Lady Jayne Disappears

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  I took one step in, sliding my slender frame through the space without opening the door farther. An older man with hair forced across the top of his bald head reigned over a desk full of messy stacks of paper. Sorting and thumbing through pages, he glared at me. “I’ve no time for an interview. Get out.” Rings of baggy skin underlined angry eyes.

  “Please, sir. I only need a small favor.”

  “My desk is piled with a million small favors. What makes you think I have time for yours?”

  “I have here—” I flipped the bulky coat around until I had access to the inside pocket that held my notebook.

  “Will you kindly take your leave, madam?”

  “—Nathaniel Droll’s book.”

  He thwacked a pile of papers onto his desk and lifted his face. “You have what?”

  “I have the last chapters of his book.” I yanked it out with a flourish and another paper burst from the pocket and floated to the floor. I retrieved it with a less-than-graceful bend and stuffed it back into the pocket.

  Planting spectacles on the bridge of his fleshy nose, he rose and looked at me over his desk, from plumed hat to cinched waist. “Edna!” His voice boomed past his office walls. “Bring a chair. Who are you? Has my fool son bribed you to come here as some sort of joke? If I had a shilling for every Nathaniel Droll imposter, I’d be rich all over again.”

  “I am Aurelie Harcourt. And I’ve come of my own accord.”

  A woman scurried in with a chair for me.

  “So you are claiming to be Nathaniel Droll? Such a little snit of a girl.”

  “No, it’s—well, yes. But this—”

  Stubby hands planted on the mess atop his desk, he leaned forward and put the question plainly. “Well, Miss Harcourt. Are you, or are you not, Nathaniel Droll?”

  Head down, I focused only on the steps I descended, the little white toes of my boots peeking out from the dress hem. I’d done everything I could, short of stealing back the other ending. Perhaps I should have done that. I’d been there nearly an hour, telling him the story of Papa and debtor’s prison and Lynhurst, but it was a tale without an ending.

  Bursting into the smoggy city air, I paused. What now?

  Aunt Eudora hobbled toward me from a bench near the building, her grim face focused. “Was it a success?”

  I hugged Papa’s greatcoat. Yes? Maybe?

  “Good heavens, you needn’t reveal your darkest secrets to me. I simply asked a yes or no question.”

  I hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I believe it was.” As much as I could hope for, anyway, with a man like Ram. I’d come away with the news that publication of my next work was guaranteed, whatever I chose to write. Even though I was not the original famous author behind the pen name, reviews had validated my writing and demand always existed for work with the Nathaniel Droll name on it.

  “Now for my end of the bargain.” Aunt Eudora shuffled to the edge of the street, hanging over the curb until another hansom cab jerked to a stop before us. “I will admit, this next errand is made for purely selfish reasons on my part.” She turned to me for help up into the seat and caught my gaze. “I do so want a relationship with my brother’s child, and for that I need to vindicate myself. So there you have it.” Her mouth snapped shut in a hard smile, eyes twinkling.

  I climbed up beside her, wedging my brown skirt in beside Aunt Eudora’s dark red one.

  “Location?” The driver leaned into the side of the cab.

  Aunt Eudora’s gloved fingers fumbled in her purse and retrieved a torn envelope. “Greenwich. 37 Kender Place.” She turned to me. “Miss Aurelie Rosette, prepare to learn the truth.”

  33

  Every now and then when Lady Jayne found the answers to her most pressing questions, she earnestly wished to unlearn them immediately.

  ~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears

  Nerves tickled my belly to the point of pain. The interminably long carriage ride felt like forever, but was likely within an hour’s span.

  “This will not be a long stop.”

  “Are we expected?”

  “Remember our bargain.” A few firm pats to my knee. “No questions.”

  Of course there would be no questions. The woman had too many things to answer for. “It’s about my mother, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me she was alive?” Years had been wasted, countless embraces lost.

  “Because I didn’t know until recently, when I received a letter from her. Apparently the Nathaniel Droll novel sparked recognition in her as well, and she needed to find out who wrote the installments.”

