Abigail. In the end, it was not the social differences that kept Lady Jayne and Clavey apart, but the heroine’s own softheartedness.

  First would be a scene in which Lady Jayne glimpsed the depth of love her dear friend felt for Charles Sterling Clavey. Did Clavey return her love? Of course he did. He saw her gorgeous heart beneath the simple clothing. Lady Jayne would then have to make the utterly painful decision to give up Charles for her, and to leave the estate because she could not erase her own feelings for the man who would be marrying her friend. Sweet Abigail, who lived in shame because of her past, desperately needed a husband who would accept that, as well as her working-class status. And he’d need to be kind and gentle and care for her with devotion. What sort of man would fit that?

  Only one. And I loved him for it.

  As I curled my hurting self over my notebook, writing moved quickly from idle pastime to a necessity, and I plunged into it with the desperate obsession of one clinging to a life raft. Broken, aching, I cracked my delicate heart like a fragile eggshell and poured its contents onto the page. The words flowed quickly, rich and poignant. Painful and vulnerable. Pieces of myself floated into Lady Jayne’s character, and anyone who read this would see me in the pages. The scene was powerful and full of every emotion sparkling in the prism of my heart. It was exquisite in its raw beauty—the chapter I had been trying to write for days.

  Finally, I had created an ending worthy of Nathaniel Droll.

  30

  When she accepted her own uniqueness, it was freeing. She was able to shift her effort from fitting in to improving who she actually was to begin with.

  ~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears

  Silas Rotherham sprinted through puddles toward Florin cottage. In the quiet of early nightfall, the tiny dwelling looked like a fairy-tale setting, quaint and welcoming. How did she do it? Nelle had transformed even a humble cottage into a homey abode.

  He knocked with one knuckle, then stood back. What if she slept already? This visit to an unmarried woman was already inappropriate this late.

  When the curtain in the window lifted, then swept back across, he exhaled away his tension. Of course she was awake, and he would be welcomed in. He never need fear visiting here. The door groaned open, and Silas stepped into the sweet aroma of cinnamon and apples.

  “Mr. Rotherham.” Nelle’s inner glow lit up the dim room as she welcomed him in. “You’ll join us, I hope. Rosa has cooked more than enough for the three of us.”

  Rosa’s lumpy frame jerked and swayed in the midst of the steam and sizzle over the old cast-iron stove.

  “Silas!” A little girl squeal came from the shadows, and before he could spot the girl, her tiny frame crashed into his shins, sending him backward. “Mr. Silas.” Her gap-toothed grin, purely accepting and joyful, temporarily bandaged the wound inside him. If only girls did not grow up to be women and lose that simple ability to love without bounds.

  “Mr. Rotherham, would you like to see it?” Hands in a towel, Nelle steered Silas toward a cluttered far corner of the room, with a large covered object on a stand. “Dahlia, help with the apples, please.”

  “I trust the money I gave you—”

  “It was plenty. And honestly, you did not have to do it. I would have managed.”

  “It’s merely a loan. I am investing in two very talented women, and I expect a quick return on it.”

  She smiled, tucking her lower lip between her teeth, and whipped away the canvas cloth with a dramatic flair. Underneath stood a black iron-and-wood machine, complete with hand wheel, silver attachments for thread, and a flat plate to hold the material up to the needle. Silas reached out a finger and spun the wheel, watching the needle move smoothly up and down in the middle of the plate. It really was quite an invention.

  “And this will do all the work for you, so you can tend the garden and make the meals?”

  She laughed, a clear and buoyant sound as if she’d recently tasted joy for the first time. “It isn’t quite that efficient, but it’ll help me work faster. Oh, I cannot wait to tell Aurelie about all this. She will be more excited than anyone. I nearly told her this afternoon, but so much happened in those moments.”

  “I think you should reveal it to her in person, as you did for me just now.” He ran one thick finger along every surface of the machine his money had purchased. Next time he�
��d have to bring oil and rags for maintenance.

  Her two hands perched gently on his arm extended toward the sewing machine, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you do it? Did you speak to Aurelie? I meant to ask you in the carriage, but . . .”

  His jaw twitched. Why had he come? Now he’d have to discuss it. Relive the rejection all over again. Knots tightened across his back. He gave a brief nod and glanced down, indicating the failed outcome. “I purposely avoided bringing it up on the search this afternoon. I did not care to discuss it.”

  “Oh, Silas, I’m sorry.” She squeezed his arm, bestowing comfort through her touch.

  “You are not at fault, dear Nelle.”

  Her face instantly shrouded, she drew him over to a worn chair in the furthest corner from the lively kitchen and sat in it, pulling him down to kneel beside her. “You know I am. This is all because of the things I said about you when she first came. If not for that, you two might even be betrothed and happily in love right now. I tried to fix it, though. Truly. I told her all the time how wonderful of a man you are, and I thought she listened.”

  “There was no need.”

  “Of course there was. I misjudged you, like I do every man, and I was determined to fix it. This cannot be over. You’ll simply have to try again.”

  Again? His throat cinched closed. Heat poured over him. “I don’t think so. I’ve never been the sort to force myself on anyone.” His pride could not bear another failed attempt.

  “Let me speak with her. Perhaps I can convince her if I tell her everything you told me.”

  He rose, pushing against the chair arm to stand. “I thank you for what you’ve tried to do, but you needn’t go any further with it. I’m long overdue to return to London as it is. The way they dismissed you today without cause, without explanation, certainly tipped the scales, and I don’t care to remain. It was simply never meant to be between Aurelie and myself.”

  She sprang up from the chair, taking his hand in both of hers and pleading with her eyes. “Don’t go. My own love story had a tragic ending, but it makes the pain a bit softer to live through the love stories of other people. Especially the ones I care for.”

  “Then you shall have to become the unofficial matchmaker of Glen Cora.” He squeezed her hands.

  “Actually, I cannot remain in this area at all. I was hoping you could help me.”

  “Nelle, please do not be chased away by that woman. She’s sending you away over something that simply isn’t true. There isn’t a single gentleman here you’ve encouraged.”

  “Even if the fault is hers, I cannot bear to remain. Will you help me?”

  He sighed, raking fingers through his hair. “I can help you set up near London, if you choose. I’ll be able to have you there in a few days, weeks at most. Can you keep yourself nearby until I’m ready?”

  “Yes. There’s an old garden shed on the property where we can hide for a few days, and I’m sure the underhousemaid will bring us food.” She laid a hand on his arm and smiled up at him. “And in exchange, will you please let me talk to Aurelie?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry over me. Somehow I relish the idea of returning to work. I miss it, sad as it may seem.”

  She frowned. “You’ll still love her, you know. And you cannot escape your feelings forever, even if they are a bit messy.”

  Moving toward the table where dented plates had already appeared, he sighed and surveyed the little house, up to the rafters. “No, but with a pile of work and a few wonderful books, I can keep them at bay for a surprising length of time.”

  Drained, I crept down the stairs as the early morning sun cast hazy orange rays through the sky. After purging my soul of the beautiful ending I’d been meant to write, the one that resonated with the deepest, most private parts of me, I’d opened a blank volume and spent the entire night filling its pages with a safer, more predictable ending. I would post this one to the publisher, despite its trite storyline and lack of emotion.

  Perhaps readers would hate this ending, but what of it? Nathaniel Droll was merely a fictitious name that belonged to no person, including me. The important task now was being done with the contracted novel so I could finish the real-life story it mirrored. Lady Jayne lived, and I meant to find her.

  Finding no one home at Florin cottage, I carried my wrapped package back to the house and asked Digory to post it for me. “Promise you will keep this between us, will you?”

  “Of course, miss.” The kind smile in his watery blue eyes comforted me. “Servants have neither ears nor eyes, only hearts for their masters.”

  It was still early, so the family would not be downstairs for at least another half hour. Thirty minutes should be enough time to normalize my emotions.

  But Clem burst in the patio doors, shattering the blessed quiet. His hard gaze cut toward me, anger marring his freckled face. “Mother was right about you.” Standing tall with fury, he suddenly seemed so much older.

  “I will help find her however I can.”

  “And what good’ll it do? I’m sure Grandmama has terminated her service.” He snapped off his riding gloves. “She left last night. I didn’t have a chance to tell her goodbye. I’ll never see her again.” Tears budded at the corners of his eyes.

  Service?

  Nelle.

  “No. You mean—Nelle is gone?”