  The city sped by outside the cab, tall buildings melting into two- and three-story homes lined up against each other like fence posts. The horse slowed and danced to a stop before rows of yellow-brick buildings with a red door at each home. A black iron fence stood between casual strollers and the stately homes.

  “This is not the time for you to ask questions. Of anyone. Do you understand?”

  “But how—”

  “I will ask the questions. Your task is merely to listen and learn the truth.” She pushed up from the seat, back straight and arm trembling, and I handed her down to the driver. After righting herself on the walk, Aunt Eudora dropped coins in the man’s gloved hand, and he sprang back to his perch.

  “Please do wait for us. We shan’t be long.” With these parting words to the driver, Aunt Eudora led me forward. Papa’s coat remained behind in the hansom.

  At the door of an overly elaborate townhouse, a suited butler took our card and ushered us into the building, a marble-and-glass affair with the emptiness of a museum. Led silently to an open white-and-mauve parlor to the left, I drank in every detail of the immaculate home. Lady Jayne might have decorated this home herself, if she were the mistress here. Or if she was the maid, perhaps her own hands had cleaned the tiny baubles on every surface.

  After the tea cart appeared before us, our host entered—a remarkably tall gentleman with a waxed mustache and overly large spectacles attached to a narrow chain.

  “Lady Pochard.” His thin lips barely moved as he spoke. “Have we had the pleasure of an introduction?” Straightening his jacket, he seated himself across from us on an ivory-and-rose-colored settee.

  “Not until now.” She extended her fingertips for a kiss. “Thank you for accepting my call without notice.”

  I shifted on the stiff couch beside her. Had I suddenly become invisible? Or were unmarried young women not worth an introduction in this culture?

  “I’m hoping you can assist me. You see, I’ve lost my little Mimi, and she always wanders this way.”

  The man blinked behind his spectacles. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mimi, my kitty cat.”

  A hiss of fine clothes in the distance announced the entrance of the lady of the house, clothed in a brown, well-fitted gown with ivory stripes. I caught my breath as the air tangled with the fine aroma of lilacs. And before me, straight and regal, stood an exact replica of the picture tucked in my armoire.

  Lady Jayne.

  I stared, jittery and frozen at the same time. After a heart-pounding moment, I forced my gaze toward the carved feet of the chairs across from us. Intensity pushed at my chest, and I lifted my head to look at the woman in quick glances, unable to bear staring directly at her.

  “Ladies, my wife. Lady Genovefa Chetworth.”

  The woman’s large brown eyes snapped toward Aunt Eudora and held, a thousand questions flicking in their depths. Her well-shaped eyebrows, thick and dark, remained still, but recognition tinged the depths of her gaze.

  “Pardon my manners.” Aunt Eudora crooned with the voice of a well-practiced gentlewoman. “I’ve neglected to introduce my niece. This is Miss Aurelie Harcourt.”

  Then those amber eyes riveted to me, soaking up the sight of me in a desperate, panicked look, red lips parted.

  “Dearest, these nice ladies were looking for their kitty. Mimi, did you say it was?” The man’s pinched lips looked almost feminine. “What
color is your little darling?”

  “She is gray with a brown-tipped tail. A little white on the ears. It would mean ever so much to us.” Aunt Eudora cut a glance toward the slender lady of the house. “My dear Aurelie has been hurting so much. She needs closure regarding the creature, if nothing else.”

  Lady Chetworth trembled where she stood, her narrow collarbone jutting above the bodice of her dress as her shoulders arched forward. When she moved, something flashed at her throat. Among all the browns and whites of her costume, a large, deeply purple amethyst jewel on a black ribbon shone against white skin.

  “You see, we’ve come on this search because my poor niece feels she desperately needs this cat. While I find all felines perfectly loathsome creatures, using and then casting people aside on a whim, I do understand Aurelie’s need to . . . rekindle a much needed connection with it. You understand.”

  Lady Chetworth trembled harder beside her husband, her slender hand floating above his shoulder in case she had need of it.

  “Of course, of course. My Genovefa finds herself inseparable from a little white poodle she calls Woolf.” He laughed. “Poor Woolf is small as a mouse and likely no meaner.”

  A tremor passed over me that shook my shoulders when he spoke my father’s name.

  “Yes, I see the irony.” Aunt Eudora’s low voice chilled the room. “You are lucky, Lady Chetworth, to have a dog. Much more faithful companions, are they not?”

  “I have no doubt cats have their very own brand of faithfulness.” The woman finally found her voice, and it was rich and melodic. “You cannot judge any creature merely by what you see, unless you can cut open the heart and look inside.”

  Her husband laughed in short, awkward bursts of air. “What a lot of deep conversation about pets. Lady Pochard, I shall contact you immediately if I spot a creature fitting the description of your little Mimi.”

  “I would be most thankful to you.” She stood, her right hand grabbing and crunching mine until I stood beside her. She glanced at Lady Chetworth again. “If nothing else, I’d like to find that cat and wring its neck, for all the pain it’s caused my household.”

  Lady Chetworth sank to the settee, handkerchief-twined fingers to her chest. This finally drew the attention of her husband, who sank beside her and grasped her shoulders. “Genny, are you ill? Shall I ring for—”

  She shook her head adamantly, jarring loose a tress of long brown hair that slipped down to curl about her neck. Lady Chetworth’s personal maid scurried in to hover about the little woman, freeing the master of the house to rise and escort his guests into the hall. He did so with the jovial grin of a man largely unaffected by his wife’s discomfort.

  “You are gracious hosts, Lord Chetworth, and we thank you again for the warm welcome. I hope we shall not have cause to visit again for the same reason.”

  “Good luck to you with Mimi. She will turn up. Cats always return.”

  “Unfortunately, that seems to be so.” And with those parting words, she grasped my hand and pulled me down the steps.

  I threw glances back over my shoulder. That was it? We were leaving? Ten minutes of parading my mother before me, and then I was yanked away? Surely there was more. But each step away from the house wrenched my heart with the finality of our meeting. We merely climbed back into the hansom cab waiting at the curb and settled into the seat.

  “Location?”

  “To the station please, sir.”

  I spun to face her. “You can’t mean it. I’m not allowed to say a single word to her?”

  “She is not deserving of it.”

  I stiffened. “You may judge people by their humble beginnings, but I won’t. It hardly matters what she was before—a chambermaid, a dressmaker, a chimney sweep.”

  “Sit down, child.”

  “No, tell me. What was she that made her so unworthy of him?”

  With a grim set to her chin, she looked straight forward. “Married.”

  Reality washed over me in layers as I fought to wrap my mind around what she suggested.

  “She was married when she met him, and married she is now. That sort of relationship is abominable to me and to God, and I could not allow it to continue.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “She tricked him, didn’t she?”

  “No, my dear, that is one thing she is not guilty of. Woolf Harcourt knew very well that he’d made the acquaintance of a married woman the very day he met her. My brother, God rest his troubled soul, was never one to follow any sort of rules. Marriage vows included.”

  The blunt words rolled over my wounded spirit, crushing the sweetness of his memory.

  “But why would he do that?” One little inch of me still did not believe it possible.

  “Because he was a fanciful creature who believed in the excitement of living outside of boundaries. As if it were higher than living respectfully as one ought. Dreaming and loving always trumped decorum and morals.”

  She turned stiffly and twined her lace-gloved hands in mine. “I loved my brother dearly. I never wanted him to spend a day in prison, but it had to be done. He believed that living the way he did, reckless and childlike, gave him control over his own life, but in fact it did the opposite.” A tear made a path through the powder on her cheek. “I tried desperately to help him, any way I knew how, but in the end, there was nothing to be done but to keep him from himself. He refused to stop seeing that woman, and it would have ruined so many lives. Including yours.”

  “Why could I not have remained with my mother?”

  “She disappeared after your birth and your father took you off.” The gloved hands smoothed my hair. “He claimed he had an idea of who could keep you, but then the dominos fell quickly and he was in debtor’s prison with a complicated mess of debts. We thought he’d found you a family, a nice couple, not a . . . a prison cell. If I’d known, had any idea . . .” The woman’s fingers flitted over my face, caressing, conveying love.