  “What did you think would happen? Once Grandmama is involved, things always go her way. You couldn’t leave Silas Rotherham alone, could you? Just couldn’t let Nelle and Dahlia have a family.” He kicked off his boots. “Well, now he’s all yours. I hope you enjoy your life.”

  As he made a hard pivot into the morning room, I froze in place, chest heaving with the intensity of a thousand defenses I could not voice. When would it stop? How many things could I possibly ruin in this household by my mere presence? I was supposed to help, to heal, but instead I rained trouble and chaos on my family’s home.

  Standing in place, I bowed my head and wordlessly connected my soul to God. I remained in this posture, submissive and trusting, breathing slowly. Peace did not come. Instead, I felt an energy firing through my chest, compelling me to move, to act. Go. Go find her.

  When my legs finally obeyed, I hurried into the hall and yanked my cloak off the hook. “Digory, may I use the carriage?”

  “I believe Master Kendrick has use of it at the moment, Miss Harcourt.” His tone was nearly apologetic. “But you may take one of the horses in the stable. Do you ride?”

  Hope lifted in me. “Yes, I ride.” At least, I would in a moment.

  In the stable, I asked the boy to saddle one of the geldings. “Whichever one you think best for me to take into the village.”

  “That’d be this one ’ere, miss. He goes the longer distances. The others are better for hunting and sport.”

  As soon as he’d cinched the saddle under the gray-spotted horse’s belly, I shoved my foot in the stirrup, hoisted myself onto the tall animal with the help of the stall, and gripped the leather reins.

  “Pull back to stop, nudge the flanks with your heels to make ’im go.” Flattening his wool cap to his head, the boy eyed my awkward sidesaddle posture atop the horse.

  With a nod of thanks, I squeezed my eyes shut and lightly heeled the animal in the side. With a jerk back and then forward, he danced out of his stall as if he’d been craving a good run all his life. As we trotted into the yard, the boy yelled, “And don’t forget, hold on tight!”

  The high-stepping horse jostled me across the open lawn to the drive. With one quick jolt, the reins dropped from my hands and panic seized me. Leaning forward, I clung to his coarse mane with one hand and looped the other around the animal’s neck. Determination kept me atop him, where I had to remain until I reached Glen Cora. And thus I did—barely. Perhaps I did not do everything in the way I ought, but I always completed my missions one way or another.

  When I met with a dead end at the most humble rooming house in the small community, I continued
on to the three others in town with the same result. As the streets filled with working-class villagers shifting into lunchtime, I checked with the local seamstress and several other places that might take a single girl—also no sign of Nelle. If the girl had come to Glen Cora, she’d hidden herself well.

  After trading a few pennies for simple food in the market, I dropped into nearly every store and a few places of residence. Finding no evidence that Nelle had even shown her face there, I dragged myself back to my horse, shoulders slumped in defeat. Perhaps God prompted this trip to offer me a break, wind in my face, and the solitude of the open road.

  Night descended quickly as I ended my long day of searching. As the world around me dimmed, only a few lights shone—lamplight glowing in cozy homes, a lantern bobbing in the hand of an unseen pedestrian, and the glaring light of Shrewster Arm, the lively pub with a tinny racket spilling from its open doors. How easily it must suck men in, being such a bright light in the deepening darkness.

  But then the door flew open wider and the light flashed on a familiar man stumbling out of the saloon, supported by his long-suffering father. Crossing the street with hope flaring, I reached the pair and laid a hand on the older Grupp’s arm as he struggled under the weight of his son. What a picture of the poor man’s whole life.

  “What do you want now?” Jasper’s bloodshot eyes widened as he spotted me. “There’s nothing left for you to take. You’ve gotten it all.” He jerked toward me and his putrid breath rained over my senses.

  “Where is she?”

  “I was gonna marry the girl.” He stood and threw his arms in the air before me, offsetting his balance. “Really and truly marry her. But you made me a fool, and she left.”

  The older man sighed. “I’m sorry, Aura Rose. You know what the drink does to his mind. I’m sure you’ve done nothing to him, no matter how deserving he is.”

  “Jasper, where is she?”

  But the glaze over his eyes sank my heart. His shrug further dampened my hope. Jasper’s feet fumbled the single step off the walkway and he crumpled in the street. His father grunted under his weight and I ran to help. Together we struggled to lift the man into the waiting cart as he howled at some exaggerated pain.