  Hurt and regret and love welled in me until it spilled over, urging me toward the frail woman wracked with pain, my arms sliding around her shoulders. I pulled her to myself as the hansom bounced over the road. With each passing moment in the embrace, each breath in and out near the old, powdery face, my heart softened. Her lace-covered hands made small circles on my back.

  Finally, I released Aunt Eudora and sat back to meet her gaze. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve only given you the truth, Aurelie. You are grown, and all decisions regarding that woman are now yours. But I will underscore—she is not worth your time. Scriptures tell us not to cast our pearls before swine.” She smiled, patting my knee. “Do not cast your lovely heart before that undeserving woman.”

  In the noisy center of town, I took a deep breath of dusty air once outside the hansom and braced myself for Aunt Eudora’s weight. The old woman leaned heavily, nearly toppling onto me until her feet found the brick road and steadied. As we walked, silent in the chaotic mess of people, truth vibrated against my skull. It was really over, and there was no happy ending. My mother had walked away.

  Finally seated again on the cushioned train seats, hot tears burned under my eyelids. I focused on the sights of the station—wooden trusses arching overhead, oversized clocks, English flags saluting from the wall—so Aunt Eudora would not see the tears if they came.

  Aunt Eudora’s face turned to study me when we were seated. “Do not be hard on yourself for focusing on the good in everyone. For hoping. Rich is the man who sees value in every person, even if there is none to be found.”

  Sobs clogged my throat. A whistle shrilled nearby and steam poured from under the train.

  “You do so remind me of another individual with that very same tendency.”

  “Papa.” I glanced at Aunt Eudora, studying the green eyes that had seemed like such daggers before, but now only seemed sharp with the pain of life.

  “Not Woolf. My brother hated with a passion when someone wronged him. Especially me. The last time I saw his eyes, they were pi
ercing enough to cut open my chest and steal the very heart out of it.” Hard pain sharpened her features, then eased slightly as she moved on. “Actually, I was referring to Silas Rotherham. He is, how did he put it? ‘Intentional about recognizing the good in people.’ I think you two would get on quite well.”

  “We enjoy each other’s company.” The memory of his sturdy, engulfing embrace coursed over me in a matter of seconds, leaving me weak inside. I suddenly recalled with clarity the scent of his shirt as I’d laid my face on his chest. But in my daydream of that moment, I did not push away. I sank into him and tipped my head up to melt under his gaze, to receive his love and his kiss. Perhaps I had been a fool to release love when I’d finally found it in this wretched world.

  “You should know, child, that he came to me to request your hand.”

  I caught my breath. “He . . . when?” Despicable hope swelled in me.

  “The night of the badminton game. I haven’t the slightest idea what occurred between him and Nelle in the meantime, but I know with the certainty of a woman who’s lived through three generations of romance under her roof that he is deeply in love with you. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter. It’s up to you to act now.” She turned to me with the wry smile of an old woman. “I’m glad we’ve had this little chat.” With that closing, she again placed a handkerchief over her face and soon dozed, sending the piece of lace up and down with deep breaths.

  Her straightforward words pushed and pulled on my heart. He’d requested my hand. My hand, not Nelle’s. I frantically tried to put events in order and understand what this information meant, but one truth loomed over the budding hope with painful clarity—it was too late. I had rejected Silas’s kiss, he had left, and now I had no idea how to change anything.

  As the train stopped at the first rural station, crisp night air blew in and invaded my comfort until I struggled to wrap Papa’s massive coat about me and huddle into it. Forcing my arms through the sleeves and my hands into the pockets, I stiffened as a shiver convulsed me and my hand crinkled paper in the pocket. A vague memory of this paper falling out at Ram’s office returned to me, and I pulled it out in my fist. I flattened it on my leg and stiffened at the sight of Nathaniel Droll’s perfect penmanship filling a tiny space in the white page, the same way it did in the notebooks. All thoughts of my failed romance dissipated in the face of these written words.